Tracers (14 page)

Angie turned to Cam, anger and tears at war in her face. “Fix this,” she told him, opening her front door and pushing him out.

Cam walked down the street, his tread slower now. All the adrenaline that had driven him to Angie's door was now gone.

He took the toy car out of his pocket and threw it on the ground, watching the small front wheels break off. He kicked what was left of it into the street.

There was only one thought in his head, chasing around on repeat: some broken things can never be fixed.

CAM WALKED ALONE
for hours. His mind replayed a series of awful moments on an endless loop: the look of horror on Jax's face as he fell, Jax's lifeless eyes as his body lay on the pavement, Miller standing over Cam with his DEA badge swinging around his neck . . . Miller setting the toy GTO on the metal table between them, a wordless, sickening promise.

There was no longer any question. Miller knew. He knew, and he was turning the situation to his advantage—using Cam's feelings for Nikki to control him, bring him to heel.

Cam realized he'd been wrong about Miller—he wasn't a snake. Miller himself had told Cam what he was: a stray dog—one that had fought its way up from the bottom to become the leader. It seemed pretty clear that this alpha would do whatever it took to stay on top, even if it meant sacrificing the rest of the pack.

Miller had revealed too much, the day before on Cam's rooftop. The flash of pain—and something else (Cam thought it was probably shame)—that was the only moment of true emotion the older man had ever let slip past his defenses. Cam's own dealings with the Tong made it all too easy to imagine what a young boy at their mercy must have suffered.

Cam kicked a beer can that lay in his path. He didn't want to feel sorry for Miller. He didn't want to feel anything but hate for the man who had betrayed him. To make matters worse, everyone else in the group had known that Miller was actually a fed—everyone.

Nikki had known. The feeling of betrayal hit him again like a wave of nausea as he reminded himself that they had all kept him in the dark. He'd come upon a small park during his walk. There didn't seem to be anyone else around. Cam sank down heavily onto one of the benches.

Why had she kept Miller's secret? Was it because she cared about him—wanted to protect him?

Her betrayal hurt . . . a lot. But Cam knew he couldn't let himself off the hook for everything that had happened. He'd been stupid—and greedy. Even though he'd only wanted the money so he could buy back his freedom, Cam could see now that he'd been blinded by greed.

Or maybe that was a lie too, and it was love that had blinded him all this time. Maybe it really was all Nikki's fault.

Suddenly Cam felt an overwhelming urge to see Nikki, to confront her. No matter how not-smart it might be, he needed to find her. She'd lied to him, over and over.

He needed to know why.

• • •

Cam sat without moving for hours. He was afraid to go back to his crash spot. And he didn't have anywhere else to go. After his legs grew stiff, and his stomach started growling, he stood up on shaky legs. He bought a gyro from a street vendor and ate it quickly, without tasting it. He took the train to Miller's neighborhood as darkness started to fall. He looked around him; this area was unlike any part of the city that Cam had ever lived in—or spent any time in. Sure, he'd made deliveries on quiet, clean streets like this one, but he'd only ever slowed down enough to hand over the package and get the signature. He thought back to Nikki's comment about the way some people floated over the grimy surface of the city, protected from the dirt and the noise.

He sat on the marble steps of a brownstone down the block; he could see Miller's door, but he was mostly hidden by a Hummer parked on the street. As long as the owner didn't come out and move it, Cam could stake out Miller's place for as long as it took.

Maybe forty minutes after he'd arrived, Cam watched Miller emerge onto the street, taking the steps two at a time and walking briskly toward the subway.

Cam sat staring at the immaculate façade of Miller's building for a few minutes. Apparently the guy's double life had its rewards.

And Nikki was one of them.

Was
this
why she stayed with him? A nice life in the city, cushioned by the money from Miller's thievery?

He needed to understand the hold Miller had over her. But he couldn't just climb those steps and find out if she was still inside his perfect apartment. Miller might come back, or he might have somebody watching the place.

No, he had to smoke her out.

Cam pulled his phone out of his pocket and started texting:
i'm here. come outside.
Then he hit the backspace key until the message disappeared. It would be just as stupid to meet her anywhere around here. He started typing again:
meet me at 517 walker street. 20 minutes. if you're not there i'm coming to miller's.

It only took about thirty seconds for her to text back:
ok c u in 20.

• • •

Cam grabbed Nikki's arm as she walked into the nearly empty Laundromat. A few of the machines were running, and a middle-aged woman sat waiting, wearing headphones, her eyes closed. The attendant sat behind a counter in the back, his eyes glued to a small television set.

“Cam!” she yelped, pulling away from him. “You're hurting me!”

He let go. So much had happened—so much had changed—since he'd last seen her. Now that she was so close to him, the feelings of hurt and betrayal hit him in a fresh wave. Actually,
betrayal
wasn't a strong enough word for it.

Her lying had hurt him more than anybody had ever hurt him.

Cam led her past an empty row of washing machines. After staring at her for a few more seconds, he finally managed to ask the question: “Why didn't you tell me?”

Some detached part of him noticed that his voice sounded nearly as miserable as he felt. He was so tired, wound so tight. He felt as though he were standing apart from himself, watching, like this was a story he'd heard, or a movie he was watching late at night, with his eyes only half open.

If only.

Nikki was staring back at him, her eyes washed silver in the dim light. “I tried to warn you,” she finally said, in a small, unsteady voice.

Cam laughed, and it sounded pretty bitter even to his own ears. “Yeah, that was a great scene,” he told her. “You seemed so broken up about it.” He moved very close to her, so close he could feel her breath on his face. “Were you playing me from the start?”

“No!”

She tried to move away from him but he reached out for her again. “No? Really? That stupid bike. That was all a lie, wasn't it? A setup.”

“No, I swear . . .”

Cam ignored her, like she hadn't spoken at all. “You guys must have had a great laugh about that. On the ship. All of you who
knew
what you'd signed up for.” He lowered his head so that his lips were close to her ear. “You
knew
he was a fed. All this time. You all knew,” he hissed, then pushed her away.

“Cam, that bike . . . that was all me. I felt bad about wrecking you out. I wanted to make it right.” She took a deep, ragged breath. A single tear rolled down her face, but she didn't wipe it away. “I never thought any of this would happen.”

“What
did
you think would happen, Nikki? The guys would just play cops and robbers with real guns and no one would ever get hurt?”

“No—Cam, that's not how . . .
you
wanted in . . .”

He laughed again, and scrubbed his hand over the back of his head. Then he looked into her eyes and dropped his hand to his side, all his lying bravado gone. “No. I wanted
you.
”

Nikki exhaled; she looked like he'd just punched her. He had the urge to laugh again. Or maybe cry.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Another middle-aged lady walked toward them, carrying a basket of clothes. She stopped short when she saw them, an embarrassed look on her face. She turned back and went down the next row of washers. Cam heard the clink of quarters in the machine, then the rushing sound of water.

Neither of them spoke, and the seconds ticked on. Finally, Nikki broke the silence, taking a small step closer to him: “I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you. I did. But I couldn't . . .”

“Why not?”

“Dylan . . .”

“You're
not
blaming Dylan.” Cam's voice came out higher than normal.

“No—I'm not blaming . . . it's just, it's
because
of Dylan . . .”

“You mean how Miller bailed him out of trouble. What did Dylan do that was so bad?”

Nikki wrapped her arms around herself, moving away from him until her back was touching one of the machines. “What difference does it make?”

“Tell me. I think you owe me that much.”

She nodded, and a few more tears made tracks down her face. “It was bad, Cam.”

“Did he kill somebody?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm sorry, Nikki, but that's not good enough.” He stepped closer, and though she seemed to flinch, she didn't back away. “He's your
older
brother, Nikki. Let him take care of his own problems.”

A sob escaped her, and then the whole story came tumbling out. She was speaking fast, not quite meeting his eyes. “Somebody did something to me, okay? Back in Florida. And Dylan came in while it was happening. He stopped the guy . . . and then he beat him. Put him in a coma. We had to run . . . but it followed us here . . . then Miller made it all go away.” She raised her eyes to his again.

“If this guy . . . attacked you, why were you the ones who had to run?”

“It just . . . it's complicated.”

Cam ran a hand through his hair and stepped back, resting against the wall of the Laundromat. He spoke slowly, not wanting her to burst out into any more of those gut-wrenching sobs. “Nik, I get that this is . . . really hard to talk about. And I'm sorry. But you've lied to me—over and over. If you're not willing to be honest with me now, after everything . . . I just don't . . . I can't . . .”

She raised a hand up, slowly, as though to stop him from saying anything more. “Okay. I'll explain. I just—it's hard. I haven't talked about it to anybody, not since it happened.”

Nikki took a deep breath. Her eyes were focused on the wall behind him, as though she couldn't bear to meet his gaze. “This guy—the one who . . . I
knew
him. Remember how I told you I used to do gymnastics? So I was good enough that a gym teacher at my school found me a scholarship to this fancy private school. It's not like my mom could have afforded to send me there otherwise. But anyway, that's how I knew him. He competed on the parallel bars—he was really good, was even going to try out for the Olympics.” She closed her eyes and added in a smaller voice, “He was really strong.”

She exhaled, opened her eyes again. “When he first asked me out, I was—I don't know—flattered? He was really good-looking, smart, and his dad was a
really
big deal. You've heard of him—he's been in like a hundred movies. That's why the mess followed us all the way up here. His dad has a lot of money, and a lot of influence. So I thought, I
should
be crazy about this guy. And my mom was all about him. He was my ticket out of that crappy town, that's what she thought. She was so excited about the idea, of me and him.”

She took another ragged breath. “I went out with him a couple of times. But no matter how perfect he was supposed to be, I couldn't get past this feeling I had whenever I was with him. He almost made my skin crawl. I should have broken it off with him right away . . . I guess after all those dates, all those times he bought me dinner and flowers, he seemed to think I owed him. He came to pick me up one night. Nobody else was home. I tried to break it off, let him down easy. But he wasn't having it.” Her voice took on a detached quality as she recited the rest, as though the details weren't quite real for her. “He was really strong, like I said. He carried me into my room, held me down . . .” Another sob broke through.

“Stop—you don't have to tell me the rest.” Cam struggled to get the words out. It felt like someone had forced sandpaper down his throat.

“That's when Dylan came home,” she finished. “Cam, Dylan was protecting
me
that night. Now I'm protecting him.”

Cam's insides were hollow. There weren't any words that seemed right after the story she'd just told.

“That night is why I don't trust myself, Cam. I was stupid, and blind—and I should have been more careful.” She was crying harder now. “So, ever since then, I've tried so hard to be. And then you showed up.” Her eyes met his. “I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I tried to warn you—tried to forget about you. But I couldn't. When it really mattered, I messed up—again. I'm so sorry it all went down this way, Cam. I never thought you'd get pulled into it. I was scared to tell you anything else because . . . I didn't want you to go. And now it's all messed up and I don't know what to do.”

Cam stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. He didn't have any answers, but at that moment it felt good just to hold her.

“I'm so sorry that happened to you,” he said. “But you have to know it wasn't your fault. That guy . . .” He felt the anger twist in his gut. He would have liked ten minutes alone with him. “Nikki,
that
guy's to blame. He's the one who hurt you. Just thank God Dylan came home when he did.”

“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't. Dylan gave up his whole life for me. He was doing okay back home. When we came here, we had nothing.”

“It must have been hard. Leaving your mom.”

Something flashed in Nikki's eyes. “It was for Dylan. They're still really close. But she was . . . angry with me. For screwing everything up. She thought I had a chance to be . . . more, to have more, and I just threw it away.”

“You know she's wrong, right? That's pretty messed up.”

A fresh sob broke from her. “I know. It still hurts, though, you know?”

At that moment, Cam felt himself begin to forgive her. Her own mother hadn't even been there for her. No wonder she was so protective of Dylan, who
had
been.