Trust Me (8 page)

“What was that about?”

I jump, slamming my hip into the desk's corner. “Jeez, Alex! I'm going to get you a bell.”

“Yeah, yeah. So I noticed you and Gray are a thing? Why'd you say you didn't know him?”

“Sorry.” I pause. “I should've told you.”

“Whatever. It's what people like us do, isn't it?”

I don't answer and Alex doesn't seem to care. She rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet, trying to see my computer screen. “Seriously, what's going on?”

I hesitate. Hart didn't say
not
to discuss it, but the message—and what it implies—doesn't seem like something I should just blab to anyone. Only . . . only if anyone would know more about this stuff, Alex would and I kind of can't help myself when I say, “Any idea who might send me this?”

I move to the side so she can lean closer. I click on the virus first and watch Alex's brows draw together.

“That's not even . . . it's
gibberish
,” she says at last. “Why are you all worked up?”

I run the hex dump, then show her the article, deliberately skipping my eyes over Bay's name. It surfaces too many memories I want to forget.

Alex's expression never changes, but for a very brief beat, she stops breathing and the skin along her neck slides as she swallows.

“Whoa,” Alex says at last. She straightens and looks around. “Kent! C'mere.”

“No.”

“Now.”

Kent heaves himself to his feet with the grace of a water buffalo and stomps toward us. “What? I'm busy.”

“Who could've sent her this?” Alex points a finger at my screen, and unwillingly, Kent's eyes drag to the message. He waves one hand when he's ready for me to switch to the other window. “You have a problem,” Alex says.

“What is it?” Milo. I didn't realize he was back until suddenly he was. The heat from his skin pushes chills across mine.

“Nothing.” Kent pulls himself a little straight and a little taller. “Just something stupid.”

“It doesn't look stupid.” Milo's eyes flick from my computer screen to Kent's face. “It looks like something you need to fix. No one's supposed to be able to reach her here.”

“And I'll
fix it
.”

“I thought you were supposed to be good, man.”

Kent exhales hard and he steps into Milo's space. Milo has an inch or two on him, but Kent has an easy hundred pounds on Milo. If it were me, I'd be backing down, but this is Milo and I don't think Milo's backed down from anything in his life.

“I
am
good.”

“Prove it,” Milo says with a smile so full of teeth it makes Kent wince.

“Don't put this shit on me,” Kent says. “We're supposed to catch viruses and this one's caught. Maybe she just knew to check it.”

I go still. “What are you trying to say?”

“That the virus hasn't done anything to the system. It's just a message. For
you
. Maybe because someone knew you would be checking it.”

I gape at him. “That's stupid. Why would anyone want me to know this, Kent?”

“The hell should I know? You think I have time for your shit? Do you have any idea what's going on with our firewall? I'm plugging holes as fast as I can and they're still able to make inroads. I have way bigger issues to deal with.”

“Look,” I say. “Odds are, there are two kinds of hackers trying to get in. The first? Some kid who wants to look around. The second? Someone you should be more worried about.”

Kent tenses. “Like who? Someone you know?”

I blow out a long sigh and rub my eyes. It's no good though. Griff's face blooms in the dark. “I don't know, Kent. Trust me, if I knew, I'd tell you.” I drop my hand and keep my face plastic smooth. “Michael—my dad—used other hackers. What if he hired one to find me? I'm here kind of because of him.”

I mean, it's possible. I guess. It might not be Griff. If it is though—I smother the idea.

“Wick?” Everyone pivots. Hart's at the double doors, smiling. “Norcut wants to see you.
Now
.”

I'm half expecting
small talk, but Hart doesn't say a word as we walk to Norcut's office. He knocks twice on the door, watching me like he did that first day, like he's afraid I'm going to run.

“Come in.” Norcut's voice is muffled. “Wick?”

“Yeah.” I'm barely through the door before Hart shuts it behind me. Norcut's at her desk, and as I walk closer, she slides paperwork from the blotter into a folder and locks it away in a drawer.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Fine.”

“And the arrangements? Rooming with Alex?”

“Fine.”

“And if I were to tell your mother how you're doing?” The question jerks me straight and Norcut meets my eyes as she asks, “What would you want me to tell Bren? That you're doing fine?”

“Yes. I'd also want to know how she's doing, how my sister's doing, and when I'm going to get to go home.” I pause, hoping Norcut will volunteer what I want. She doesn't. “Did Bren say I can call yet?”

“They're still adjusting, Wick. I don't think it's wise. Give it some time, okay? You haven't been gone a week yet.” Norcut sounds so reasonable and yet the smile is still the same. Always the same. “This isn't just about them. It's about you and I don't think you can decide who you want to be when you're still mired in who you were.”

Who I want to be. I'm not even sure what that is.

Norcut waits, watches. “Mr. Hart tells me you received a message this morning about your work and implying you were behind Alan Bay's death. Why do you think someone would have done that? Think it through. Who would gain by scaring you?”

“I have no idea.”

“I do. Your father's escaped from prison, Wick.”

My hands . . . my feet . . . my face go numb. Cold. “That's impossible!”

“That's what I thought too, but it's not and he did.”

“My sister—”

“Is safe,” Norcut finishes. “We're keeping your family under watch, but you have to realize Lily was never as . . . useful to him as you are. I would be surprised—very, very surprised—if he attempts to engage her. It simply isn't in his nature.”

“You don't know that.”

“True. He could surprise me.” Norcut's attention switches from my face to my hands. She catches how they're trembling. “But I don't think he will. I do think he's behind that message.”

“That's a little sophisticated for Michael.”

“Is it? He was extremely manipulative when I knew him. What about the car accident? What if he's coming for you? Do you have something he wants? Maybe he's trying to rattle you.”

I laugh. It's so sudden we both jump. “Michael doesn't ‘rattle' people,” I say. “It's not his style. If he wants to make a point, he'll make it in person—or
through
a person. He has people still. They do what he wants, when he wants, without question. If he wants to make a point, he'll do it.”

My father has always been more physical than psychological. When he retaliates, it usually involves your body and blood. He doesn't tolerate disobedience. He doesn't tolerate betrayal.

My stomach drops a sickening inch. “Griff.”

“What?”

“Griff. He's in danger. If my dad's loose, Griff's in danger. He provided testimony incriminating Michael.”

And in the process erased every one of my digital fingerprints from my father's credit card scams. Griff saved me and now he's in danger. I know what happens to snitches.

I brace both hands on Norcut's desk. “You have to do something for him. You have to keep him safe.”

“I'm not interested in trailer park boys, Wick, and your father wouldn't have time for revenge.”

“He would
make
the time.” I pause and pull up straight. “How did Michael escape?”

Norcut's smile is a straight line. “Forged paperwork. Someone went in with legitimate—well, they
appeared
legitimate—release papers and walked him straight through the front doors. From what I understand, the forgery was excellent.”

“When?”

“Three days ago. Do you have any ideas who could help him with something like this?”

Bay could
. I try to brush the thought away, but it lingers. “Alan Bay seemed . . . sort of friendly with Michael when I was growing up—got him out of a lot of restraining order requests, that sort of thing. What if Bay helped Michael before he died?”

Norcut's eyes go bright. “That's exactly what I was wondering. I treated Judge Bay's sons years ago. I know how Alan can be motivated. If Michael had the right amount of money, anything Bay had would be for sale.”

I shake my head. “Trust me on this: Michael doesn't have any money.”

“He does though. He stole eleven million from us.”

My stomach goes oily. “What?”

“I'll level with you, Wick. Your father accessed Looking Glass's corporate account and wiped it. We're missing eleven million in cash and we need it back.”

“Eleven. Million?”

Norcut rubs her thumb against the blotter. Her computer beeps and Norcut's gaze cuts to the screen, reading something. “Two eyewitnesses placed Michael close to your old home,” she continues. “And Kent just emailed me the virus sender's location—it's Joe Bender's former address. Why do you think that is? What would he want badly enough to make him stay?”

“No idea.”

“But how could you
not
know? You worked at his right hand for years.”

“I worked a lot with Joe too. It doesn't mean I knew everything that was going on. Neither of them trusted me.”

Norcut goes quiet, considering this. Or maybe just considering why Michael would stick around. It's not a smart play. He has to need someone. Or something.

“I think Michael's looking for
you
,” Norcut says at last. “Why not find him first?”

“I'm sorry . . .
what
?”

“We could help you. We have aligned interests, Wick. We want our money and your father has it. You want your freedom and your father stands in the way. Why not finish this? Michael could have killed you in that accident and we both know he'll try to take you again.”

She pauses, waiting for my answer, and I can't give her one. There's a droning in my ears now, a whine I can't shake.

“We both know you don't flinch from eliminating problems, Wick.”

Problems like Joe Bender. Problems like Todd. I'm nodding now, but my stomach's still clenched.

Norcut's eyes inch across my face. “Your family, your future—they're all within your grasp if we eliminate the one thing that stands in your way. We want our money and you want your freedom. Will you help us?”

I start to ask if I have a choice and stop. There's always a choice. That's what I didn't get before. By reacting or not reacting to Todd and Joe and Michael, I was still making a decision.

Sometimes you make the choice and sometimes the choice makes you and everything I chose until this point has made me. I caught Joe and Todd before they could hurt me. I could catch Michael too.

I smile, smile wider. “I'm in.”

Just like that first day, I leave Norcut's office with instructions. She wants whatever computer equipment we can recover from Joe's, so I'm to go as soon as she can coordinate security. Hart will take me. Milo will come help.

I agree to everything. Maybe that's why Norcut smiles and smiles. “Do you like him?” she asks as I stand to leave.

“Who?” I know who—what—she's talking about, but I'm stalling and we both know it. Milo. “Yeah, I do like him. A lot.”

“He's a good match for you.”

“‘Match'? You do arranged marriages too?”

“Hardly, but for someone of your talents, you could do worse.”

“Wow. What a glowing recommendation.”

More smiling. “He understands you.”

Does he? Milo gets what I can do, but I don't know if he gets who I want to be. Then again, I'm not sure I know who I want to be. There's who Looking Glass wants me to be. There's who Bren wants me to be. So why don't I know who I want to be?

Norcut's still staring at me. “Love is for other people, Wick. Lesser people. From now on, everything you do is about power—who has it, who doesn't. Do you understand?”

I nod. “Are we done?”

“Yes.”

I'm almost to the door when she clears her throat. I stop. “Yeah?”

“Keep this to yourself, okay? Obviously, Milo will know and you'll have to tell Alex you're leaving Looking Glass but there's no need for the other boys to know what we have planned for you.”

I close the door and shuffle up the hallway, Norcut's question on loop in my head: What's the one thing that stands in the way of becoming who you want to be?

Is it only Michael?

“There you are.”

My feet stutter. Milo.

“Hey. I didn't see you.” I lean into him and he kisses the top of my head. “Aren't you supposed to be working?”

“Probably. I wanted to check on you. Everything okay?”

“Yeah . . . yeah . . .” I can't stop staring at the windows. The sky's gone dark and the overhead lights have brightened. They're on timers, I guess. I'm not sure I like it, turns
the windows into shadowy mirrors. I'm staring at myself, staring at Milo, who's supposed to be such a good match and understands me.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Sorry. Yeah. My dad's out. Norcut wanted to tell me.” It's so matter-of-fact it might as well be someone else's life I'm talking about, someone else's problems. “She thinks he's trying to contact me.”

Milo tilts his head. “What's the plan?”

“Norcut wants me to catch him. She's going to have you and Hart help.”

Milo tugs me around to face him. “Are you going to do it?”

“Of course.”

“Good. You can hurt him before he can hurt you. Think of the look on Kent's face when he hears too.”

“I'm not supposed to say anything yet.”

“When you do, you'll rule this place.” Milo tugs me forward and I refuse to move.

I tip my head back to look at him. “Why does it matter so much to you that I fit in, that I make it here?” The question surfaces too quickly, like it's been holding its breath the whole time, like it's been waiting.

“Because this is where you belong. You're not made for the stuff out there. It was wasting your talent. And . . .” Milo pauses. “Because you matter to me.”

I matter. Not what I can do. Not what I can provide. Just
me. I've wanted to hear that from him. It's another realization that I didn't know I'd buried.

“Why would someone like me ever matter to someone like you?” I've asked him variations of this before and always gotten some glib answer. I could use glib right now. Maybe it's the windows, maybe it's my dad, but it feels like darkness is closing in all around me.

Milo sucks in his lower lip, releases it slowly. “Because you're broken.”

“That's not any reason to want someone.”

“It is though. Because I'm broken too.” He angles closer. “Maybe my scars recognized yours. Maybe pain is like a magnet and it pulled us together.”

I smile and Milo sees it, bends to me. One hand cradles the back of my head. One hand touches the edge of my jaw. It's so gentle . . . it makes me grab him harder.

Milo kisses me like he's missed me, and I hold on to him like I'm lost.

It takes Hart
two days to coordinate the security side. Norcut doesn't loop me in, and I'm half expecting a team of super-conspicuous rent-a-cops to meet me in the elevator lobby, but it's just Hart. For the first time, his suit's gone, replaced by pressed jeans and a tucked-in polo shirt.

“What?” he asks as I come closer. “I wanted to fit in.”

“Oh yeah, totally.” I'm nodding like that makes sense, but I can't stop staring at the tiny monogram on his right
pocket. A monogram. That's fitting in.

Hart punches the down button. “Do you need anything else?”

“Me.” Milo appears at the hallway turn. Sunlight slants behind him, turning his body into a shadow. Milo's walk is long and loose and doesn't stop until we're toe to toe. “She needs me.”

I cock one eyebrow, but Milo only leans closer. The elevator dings. “After you,” I say as Hart swears under his breath. When we reach the parking deck, there's another black town car waiting for us, running. The driver tosses Hart the keys, ducking his head lower as he passes us.

It feels weird, like all the support staff isn't supposed to acknowledge our existence. I can't figure out why that would be a rule.

“You go in the front with me,” Hart says, hiking a thumb in my direction. “You're in the rear, Milo. I can trust you to watch for a tail, right?”

“A what?”

“You're not funny.”

Milo smirks. “
She
thinks I'm funny.”

And it's sad, but I do. I hop into the front seat before either of them can see my smile though. Hart flips on a pair of sunglasses and floors it across the parking garage. The gate's barely up before he's rolling the car through.

We're doing sixty on the side street. By the time he reaches the interstate, we're clipping along at seventy . . .
and then eighty. It's hard to gauge Hart's mood, but judging from the way he glances from rearview mirror to side-view mirror, he's expecting company.

“Are you worried something's going to happen again?” I ask, and it's a little softer, a little more scared than the way I'd planned it in my head.

Hart glances at me, tries for a smile. “I'm always worried something's going to happen again. I don't think you should be doing this.”

“Why?”

Hart's fingers flex. “It could set you off,” he says at last, and there's something about the way his tone tips lower that catches me.

He sounds honestly concerned.

“I promised you we would move forward, Wick. This is going backward. This is
stupid
if Michael's trying to draw you into the open.”

I nod. “But you're doing it anyway.”

“She's the boss,” Hart says, lifting his eyes to the rearview mirror. Is he looking behind us? Or at Milo? I can't tell.

“Dr. Norcut said Looking Glass was providing security to my family. Do you know anything about it?”

“Yeah, I handled it.”

“So . . . could you tell me what you organized?”

“Worried I don't know what I'm doing?”

Yes and it's unfair of me. He probably knows way more
than I do. He damn sure has better resources. But it's my family, my
sister
, and I need to say something and I have nothing.

Hart sighs. “It's fine, Wick. I promise. If we have time after this, I'll drive you by, okay?”

I nod.

“Good. I want this to be fast. You know where you want to look, right?”

“Not really.” And I hate admitting it. “I figure we could just scope the whole place together. I know it's pretty broad, but there are three of us and we know how people hide stuff. If the message was sent from Joe's, maybe the equipment will still be there.”

One corner of Hart's mouth tilts in a smile. “Isn't that the truth.”

“Hey, Hart.” I push against the seat and keep my eyes trained on the passing buildings. “If this goes well, can I call my sister?”

I can't tell if Hart looks at me, but judging from the silence, I'm guessing he does.

“Find something good for Norcut, Wick, and there's no telling what you'll get in return.”