Even though I know I’m obsessing,I type in the Facebook web address. My computer’s history takes me to Tessa’s page, and I’m almost surprised her parents haven’t taken it down. Tessa’s profile picture still grins at me and I scroll, quickly, to get away from it, heading down the page to find my comment and his reply.
It’s still there, but so is something else. Michael Starling’s written to me again, added a picture, and the image makes a sob claw up my throat.
It’s a picture of Lily. And when I scroll down to the comment below, he’s written:
See who’s next?
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
.....................................................................
I can’t really eat around him anymore, but it doesn’t
stop him from eating. Sometimes, it’s like he’s
empty, and nothing can fill him up.
—Page 44 of Tessa Waye’s diary
In the picture, Lily’s coming down the front steps of her school. She’s smiling. Whoever took the photo is close to her . . . or maybe it’s taken with a zoom lens. Doesn’t matter, he could be a hundred feet away and it would still be too close.
“Wicket? Are you okay?”
I jerk, minimizing the website and spinning around to meet Todd’s gaze. Freaky, sometimes, the way he can move without a single sound. My foster dad is standing in my doorway, but I can’t guess how long he’s been there. Long enough to see the Facebook site? Long enough to see Lily’s picture?
I sit up straight. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Really?” Todd’s face screws up in disbelief. “You look like you’re going to be sick again.”
You have no idea.
I smile at Todd and dig my fingernails into my palms until I feel blood well up. “I have everything under control.”
Todd nods. “I’m heading to the church for a while, and Bren’s on conference calls for the rest of the afternoon.” He turns to go. “Will you be okay on your own for a bit?”
“Sure thing,” I say, and smile at his retreating back like it’s all fine and Michael Starling isn’t a three-hundred-pound weight sitting on my chest.
This is why Tessa jumped.
I’m not a jumper. It’s not in me. But I can run. I am my father’s daughter after all. I can make it so this man who wants my sister will never find us.
Even though Lily’s home by five, I have both of us packed and ready to go. My sister says nothing until I get to the end of my explanation, which isn’t really an end, I just run out of steam.
“We have to go. Tonight.” I haven’t told her the truth, of course. I told her it was Dad. It was Joe. But somewhere, I underestimated my sister . . . or overestimated myself.
Probably both. Because she’s not buying it.
“We don’t need to go anywhere,” Lily says. “We have Bren and Todd now.”
Bren and Todd. Like they’re our parents. Like they care. Does she think if she repeats it enough, somehow it’ll make it real? I start to ask her and stop. After all, for her, it might be real. Or real enough.
An unwanted thought flickers: Would Bren and Todd adopt Lily if I weren’t in the picture?
Yes. No doubt.
she’dS be safer without me.
Then again, how safe are any of us? Look at Tessa. Safety depends on everyone playing along, and not everyone does. Tessa’s abuser didn’t.
I look at Lily. “We need to leave, Lil.”
“Why?”
“You have to trust me.”
“And go where?”
“Wherever you want. Seattle? Miami?” My eyes skip around the room for inspiration and fall on a National Geographic calendar. “What about Europe?”
“What about here?” Lily’s voice scrapes up. “I want to stay here, Wick. I want to go to school. I want to go to college. I don’t want to run.”
“It isn’t running. You want to go to school? Fine. Seriously, Lil, where do you want to go? I can make it happen.”
“No, you can’t. Not for real. You can only do it by hacking.”
Well, duh. “I can enroll you in any school you want to attend. And I can put on the rosters that you graduated with straight As.”
Lily gives her head a quick, tight shake. “It would be a lie.”
“Better than lying to yourself that we’ll ever belong.” I’m being evil now, but I can’t seem to help it. Hacking is really all I have to offer, and it’s not good enough. Not like Bren and Todd. good Not like this borrowed life we’re living. “Look around you, Lily. We don’t belong here.”
“I do.” Her chin hitches up. “I will.”
And what about me? I thought I belonged where she was. Lily drags her bag out of my room, slamming the door hard behind her.
How can she want to stay?
How can she not want to stay? Our lives are supposed to be perfect now.
Tessa’s attacker might think he’s above all this. He might think he won’t be caught. But he can think again. I can do this. Everything just feels different because it hits so close to home, because it involves Lily.
It feels different because it is different.
Then comes Griff’s voice in my head: He’s a fucking psychopath.
“Yeah, he is,” I whisper. “But I can’t trust you either. I have no idea what you’re going to tell Carson.”
It’s another problem. In the meantime, though . . . I scan the other posts below Michael’s. People are spooked, and two of them say they’re going to contact the police—and yet I can’t seem to stop myself from reaching for the keyboard and typing into the comment box:
I’m going to make you pay for that.
And I will.
I hit return, and there’s something satisfying about seeing my response . . . but at the same time, my insides feel hollow.
He’s close enough to take pictures of my sister. I need to make my threats a reality.
I check the time stamp on Lily’s picture. It’s almost six now, so it was posted nearly three hours ago. At that point, most of Tessa’s friends were still in school, so there’s a good chance not all of them have seen it, but, even if one or two people did, this could be a serious problem. Lily and I keep a low profile out of habit, but still . . . people know us. Rumors will spread. Someone will call the Wayes or Bren.
She’ll bring in the cops, and with everything I’m doing for Joe, it’s too dangerous.
I have enough weak spots in my defenses. And even though I don’t want them to, my thoughts cling to Griff again. He still hasn’t called, hasn’t texted. Something’s very wrong. Have I opened myself up for betrayal?
My computer blips again. A new message loads into the comment box below mine:
Not if I find you first.
My hand clenches the mouse as my feet hit the floor. He’s pissed, but so am I, and briefly, it flattens my fear. Angry people make mistakes, and I cannot afford to screw this up.
He replied to my message in less than a minute. That’s not much time to secure your identity. Any mistake, even a small one, would help. I just need a little information, a small tear in his anonymity so I can rip him wide.
I open another window, log on to Tessa’s webmail account. There must be forty or fifty new messages, but the notification from Facebook about the latest posting is right at the top.
I copy the long series of numbers at the email’s very top. Then I pop onto www.myiptest.com and input the copied numbers into a search.
Holy shit. I stare at my screen and think I can’t be seeing what I’m seeing . . . but I am.
The bastard didn’t use his hiding software this time. That’s an IP address.
Stifling a war whoop, I paste the physical address into Google. IP addresses are like phone numbers for your computer. Track them to their server and you can locate the owner. I have to drill down through the information, but it takes me less than thirty seconds to find it.
Only what I fin
d isn’t what I want.
Shit. I squint at the screen, my excitement trickling through my feet. I have my location. It has fifteen computers, running seven days a week. People are moving through pretty much constantly. This doesn’t narrow my focus—it throws it wide open
Lily’s picture was uploaded at the Peachtree City Library.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
.....................................................................
I do not understand how nerds can be happy.
Then again, according to every sitcom on television,
my life should be perfect.
—Page 44 of Tessa Waye’s diary
It takes me fifteen minutes to delete Tessa’s Facebook page. My comments? Gone. His comments? Gone. And the rest of Tessa? That’s gone too.
It kind of feels like she’s being killed again.
I erase all the evidence I can, even running a Gutmann-grade scrubber on my computer to delete all the files and histories associated with Tessa’s Facebook account. But this should buy me time.
Time enough to track down who was using that computer to upload Lily’s picture? God only knows. I have no idea how to get the information from the library. I doubt they keep the names in an electronic format I could hack, so that leaves me . . . ?
Nowhere. I check my email once more, but there’s still no response from Tally, so I retreat to the kitchen where Bren is pacing back and forth on a conference call.
“Lauren’s here,” she mouths before telling the person on the other end of her Bluetooth that his pricing is ridiculous.
“We can go elsewhere,” Bren continues, clicking her pen nonstop. “If you want to play ball, then you need to come to the table with a legitimate offer.”
“She always like this?” Lauren hops up onto one of the dark wood bar stools lining the kitchen island.
“Pretty much.” We watch Bren stalk down the hallway, popping her clicker pen. “I think it’s all part of the plan for world domination.”
Lauren nods. “Anyway, I came by to get you. I’m having a party at my house tonight, and I want you to come.”
“I’m not big on crowds.” Which is a shorthand way of saying I’m not big on hanging out with the same people who dropped me in a Dumpster.
“It’s a pool party, Wick. You need the break, and it’ll be fun.” Lauren puts one hand on my arm, talking to me like I rode in on the short bus. “They won’t bother you. I’ll make sure of it.”
I stare at her. Lauren had to have been dropped on her head at cheerleading practice if she thinks Jenna won’t bother me anymore. “Why are you even friends with Jenna?”
Lauren shrugs. “If I weren’t, she’d think I’m scared of her.”
“Lauren.” Bren reappears, pulling off her headset and looking tired. “So nice to see you.”
“Hi, Mrs. Callaway. I was just stopping by to pick up Wick. My mom said I could have some people over tonight—kinda like the last fling before we start SAT preps next week.”
“SAT preps start next week?” Bren’s eyebrows knit. “Wick, did you tell me that?”
Not likely. “I didn’t really see the point in taking the SAT.”
Lauren cocks her head. “But you have really good grades. Why wouldn’t you take it?”
“Yes, exactly. I don’t understand,” Bren adds. Now both of them are watching me like I’m some sort of performing poodle.
Which I am so not. “Well, um, I’ve had quite a bit going on.”
You know? Like surviving? I shoot Lauren a pointed look. You can’t have a normal life when your meth-dealer dad is on the run and you’re scamming innocent people for money and dead girls’ diaries are showing up on your doorstep. “I don’t think anyone in my entire family has ever gone to college. I’m lucky I have the grades I do.”
“That has nothing to do with luck,” Bren says quietly.
She’s right, of course. Around here, teachers don’t give you a good grade because you’re the plucky poor kid. This isn’t a freakin’ Lifetime movie. I’ve had to work for everything.
“So can she go, Mrs. Callaway?”
Bren fidgets with her Bluetooth headset, clearly conflicted between fury over my not telling her about the SAT preps and giddiness that I’m being included in a quasi-school function.
“Absolutely. I really think you should go, Wick.”
“Bren, do I look like the kind of person who goes to pool parties? Do I look like someone who even swims?”
Lauren sighs. “Yeah, you are kind of pasty.”
“Pasty doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I lean one hip against the kitchen counter. “People see me in shorts, they’re going to think an angel has landed.”
Bren starts coughing.
“No one is ever going to see you and think of angels,” Lauren says. “You have to come. I could drag you, you know. I am bigger than you are.”
“Not by much.” But I edge away a little to be safe. Lauren has freaky head cheerleader strength. She weight trains with some of the football players. And I . . . well, I spend my time tapping on my computer.
“Besides,” Lauren continues, “Griff’s going to be there. I told him you were coming, so he said he’d come too.”
I stiffen. “When did you see Griff?”
“Just before I came here. Why?”
“No reason.”
Lauren leans in a little closer, and her innocent smile worms its way wide. “Griff says you two have something really important to talk about.”
I try to smile back, pretend my insides aren’t suddenly twisted. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. He said something about having the names of an IT address.”
“What—an IP address?”
Lauren snaps her fingers. “That’s it. An IP address. He says it’s really important for your computer science project.”
“Anything else?”
She shrugs. “He said something about how he has names associated with it. Honestly, all I really remember is ‘Blah, blah, blah, need to see Wick.’”
What the hell? Is he talking about the library IP address? Could he have the real name of the person who used that computer? I check my phone. Six thirty. I have thirty minutes before I’m supposed to meet Tally. If I hurry, I can make both.
“I’ll be there.”
Once Lauren’s gone,left I head straight for Tally’s house and wait by the path, but seven o’clock comes and goes without any sign of her. I give it another ten minutes and wonder if I’m being blown off.
If this were any other client, I’d be so gone. Actually, if this were any other client, I wouldn’t even be here. I don’t meet anyone face-to-face, and I sure as hell don’t march up to a client’s house and knock on the door.
But that’s exactly what I decide to do. Tally wouldn’t leave me hanging like this. Something’s wrong. And the closer I draw to her house, the more I think I’m right. The whole place looks shut down. The curtains are drawn. The garage door is shut.
I should turn around and go home. Instead, I grab a copy of Wired magazine from my messenger bag and decide, if Mr. or Mrs. Waye answers the door, I’ll tell them I’m selling subscriptions to raise money for school. That’ll work, right?
Right. I stab the doorbell with one finger. For a long moment, there’s nothing, and then someone moves on the other side of the door and a face appears in the stained glass.
“Wicket!”
I wave. “Hi, Brandy!”
The door swings open, and I’m grabbed up in a massive bear hug. Brandy has been the Wayes’ housekeeper ever since I used to come here as a child. I never saw her after that horrible afternoon, but she holds on to me like we never stopped being friends.
“I didn’t see you at the funeral,” I murmur into her shoulder.
“I couldn’t face it.” Brandy pushes me back with such force I might have stumbled if she hadn’t been gripping my upper arms. “What are you doing here?”
>
“Um, well.” It would have been easier to lie to the Wayes. I grimace and decide to try for the truth instead. “Actually, I was looking for Tally. Is she around?”
Brandy shakes her head, dark hair falling in her eyes. “No, she’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah, with her mom.” Brandy sounds very matter-of-fact, but her mouth stretches like she’s pressing down tears. “I’m gone too. The Wayes are divorcing. Mrs. Waye took Tally to Charleston to be with her mother. They’re not coming back.”
“Why’s that?”
Brandy shrugs, glances back inside like she’s afraid of being overheard. “Don’t know. She said she had to keep Tally safe.”
My skin goes cold. Safe. Does Mrs. Waye know what really happened to Tessa?
“I’m leaving too. Now.” Brandy steers me toward the street, where a lanky guy in a beat-up Toyota pulls up to meet us. “I’m so glad I got to see you before I left, Wicket.”
Suddenly, I’m glad too . . . and sorry. I hadn’t really thought about Brandy in years, but now I miss the way she used to smile at me, how she used to tell me I could be anything . . . and I believed her.
Brandy throws open the passenger door and passes her purse to the guy inside. She turns around, hugs me again. “Stay away from here, Wicket. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s furious—completely enraged. Do not come back here. You remember how he is.”
Of course I do. I stand at the curb and watch Brandy drive off. I remember a man so controlling he selected Tessa’s clothes, criticized her behavior, chose his daughter’s friends based on their parents’ connections. I thought he was awful. I still do. But now I wonder if it wasn’t something else driving him. What if Mr. Waye was grooming Tessa? I thought it was all about making her perfect enough to live in his perfect life. But what if he was grooming Tessa to be perfect for him?
It would explain why she never told Tally. It would also explain why he stood outside our house. He’s hungry for Lily.
Find Me Page 13
