Lila Shortcuts (10 page)

‘Wow, you’ve done your research,’ I hear Alex say as I’m adding cream to my coffee. He’s flipping through one of the folders. I take my coffee over and join him at the table.

Alex hands me a folder. I flip the pages and find all my college transcripts, my SAT scores, my attendance records. I keep flipping trying to hide my reaction. But holy crap. They have all my school records – all the way back to first grade.

‘We always research our candidates thoroughly,’ Hicks says. ‘It’s how we know we’re recruiting the best of the best.’

Alex smiles politely – he’s the son of a diplomat after all.

‘All that’s missing is my inside leg measurement,’ I say, dropping the folder onto the table.

Alex shoots me a wry look but his jaw is tense and he has this glint in his eye that he gets when he’s watching an opposing team play a penalty shot.

‘Mr Loveday, Mr Wakeman,’ Ciccone says. ‘Let’s get down to business. I’m sure you’ve researched Stirling and know who we are, or who you
think
we are, but we’re here to give you the inside information, the knowledge that you won’t find on the internet or by asking around.’

He indicates we both sit. So, after exchanging a glance, we do.

‘We know that you’re here on a full athletic scholarship,’ he says looking at me, ‘and that Mr Wakeman has both athletic and academic scholarships.’

Thanks for pointing out how much smarter Alex is, I think to myself, while glaring at the guy.

‘We know that you’ve got FTSE 100 companies sniffing around, as well as NBA coaches.’

He stares at Alex as he says that and I shuffle in my chair until he looks my way. ‘And I’m sure there will be other offers flooding in for you both,’ he adds with a curt smile.

I narrow my eyes at the guy thinking that his recruitment spiel needs work.

‘But we think we’ve got a more appealing offer,’ Hicks says, leaning forwards with a smile. He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls something out which he then tosses across the table towards me.

I pick it up. It’s a photograph of a guy I’ve never seen before. It looks like it’s been taken from CCTV footage and in the background I see the Wells Fargo bank logo. The guy’s about forty I guess, with dark hair and hooded eyes. He’s staring into the camera with what you could call a lazy crocodile smile.

Alex leans over my shoulder to look at the photo. ‘Who’s he?’ he asks.

‘That’s the man that killed Jack’s mother,’ Hicks says.

I look up. My heart has flown like a clenched fist into the wall of my chest.

‘What do you mean? How do you know this?’ Alex asks before I can put words together into a coherent sentence.

‘We work in intelligence,’ Hicks says, pressing his lips together like he’s just let slip a secret he shouldn’t have.

I’m out of my chair before I know it. ‘Who is he?’ I yell.

Hicks regards me coolly. ‘Take a seat and we’ll tell you.’

Alex nudges my chair with his foot and I slowly sit, not taking my eyes off the guy. Is this some kind of sick joke?

‘Who is he?’ I repeat through gritted teeth.

‘His name is Demos. That’s the name he goes by at any rate. We have no further records on who he is, where he comes from, or his background. We’re still working on that.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why are you working on that? Why isn’t he in custody? Where is he?’ I have a million questions. I can’t get them all out. I’m grabbing at words, at thoughts. I want answers to everything. And I want them now.

‘Calm down,’ Ciccone says and I realise that I’m shouting.

Alex leans forwards, partly blocking me, as though he has read my mind and is trying to pre-empt me leaping forwards and slamming the guy’s head into the table.

‘How do you know who killed Melissa?’ Alex asks, his voice low. ‘The cops don’t even know. It’s a cold case.’

‘Because we’re not the cops,’ Hicks says with a smug smile. ‘We’re better than them.’

‘Have you caught him?’ Alex asks.

‘No,’ the guy admits with a shrug.

‘You’re showing us a photograph of some random guy,’ Alex says. ‘That’s not proof of anything.’

I frown. He has a point. I realise my fingernails are digging into my palms. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Where’s the proof he did it? Who the hell is he?’

The two of them glance at each other and then one of them slides a piece of paper over to us.

‘You need to sign this before we can tell you anything more.’

‘A non-disclosure agreement?’ Alex asks, picking up the piece of paper and frowning at it.

I take a deep breath and unclench my jaw. ‘You’re not going to tell me about anything else until I sign a piece of paper?’ I ask, trying my hardest to remain calm because seriously this guy is just asking for my fist to meet his face.

‘What we’re about to share with you is extremely sensitive. There are only a few people even in government who know what it is we are working on. Not even the President has been fully appraised of the full remit of our work.’

Alex glances across at me but I already have the pen in my hand. I’ll sign the damn thing in blood if it means they’ll tell me who killed my mother.

I throw the pen down and Alex picks it up and signs his name too without a word.

Hicks takes forever reading it over, checking our signatures, before placing the piece of paper into his briefcase and locking it. I think I’m going to burst out of my skin with the waiting but finally he looks up and says, ‘Good. You’ve agreed that nothing we say goes beyond these four walls.’

‘Just get on with it,’ I growl.

‘Telekinesis, mind reading, astral projection,’ he says, leaning back in his chair and toying with the pen. ‘Do you know anything about these things?’

‘Other than from watching X-men when I was a kid?’ I ask, rolling my eyes. I am seriously about to do some damage to something or someone. Preferably someone.

‘They’re not just fictional concepts,’ he says staring right at me, without an ounce of humour in his eyes.

Neither of us says anything for a long beat. Then very slowly Alex starts to stand up. I follow him.

‘Sit down,’ Hicks orders.

For a moment the air in the room fizzes with energy. Alex doesn’t make a move to sit down. Neither do I. Alex shakes his head at the guys. ‘You’ve come in here with all this information about us,’ he says, waving his hand at the files on the table. ‘You’ve shown us a photograph of a man you say killed Jack’s mother but haven’t given us any proof, and now you seem to think it’s funny to mess with us. So, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be out of here.’

‘Not so fast,’ Hicks says and he tosses a thick manila folder towards us. Photographs come slipping and sliding out. I blink at them then start grabbing for them like a starving man after a loaf of bread – images rushing at me; pictures of my mum, of my home – my old home – crime scene photographs – a trail of blood – broken furniture – yellow tape – images of that man Demos – another photograph of a girl with flaming red hair – another of a boy with longish hair.

I don’t understand. I don’t understand what they add up to. I look at Hicks in bewilderment. He points at the photograph in my hand.

‘She’s an empath,’ he says. I glance down. I’m holding the photograph of the girl with red hair. ‘She can read emotions, alter them.’ He points at the photo of the boy. ‘The boy’s a sifter. He can remove memories from people’s minds. Together, they’ve been robbing banks all across the South West, raiding gun shows, building an arsenal. This guy,’ he stabs his finger down on a mugshot of a guy with a shaved head and stubble. ‘This is Harvey James. He was in San Quentin for armed robbery and a slew of other crimes. He’s telekinetic. Can move things just by looking at them. Jail had him on lock-down in a containment wing. Didn’t have a clue what he was able to do. These guys broke him out. Walked in. Walked out. We’re talking a maximum security prison and they walked into it like it was Target and breezed right out again with him in tow.’

Alex and I just stare at the guy like he’s talking another language.

Hicks reaches across the table and picks up a big black and white glossy photograph of the man called Demos.

‘This is the man who killed your mother.’

As if on cue, Ciccone passes across another folder – this one even thicker – ‘And this is why,’ he says.

A ringing noise blasts me and I jerk awake. My hand flies instinctively to my gun. It takes me a second to realise it’s just the doorbell and not the alarm. It’s dark out. I must have fallen asleep. The paperwork on Suki lies scattered over the kitchen table. I check my watch. It’s gone eight. The door buzzes again. It must be Alex. Crap. I haven’t had a chance to read through the data he sent through. It’s only then that I remember Lila is in the house. I cock my head but don’t hear anything and figure she’s probably still sleeping.

I get up and head to the front door, rubbing my neck which now has a crick in it. My head’s fuzzy, pieces of my dream coming back to me like the hazy memories of an amnesiac. I wonder what made me dream of that? It seems like a lifetime ago since we sat opposite those guys and signed on the dotted line. We didn’t even discuss it. They dangled my mother’s killer in front of us like a carrot, told us they’d train us, equip us and pay us to catch the guy. What was there to do other than sign?

As soon as I open the door Alex walks past me into the hallway, glancing briefly into the living room. ‘Where’s Lila?’ he asks.

‘She’s upstairs, sleeping,’ I say.

A frown passes across his face. ‘How’s it going? Is she OK? Did you talk to her?’

I follow him into the kitchen. ‘No. I held off. I thought you know, maybe you could ask her what the deal is.’

Alex is rooting through the fridge. He pulls out a carton of milk and turns back around to face me, eyebrows raised.

‘You’re better at interrogation than me,’ I shrug.

‘Fine. OK. I’ll talk to her.’ He drops down into a chair and starts rifling through the paperwork spread out there, his fingers drumming the tabletop.

I grab a few steaks out of the refrigerator and some salad, figuring I had better start making some dinner as Lila will probably be awake soon.

‘So what else did you find out?’ I ask Alex, gesturing at a picture of Suki.

Alex starts rattling off data. ‘Twenty years old. Grew up in Tokyo. Her father’s a businessman. He’s funding her ‘studies’ here in the US. I doubt that he’s aware that his daughter’s a psy or that she’s currently running him into debt while simultaneously rescuing the US economy from financial Armageddon. But we haven’t had a trace of her since yesterday. She’s gone to ground.’

I scowl at a photograph of Suki, grinning up at me from the table.

‘She’ll show up again,’ Alex says quietly. I know he’s just trying to reassure me.

‘You think she’d be that stupid?’ I ask.

‘She gave herself away pretty quickly in the bar, didn’t she?’ Alex answers. ‘I don’t think we’re dealing with a superior mind here.’

He has a point. I play through the scene in the bar again. How did we let her get away? She slid right under that guy’s arm and was out the door before we’d even had a chance to draw our weapons. And Demos was waiting for her outside. It was the first time I’d seen him in the flesh. And I let him get away. Anger rises with tidal wave force inside me.

‘He was there,’ I say, disbelief running through my voice. ‘He was right there. Goddamn it, Alex, we could have caught him. He’s playing with us. It’s just a game to him.’

‘One slip up, Jack, that’s all it will take. Next time we’ll be ready. We’re going to catch a break, I feel it. They’re tracing Suki – as soon as she uses any form of ID, spends a cent on her credit card, registers her name at a motel, signs into Facebook, we’re on it.’

I nod. ‘I’m on call tonight,’ I say, suddenly remembering.

‘You want me to come over if you get a call-out?’ Alex asks. ‘Just in case Lila wakes and you’re not here?’

‘That would be great. Thanks.’

Man, sometimes when I stop to think about it, I realise how much I owe Alex. More than I’ll ever be able to repay that’s for sure. But it’s like with Lila. I don’t know what to say to him. I mean, the guy gave up a potential NBA deal, or a job at a FTSE 100 company and a lifetime wearing a suit and pulling a seven figure salary, all to chase psychopaths on what amounts to a pretty lousy wage. But Alex has never said anything that makes me doubt he’s not one hundred percent committed to this. I don’t have a brother but I know for a fact if I did I couldn’t love him more than I love Alex. He’s my brother. It goes unsaid. It’s always gone unsaid. That’s why I don’t say anything now.

Alex looks up then and catches me staring at him. ‘You OK?’ he asks.

I open my mouth and for one second I think I might be on the verge of telling him how grateful I am, but thankfully, before I can embarrass myself with a bromantic declaration, we hear a noise overhead.

I start jamming the papers into a folder and then I stuff it in a drawer. ‘Remember we say nothing of this to Lila, OK?’

Alex nods. He doesn’t need reminding.

After a few minutes we hear a light tread at the top of the stairs. Alex beats me to it. He’s ahead of me, striding into the hallway and I’m not sure what happens but Lila trips or something and takes a tumble down the stairs. Luckily Alex catches her before she can break her neck, which is good because I don’t think she’s covered on my insurance.

She rests against him for a beat and I’m aware once again that she’s like, grown up, and it messes with my head.

They hug and I see Alex is noticing too that she’s changed, because he can’t take his eyes off her and for a second I get this uncomfortable feeling like maybe he’s checking her out, but then I dismiss it because, for one, that would be totally absurd as he’s basically her brother, and for two, Alex never checks any girl out, or rarely enough that it would be weird for him to start now with my sister.

He follows her into the kitchen though and I swear I see his gaze fall to her ass. Did I really just see that? No. I’m just paranoid. It’s Alex. Besides Lila is . . . hang on . . . is she wearing make up?

Alex pulls out a chair for her and I turn my attention back to the steak I’m cooking for dinner because it’s less complicated to deal with.