Chasing Truth

by Julie Cross

  For a moment, I can’t move or speak. I stare at Miles and try to make sense of this. My gaze drifts to the note tacked on the wall, the one from “S” professing love to someone who was just a friend. In the fleeting moment after I had read it, I thought maybe he’d written it for me and that would have been—well, not good because I didn’t feel that way about Simon. But the writing sounds too immature for the Simon I knew, too young.

  Miles’s hand is still shaking, and I’m forced to refocus on the current peril I’m in. “Okay. I get it. He loved you. He was your friend. But he was my friend, too. We have that in common.”

  As I’d hoped, he loses his focus for just a moment. I hold my breath and then as quickly as possible, I reach out and let my fingers curl over the gun.

  “How did you know Simon?” I ask again. I’m close enough to feel the heat of him, feel him shaking everywhere, trying to hold back or pull it together, I’m not sure which. He tenses, showing he might be back on the Shoot Ellie Plan. “Miles, you know I didn’t hurt Simon. Deep down, you know it. Because the moment you flipped on those lights, you saw me. You saw that I was scared as hell. Scared of you. Look at this place! It’s like a fucking serial-killer cave. And you’re out there meeting up with drug dealers, talking about smuggling stuff from Switzerland. What am I supposed to think?”

  “You bugged Dominic. You broke into my place.”

  “Can you blame me? If you heard me conspiring with someone like Davey the Dealer, wouldn’t you consider searching my place?” Based on the photo gallery around us, I’m pretty sure you’ve been tracking my every move already.

  I keep my fingers wrapped around the gun and rest my other hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. And then I wait. Let him put it all together. He’s smart. Logical. He’ll get there.

  God, I hope he gets there.

  Beneath my hand, his muscles relax just a bit. Enough to give me my answer. He looks at me, and there’s pain in his eyes. “I didn’t kill Simon, Ellie. I swear to God—”

  I gently press down on the top of the gun, forcing his entire arm to lower. I lay both my hands on his arms. “I don’t think there are any murderers in this room.”

  The words fell out on impulse, but I decide they’re true. The way he looked at me when he thought I—

  I suppress a shudder. That was the look of pure hate. Which brings me back to… “How did you know Simon?”

  “Middle school,” he says, his voice thick. “We went to—” He stops, frozen as if listening to something. His body stiffens. “Shit.”

  Suddenly he’s Miles again, jumping into action. He lifts the black cloth covering the table and reveals what looks like a radio. He flips a switch, and Davey’s voice fills the room.

  “This ain’t how I roll,” Davey says. “You know that, D. What’s the deal with this guy?”

  “He’s cool,” Dominic says. “His dad’s some fancy diplomat, so it’s easy for him to get away with shit.”

  “Fuck. He’s gonna leave.” Miles squats down on the floor, flings open the gun, and grabs a handful of bullets from beneath the table.

  My mouth falls open in shock. “It wasn’t even loaded?”

  “It is now.” He clicks it into place and tucks the gun in the back of his pants. He jumps to his feet and pulls something tiny and gold from his pocket and closes it in his fist before I can see it. Except I did see it. And I know what that is. A tracker. He turns to me, a warning on his face. “Stay here. We’re not done talking.”

  Oh believe me, I know. But then I realize what he’s about to do. I grab his sleeve before he can take off. “You can’t go out there with a gun!”

  “Don’t worry.” He shakes out of my grip. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Davey’s gonna see right through you. Regular seventeen-year-old kids living around here don’t have guns.”

  Miles seems to consider this, but eventually he steps through the door—still with the gun in his pants. “Stay,” he says again, and then he shuts the door behind him.

  I kick off my tennis shoes and plop down on the floor, examining them. I pull back the sole of my left shoe and spot the shiny gold circle, barely bigger than my fingernail. I rip it out, holding it up to look closer. Miles Beckett, you sneaky, lying little shit. How long has this been in my shoe? I use the leg of the chair to smash the tracker to bits.

  From the radio, Davey’s temper rises as he and Dominic argue. “Dude, what the hell are you trying to pull?” he says, probably when Miles appears.

  “Nothing,” Miles says. “Just got caught up—”

  “We’re not doing this,” Davey says. “I told you we needed to hang out and you up and vanish. Did you go call someone? You got a friend working with Diplomat Daddy ready to jump me?”

  “What?” Miles says, sounding mostly convincing. “No…why would I—”

  This is gonna end in gunfire. Which is insane. It would be so easy to turn this around… Fuck it. I stuff my shoes back on and push open the door, lock it behind me, and run through the apartment. I don’t know why Miles is trying to track this drug dealer; I don’t know a lot of things, but the questions will have to wait. Because I do know that he won’t quit until he succeeds or gets shot, and I can get that tracker on Davey without anyone blowing a gasket. Or blowing anything.

  I slow down when I reach the steps and sigh with relief when I notice Justice’s bright yellow car is now gone from the parking lot. I don’t know why or when she took off, but this will be way less complicated with her gone.

  I tug my ponytail out and shake my hair, hoping it gets that sexy, wild look. Today’s a rare uniform skirt day for me. I quickly fold over the waistband, allowing more leg to show, and then release the top two buttons of my polo. I’m still shaking, still mentally in that room freaking the fuck out. But I give myself the usual pep talk.

  This is my body and I’m moving it exactly how I want to… And you’re gonna look at me. You are definitely gonna look at me.

  I stride across the pool deck, my hair bouncing around me, and make my movements loud enough to get the guys to pause and look my way. Even without looking up, I feel Davey’s gaze on me. When I do look at him, his gaze roams the length of my legs to the hem of my uniform skirt and then all the way north. I slide right up to Miles, slip my hand into his. Then I whisper loud enough for Davey to hear. “Thanks for…you know. I needed that.”

  The smile on my face is supposed to tell its own story. And when Davey’s eyebrows lift, just a smidgen, I know I succeeded. The tiny gold tracker in Miles’s palm gets transferred to mine without him being able to protest. I could hang on to it and botch his entire little mission, but for some reason, I decide to go for it. Act now, ask later. And I will be asking. Lots.

  I push up onto my toes and plant a kiss on the side of Miles’s neck. “Same time tomorrow?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Dominic’s mouth fall open. I step away from Miles, closer to Davey. I glance back at Miles, hoping he’s as good a salesman as he was the other night when he sold me that bogus story about his parents.

  A grin spreads across his face. “Happy to be of service.”

  Good boy.

  My return smile is real—it’s relief. “See ya later, Miles…Dominic.” I give Dominic a nod, then my gaze drifts to Davey. Up to Davey because he’s big. Freakin’ big. “And guy I don’t know…”

  I stop and look between Dominic and Davey. “Oh shit, were you waiting on Miles?”

  Dominic scratches his head, confused as hell. Davey drops the defensive, suspicious look and gives Miles this nod of approval. I refrain from rolling my eyes. Most predictable drug dealer ever.

  “Oops, sorry,” I say with a shrug.

  “Maybe text first next time.” Miles gives me that sexy smile he’s so gifted at, then he does the eye-roaming thing to me, like Davey had done but better. His look heats my skin. “Or not. I’m good either way.”

  Davey chokes back a laugh. He looks at Miles and Dominic. “We’ll do th
is again soon.”

  I sigh internally. Using my fingertips, I work the sticker off the back of the tracking device, planning my move. I twirl the earring in my ear and when I brush past Davey, I pop it right out of my ear. My mother calls this move the Brush and Pop. I’ve used it to pick pockets, read hidden tattoos, and once to win a bet over whether or not a man had a hair weave.

  “Shit…” I drop down onto the pool deck, searching. “My earring just fell out. I think it’s…” I nudge Davey’s sneaker. He responds immediately, lifting the heel. I roll the earring beneath his shoe at the same time I press the teeny tracker against the heel of his sneaker. “Got it! Thank God it didn’t end up in the pool filter.”

  I spring to my feet and shove the earring post through the hole in my earlobe.

  But now Davey’s staring at me. My heart picks up again, flying out of control. He leans close, his breath hitting my cheek.

  “That’s a top-grade diamond,” he says. “Have you thought about a screw-on back?”

  I don’t have to look to know this is making Miles crazy. He told me to stay in the room and I didn’t. His feet shift on the pool deck but he stays put.

  “They’re my mother’s earrings. She said they were nice ones but I didn’t realize…” I flash him a grin. “Thanks, I’ll have to look into getting new backs.”

  I hold my breath, waiting.

  Davey takes a step back and shrugs. He turns around and strides away from us. Miles pretends to study the back of my earring while Davey crosses the parking lot and keeps walking. Wherever they first met up, must not have been far if he’s going on foot. Once he’s out of sight, Miles exhales and swears under his breath.

  “Dude, what the hell is this?” Dominic growls, nodding at me.

  I give Miles a light shove and stick my hand out, palm up. “All right. Pay up. Fifty bucks. Plus five extra for the kiss.” I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

  Miles gives me a bewildered look, but eventually he removes his wallet and drops a fifty plus a five into my palm. Yeah, I’m so not giving this back. Hold me at gunpoint in your secret room and I will definitely be cleaning out your wallet.

  “So, who was the big guy?” I ask. “Are you betting on football games again? Didn’t you lose, like, five hundred last time? I heard your uncle yelling at you from all the way next door.”

  “Betting—” Dominic starts, and then he nods. “Yeah, that’s what we were doing. But keep it on the DL, all right? My parents would kill me.”

  “Duh.” I roll my eyes. “It’s illegal. Plus, Miles gave me hush money already. So you’re covered.”

  I stuff the money in my pocket and walk away from them, heading back up the steps. When I reach the top, I slide around the corner where I know they can’t see me. My whole body sags against the building, and I get light-headed. I close my eyes and take slow, careful breaths.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  I am safe. I am perfectly safe.

  Soon Dominic is gone and Miles is standing in front of me. He tries out a few different words but ends up tongue-tied until he finally manages to say, “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “I saved your ass,” I point out. Though I don’t know what I saved him from. Davey hurting him? Illegal possession of firearms charges? Him shooting someone?

  He leans against the wall like he has to. “Go find out what happened to Justice. She took off like a crazy person while you were picking my locks. Check in with your sister, tell her you’re studying at my place. And then meet me back there. Twenty minutes exactly.”

  Jesus. Bossy much?

  But he’s gone before I can say anything. Before I can take control of anything. I push away from the wall and head next door to my apartment.

  I’m about to call for Harper, but she’s waiting for me in the living room, arms folded across her chest. “Did I just witness a Brush and Pop? I was watching out the window, so I could be mistaken…?”

  “Maybe.” I play it cool, fling open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, and start chugging. I’m dying of thirst. I think it’s a sign of shock. Being held at gunpoint will do that to a person. “What happened to Justice?”

  “She got a phone call from her parents. Sounded like she was supposed to be somewhere and forgot. She promised to finish painting tomorrow.” Harper moves closer, looking me over. “What were you doing out by the pool? With a shorter skirt, two buttons undone, and your hair in post-make-out state.”

  My head is pounding. I rub my temples and sigh. “Dominic’s in some kind of trouble. Gambling, I think. I was just trying to help.”

  “What about Miles?” she asks. “Is he involved?”

  Since I still need so many Miles questions answered, and Harper and Aidan seem to trust him and trust me around him, I decide it’s best to leave him out of this lie. For now. “He doesn’t know anything. And he’s waiting for me to study with him. I don’t want him to think something’s up. I’ll explain the whole story later, okay?”

  God, I hate lying to my sister. But I’m deep in the hunt for answers, for truth, and my obsession wins out over keeping Harper in the know.

  She slides over, letting me through to get my school bag. And I make a promise to myself that from now on, lying to my sister needs to be reserved for safety-only situations.

  CHAPTER 22

  When I follow Miles back into the secret room, I’m much more prepared this time. Just because I no longer think he’s a murderer or serial killer doesn’t mean I trust him. He put a freakin’ tracker in my shoe. I leave my hand on the doorknob, gripping it tight. “Put your gun on the table.”

  He gives me this look like, seriously? He sighs but reaches behind him and tugs the gun from his khaki pants before laying it on the table. “What about you? What have you got on you?”

  “I did have a tracker in my shoe, but I got rid of that.”

  Miles nods toward the bits of broken metal on the floor. “I noticed. Thanks for that, by the way. You know how much those things cost?”

  I stare at him. “I’m aware.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he says, taking a step in my direction. “What do you have on you?”

  “Nothing.” I turn my pockets inside out. “See?”

  Miles hooks a finger in my belt loop, yanking me close, and then he reaches right under my shirt, grabbing the cell phone I stowed in my bra. I watch, half in shock, while he takes it apart and lays the pieces on the table.

  I stare down at my shirt, trying to figure out how he did that so quickly. But I have bigger concerns. With my grip still on the doorknob, I look right at him and ask, “Where did you get the gun? Are you a cop? How old are you really?”

  “Seventeen,” he says, like I’m weird for questioning it. “I’m in high school. Like you.”

  “I’m finding that hard to believe with your secret room and ongoing investigation of murders and drug deals.”

  I watch him for signs of giving in, of talking to me for real. I need that. Usually I don’t fault people for their false identities because I’ve lived that life for so long, but this is different.

  My grip on the door loosens without permission, and I quickly realize how weak my hands are. Then my legs turn to Jell-O. The pounding in my head increases and nausea sweeps over me. Spots flash in front of my eyes. I blink several times to get rid of them. Definitely not at my best right now—due to a lack of sleep and the fact that I barely ate any breakfast and skipped lunch today to get some research done in the library.

  Concern fills Miles’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. My hand falls from the door and I reach for the table, gripping it for balance. “Just dizzy. Headache.”

  The chair is already out, so I fall into it and then lean my head against my hand for support. “I skipped lunch. Didn’t sleep much last night.”

  Miles leaves the room so abruptly that I wish I felt better so I could snoop around under the table. I slide my foot over, trying to feel for something, and end up stubbing m
y toe on the radio thing.

  He’s gone less than a minute, returning with a glass of apple juice and a banana. He slides open another imaginary door, revealing the hallway bathroom. “Advil or Tylenol?”

  “Maybe some caffeine,” I say, eyeing the juice. “How do I know you didn’t put something in this to make me forget the last couple of hours? Or worse.”

  “Excedrin it is.” Miles returns with the bottle and sets it in front of me. “And as for the juice, I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

  That’s not happening. Trusting him in general. But I drink some of the juice anyway, then take two headache pills. The spots in my vision fade shortly after sitting down and getting through half the apple juice. I peel the banana and take a small bite. Miles sits across from me, looking completely together. I’m lost now, not sure where to start.

  “Are you really from California?” I ask, making myself believe that I have skills to read him even if he’s a gifted storyteller. I hadn’t been expecting it before, but I am now.

  “No,” he says.

  Truth.

  And now it’s clear why he chose that lie. So he could bring up Simon, find out what I knew. Because California is Senator Gilbert’s home state.

  “What middle school did you and Simon attend together? You told me you went to boarding schools; was that a lie?”

  “St. Matthews. It’s around here.”

  Lie.

  I lean closer. “Yeah, I heard about that school. From Jacob. Apparently he and Bret went there. I’m sure he’ll be able to verify your story.”

  I reach for the pieces of my phone as if preparing to text Jacob.

  Miles sighs. “Fine. It’s a military school.”

  “Good.” I nod. “Tell me about this military school.”

  He leans back in his chair, fingers tapping against the table. “What do you want to know?”

  “Where is it, for starters?” I watch him, and when he hesitates for a beat, creating a false answer, no doubt, I add, “I could easily pull Simon’s file from Miss Geist’s office and find out.”

  “Then do it,” he challenges.