Find Me (25 page)

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I hated that heroine. You know, the girl from
Twilight. She just . . . got consumed by Edward.
She didn’t just fade into him. He devoured her. I
said I’d never be like that, and yet . . . here I am.
I feel like he’s eaten away every part of me.

—Page 31 of Tessa Waye’s diary

“Hello, Wicket.”

Even though I can’t hear Detective Carson over the bike’s engine, I can read his lips as he says my name, and I recognize the mocking smile.

I grip Griff’s waist a little harder.

Detective Carson is leaning against the trunk of his car, and when Griff kills the bike’s engine, he pushes away, comes closer to us. “Hello, Griff,” Carson continues. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Griff pulls off his helmet and reaches around to take mine. “Didn’t expect to see you either, Detective. What’s up?”

“Thought I would deliver the good news myself.”

About my dad.
And it is good news. It’s wonderful news. Maybe this time their charges will hold and they’ll put him away for real. Or maybe they’ll just piss him off, and I know what he does when he’s pissed.

“What good news?”

“We just arrested your father.”

“Oh yeah?” My voice skids high as Lily’s, and I have to remind myself these are the people who have let him get away again and again, who let him walk around, destroying anything he wanted, including my mom. Including me. But I still want to do a happy dance. I still want to believe. “You get him on anything that will actually stick?”

“We think so.”

“Um, Wick, I have to go.” Griff tilts a little so I can see his face. His eyes have gone dark, and his mouth is thin. “You good?”

He says it so flippantly I almost don’t catch the undercurrent, the anxiety threading beneath. The way his fingers knot tightly with mine reminds me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” But I know he can feel how my hand is shaking.

“I’ll see you around?” Again the squeeze; it’s not a question, but a promise.

I shrug. “Okay.”

Carson and I watch Griff turn the bike down the driveway. When he hits the road, Carson leans in so close he just has to whisper, “He said you weren’t involved, but I don’t believe him.”

Griff. He really didn’t tell.

He said he didn’t want to lose me.

“Involved in what?” I manage. The response is slow—too slow—and Carson and I both know it.

He smiles.

“Detective Carson?”

I jump. Todd is standing on the front porch, looking less than amused. Actually, he looks kind of hostile. His tie has been yanked loose from his neck and his shirt is wrinkled, one fist clenched like he’s ready to punch something.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Todd asks, not sounding like he wants to help Carson at all.

Briefly, the detective stiffens. Todd’s presence doesn’t suit him. He wanted more alone time with me.

“Are you all right, Wicket?” Todd’s voice grows warm and concerned, like he’s worried I’m upset.

I manage a weak smile.

“I just came to give the girls some good news, Mr. Callaway. We’ve arrested their father. Between the parole violations and the new charges, he won’t be seeing daylight anytime soon.”

Todd’s mouth creases into a smile. “That’s wonderful!”

“Yes, sir, we certainly thought so.” Todd comes down the front steps, and Carson angles his body away from him, puts his hands in his jacket pockets
aw-shucks
-style. “But that’s only part of the reason why I came by. We believe Mr. Tate was tracking his daughters.”

Todd’s head cocks and his eyes narrow.

“Considering Mr. Tate’s . . . computer expertise, we suspect he was trying to contact them through their various online profiles. If they were helping him in any capacity . . .”

What?
I don’t know where he’s headed with this, but I don’t like it.

Neither does Todd. “What are you trying to say, Detective?” he spits. “That they were helping him
elude
you? Are you trying to say my girls were involved in this?”

“Unfortunately, it’s an angle we have to consider. Even though I’m sure we won’t find anything.” Carson backs up a step, but only one. His shoulders square up like he’s readying himself for a fight. “It would look better if you helped us build a case against Mr. Tate.”

“And how would we do that?”

“Let me have access to Wicket’s computer. Let our experts take a crack at it.”

Hell no!
My coding programs are still safe on my jump drive, but an in-depth search of my erased internet history could screw me.

“We want to make sure they’re safe, Mr. Callaway.”

“If their father’s incarcerated, I’d say they’re the safest they could be.”

Good, Todd! Fight! If he wants it, he can try for a warrant, but a judge won’t give him one. Without Griff putting me at the scene, they can’t link me to my dad’s plan.

Carson nods. “Except he has numerous friends on the outside, Mr. Callaway, and we both know he wouldn’t hesitate to call on them.”

Shit.
I look at Todd and feel sick. Carson won’t need a warrant. Todd’s going to give him everything freely.

“I just want them to be safe,” Carson continues in an oh-so-reasonable tone. “And I know you want that too.”

He wants to make us safe by going through my personal computer?
If Bren were here, she’d tell Carson no dice.

But of course, I can’t say anything. Not without spilling other stuff.

And Carson knows it.

Todd hooks his arm around my shoulders. “Of course Wicket will give you her laptop.”

“It’s a desktop,” I snap.

“Oh. Well. Then the desktop.” Todd looks at Carson. “More than anything, I want her to be safe.”

“Naturally,” Carson says, but there’s something about his tone that doesn’t make it sound natural at all.

“But you’re wasting your time, Detective. Wicket would never be involved in anything like that.”

Todd says it in a way that makes me sound better than a hacker, better than my father.

If he only knew.

“Wicket.” Todd nudges me. “Go get your computer.”

I open my mouth. Shut it.

Carson grins like he’s got me, like he’s won.

Like I’m stupid enough to put anything on that computer that could incriminate me.

Bastard.
I grin right back. “Sure thing, Detective. Always happy to help.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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I’m supposed to keep everything perfect—usually
I want to keep everything perfect. But I tore
apart my first communion dress. Ripped it into a
thousand pieces . . . and buried it in the garbage
so no one would know. I can’t stop thinking about
how good it felt, and I have just enough left of me
to know that it shouldn’t have felt so perfect.

—Page 86 of Tessa Waye’s diary

Todd calls Bren that night. He tells her everything, and after she tells Lily, Lily demands to talk to me. I take the phone up to my room, and as I listen to Lily sing about how we’re finally free, I watch a man walk out from our neighbor’s tree line again. He stands just beyond of the streetlamp’s light so I can’t see his features, but I know it’s not Carson, because Carson never comes on foot, and I know it’s not a neighbor, because a neighbor wouldn’t stare up at our house. . . .

It’s Jim Waye. Again.

“We’re free, Wick!” In the background, I can hear something squeaking. I think Lily’s jumping on the hotel bed. “Dad’s gone! We’re free!”

“Yeah,” I say, infecting my voice with Lily’s enthusiasm. But the closer I press to the window, the closer I press to
him
, the less I can manage it.

He thinks Lily’s here. No one knows she’s gone yet.

“Wick . . . ?Are you paying attention?”

Waye moves toward our house, and I shoot to my feet. “Yes. No. Sorry. Lil, I—I think someone’s here. I need to go—”

“Is it Mr. Waye?”

I stop, put one hand against the windowsill. “Why would you say that?”

“He talks to me sometimes. I’ve seen him at school when he comes to pick up Tally. He’s very sad about Tessa. I think he needs a friend. Maybe he came by to see me.”

“Lily, if Tessa’s dad ever talks to you again, I want you to go find a teacher right away, do you understand?”

“Why?”

“Just do it. I’ll explain lat—”

“You can explain now.” The squeaking—a rhythmic beat before—stops dead. “Dad’s going away for good. Everything’s going to be great, and you’re being weird. I want you to say yes to Bren. I want you to stop whatever you’re doing and say yes.”

I stare out the window, watch Waye watch the house, and think about telling Lily what’s really going on.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Lily feels safe now because her own personal big, bad monster has been dragged away. How could I introduce her to another? How could I live with myself?

How could I live with myself if he touches her?

“So are you going to say yes, Wick?”

I look down at Waye, knowing damn well that, even with the lights off in my room, he can still see my shape at the window. “I don’t . . . I haven’t decided yet. I—”

Click.

She hung up on me.
I start to call Lily back and then . . . I don’t. When all this is finished, when it’s fixed, maybe I’ll find a way to tell her what really happened. But for now, I turn to the window, start to give Waye my bird finger, but then I stop. Waye is motioning to me! I step closer to the glass, not believing what I’m seeing.

He wants me to come down?

Hell no! Wait! Hell yes!
I spin around, take the stairs two at a time until I rocket onto our front porch. I’m ready to confront him. Ready to tell him I know he did it. I’m ready . . . to see nothing.

The street is empty again.

I look around me. Nothing. I know I saw him. I know—

“Wicket?” Todd appears at my side. He must have come around the side of the house, and he’s staring at me like I’ve lost my freaking mind. “Are you okay?”

“I—I don’t know.” I try to think of some sort of legitimate excuse for charging out the front door like my hair’s on fire.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s time for a little bit of truth?

“I thought . . . I thought I saw Tessa’s dad staring up at the house.”

Todd cocks his head. “Why would Jim come by?”

“I don’t—I don’t know. Lily says he’s been talking to her at school. I just have a bad feeling about it.” Lame, but true. I chew my lower lip and try to gauge Todd’s response.

He’s astonished, worried.
Pissed.

“Don’t worry, Wicket. I’ll get to the bottom of it. I’ll speak to Lily’s teachers as soon as she’s returns.” Todd backs up a step, opens the door a little wider. “Why don’t you come inside?”

I nod.
Good. Getting to the bottom of things is good.
And as I watch Todd turn the dead bolt, I think maybe we’re finally getting to the end of this.

It’s one thirty
in the morning, and I can’t sleep. Part of me thinks it’s because of Lily. Some of me thinks it’s because of Griff. Most of me, however, thinks it’s the four cups of coffee I’ve had in the last three hours. With Bren gone, there’s no one to stop me, so I’ve had as much as I want, and now I’m now so wired I can feel my fingernails growing.

My cell beeps and the screen flashes.
Griff.

U still up for getting IP addresses?

Am I still up for it? Hell yes!
If we can find who was using that library computer to do the upload, we could catch our guy. My fingers are trembling as I text:

of course.

It’s the longest four seconds of my life until he writes: