by K. C. Archer
Teddy made a vague motion with her hand. “Not Corey. I’m talking in general terms.”
His eyes narrowed. “No, you’re not.” Nick wasn’t stupid. “Something else happened at San Quentin, didn’t it?” he said, his voice harsh.
Again she felt the urge to unburden herself. Even stronger was the urge to ask for his help. Could she bet on Nick? She still wasn’t sure.
Nick let out an exasperated sigh. “All right, fine. Don’t tell me,” he said. “Let me see if I can guess. Some inmate in there got to you somehow. Fed you some tale of woe. ‘I didn’t do it. I was framed.’ Christ, Teddy. We’re talking San Quentin here. Five percent of inmates openly brag about their crimes. The other ninety-five percent insist they’re innocent bystanders who were set up by crooked cops and paid-off judges.”
She leveled her chin. “So that never happens, huh?”
“Of course it happens. People get struck by lightning, too. Does that mean you run every time you hear thunder?”
She looked up. “Sky’s clear. But thanks for the advice, Agent Stavros.”
He caught her arm as she turned away. “Look, the justice system isn’t perfect. I have no doubt I’ve messed up a few investigations, but never deliberately. The same is true for the rest of my colleagues.”
“I’m sure,” she said. “You’re all a bunch of Eagle Scouts. No manipulation at all on your part, or Clint’s, in getting me to come to Whitfield. But maybe that’s a bad example.” She wished she hadn’t said it. She wanted to let it go, but after her conversation with Yates, she didn’t know how.
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Teddy—”
“Do you mind?” she said. He was still holding her arm. “I’ve got a class.”
He released her. “Document what happened on the McDonald case. That’s the investigation that matters. You’ll find out soon enough that half of all crime-solving is paperwork.”
She walked away from him as quickly as she could. She crossed the campus without slowing, her legs carrying her toward Fort McDowell. But once she was inside, she stopped. The thought of spending the next two hours listening to Clint Corbett lecture on empathy made her stomach churn. Even after her promise to stop skipping his class, she couldn’t face it.
Instead, she turned down the hallway to Dunn’s empty classroom. Teddy found herself studying a particularly complex diagram of the brain. What made her brain so different from someone else’s, someone like Nick? Or Corey?
Footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Teddy turned around to see Dunn, who was shrugging a blazer over his Science Rules T-shirt. “Sorry, Professor, I was just—”
“Supposed to be in Empathy 101?” he said.
Teddy watched as he unpacked his bag at the front of the room. “I just got back from San Quentin with Agent Stavros.” She looked down. “Felt like I wasn’t really up to class after seeing the justice system up close.”
Dunn nodded. “I understand.”
She remembered the first days of school, when Dunn had spoken of mental attacks. Though the students had continued to work on strengthening their telepathic communication, they hadn’t talked about mental influence since then. Had Yates influenced her, too? Made her come talk to him? Had she been played? But she’d seen the signs enough to know the symptoms. The dilated pupils, lost time, the distorted thoughts afterward.
“Professor,” Teddy started. “May I ask you a theoretical question?”
Dunn put down a graph he was looking at and nodded. “Of course.”
“You mentioned mental attacks last semester.”
“I did.”
“How do you know if . . .” Teddy began. “I’m not really sure how to put it.”
“There are a lot of different kinds of mental attacks,” Dunn said. He sat down behind his desk. “It’s any kind of uninvited connection. Mental influence, for example, when you direct people to perform an action against their will.” Like Clint had in Vegas. But that wasn’t what Yates had done to her.
“Clint sometimes gets into my head. But it doesn’t hurt.”
Dunn pressed his hands together. “Go on.”
Teddy nodded. “Can pain accompany telepathy or other forms of psychic communication? Like influence?” She thought of the viselike pain that had accompanied Yates’s first words.
“Is this still purely hypothetical?”
Teddy looked away. She was sure that, like Clint, Dunn could tell what she was thinking, so she checked her wall, sent another jolt of power to be sure it held.
“Yes, there’s certainly a way to make your presence known. That’s why it’s so important to have a strong wall or defense, which I know you’ve worked on with Professor Corbett,” he said. “But here at Whitfield, we don’t believe in using power like that. Even when we mount a mental attack.”
“Thanks,” Teddy said. “I should probably go back to class.” She turned to leave, but Dunn stopped her.
“You know, technically, what you do is a mental attack.”
“But I don’t hurt people.” Teddy thought about the way she slipped into people’s minds. An invasion of privacy? Yes. But an attack?
“You may not intend to hurt people,” Dunn said. “But sometimes when you try to force your way in, you leave scars. Like with Ms. Quinn.”
“I never meant to hurt Molly.” She’d barely been in control of her abilities back then. Teddy would apologize; they would argue; Molly would forgive her like Jillian had. That’s what friends did.
Dunn nodded. “I know.”
“She said that your techniques have helped her shut out students’ feelings. She’s not as, well, jumpy, as she used to be.” Teddy looked down, rubbed her hands on her pants. “Almost like a different person.” Molly had hung back as they worked the case. She may have been keeping others’ emotions at bay, but she was keeping her own at bay, too. After their conversation in the library, Teddy hadn’t pushed further, though she could have.
Dunn shuffled some papers on his desk. “Ms. Quinn hasn’t shown up for her tutorial in weeks.”
Every time Teddy thought she understood Molly, she discovered something that changed her perception. Molly had said Dunn’s techniques were helping her, yet she’d been bailing on his sessions.
“My second-years are coming in soon. If you have any other questions about theoretical mental attacks, please let me know. But Teddy?”
“Yes?”
“This is a very serious and potentially dangerous realm of psychic study. Not one to be taken lightly.”
Teddy left Dunn’s classroom. She still wasn’t ready to go to class. Everyone would want to know about her trip to San Quentin. She wasn’t sure she could deliver that information without mentioning Yates.
Yates had been right about the handwriting. And the hat. Clearly he’d known her parents and Clint. There was a photograph to prove it. But could she trust that he was telling the truth about Whitfield? Or Clint’s involvement in his setup? She needed evidence. Evidence she might have once she accessed the video file Yates had mentioned. Convenient that Teddy knew someone who was a certified CIA-level hacker.
* * *
It was dark when Teddy knocked on the door of Molly and Dara’s dorm room. Inside, Molly sat on her bed, a laptop on her knees. Dara wasn’t there.
“You’re supposed to wait for a response before you enter someone’s room,” Molly said, closing the laptop.
“And we’re supposed to be technology-free at Whitfield,” Teddy said. “But I guess we’re both rule-breakers, aren’t we?” She’d meant it as a joke, but the words came out more harshly than she intended.
Molly ignored the question. “Where have you been all day? Everyone’s been looking for you.”
“Around,” Teddy said. She had been so focused and careful in her conversation with Corey, but now, across from Molly, she floundered. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t an interrogation. This was an apology, and she couldn’t rely on any psychic tricks.
“Great talk
,” Molly said.
“Listen, I know I’ve been a bad friend,” Teddy said. “But I’m working on it.”
“I appreciate that, Teddy,” Molly said. “But I think you should go.” She stood up and moved as if to usher Teddy out the door.
Teddy had come for a few reasons; her motivations were not completely pure. It had been a lame apology, even she had to admit. But there was too much at stake. “Well,” she said, “I need your help.”
“I thought you came here because you were worried about me. Now you need a favor? Which one is it?” Molly crossed her arms.
Teddy could no longer see the world the way she had at the poker table. She used to know everyone’s cards and would make her move accordingly. She’d raise when she would win the pot, fold when she would lose. Each decision calculated to her benefit. Being at Whitfield had changed that. Clint, Molly, Jillian, Pyro, even Nick had changed that. She wanted to be the person they told her she could be—someone who did the right thing, played well on a team, never left a teammate behind. But maybe she was better off alone.
She needed to leave this room with the USB drive Molly had used on Halloween. She would watch the surveillance video. If Yates were innocent, she would send the file to his lawyer. He would hold up his end of the bargain. She would find her mother and she would expose how Whitfield had been compromised. If Yates was telling the truth about that, then everyone around her was in danger. They would see that her actions had been in their interest, too.
“It’s both. I know it sounds bad, but—you’re the only one who can help me.”
“Teddy, I can barely manage my own course load.”
Teddy didn’t want to have to pressure Molly. That was how she rationalized this. Pressure. Not blackmail. “You owe me. Especially after the exam.”
Molly rubbed her wrists, as if easing an old hurt.
“Molly, I need a USB drive. The one you used in the lab on Halloween that allows you to access someone’s computer. And then I need to duplicate a hard drive.”
Molly bit her lip. “Teddy, I can’t. If you get caught, they’ll know it was me in the lab. You can’t just clone a hard drive without—”
Teddy swallowed, steeling herself for what she would do next. It definitely wasn’t a good-friend move. “I know you’ve been skipping your sessions with Professor Dunn. So whatever line of horseshit you’ve been peddling about feeling better because of his exercises is a lie. I also know that you left school because you attacked someone last year. Just like you attacked me.” Molly’s eyes watered, and Teddy knew she understood that what Teddy had said was meant as a threat; if Molly wanted Teddy to keep her secrets, she had to turn over the USB drive. Teddy tried to keep her voice even. She didn’t want to be moved by Molly’s display. “I know it’s not your fault, Molly. You’re going through stuff. But so am I.”
“You’re blackmailing me?” Molly said.
“I’m giving you the chance to help. And in return, I’m going to help you.”
Molly’s chin began to quiver. “Teddy, I can’t.”
“I’ll probably need to borrow your computer, too,” Teddy said. “Just for a day or so.”
Molly stood up, silent. For a second, Teddy wasn’t sure if she would hand it over. After what felt like an eternity, Molly opened a drawer in her nightstand. Her voice was quiet but clear. “I’m assuming you don’t know what you’re looking for. So you’ll need at least five minutes to copy the hard drive onto the disk.” She handed both the laptop and the USB drive to Teddy.
“I’ll give everything back when I’m done.” She’d blackmailed a friend. Was she supposed to feel different now? Jeremy’s words from that Empathy 101 class long ago echoed in her ear: Sometimes the end justifies the means. Teddy swallowed. What she was doing was right. It had to be. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
“Yeah, sure. That’s what friends are for.” Molly walked to her desk, scrawled down a note, and handed it to Teddy. “Here’s the password.”
Teddy took it, then turned and made her way out the door. As she was leaving, Molly spoke: “You think you’re the one acting noble. But the truth is you just do whatever you want, Teddy. You don’t take anyone else into consideration. You don’t even look behind to see who you’ve left in your wake.”
Teddy didn’t turn around. “I’ll explain it later if I can,” she said. She didn’t say she was sorry because—deep down—she wasn’t.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
IF SHE WAITED EVEN A day, Teddy wasn’t sure she’d be able to go through with what had to happen next. Armed with Molly’s USB drive, she walked around the corner of Harris Hall and headed between campus buildings in the direction of faculty housing. She’d first considered sneaking into Nick’s room when he wasn’t there, grabbing his computer, and putting Molly’s USB drive to quick use. But Nick nearly always kept his laptop in the canvas messenger bag he carried with him to class, so that plan wouldn’t work. Nor did she have enough skill—or, frankly, nerve—to sneak into his room while he slept.
She practiced her script as she walked along the coastal path toward the small cluster of buildings where the faculty lived. I know it’s late. But I want to finish up my paperwork for the McDonald case. I can’t find the forensics report, and I was wondering if you had a copy.
She repeated it again and again, the words falling into rhythm with her steps. Not many professors lived on campus, but for those who did, there were converted barracks from Angel Island’s days as a military base. Teddy scanned each door for Nick’s name.
His was the last on the row. “I know it’s late,” she said under her breath. She could hear the faint sound of the television within, the shuffle of socked feet. She knocked.
Nick swung open his door, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Teddy?” He looked beyond her, perhaps to see if she had come alone. “What’s wrong?”
Her mind went blank. The words she’d been practicing were suddenly gone.
“What are you doing here?”
“It’s late,” she said, trying to stick to the script.
Nick stuck his head out the door, doing a quick canvass of the area, then grabbed her arm. “Come inside before anyone sees you.”
And then she was inside.
He was wearing his athletic clothes, and his hair was damp, giving her the impression that he’d just returned from a late-night run. He smelled like cinnamon—Old Spice.
“McDonald case,” she said, the words coming back to her now. Why did he make her so nervous? Pyro didn’t make her nervous, with his bravado and cheesy one-liners. That, Teddy knew how to handle. But Nick? “I wanted to finish the paperwork for the case while it was still fresh in my mind. I—”
Nick turned to organize the files that were spread out along his coffee table. As he did, his T-shirt rose to reveal a stretch of smooth, muscular skin. His back was paler than she’d thought it would be, considering they lived in California. He probably worked too much to go to the beach. The illicitness of viewing skin she wasn’t supposed to see, and discovering something personal about him, stopped her in her tracks. “I misplaced my copy of the forensics report.” She paused as he turned to face her. “Do you have a copy?”
Nick came back toward Teddy. “You walked all the way down here to ask about a file?” He looked at his watch. “At eleven o’clock at night?”
“Yes?” Teddy said. Even she was unsure about it now. It had seemed logical before.
“Do you want something to drink?”
“Wh-what?” No, she didn’t want a drink. She wanted the report. He was supposed to go get the report. She was supposed to find the laptop, use Molly’s USB drive.
“A drink.” He went into a kitchenette tucked into the corner. Teddy took the minute to study her surroundings. Atop a narrow desk, pushed against one wall, was Nick’s laptop, on and open. She let out a breath. This could actually still work.
“Don’t worry, nothing alcoholic. Water, coffee, juice?” he said.
“What kind of juice?” She looked around the rest of the apartment. Behind a door that was slightly ajar, she glimpsed a bed, neatly made with a navy blue comforter. A second door was closed. A few clean plates sat in a drying rack next to the sink. A coffee cup sat next to the paperwork table. The television was broadcasting an NBA game.
“Orange.”
“Okay, sure.” Pyro had never offered her juice. She’d never given him the chance. Nick was her teacher. Yet here she was in his apartment.
He went to the fridge, took out a Golden State Warriors mug, and filled it with OJ. Their fingers brushed as she reached for it. “Thanks,” she said.
“So why are you really here, Teddy?”
She looked around the apartment. The laptop. That’s why she was really here. But she couldn’t say that. “McDonald’s forensics report.”
“And when I get it,” he said, “you’ll go?”
“Yes.” Teddy said.
“You didn’t come here because you wanted to talk about what happened today? Between you and McDonald?” His brown eyes searched hers. She knew he wanted her to share. To say that she felt shaken by Corey’s confession. But it wasn’t Corey’s confession that was rattling her.
“I came for the paperwork, Nick.”
“I’ll get it for you, then. I’ve got copies in my office. I should probably change my shirt, too.” He smiled. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
This was actually going to work. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she forced a smile. “Thanks.”
Nick walked toward the second door.
Don’t look at his ass. Focus, Cannon.
The moment the door closed behind him, she raced toward his laptop. She dug Molly’s flash drive from her pocket and plugged it in. The screensaver on Nick’s computer sputtered, flickered on and off, then went black. The machine gave a whirling, fluttery noise, as if an internal fan had clicked on high. Molly’s code flooded the screen—page after page of what looked like pure binary nonsense—as a million windows came up. For a moment, Teddy wondered if maybe the drive was a virus and not a clone. Then a progress bar popped up on the screen, showing Stavros Hard Drive. Molly hadn’t been playing her. Teddy’s heart sped right along with the little wheel as she strained to hear the sound of Nick’s return.
