“Are you almost done? They’re coming this way,” I whisper-shouted.
“Fuck. I swear I almost got it.” The door clicked. I gasped, smiling at him. He’d unlocked it. He shoved the tools in his hands into his pocket. “Now we have to wait until they leave.”
“I’m really uncomfortable in this position,” I whispered.
The guys came closer. They were on the grass now, walking directly toward us. These were the things that pissed me off about humans. Why did they have to take the picture right beside us? Why not on the other side of the damn building? It’s like arriving at an empty parking lot and deciding to park beside the one car there. Stupidity. Logan shifted me so that he was carrying me, his hands on my ass as he hoisted me against the wall. I gave out a soft, unexpected yelp.
“What are you?”
“Stop looking at them.”
I brought my eyes to his. He was entirely too close to me, his nose touching mine, his mouth just a touch from mine. I wrapped my arms tighter around his neck, so that we were closer still, our breath mingling, and as the guys finally reached us and stood just a few feet away, Logan’s mouth pressed against mine. The kiss seemed to suck the air out of my lungs. It started as what I would call a soap opera kiss, fake, just lips moving, no emotion, but it quickly bloomed into something more.
With our wet hair and faces and adrenaline pumping through us, the kiss turned into something animalistic—needy and hot, completely overwhelming. His tongue rolled against mine with a familiarity that made me second-guess every kiss in my past. The way he devoured my mouth made me think there was no way I’d been doing it right, no way the guys who came before him had any clue what they were doing. Our surroundings vanished, the drunk guys taking pictures, the people walking, the task at hand were all second place to this. Logan broke the kiss slowly, as if it was taking every ounce of self-control to do so. His breathing was hard as he searched my eyes.
“They’re gone.”
“Huh?”
“The coast is clear. We can go inside now.”
“Oh.” I blinked, unwrapping myself from him and placing my feet on the ground slowly. “Right.”
He opened the door and pulled me inside. I wasn’t sure what I thought was going to transpire, but it was definitely not business as usual. That’s exactly what happened as Logan took the stairs two at a time and I followed behind, heart pounding, trying to ignore the rawness of my lips. He was a player. That’s what they did, they kissed girls and moved on without second thought. Who knows how many of them he’d kissed this week alone. I shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. When I reached the top of the stairs, I brought out my phone and aimed my flashlight. I could see why Marcus said the door was small. Not terribly small, just smaller than people were today.
“When do you think this was built?” I asked as Logan stepped forward with his tools to break in.
“Eighteen-hundreds.”
“No wonder the door is so small,” I said, illuminating the lock with my flashlight. “Where’d you learn how to pick locks anyway?”
“Jail.”
I stepped back. “You went to jail?”
“No.” He made a noise that I wasn’t sure if it was a laugh or a scoff. “You’re moving the light.”
“Sorry.” I stepped forward.
He turned the knob and pushed the door in, standing up and letting me pass. I pointed the light inside the room. It was a tiny room, with a couple of boxes, and the painting. It wasn’t in a frame—it was just on the wall, tacked on as if it were elementary school artwork in a grandmother’s kitchen. I removed it carefully from the wall and rolled it up as I was told, stuffing it into my shirt for safekeeping.
“You’re going to put a fifty-million-dollar art piece in your shirt like it’s a five-dollar bill?”
“They had it tacked onto the wall like it was a kid’s painting,” I said. “Besides, it’s the only way to get out of here without looking like we stole something.”
I was feeling good about the whole thing as I walked down the stairs until the alarm started going off. Logan and I looked at each other for a second before we took off running at full speed. My footsteps landed on the concrete as I chased after him, holding onto my chest with one hand and swinging my other arm for momentum. The ground was wet and my sneakers sloshed as I ran faster, harder. There were police sirens approaching, the unmistakable lights of a police car illuminating the night. Logan stopped running suddenly and turned to grab my hand, ushering me toward the woods. We didn’t speak, our breaths coming out in pants as we walked through the woods, and the same area we’d done the previous exercise in. We walked to the other side of the street, where there was a black four door Porsche with the lights on.
“Get in.” Logan opened the back door for me. I did as he said and he climbed in right behind me.
“Did you get it?” Nolan asked, turning in the driver’s seat.
I nodded, still panting.
“We got it. Cops are here though,” Logan said. “They must have had a silent alarm we triggered.”
“Do you think they have a tracker on the painting?” I asked, mostly because I’d seen The Da Vinci Code and one could never be certain.
“Shit,” Marcus said.
“You better check that before we take it to The Lab,” Nolan added. I slid the rolled up painting out of my shirt and handed it to him.
“Drive,” Logan roared as the clear sound of sirens neared.
Nolan floored it. The car accelerated so fast, my back hit the seat. I pulled my seatbelt on as he took the first turn. Logan did the same thing beside me. We drove a couple of blocks. We were driving by Hailey’s coffee shop and bar when Nolan’s phone rang. He picked it up, his gaze flicking to me on the rearview as he spoke in what seemed like codes—yes, no, maybe, yes, tomorrow. When he hung up, he announced he was dropping me off at home.
“Thank you.” I let out a relieved breath.
“Tomorrow night, Logan will take you to The Lab.”
“And then I can ask questions?” My knee bounced.
“That’s how it works,” Logan said. “After we give you the rundown on things. How we started, why, all that fun stuff.”
“For now, you get some rest,” Marcus added. “You look like you need it.”
“Thanks. I am painfully aware of the fact that I look like shit.” I stared at him. “Are you on the hockey team too? Because I can make it a point to take pictures from your worst angles.”
They all laughed. I found myself smiling a little at my joke. Marcus looked over his shoulder at me.
“Thankfully for myself and the team, you won’t find me on the ice.” He winked.
“Marcus used to play soccer, but he got injured,” Logan said.
“I’m sorry.”
“No biggie.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I didn’t have professional ambitions. I’m perfectly content being an accountant like my dad.”
“Well, everyone needs an accountant,” I said.
“That’s right.” He smiled and turned around.
The car slowed down and came to a stop in front of my building. Logan got out of the car first. We both said bye and watched the car drive off for a beat before turning and walking into the building.
“I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.”
“I need a shower and I’m tired. I have to be up early tomorrow.”
“Oh.” I waved at Gary before turning my attention back to Logan. “To work out?”
“Yeah. I have family coming into town and want to get it over with.”
“Seeing them?” I pushed the button to the elevator.
“Yeah. Seeing them, hanging out and pretending I’m okay with their existence. Shit like that.”
“Sounds torturous.” We stepped into the elevator.
“It is.”
“Well, if you need moral support, I’m not doing anything tomorrow morning and I’m willing to sacrifice myself for the sake of saving you during that terrible ti
me.”
“Why would you subject yourself to that?” He side-eyed me as we stepped out of the elevator on our floor.
“I know what it’s like to deal with a dysfunctional family in the morning.” I shrugged as we idled in the hall, between both our apartments.
“Yeah, I’ve heard horror stories about your Thanksgiving dinners.”
“From Lincoln?” I frowned. “Horror stories?”
“I was being sarcastic. The fact that you all choose to get together for any kind of dinner kind of means you’re not as bad as you think.”
“Dysfunctional doesn’t necessarily mean bad.”
“What does it mean then?”
“Not normal.”
“Ah.” His lip turned up slightly. “Well, my family isn’t dysfunctional. It’s practically non-existent.”
“Is that why you joined this thing?” I frowned. “What is it called anyway?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow, and yes, that’s part of the reason I joined.”
“Well, I better go get some rest. Marcus said I look like shit.” I smiled weakly.
“Marcus is an asshole. You look fine, but you should get some rest.”
“Good night then.” I started walking toward my apartment.
He gave a salute and started walking toward his. He didn’t invite me to tag along in the morning and I honestly hadn’t expected him to. A part of me wished he would have though. It was the same part of me that wanted to get to know him better, for reasons I didn’t quite understand. He left a lot to the imagination. Maybe that was it. He gave just enough to pique interest, but not enough to satisfy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Unknown number: SHES STILL OUT THERE.
Unknown number: I KNOW WHO TRIED TO KILL YOUR BROTHER.
I blinked as I read the text messages. Normally they were at least accompanied by one from my mother letting me know what Lincoln’s status was and another from either Hailey or Celia, trying to see when we could hang out. This time, it was those lone messages that greeted me first thing in the morning when I looked at my phone. I pressed my palms to my eyes and took a deep breath. What could I do? Go to the police? It was an unknown number from phones that were disconnected as soon as they were sent. I got out of bed, taking my phone with me to the bathroom.
As I brushed my teeth, I sent Hailey a text letting her know I’d be at the coffee shop in half an hour. I needed to talk to someone about this. Normally, Lincoln would be my someone, but he wasn’t here right now. Not really anyway. My chest squeezed at the thought. Two weeks were almost up. Soon he’ll be awake and able to tell us what happened. At least that was what I was hoping for. Mom wasn’t as hopeful. When she spoke to me yesterday, her voice only held grief and regret. She said the brain was a fragile thing and we weren’t sure how he’d be once he woke up. Hearing that broke my heart. I asked her who had been in the house, who had access to his room, and she called me crazy, said that he’d done this to himself, despite what I thought he said. What I thought he said. Meaning, she didn’t believe he’d shaken his head to tell me he hadn’t tried to kill himself.
By the time I left the apartment, I felt as gloomy as the sky above me. I kept my head down as I walked to the coffee shop. I was supposed to take pictures of football practice this afternoon and I had the initiation tonight. Not that anyone had bothered with telling me at what time or where that was. I also needed to go back to the rest of Lana’s notes on her computer and at some point, do actual school work. I was just so tired. So, so tired. Last night, I’d gone to bed as soon as I got home, but not even the exhaustion in my limbs helped me with the tossing and turning. I pulled open the door to the coffee shop and let out a shaky, cold, breath. Normally, it was busy in here. This morning, it seemed as though it was just me. Becca smiled at me as I approached.
“You look exhausted. How’s your brother?”
“The same.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll keep praying for him.” Her brown eyes furrowed slightly.
“Thank you. It means a lot.” I tried to smile, but as usual when discussing Lincoln, I wasn’t sure my mouth moved much.
“Do you want your usual?”
“Yes, please.” I took my wallet out to pay. “You know what? Just give me whole milk. Fuck it.”
“You only live once.” Becca laughed lightly.
“How’s school going?”
“It’s . . . okay. I’m applying to schools everywhere. I mean, everywhere except here.” Her cheeks tinted as she leaned in and whispered, “Don’t tell my sister.”
“I won’t.” I smiled, handing her the money. “Have you always wanted out?”
“God, yes.”
“Do you know what you want to do?”
“Not yet. I’m thinking maybe become a teacher. Something that helps shape kids. You know, pick up the slack for absent parents. That sort of thing.”
“Ah, so daddy issues do help after all.”
“I also have mommy issues. And all the issues.” She laughed. “I hide them well.”
“I can see that. You always look so upbeat.”
“No, I mean, I am upbeat. I just work with what I have, you know?” She lowered her voice again, looking around quickly. “Unlike my sister. She just bottles things up. She’s going to blow one of these days.”
“She seems to be doing well enough,” I said. “Is she here? I texted her and she said she would be.”
“She’ll be here soon. Uncle Deacon needed help with some things at his farm.” Her gaze flicked over my head, to where I knew the small television was. Hailey said they’d installed it there for the world soccer games during the summer and left it because it was easier than taking it down. “Did you hear the police got an anonymous call on Lana Ly?”
“What? No.” My head whipped around and zoned on the news playing. “Can you turn it up?”
She did, and we caught the tail end of the report, with the newscaster saying, “Authorities are looking into the anonymous tip and urges anyone who may have any information about the disappearance of Lana Ly to please come forward.”
“Damn,” Becca whispered. I turned to her, heart pounding. “Do you think she’s alive?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered back, pulling out my phone to see if I could find what the anonymous tip had been.
Becca moved away and started making my latte as I stood there, unable to move from my spot as I scrolled through the first page of my search. The door opened behind me and the bell over the door gave a light ring as it shut again. I turned around in time to see Hailey walking inside. She’d dyed her hair brown and looked completely different, more sophisticated, with her high cheekbones and brown eyes more visible. Just as I was telling her I loved that color on her, a man walked in behind her. Everything about him was massive, from his thick arms that stuck out of cut-off denim sleeves to his stature, which was well over six feet. He was probably closer to Travis’s height than Logan’s, but even Travis, with all his athleticism, didn’t look like this. This guy had a mean look about him. He zeroed his dark eyes on mine and smiled. It wasn’t kind.
“Pretty,” he said.
“This is my friend, Mae,” Hailey said, her voice loud and clear. “Friend.”
“Pretty friend.” Deacon grinned.
There was something obviously wrong with him, but I didn’t know what. My automatic assumption of him and thinking he was mean was way off though. Deacon obviously had an impediment. I took Hailey’s lead and spoke in a raised, clear voice, and hoped it sounded less like a shout and more teacher-like authority.
“Hi, Deacon.” I smiled.
He walked over to me, boots stomping loudly, stared at me for a moment longer. It was enough to get me frazzled. His clear blue eyes were zoned in on me as if trying to uncover the thoughts inside my head. I tore my gaze away and looked at Hailey, who was on her phone, then Becca, who was busy making my coffee.
“Your latte, Mae,” Becca said after a beat.
I turned and b
olted in that direction, grateful for the interruption. When I looked back, Deacon was still standing in the same spot, staring at me. A shiver rolled through me as I picked up the latte, which thankfully was in a to-go cup. Normally, I got it in a ceramic mug because I sat here for hours. Today, I wanted nothing more than to get out. Deacon walked toward me, but instead of stopping, he went behind the counter. I moved away from it, toward the couch I usually sat on. Hailey walked over, gnawing her bottom lip as she approached. She looked like she had a million things on her mind today and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stick around long enough for her to tell me what they were. Not with Deacon here.
“I like your hair.” I set down my latte. “The brown looks good on you.”
“Thanks. I did it myself.” She smiled, sitting across from me. She looked over at where Deacon was. Even Becca was keeping a distance, I noticed, but it could have been my imagination.
“Is he okay?” I asked. Her attention snapped back to me.
“He had a motorcycle accident when he was seventeen. Suffered major damage to his brain, so he’s in and out. Sometimes he has completely normal conversations, sometimes he doesn’t speak for days, and other times he does this thing where he only says words here and there.”
“God, that must be so hard,” I whispered.
I instantly thought of Lincoln and felt my eyes fill with tears. What if he woke up and was like that? We’d help him, of course. We’d love him, no doubt. How would he cope though? After having such a huge personality. How could he cope like that? My eyes followed Deacon as he got something out of the glass case that held the croissants and loaves.
“You’re thinking about your brother.”
“How could I not? Who knows how his brain is right now and whether or not he’ll react like this when he wakes up?” I wiped my face quickly.
“Maybe.” She stood and walked behind the bar and started fiddling with the coffee machine. “So, what’s new with you? How are classes? How’s the newspaper stuff going?”
I was still stuck on the maybe and the nonchalant way in which she’d said it. She didn’t know Lincoln, not really anyway, but she’d had a crush on him, possibly even slept with him if he was the hockey player she’d told me about.
Half Truths (Secret Society Book 1) Page 16
