Remember Me

by Bernard,Romily

  It’s piled pretty high. From the looks of it, Price’s secretary has tried to organize everything. Top stuff is faxes. There are some memos mixed in with some UGA alumni stuff. Mail’s at the bottom. Nothing good though.

  Okay. Moving on. I open the desk drawers, flip through the file names. Case paperwork. I switch to the desk’s other side, shutting the top drawer, opening the lower. It’s more of the same. File. File. File. Some of them thick as my wrist. Ridiculous. There’s no way I’m going to find the pictures. Even if they are here, it would take days to filter through everything.

  I shove the file folder into its slot, start to close the drawer, and realize there’s a gap behind the folders. I must not have extended the drawer all the way.

  Rolling my chair to the side, I pull the drawer forward, lengthening it another foot. The file folders stop and behind them is a clutter of law magazines, the edges of a manila envelope poking out from underneath like it had been forgotten . . . or shoved away hastily if someone was coming.

  I tug out the envelope, peek inside. Something’s at the bottom. I stick my hand in, fish around. Huh. Piece of folded paper and something that feels like a jump drive.

  I squint at the small white rectangle. Yep, it’s a jump drive. Why would you need to hide something like this?

  I flip open the paper.

  There are more where these came from. I’ll be in touch soon.

  Even more interesting. I plug the drive into the USB port of my computer and check the time. Crap. I need to wrap this up. When the file listing appears, I click the first item.

  My heart double-thumps.

  It’s a dead body. Are these crime scene photos?

  I scroll through, squinting in the dark. It’s a dead woman. Blondish. Youngish. Lots of blood.

  Why would Chelsea have these? Is it related to a case she was helping Bay with? And why would Corey’s client have wanted them?

  I copy the files from the jump drive to my laptop. Most of the shots are close-ups of the wounds. Looks like the girl was stabbed to death. I select another photo and pause, enlarge the picture and stare. The girl’s face is turned up, eyes and mouth pulled wide.

  It’s Lell.

  “Griff,” I murmur, touching two fingers to my earbud. “I think we have a problem.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I jerk to attention. Milo? What the hell is he doing on our channel?

  “Surprised?” Milo continues in a come on down and tell her what she’s won tone. “I would suggest you get your ass moving. You have company.”

  Company? I open my mouth to tell Milo to screw off and hear footsteps. Oh. God.

  I step away from the desk, listening. The footsteps are heavy, rubber soles thumping against the linoleum. They’re not moving quickly, but they are headed this way.

  I unhook my laptop and drop it in my bag with the jump drive and envelope. I push the CPU back to where it was and hesitate. Now what? If I run for it, whoever’s outside will see me.

  “Yep,” Milo says, sounding thrilled. “That is definitely an Officer Friendly moving your way, Wick. I would find somewhere to hide. Fast. Looks like he noticed the door you left open.”

  I cut my eyes to the office door. Shit. Sure enough, I left it cracked. I spin around, looking for a hiding spot. Desk. Two chairs. Bookshelves. Nothing. Double shit.

  I rocket around, fling myself behind the door so, if he opens it, I’ll be hidden. With any luck, he’ll just close the door as he goes by.

  Only he doesn’t.

  He opens it.

  The wooden door swings wide, arcing in front of me as I suck suck suck myself in. The officer steps inside, snaps his flashlight on, twirls the beam over the office, and snaps it off.

  Almost there. I hold my breath.

  He comes inside.

  With the door in my face, I can’t see where he is, but I can hear him. He’s opening drawers, moving things around. Papers flutter.

  This isn’t a security cop. Can’t be.

  Holding my bag tight against my chest, I step to my left and peek around the door’s edge. The guy’s finished with the desk and moved on to the filing cabinets on the other side. He’s moving things around with force, not caring about the mess. He straightens and I jerk back. Something slams. A drawer?

  Footsteps cross the office, heading for the door. He pulls it shut behind him, and through the space between the jamb and door, I get a glimpse of the guy’s profile.

  It’s Judge Bay.

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  ..................................................................

  Milo clears his throat. “Uh, if I were you, I’d get moving right about now.”

  I’m still pressed against the wall. Moving would be awesome. Too bad my joints have turned to puddles.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Milo?” Griff’s voice crackles in my ear.

  Milo ignores him. “Seriously, Wick. Get going.”

  “Is Bay gone?” I hiss.

  “For the moment.”

  A wave of nausea rushes over me. Somehow, Milo must have gotten on the security feed. The thought does not make me warm and fuzzy. I force myself forward, peek into the hallway. It’s clear.

  “He took your exit,” Milo continues. “You’ll need another way out. Go left.”

  I can’t. If Bay took my exit then he’s headed straight for Griff. I can’t just leave him. “Not without Griff.”

  “I’m fine, Wick. Promise.” Griff’s voice is hushed. Is he hiding? “Go left. The asshole’s right. You can get out through the lower wing. I’ll meet you by the rear stairwell.”

  I pivot left, hugging the wall and struggling not to take off running.

  And screaming.

  My sneakers thud against the linoleum tile and I pray Bay can’t hear me coming like I heard him.

  “Take the stairs down to the bottom floor,” Milo says when I reach the hallway’s end. “Use the fire exit.”

  No way. The fire exits are on a different security system. “Are you crazy?” I’m taking the stairs two at a time now, knowing I’m being loud and not able to stop it. “It’ll sound the alarm.”

  “Not anymore it won’t and FYI? You need to run.”

  I open my mouth to respond when a door on the floor above me scrapes open. Bay. He heard me. He’s coming.

  I jerk to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, stare at the fire exit doors. Do I believe Milo?

  More footsteps. They’re coming down, pinning me.

  Shit. I tighten my messenger bag’s strap, grab the door handles with both hands, and prepare to run like hell.

  The doors open with a whoosh, but no alarm, and I take off across the lawn, running hard for a line of trees at the edge of the grass. Have to get into the dark before Bay comes through that door and sees me. If I can get out of the range of the security lights, I can hide. He won’t be able to tell which way I went.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, I see something move.

  Griff.

  He hooks his hand around mine and we run even harder, tumbling into the shadows.

  “Are you okay?” Griff pulls me into him.

  I nod. “Look.”

  The fire exit door opens and Bay lingers under the light, his head slowly turning as he pans the lawns and sidewalks. He can’t see us, but Griff still edges in front of me, one arm tucking me so close I can feel his heartbeat: too fast, too hard.

  Exactly like mine.

  Bay shuts the door and Griff relaxes. I wrap both arms around him, tugging him against me.

  “Well, isn’t that touching?” Milo appears on our left, walking along the tree line and careful to stay just outside of the security lights’ illumination. He adjusts a backpack over one shoulder and stares down at us. “Now tell the truth: How awesome was I? Even for me, I think that was pretty badass.”

  Griff lunges for him. “The hell are you doing here?”

  “Saving your gi
rlfriend’s ass.” Milo inspects Griff’s grip on his T-shirt like it’s some sort of interesting bug. “No extra charge, by the way.”

  Griff shakes him. “You had no right barging in like that—”

  “Hey, genius, I designed the earbuds.” Milo’s talking to Griff and staring at me, grinning. “I’ll get in whenever I like. Just never felt like it until I realized you were with her. Ballsy move, Wick. All that breaking and entering. I liked it.”

  Cold curls around me. “How could you see what we were doing?”

  Even in the dark, I can see Milo’s eyes light up with satisfaction. “Clever girl. Always asking the right questions. I could see what you were doing because your detective friend restarted the security cameras. He was recording everything: you, your little guest, everything.”

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  ..................................................................

  I hold myself very still. “Carson wasn’t supposed to be recording anything.” The words are coming out sticky, like they refuse to leave my mouth. “That was the deal. If I did this, he said he would make sure the system went down.”

  “And yet he didn’t.” Illuminated by the security lights, Milo’s smile turns yellow. “Good thing I did.”

  Griff straightens. “You took down the feed?”

  “Neat, huh? Don’t you wish you’d thought of it?”

  Griff growls, grabbing Milo by the throat.

  “Stop it!” I wedge myself between them, willing Griff to look at me. After a moment, he does.

  Griff’s hands loosen . . . and he strikes Milo squarely in the chest, flinging him back. Milo staggers, and when he looks up, he laughs.

  “Give me a minute. I’m going to get the bike.” Griff stalks into the dark and I have to struggle not to follow. A few seconds pass and I realize Milo’s still watching me.

  “So.” Milo shoves both hands into his pockets. “Carson, is it? What’s his deal?”

  Have to say something. Need a lie. Need a really good lie.

  Only I’m too flattened to think of anything. I look at Milo and feel like I’m draining straight through my feet. “Carson knows about my . . . extracurricular activities. He says he’ll destroy my family and make sure I go to jail if I don’t work for him.”

  “Shit . . . he’s the guy you called after we found Corey?”

  “Yeah.” I pass one hand over my aching neck, watching him. “You’re taking this pretty well.”

  He shrugs. “I understand better than you know. This is survival. We all do things we aren’t proud of.”

  “Thanks for cutting the feed.”

  Another slow smile. “You’re welcome.”

  The pause is stretching out into a seriously awkward moment. I should just leave it alone. Let it be awkward. I’m no good at that though. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because it’s not your style.” I almost said because you’re not a good guy. It doesn’t matter though. Milo catches my meaning anyway.

  “I’m more like you than you think.” He jerks his chin toward Griff. “I’m more like you than he’ll ever be.”

  I shake my head. “No, he understands where I came from. He’s been where I’ve been.”

  “But does he know where you’re destined to go?”

  Ugh. It annoys the crap out of me that Milo thinks he does. “I love him.”

  “More than hacking? More than all of this?” Milo pans one hand to our surroundings. He smiles again, and in that moment, my skin pushes up in goose bumps.

  “You should think about that,” Milo says, turning away. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  I watch him walk back into the darkness until the shadows have melted him completely. Down the hill, a headlight swings through the lower parking lot. Griff.

  I scramble down the hill and I’m barely settled on the bike before Griff pulls away, speeding toward the exit. We make it to the first traffic light before he finally turns to look at me.

  “You’re never going to get out of this, Wicked.”

  “I did get out of it. Milo cut the feed. Carson lost.”

  “For now. What about a week from now? What about a year? Don’t you understand? He’s never going to let you go. Once you’re useful to them . . . it’s never finished. You’ll never escape.”

  “Yeah, I will.” My bag is wedged between us and it takes me a minute to open it.

  “Did you find what Carson wanted?”

  “I think so.” I hold up my jump drive and Griff gives me a so? look. “They’re pictures of the dead girl I found—Lell. I don’t know how Chelsea got them or why she gave them to Price, but Bay wants them so there’s something good here. I’ll make it my ticket out.”

  “You really think he’ll keep his promise?”

  He will if he knows what’s good for him. I look at Griff and can’t smother my giggle. “Yeah, he will. Remember what you told me? Get leverage? Well, I did.”

  “With the virus?”

  “Exactly.” I can hurt Carson where it hurts the most now: his career. It’s all he has and I’ll ruin it. And just thinking about it makes savage satisfaction surge through me. Is this what Carson felt when he blackmailed me? When he looked at everything I had gained and knew it was leverage?

  I grin at Griff. “It’s done. I’m free.”

  Carson’s house looks bottled up as ever, but after we park, the back door opens and Carson waits for us to come in.

  I lean close to Griff as we approach. “Give me a couple minutes to talk to him and then we’re out of here.”

  Griff nods, waiting in the kitchen as I follow Carson into the living room. He drops onto the sofa, pushing paperwork to the side. He looks utterly at ease . . . until I see his hands are shaking.

  Rage.

  Good. I flick the envelope on top of the pile. “I’m done,” I say, and my smile is crazy easy even though there’s cold sweat under my clothes. “I’m finished.”

  “Are you now?” Carson slowly opens the envelope, eyes on me. “We had a deal. How do I know you kept your end?”

  “Take a look at what I brought you.”

  The detective spends a few minutes trying to access the jump drive from his personal computer, and when he finally does, his breath hitches. “These were in Price’s office?”

  “Yeah, and I found them just before Bay came in. If I had to guess, that’s what the hacker’s client was looking for. Enjoy.” I turn to leave and Carson seizes my wrist, twisting it.

  “Nah-ah-ah. You’re not finished here.”

  My fingers curve into claws. “I think I am. Deal’s a deal. This is your problem now.”

  “Your problem too if Lell’s killer comes looking for you.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You said Bay was at the courthouse? You saw him?”

  I take a steadying breath. “Yeah, and I quit. We’re finished, Carson.”

  The detective’s mouth curls into a knot. “You’ll quit when I’m finished with you. That’s the way this works, trash. I can make you do whatever I want.”

  I lean into Carson, smell how his breath is dry as graveyard dirt. “Not anymore. I uploaded a virus onto Bay’s computer. One keystroke from me and it will activate, putting your digital fingerprints all over his computer files. Try explaining that to your chief of police. You threaten anyone I love again and I will burn you, do you understand?”

  Carson’s eyes narrow and, again, I can’t help my grin. “You’re screwed, Detective.”

  He studies me. “You know you have your father’s smile?”

  “You know you didn’t get anything on me?”

  “Maybe so.” The detective’s eyes flick away from me. He nudges his chin toward Griff. “But I did get him.”

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  “Liar.”

  Carson shrugs. “Wanna see?”

  Before I can answer, he lifts the television remote and clicks on the set, revealing a black-and-white shot of Griff at the side entrance we used. Filmed from only a few feet above him, the image clearly shows his face just before the screen goes black.

  “Ta-da!” Carson’s smile makes me want to vomit.

  Or maybe it’s just the image of Griff—time-stamped—on the television screen as Carson plays the silent clip again and again and again.

  I flick my eyes away, only that’s no good either because now I’m staring at the real Griff, just a dozen steps away in the kitchen, waiting for me to return.

  “You know, I think it actually works out better this way.” Carson pauses the video, taps two fingers against his chin. “He has skills. Granted, they’re not as good as yours, but he has so much to lose.”

  He does. SCAD. Art. His whole future.

  Carson studies me. “I could make him inform for me—think about how he can be seen around the station. More convenient than using you. Everyone will just think he’s visiting his cousin.”

  “His cousin will never let you do this.”

  “His cousin’s afraid of me. And if Griff doesn’t do what I want?” Carson gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “Well, I’ll just use that footage to introduce him to the world as a burgeoning criminal and terrorist—breaking and entering, intent to do harm, trespassing charges for starters. It’s certainly enough evidence for a search warrant. I wonder what else we’d find if we searched his house? Think he’s as careful as you are about hiding your nasty little computer habits?”

  No. He’s never had to be. Griff’s one of the good guys. Always has been.

  Carson settles into his couch, remote control in one hand, jump drive in the other. “If I play it right, I can make sure he does a nice bit of jail time as a domestic terrorist.”

  “I will take you apart if you touch him. So help me I will pull your world down.” Strong words for someone whose knees are pushing toward the floor. I need something better here and all I can think of is how Carson has Griff. He’s almost eighteen. He’ll be tried and convicted as an adult and it’ll follow him forever. The future he wants will never happen.