Twist (7 page)

The man approached her window and said, “Do we really need to call the police? It's a tiny ding. I'll pay you cash.”

Amilee stepped out of the car while her mother, who probably should have handled the conversation, stayed rooted in the front seat.

“I'm sorry about your recent challenges, Bea.” She turned her body toward me. “Sometimes I think you kids want to believe us parents have super powers and are completely invincible.” She sighed. “We're not.” She made a gesture toward Amilee. “I know I put a lot on her. She's really grown up in the last year.”

“Yeah, but look,” I said. “She's still crazy.”

Amilee waved her arms and argued with the man—it looked to me like she was going overboard. Then she walked around the vehicle and yanked my door open. “Can you come here for a second?” she said.

I waited for Mrs. Gray to go, but then I felt Amilee tug on my sleeve. “Hey, Bea. Come on.” She pointed toward the other car.

I got out and saw her trunk popped open. “Oh, it looks like it's come undone in the accident.”

“Not exactly,” she said in a quiet voice. Then she pulled my duffel out and handed it to someone behind me. “I'll see you later.” She hugged me and said. “Go, now.”

I hadn't even looked at the man she was arguing with until that moment. “Dad?”

He
moved quickly back to his car and waved me to the passenger's side. As he pulled away from the curb he waved good-bye to Amilee and we sped off.

Chapter
14

Dad's eyes were sunken and he had a million little lines around his mouth, as if he'd been through a major aging spurt—or maybe he was wearing another disguise.

“Can we talk?” I said.

He put his hand up and said, “Hold on.” We then drove into a gas station. “I just need to get some gas.” He gestured for me to follow him. “Let's get a soda.” Inside the store, Dad bumped into some guy and handed him the keys. Then guided me through the building and out the other side. He pointed toward a Mini Cooper, near a different gas pump, and said, “Get in.”

“My stuff,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “That wasn't a kid on the airplane. You've got a GPS in your bag and probably a listening device. Hop in and let's go.”

Every muscle in my face fell.
Here we go again
.

Dad looked at me. “You wanted to come with me. This is how it is right now.” In the car, a two-way radio and a few cell phones lay in the center console. “We'll talk and then you'll spend the rest of your time in Seattle with Amilee, as planned. I'm sure Agent Carter is already looking for you.”

I took a deep breath and wished away my tears. He reached across the seat and grabbed my hand. But I didn't know where to begin. “Is there anybody I can trust?” I said in a weak voice.

“
The ones who loved you before your mom got sick, Aunt Charlotte, Uncle George, Amilee, and maybe her family. Right now, you really need to be careful.”

“Can you just tell me what you know, because I'm not sure who to ask about first—you, Luke, Uncle George, or Mom?”

I missed Mom. I missed Dad
.

I wanted to believe in love at first sight with Luke. But then I thought about the humiliating photos and the surveillance video—I trembled.

Dad took me to a state park near Gig Harbor. He parked the car in the corner of the lot and led me along a path of overgrown wild greenery. Part of the northwestern colors I missed—but the rain and wet that made the green possible? I hadn't missed that so much.

Once we were away from everyone, I finally had the privilege of being with my real dad, the one who'd been gone for almost a year. His mellow voice felt like a warm blanket and reminded of a time, not so long ago, when we were a family.

“When I met Grace, there were some things about her I didn't know.” He picked up a broken rock and showed me the colorful layers. “See that, it's a geode.”

I took the rock from him and put it in my pocket. “Keep talking, Dad.” I knew that a helicopter or “hikers” were going to invade our time together and that if I didn't keep him focused, we'd be pulled apart again.

“Your mom had epilepsy.” We stopped at a clearing and he led me to a bench.

“You've been here before?” I said.

“Yes.” He sat down and turned sideways on the bench so he could look at me. When I just stood there, he pointed. “Sit.”

He
waited for me to be seated, and then he continued. “The medicines seemed to work somewhat for her, but then one day she had a grand mal seizure, and then another. So the doctors at St. Mary's convinced her to try a new procedure, an electrode brain implant.”

I flinched. “That's not what I expected to hear,” I said. “Sounds like science fiction.”

“It's really quite fascinating. The tab goes under the skull and the electrodes attach to the area of the brain that's causing the seizures, an ingenious technology. But”—he stomped his feet on the ground and looked down—“there's always some risk.”

When he lifted his face, he blinked a few times to stop the water well from spilling over. “We met, fell in love, got married, and had you.”

“Didn't you meet at work?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. We worked on a new drug release together. But Kramer had nothing to do with the implant.”

“So you really are a medical researcher?”

“Yes,” he said. “I went to medical school, spent time in Germany and all those other places before the illness.” He crossed his arms and seemed to be deep in thought. “She fell and hit her head really hard—”

“I remember when you made her go to the hospital.”

“Well, she didn't seem right. And to this day, I don't know if she hit her head because she wasn't quite right or if hitting her head caused her to go batty.”

I didn't like thinking about that time. My dark mood was hovering so I shook my head to clear it. “That was over two years ago, right?”

“
Yes, the beginning of the end.” Dad fidgeted on the bench. “The electrode wasn't secure.”

“Is epilepsy hereditary?” I asked.

“It can be,” he said.

“That's another worry,” I said.

“So is cancer and a dozen other things.” He sighed. “Epilepsy didn't kill her. The infection is what caused the CJD. And it was right away. Remember—the hallucinations?”

“Yes. Was it really mad cow disease?”

“No, but that and CJD are similar. It's an awful, awful disease.”

I cringed. “The Internet says it burns holes in the brain. Was she in pain?”

“No pain. She's brave,” he said. “But the Germans had it all figured out.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“They developed the method for fighting the infection and reversing the damage. The medicine I got for your mother was illegal in this country.”

“That doesn't make sense.” I lifted my shoulders. “How . . .”

“I know.” He stabbed his finger in the air. “But I had a lot of contacts from all of my trips to Europe. I managed to arrange a few deals to obtain the medicine.”

“Why did she die, then?” My voice shook.

“Eventually, her illness returned.” He gazed at me. “You remind me of her, you know.”

I shrugged, trying not to let my mind dwell on Mom being gone forever.

“
I had a team of people working on an alternative designer drug because the medicine we'd used before wasn't working. She'd built an immunity to it.”

I said, “But she did have her two years—”

“Of bliss.” He smiled. “Grace was my world. She had a way with people. Just like you do, Bea.”

“What deal did you have to make, Dad?” I didn't understand, because it sounded like he was only trying to help.

“I promised the development of a biochemical weapon. But if, and only if, Grace was cured.” He stood and shuffled his feet.

“Why didn't you just fly Mom to Germany?”

“It wasn't that simple. By the time we'd figured this out, she was too ill to travel, and the drug wasn't FDA approved to bring it here.”

“Well she didn't survive, so why don't they leave you alone?”

“They said two years was survival.”

“Who? What government branch is it?”

“A team embedded within the National Security Agency,” he said. “They call themselves Sanctity.”

“That's a terrible name,” I said. “Why are you on the FBI's Most Wanted list?”

“Because I refused to give them the drug, or what will soon become a form of a biochemical weapon.” He sighed. “For one thing, the drug's not right, but they want to test it and use it any way.

“The charges against me are completely made up. Designed to create a national manhunt, and almost nowhere for me to hide. The longer I'm a fugitive, the harsher my
treason
becomes to keep the attention on finding me. These men, from Sanctity, will stop at nothing.”

“Why?”

“Because they don't want anyone else using this weapon.”

“Weapon? I thought you were trying to cure Mom?”

“Yes, this is one and the same.”

“This doesn't sound real.” I stood up and glared at him as if I could will the truth out of him. “And even now—how are you able to be on the run so long? Who were those men, and that helicopter?”

Dad pointed back the way we came. “We need to get moving again.”

I walked ahead of him. “The men?”

“I pay them. Most of them have been working for me since before your mother died.”

“Like a security detail?” I stepped around mud and kept my eyes on my feet. “It all sounds . . . impossible. How are you able to afford all of this?”

“Money isn't an issue,” he said. “I've put you in danger by telling you too much. My journals are in a safe place and will be made public if anything happens to me. I believe the FBI is just doing their job. Sanctity released a false report through the NSA, which in turn shared the information with the FBI and the CIA—the latter two agencies don't even know that Sanctity exists.”

“What are they saying you did?”

“They say I sold a recipe for biochemical weapons to a known enemy of the United States.”

“
Do you have the recipe they're talking about?” I asked.

He frowned.

“Why don't they just kill you? They have pictures of you standing over Luke. They must have been close.”

“About that.” He paused.

But the moment the words left his mouth my entire being zapped to attention, as if warning bells were sounding in my head,
high alert!
—and then Dad said, “I wasn't even in California. Proof will be provided to the FBI.”

“I don't understand. The picture looked like you, and also that guy from the SUV.”

“You've heard of Photoshop?” he said.

“Then who did it? Why would anyone want to hurt Luke?” I asked.

“It's not about him. Sanctity will do anything to find me. Believe me that was an unsanctioned, off the record beating designed to force every law enforcement agency in the country to search for me. Not too mention how much help you can give them if you think I hurt that boy. Oh no, Beatrice, that was not personal at all.”

I balled up my fists and sped up my pace. I was scared. I didn't know who to believe. “Dad, why have you been gone for almost a year—”

“Been on the run, Bea,” he snapped.

“And you turn up
after
Mom dies? I needed you. She needed you.” I turned around and saw him wince.

“I thought I was going to save her. I'm sorry. It was round-the-clock work, and a mobile research facility, until we . . .”

He
clucked his tongue, thinking, and then he scolded me. “Bea, you know almost everything. If I tell you any more, the whole thing will implode unless you run with me. And that's no life for a young woman.”

We got in the car and he popped it into gear. “You might have to account for this time with me,” he said. “We're going to make it appear as if you've been with Amilee at the mall, watching a movie.”

“When did you and she hatch this plan?”

“I told her about it when I hit her car.”

“I hate this, all of it.” I pouted. “I should be looking for new clothes to wear for homecoming, and spending time with my boyfriend and—”

“Enough!” Dad's entire face constricted and his jaw muscles flexed. “I don't ever want to see my daughter in that compromising position again. Stay away from Lucas Drake.” His skin paled as he slammed his fist down on the dashboard. “I could have popped him.” And then he took a deep breath. “But somebody else got to him first.”

A rush of adrenaline shot up my spine and crashed into my skull. I didn't recognize this man—he seemed like an imposter.

He handed me a roll of one hundred dollar bills. “Give some of this money to Amilee. To repair her car,” he said. And as we neared the mall he grabbed my wrist so tight I thought my skin would explode. “The FBI might tell you things that will make you think I lied. I promise, in the end everything will come to light.”

“Ouch, Dad. What the hell?”

“Sorry,” he said. “And about . . . all of this. Be smart.”

“Is that your code word?” I snarked at him, but he didn't notice.

“
No, I'm sure the FBI has heard us all say it, now.” Dad put the car in park. He leaned over and I turned my head. His kiss landed on my cheek.

I rubbed my wrist as I stepped onto the curb. Two seconds later the FBI swarmed him. He didn't fight back, or try to run. He smiled at me and mouthed the words,
be smart
.

Part
Two

Chapter
15