Find Me (27 page)

I look at Griff, ready to explain, ready to
run
, but he’s already moving toward the doors.

The library has
a bank of ten computers, and thankfully, only two are in use. There’s a harassed-looking mother of two small children trying to email on one end and a senior citizen playing Sudoku on the other. With my luck, I figure A5 has to be one of the computers they’re using and I’m going to have to wait.

Then I see the OUT OF ORDER Post-it taped to the screen of one computer. The screen itself is off, but the tower light is still blinking green.

“That one has all sorts of problems,” the old lady explains when she sees me staring at it. “They get it running and then it goes all crazy and they have to call the IT people.”

“Crazy how?”

“It won’t let you type anything. It’s like it just shuts you down.”

I smile my thanks and slide into the seat. Shuts you down, huh? More likely it locks up because he’s overriding the user so he can use the computer.

I check the ports on the back of the tower. The inputs feel worn, like someone might have been messing with them. I unhook the neighboring computer’s monitor cord, re-hook it into the broken computer. Once I get the connector firmly in, the neighboring screen returns to life.

Griff sits down next to me and pretends to search for something on Wikipedia while I do the upload.

“You’ll still need a computer for him to contact you,” he says, eyes not leaving the remaining librarian. She’s refiling books at the moment, but every time she turns in our direction, Griff tenses. “You’ll still need a system to hack from so he can’t trace you.”

Good point.
I finish the install, close my program, and pull the jump drive from the USB port.
A very good point.

Not that I’m going to admit it.

“I’ll figure something out.”

Griff shakes his head once. “No, if you’re going to do this, you’ll do it with my computer.”

“Forget it,” I say. And I mean it. You can’t just give a hacker any old computer. We have preferences. There are setups. You don’t just start working from someone else’s gear.

And you don’t involve someone you care about.

“I’ll come up with something, Griff. Don’t worry.” And because that doesn’t seem to sway him, I add, “I hunt alone.”

Griff tightens like a fist before the punch. “Not anymore.” I try to stare him down, but he doesn’t soften. “What will it say?”

I hate it, but I hesitate. I’m proud of my Pandora code, but I’m not sure I want him to see it. It’s too personal, too abrasive . . . too
me
, but I turn to the computer screen.

“When he accesses this computer, he’ll get a message,” I explain. “And once he clicks on the message, I’m in. I can get at his information. Here, look.”

I tilt the screen a little toward Griff so he can read the message across the screen. It says:

Welcome back, pervert. I have you logging in. I have your identity. I have everything I need to go to the cops—unless you contact me first. Find me here.

Find me.

I dare you.

Even though we
stop by Griff’s house to pick up another laptop, Todd’s still at work by the time we return. There’s a note on the fridge saying he’ll be home after dinner, and the house feels too quiet.

Because Lily is gone?

Best not to think about it. Her absence is a good thing, and let’s be honest, it’s good Bren’s gone too, because there’s no way she would let Griff come up to my room.

He follows me upstairs, spends a few minutes looking around while I set up the laptop. I’m grateful for the space, actually. Right now my skin feels electrified. My vision’s going haloed. Oncoming migraine? I’ll have to take my pills. Can’t afford for this to get worse or it’ll slow me down.

I rub my neck where the muscles have curled into rocks. Griff notices. He starts toward me and . . . stops.

“If you pull this off, Wicked, you have to turn in everything you find to Carson. Tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

Turn everything over? So Carson can do
nothing
with it again? Just like he did with the diary?

Then again, if I can get enough evidence, Carson will have to act.

I hesitate. “Yeah. Fine.”

Griff closes his hand over mine. I don’t even realize I’m leaning into him until my cheek brushes his hoodie’s sleeve.

“So what do we do now?” he asks.

“We wait.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

There’s no end to this, you know.

—Page 61 of Tessa Waye’s diary

Ten hours later, something’s ringing.

I roll on my back, blink up at the ceiling.

For three seconds or so, I’m confused. Then everything clicks. My hand shoots across the nightstand, snatches up my cell. “Hello?”

“Wick?”

“Griff!” I sit up straight, press the phone a little closer. At first, I think it’s static on the line, but it’s not. It’s his ragged breathing. “What’s wrong?”

“It worked. The Pandora code worked.”

Course it did. I push the covers off, wondering why he sounds so freaked. The migraine meds I took are making me feel fuzzy and sluggish. I wrench myself around so my feet hit the floor, and I stand up.

“Wick? Did you hear me?” Griff’s voice jumps high. He sounds . . . scared.

And that scares me. “Yeah, I heard you. This is great, Griff. I think—”

“Don’t think.” Something crashes on his end. I hear a door slam. “Don’t think, just run. Get moving.”

“Get moving?”
Why? I need to stay put. This is working like we wanted it to work. Why would I screw that up by taking off?

I lean toward the window; look for Carson’s unmarked sedan. He’s not here. Yet. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got him.”

“Wick, I’m begging you.” Griff’s breath goes rough-edged, and I can hear his tennis shoes start to slap pavement in a run. “Run. I installed spyware on the laptop I gave you. It notified me as soon as he clicked on your message. The IP address for the computer that took the Trojan matches
your
house’s IP address, Wick. Whoever took the bait is inside your house.”

I look at
the computer, my bed, the open door to my bedroom. I can’t make sense of this. It can’t be right.
It’s not possible.

Chills push goose bumps through my skin.

“Griff, I have to go.” And I hang up while Griff is still yelling. The cells lights up again, but I ignore it and open Griff’s laptop instead.

“Work it like any other hack,” I whisper, waiting for the computer to return from sleep mode.

Except it’s not just any hack, is it? Right now, my head feels filled with ginger ale, and my hands are shaking.

Once the laptop is up, I open Command Prompt. It takes only another moment for me to turn on the remote computer’s webcam feed, and this time, it’s the sound that comes up first on my machine.

I know the laugh even before I see his face, and when the image pops up on my screen, I want to vomit. I start to scream, but nothing comes out as Todd looks straight into the camera and says, “Hello, Wicket.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

He always hits me where no one can see. The first
time it happened, I thought I was seeing him for
who he really was . . . Then I realized I was lying.
I’ve always known who he is—what he is. I was
just too afraid to name it.

—Page 79 of Tessa Waye’s diary

Todd?! It was Todd?
I push back from the desk, feet kicked under me, ready to run.
No, he’s been so upset. Her death gutted him. Remember the tears? How he fought her dad? How he was eaten up with guilt? It couldn’t be Todd.

Except he’s smiling and nodding like he knows what’s tumbling through my head and he likes it. The pieces click into place. Access to Tessa. Access to Lily.

And now we’re alone.

“Surprised?”

Todd holds up his cell phone so I can see the screen. It’s my bedroom. It’s
me
. “Amazing what those security system install guys will do for an extra hundred bucks. He put another cam in your room’s heating vent and routed the feed to my cell. For a while, it was enough to know that it was there. I didn’t turn it on until recently, and guess what I found out?” Chills skitter up my spine and I reach for my bat, but my hand grabs air.

It’s gone.

When I turn around, Todd laughs harder. “Missing something?” He holds up my bat so I can see it.

“You said you wanted to protect her,” I blurt. “You said you should’ve done something.”

“Protect her from
him
, from that asshole father of hers.” Todd’s hand grazes the edge of his jaw, as if he’s remembering Tessa’s touch. “She didn’t need protection from me. She seduced me. She
wanted
it. They always want it. I could have had any of them, but I wanted her because she was broken.”

Todd’s eyes flick down to the desktop, where his fingers tap against the wood. “I loved how much Tessa wanted me. She thought I was a god, but it wasn’t until she fought me and I forced her anyway that I
felt
like a god. In one afternoon, I finally understood why her father hit her—because nothing tastes better than power over someone else. Made me think about sweet, little Lily . . . and what I could make her do.”

My breathing’s gone rough and ragged, making me sound like some animal run to ground. I start to grab random objects. Books. Computer cords. A laptop bag.
There’s nothing here! How am I going to defend myself?

“But what I realized is Lily would never be a challenge,” Todd continues. “I don’t want her anymore. Right now, I want you.”

Me?
I look back at my computer. The chair is spinning. It’s empty. Todd is gone.

He’s coming.
I run for the door, grabbing the knob with both hands to work the lock except . . . the lock just spins and spins.

“No,” I whisper. He must have disabled it. It’s useless. “No, no,
no!
”

I hurtle around, launch myself at the window, but when I lift up on the frame, nothing happens. It doesn’t budge, and my fingertips graze freshly hammered nail heads.

He’s nailed the window shut. There’s no escape.

I back away, my eyes darting over the room. I need a barricade, but the bed’s too heavy. I’ll never be able to move it. My desk? Too light, and it’s too small to wedge against the door.

“Oh, Wiiiicccckkkkeeet.” Todd’s voice floats from somewhere farther down the hallway. “Are you going to run from me?”

What am I going to do?
My eyes fall on my bedside lamp.
I’ll fight.

“I hope you do run.” Todd laughs, and I fling myself toward the bed, unplugging the lamp, dipping the room into dark. “I really hope you do. I like it better when I get to chase.”

Footsteps.
My hands are sweat-slick and sliding along the lamp’s metal base.
He’s on the stairs.

I yank the shade off the top, break the cord from the base. Makeshift bat. I hoist it to one shoulder, test the weight. Lighter than I want, but short enough that I’ll be able to do some damage. It’ll work.

I stand in the dark and wait. When he comes, I’ll nail him. Except . . . maybe I shouldn’t wait. I shift my weight from foot to foot, trying to ready myself and ignore how my knees want to crumble.

I ease forward, opening my bedroom door so I can see Todd coming—and lights sweep the street outside my window.

“Well, look who’s here,” I whisper as Detective Carson pulls up.

“Not a runner
then.” Todd sounds disappointed . . . and intrigued. “Guess you just go for what you know, huh, Wicket? Having that fucking loser for a father, I can’t imagine this is the first time you’ve been chased.”