Trust Me (6 page)

They “caught” him. Interesting word Alex used. I should ask her about it, but I can't take my eyes off him.

Milo.

I open our door a little wider and his shoulders straighten like he heard the whisper of glass on the carpet. Or like he feels my presence.

Slowly,
slowly
, he turns . . . and our eyes lock. His gaze is hot—hotter—and I can feel every space on me it touches.

I'm standing still, but everything in me is leaning toward him, and like Milo somehow knows, he shakes his head once.

It's so subtle Hart doesn't notice.

I do. It's a warning. He doesn't want me to say anything and the realization turns my insides cold and liquid. Why would he warn me? What's going on?

Hart's hand tightens on Milo's shoulder and Milo turns to him. The elevator doors open and both of them disappear inside. Are they going to see Norcut? I step into the hallway, watch the lights above the elevator illuminate and go dark.

“You
do
know him,” Alex says.

“No.” I swallow, feel my throat catch. “I thought I did.”

A week ago, it wouldn't have bothered me to lie to her. Dishonesty is supposed to be bad, but lies are the only protection I've ever had. Only now that I know Alex sees the same things I do around here, my lie feeds on me. It's a betrayal now, and I hate it.

But look how well you're handling it.
It's Norcut's voice in my head, like she dug a hole inside me and her words grew in the dark. It's true though. I'm not shaking. My voice doesn't break. I sound . . . fine. Even my stomach is unclenching.

“Interesting that they found another,” Alex adds, leaning her head against the doorjamb. “I hadn't heard about him.”

“Do you always know if there's a new person coming in?”

“Pretty much. Kent has to be prepared. You can't spring stuff on him or he gets hostile.”

I laugh. “This is Kent on good behavior?”

“I know, right?” Alex retreats to her bed and gathers up all her homework, all her notes. She looks so young right now, closer to twelve than twenty. “Kent's some sort of a
code whisperer genius. He's an utter asshole, but he does good work. And the
work
is what matters around here.”

She sounds so final I don't bother pressing it any further. I take a T-shirt and shorts from my dresser, moving mechanically through my evening routine. I shouldn't push her. I shouldn't—“So, if that's a new guy, we'll meet him tomorrow, right?”

“Right.”

Wrong. I spend
the next three days doing schoolwork in the morning and puzzling through viruses in the afternoon. The bloated one keeps coming back. Every time I delete it, it returns. There are three versions waiting for me now, which is mildly interesting. Does it take over the host by flooding the server with so many requests it overloads them?

I run another check and wait for Milo, who never shows. I try not to look for him, but my eyes keep straying to the glass doors and the hallway beyond them. He should be walking in any moment now, right?

So why isn't he? What does that mean?

And where are they keeping him? Alex said we only have two floors, but the top floor is all work spaces and the bottom floor is bedrooms and common areas. You would hear him. Well, maybe not hear him, but you would see him.

Wouldn't you?

Kent rolls his chair into my line of vision. “Do I need to give you more work?”

My cheeks go nuclear, but I open my eyes very, very wide. “Why? Do you need help with yours?”

Someone behind me sniggers. I think it's Jake.

Kent scowls. “Get back to work, Tate.”

I face my computer and rub my eyes until colors explode behind the lids. I need to concentrate and yet all my Milo questions are stuck on repeat.

I kick away from the desk and head for the bathrooms, ignoring Kent's grumbles as I pass. The hallway is drenched in late-afternoon light. The setting sun slants shadows across the opposite building and I'm almost to the bathroom door when I realize I can see into that office space again.

The Laser Microphone guy—the same one Alex and I saw in the opposite building a few days ago—is back.

I lean one shoulder against the door and pretend to admire the wedge of sunset I can see between the buildings. I count windows to double-check myself, and yeah, that's definitely the office I noticed on the night I arrived.

And that's definitely the same guy.

This time though he just seems to be watching—staring really. I know he can't see me, but as I turn for the bathroom his head tilts and I can't shake the feeling that he's studying me.

It's after dinner
and after therapy and after probably everyone else has gone to bed and I can't sleep because I can feel my hair growing.

Six cups of coffee can do that to you.

“I can't lie here anymore.” I sit up, shoving my blankets to the foot of the bed. “Am I allowed to go to work?”

“Don't you listen to anything?” Alex's voice is muffled by her comforter. I think she's trying for pissy, but it makes me want to laugh. And then annoy her even more. “It's not a prison. Do whatever you want, but do not bother me.”

At the very end of Alex's bed, something twitches under the blankets. A foot. I ease forward, grab the edge of her comforter, and yank, sending the blanket flying. Alex shoots upright, but I'm already running for the door.

“You are so going to pay for that, Tate!”

A pillow hits the wall next to my head as I bolt into the hallway and run for the elevators. The guys are playing video games in the common room, and thankfully, none of them notices as I pass. One floor above, the workroom is quiet except for the low murmur of the air-conditioning, and I don't bother with the overhead lights before returning to my station. I power on my computer and drop into the chair, studying the illuminated buildings around us as it cycles through the system start-up.

I could get used to working like this: the darkness, the quiet. It's like being the last person in the world . . . until a shadow separates from the dark.

I turn, face it.

“I missed you.”

I smile. He can't see it, but I know he feels my grin when his hands skim my face. Our mouths are almost brushing
and my knees are already crumbling. Milo touches me like I'm perfect and he's in awe.

“You missed me?” I whisper. His laugh is a silent ghost and turns my joints liquid.

Molten.

Now I'm laughing. “Prove it.”

Milo's lips catch mine and it's everything I remember: soft, teasing. And then insistent. He presses me into the chair, pinning me underneath him as my hands dig into him, dragging him closer.

Always closer.

“Where have you been?” I murmur against the angle of his jaw.

“Looking for you.”

I start to pull back and Milo cuts me off, covering my lips with his. He's on his knees now, and I am disintegrating.

Where
has
he been? What happened? I splay both palms against Milo's chest and push. He doesn't budge.

“Milo!” I rip my mouth away from his, hear him panting. “Seriously. Where have you been? We can't get caught doing—”

“It's okay. I told them about us.”

“You
what
?” I kick both feet into the floor and wrench my chair away, putting space between us.

“Ashamed of me?” Milo's still on his knees, the tips of his fingers grazing the floor. The half-light from the windows has caught his eyes, turning them plastic bright.

“Don't be stupid,” I whisper, feeling my stomach go cold and oily. “It's just . . . just . . .”

“Just what?”

“You don't give people stuff like that.” In the dark, it's easier to say what I mean. My voice is climbing and I'm struggling to make it stop. “You don't volunteer info on yourself—or someone you care about.”

Milo stiffens, watching me for a silent moment before pushing to his feet. “Just say it, Wick. You think I gave them leverage on you. You think I sold you out.”

I do . . . sort of. I didn't tell Hart anything about Milo. I withheld. I protected him. And now . . . I square my shoulders. “You
did
sell me out. I didn't tell them anything about you.”

“Maybe you should have.” Milo shrugs. “It's not like we have anything to hide. Not anymore.”

He's right of course—all the lies and all the sneaking around. It's finally caught up to me. I'm paying for it.

But by now the silence between us has stretched too long. I take Milo's hand in both of mine. “How did they . . . catch you or whatever?”

“Catch me?” His smile is equal parts cocky and
amused and perfect. “No one catches me. You should know that.”

I wait, brows raised, until Milo looks away, dipping his face into the shadows.

“Fine. I think one of my customers sourced me originally, but after I figured out you were here, I wanted to come.”

“How . . . ?”

“Circled the block and caught the license plate of the town car. You're acting like they dragged me here; is that what happened to you? When I saw you walking out of your house with Hart, I thought . . .”

I grimace. “It was a surprise, but only to me. Apparently, Bren had been planning it for a while.”

“Damn. That's cold.”

“Pretty much.” I chew my tingling lower lip and taste the mint from Milo's ChapStick. “So what's the deal? Are you stuck here like I am?”

Another soft laugh. “You mean, can I leave if I want to? Yeah, I can leave.” Milo drops his chin, considering my mouth, my eyes, my ragged Kool Aid–red ponytail. I try to smooth it down as he leans into me.

“However,” Milo breathes, making the words feel liquid against my lips. “I have a fairly compelling reason to stay.”

I grin. “And that is?”

Milo smirks. “I might've accidentally blown up the restaurant. Like sky-high.”

“How do you ‘accidentally' blow—” I stop myself. No, it could totally happen. Milo lives—
lived
—in a run-down restaurant and had that place rigged with explosives from top to bottom. “You're lucky you weren't killed.”

“Luck has nothing to do with me.”

“Ass.” I give him a shove and Milo gives me a single step back. “What about your dad? Where's he?”

The mention of his father passes through Milo in a shudder. It's so quick I'm not even sure I saw it.

“Haven't seen him,” Milo says. “He hasn't been at any of the shelters. He isn't at any of his usual haunts so . . . I don't know. He could be anywhere.”

Or he could be under an overpass. Or floating facedown in the Chattahoochee. Or in the ground. All the horrible possibilities hang between us and I want to tell him how sorry I am, but that's never something Milo wants to hear. Ever.

“Anyway,” he continues. “They've had me on lockdown while they ran a background check. Now that I'm clear, they're offering me a place to work—until I get on my feet again.”

I stare at him. Of all the things I've ever expected from Milo . . . “Well, that's big of them.”

“Isn't it though?” He cocks his head. “I know what you're thinking. It sounds convenient because it
is
convenient. I'll get to crash with you and they'll get some hardware upgrades. Hart and Norcut do have their uses—for me and for you.”

Now
that's
more like the Milo I know. “I don't know . . .”

“Give it a chance, okay?” he asks. “Before you completely blow them off, give it a chance. It's good to get your skills in the open. You hide them too much.”

“Yeah, because I don't want to go to jail.”

“In the right company, you won't.” He pauses. “In the right company, you can make a lot of money. You could make a whole new life.”

And pretend everything that happened before . . . didn't. Milo doesn't say that, of course, but that's the tone. He's waiting for an answer and I don't know what to give him. Milo's always wanted me to embrace hacking, make things happen on my own terms.

But even if I get on board with Looking Glass, I'm still not doing that. I'm not rewriting
my
world.

I'm rewriting
theirs
.

“Wick,” Milo says finally. “I'd be the first to break you out of here if I really thought they were bad news. You know that.”

The look he gives me is meaningful and funny at the same time. It's supposed to remind me of the bombs he's made for me and the lies he's told and the things he's helped me with—and it does.

“You trust me?” Milo asks.

“I don't trust anyone,” I say, but I do it with a smile so he'll know I'm joking. Sort of.

Milo rolls his eyes. “How many times have I saved your
ass? You think I wouldn't tell you if these people were a problem?”

“No.”

“We can control this.” His hand closes around mine, and when he squeezes his thumb against my palm, I squeeze back.

“It's crazy being with you, you know that?” His words are stuffed with wonder and disbelief. “I can't be this close. I can't touch you just once. I've never been like this with other girls.”

My mouth goes dry. Seconds pass. A minute. Time goes right on and I'm stuck, jammed on a moonless night two months ago, blood running down my face as Griff said, “If I touch you once, I'll have to touch you again.”

And then he left me.

“Wick?” Milo palms my cheek. His thumb skims over and over my skin. Testing for cracks? I'm so full of them I nearly laugh. Or sob. “Come back to me.”

I lean into him. “I haven't gone anywhere. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Good, because I want to be where you are.”

We consider each other for a long moment until Milo puts both hands on my chair and drags me to him. I tilt my face for another kiss, but he holds back, fingertips touching the half-healed cut by my hairline. “I'm sorry. Really. How're you doing?”

Tears—hot and unexpected—prick my eyes. That's the
thing about Milo. There's all this swaggering and attitude and then he suddenly turns around and focuses on me like there's nothing else in his world. “Sometimes I'm good. Sometimes I'm not.”

“How do you like it in the ivory tower?”

A smile. “Too soon to tell,” I say. “I'm trying to give it a chance, but . . . something feels off to me.”

He nods. “I get it. People like us, everything feels off.” Milo touches his fingertips to my jaw, tracing the bone. “But I've worked with some of their people before. I'm telling you they're legit—”

“It doesn't
feel
legit. They're always checking for bugs and you can see people watching the building—”

“You know how much money is in securities. It's probably competitors trying to get an edge.”

“My second day here they had me breaking into some wireless device while Norcut was on the phone. She would cue me to start and stop based on”—I pan my hands—“whatever was going on at the other end.”

Milo lifts one shoulder. “So they were testing you.”

“On
what
?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Then you should ask.”

I jerk back. “Ask Norcut?”

“Why not? It's the only way you'll get an answer. You think she's been honest so far?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Maybe.” I study Milo, feeling stupid. He's right of course. I should ask. It's just that, I'm not used to getting answers, and I'm damn sure not used to asking questions.

I take a shaky breath. “If they're so trustworthy, why didn't you say something to me the night you arrived?”

“I wanted it to be on my terms.” Milo pauses. His thumb finds my lower lip and traces it carefully. “I've worked with them before and I wanted to be the one to break the news about us.”

Us. We both take a breath around the word.

One corner of Milo's mouth lifts in a smile. “I can't trust you to tell the truth, and I needed to tell the truth. If this is going to work . . .”

He trails off, and in the silence I can fit in everything I can't say. “I'm trying to be better with that. It's hard to change old habits.”

“I think it's hard for you to accept you have a future.”

I laugh. “You sound like Norcut.”

Now Milo's laughing. “And you sound different. Better.”

“Do I?” I hate how hope wings my voice higher, but I've lost a lot and if Looking Glass is my ticket home and Milo trusts them . . .

“Definitely. You sound lighter.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek. “I like the new color. It's about time. I've been waiting for you to get better. When we met, you were so broken.”

“I ruined everything.”

“No, you didn't.”

My fingers curl into his shirt. “How can you be sure?”

Milo doesn't answer. He just pulls me closer.