by Vivi Barnes
I touch the charm dangling from Jack’s bracelet. “Yes, I love it.”
He beams. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re just saying these things to make an old man happy. It’s working, you know.”
I smile, trying hard to focus on his words instead of Jack, the card, the picture, and the jewelry store in Richmond. I seriously doubt the store is so amazing that someone from Norfolk would order from there. It’s possible it could be someone here who’s trying to make it look like it’s coming from Richmond, but that would make no sense. Regardless, whoever it is sent that picture to freak me out. But why?
“Olivia? Are you okay?” Grandfather asks.
Oh, crap, what was he saying? “Sorry. Just thinking of something else for a moment.”
He moves his hands back as Juliette places a bowl of French onion soup in front of him. “I asked if you have big plans for the weekend.”
“Not really. Studying for a test I have on Tuesday.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Studying? That’s all?”
I nod, sipping on a spoonful of soup. His face is expectant, and I feel the “why don’t you have a life” speech coming on. “Well, I might go over to Emerson’s for a while. We’ll probably go hang out at the mall or see a movie. Maybe meet up with a couple other girls in her neighborhood.” Which is a bunch of bull. Emerson always complains about her neighborhood having no other kids her age. But I know that’s what he wants to hear. He’d probably be thrilled if I told him I was going to a big party at someone’s house, just to show I had some kind of social life.
“What about this secret admirer of yours?”
I drop the spoon in my bowl a little too hard. “Oh. I told Theo I wasn’t interested.”
His lips twist as he considers that. “That’s probably wise, considering the jewelry he thought appropriate to give you before even asking you out. Did you give it back to him?”
I hesitate.
“You haven’t.” He lifts his chin. “Is there something else going on? Is this young man getting aggressive with you?”
“No! It wasn’t even from him.” I bite at my lip. I didn’t mean to tell him that.
His eyebrows pinch.
“I’m not sure who it’s from. Another secret admirer,” I tell him, trying to laugh casually. “I guess people here like me more than I thought they would.”
“That doesn’t mean they should be buying you expensive jewelry out of the blue.”
“I know. I…I just have to let whoever it is down nicely. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“Best to do it quickly. That way he knows immediately how you feel. Relationships are difficult to manage when you’re so close to graduating and heading off to college, too.” He tilts his head, his eyes softening. I know this look—and the question that usually follows. “Are you happy here, Olivia?”
“Yes, of course I am.”
“You have everything you need? I know it’s hard not having a parent around—someone younger who can give you advice about things like love and boys, um, things like that.”
Love and boys and things like that. Surprisingly enough, I actually appreciate my grandfather’s attempt at “the talk.” Much better than Derrick’s awful sex talk last year. Of course, Derrick had other things on his mind. I shiver slightly. “I’ve had plenty of foster parents in my life,” I tell him. “Most of them knew less about these things than you. I haven’t missed out on anything by being here. I’m grateful for all you’ve given me.”
I should’ve left out that last part about being grateful. It doesn’t sound family enough. Sure enough, Grandfather frowns, his fingers twirling his wineglass slowly. “I worry sometimes that you feel uncomfortable here. This is your home, Olivia. You own it as much as I do, and I’m proud to have such a wonderful, smart girl as my granddaughter.”
This isn’t the first time Grandfather’s had this conversation with me. It warms my heart, but at the same time, the more he tries to tell me I’m part of this family, the more I worry he has this expectation of me that I’ll never live up to. Half of me is my father, the person who stole Grandfather’s precious daughter away. The one time I asked him about my father, he went stone-cold silent on me, later apologizing for his reaction and telling me he knows my mother’s character is stronger in me than my father’s, that I have the better half inside me, and that I’m better than “that lowlife” ever was. I can’t help worrying that I’ll say or do the wrong thing and he’ll see that side of me and realize I’m not fit to be a part of this family. Knowing I feel this way would probably upset him, so I just put on my brightest smile and tell him what he wants to hear.
After dinner, Grandfather leans back in his chair. “Mrs. Bedwin informed me that you received a card in the mail.”
I should’ve known she would’ve told Grandfather. He probably told her to alert him to anything unusual that concerns me. “Yes. I’m not sure who it’s from. It wasn’t signed.”
He tilts his head. “Mrs. Bedwin said there was a heart drawn on the back of the envelope.”
“Maybe my secret admirer.” Maybe not. The last thing I want to do, though, is worry Grandfather. If he saw the picture someone took of us in the restaurant, he’d freak out.
“With a postmark from Richmond?”
I sigh. “It’s not who you think it is. I haven’t seen that guy in a long time.” As far as I’m concerned, Jack showing up at my school for a few minutes doesn’t count. “Maybe the mail got misdirected.”
His eyebrow rises in skepticism. I glance at the clock over the fireplace. “Oh, crud, it’s already eight thirty. I told Emerson I’d watch Boston Watchman with her tonight.”
“You’re going to her house this late?”
“No, we’re just talking on the phone while we’re watching it. I’ll be up in my room.” I stand and he follows. “Thanks for dinner.”
I cringe at his disappointed expression. I shouldn’t have said that. He’s probably worried again that I’m looking at everything as charity. Maybe I should give him a hug. I don’t know. That’s the weirdest thing about being in the foster-care system for so long—you learn all the school stuff and things like how to survive in a group home and how to handle changing schools every year, but nobody bothers to teach you about basic things like how to give casual hugs and be a good friend. Or a good granddaughter. Things I didn’t realize I was missing until I came here.
“Olivia,” he calls out as I walk away.
“Yes?”
“You’ll return the bracelet as soon as you find out who gave it to you, right?”
“Of course I will. I don’t want it.” That’s the truth. I smile, and he nods, satisfied. I have to admit, I love that he cares this much. I remember when I was in seventh grade, one of my friends at school kept talking about how her parents nagged her all the time about boys and school and stuff. I was really jealous of her—my foster mother at the time couldn’t care less if I had clothes to wear, much less whom I was hanging out with.
As soon as I get up to my room, I check my phone. It shows a missed call and a text from Jack, asking if I’m okay. I run my thumb over his words, picturing him in his room, picking at his guitar or tapping away at his laptop. I miss him, I’ll admit. It’s not easy to pretend I feel nothing for him anymore.
Contact with Jack is doing nothing to help me get over him. I shouldn’t have called him. I text that I’m fine, apologize for the call, and let it go at that. My eyes move to the picture that was in the envelope. Whoever sent me the bracelet I’m sure took that picture, too.
My phone rings and Jack’s name lights up the screen. Shoot, I should’ve turned it off. At the same time, I’m the one who called him and freaked him out. Like the mature person I am, I throw the phone into my nightstand drawer and wait for it to stop ringing before I take it back out. Jack left me a voicemail.
“Hey. I know you’re not fine, and I figure you aren’t answering because you think I’ll get the wrong idea about us. Don’t worry, I know we�
��ve both moved on. But I wanted to apologize for showing up there randomly the other day. That wasn’t cool. And this bracelet you got—well, there are some weird things going on here, too. I think someone’s trying to link us. I don’t know why. Just…be careful, please.”
There’s a pause, then the voicemail ends. I play it again. And again. What does he mean, someone’s trying to link us? With the bracelet?
I sit at my computer and go back to the A&P jewelry store website. There’s not much there—just a picture of the storefront, a map with the location, women who look like they’re from the sixties displaying arms loaded with diamond bracelets and rings, and an “about us” page featuring how the store is one of the oldest in Richmond. Old is right—they don’t even have any of their jewelry listed for sale online.
I start to navigate away from the site when I notice a small shield at the bottom corner of the screen. I click on it and it takes me to Avatar Security. Why would they need website security when they don’t sell jewelry through their website?
The answer hits me as I look at Avatar Security’s services. I go back to the website and zoom in to the storefront window. It’s not a clear image, but there appears to be a sticker on the door that resembles the Avatar Security shield on the website. Surveillance cameras—it’s got to be.
I call the store and tell the saleswoman who answers that I am looking for a particular date that someone bought a bracelet. She is nice enough to give me her work email address, so I send her a convenient link to a picture of the bracelet. She responds about a half hour later saying one of the salesmen in the store said he sold a couple bracelets like that a day or two before Valentine’s Day but doesn’t know anything else and apologizes for not being more helpful. I smile as I capture the IP address—she’s helped plenty.
Hopefully, the storeowners haven’t figured out that they need to change the factory settings on their security system. I do a quick search online to walk myself through the hack. Surprisingly simple. It takes all of five minutes to get in after only a couple attempts at username and password—“admin” and “1234.” It’s so weird to me—the more technology people have, the more careless they are about their security.
I start at the archived footage for February thirteenth. Mostly I fast-forward until someone appears, then I fast-forward again.
By midnight, I’ve sorted through all of February thirteenth without so much as seeing one bracelet sold and all I’ve accomplished is to give myself a massive headache. Yawning, I open up the February twelfth footage. Tomorrow is going to be hell, but I can’t sleep until I know. Which sucks, because it might’ve been purchased a week before.
The clock reads 1:00 a.m., and I find myself nodding off while scanning through the video. I’ve had to rewind a couple of times. Of course, it’s when I finally decide to shut it down that I see a salesperson holding out a bracelet to a man in a hood. I jerk up straight and rewind it. The man is completely hidden by the hoodie, which sucks because all I can see is his hand. Nothing like a tattoo or missing finger or anything, and the grainy footage on this cheap camera system isn’t helping with any other details. The salesperson comes back with a receipt and places two identical-looking boxes in a bag. Two? I watch the man sign the receipt. The way his hand moves, it looks like he’s signing an initial for the first letter. I rewind again and again, but I can’t get a better view. It could be a 2, or an L…or a Z. But this guy seems taller than Jack.
The man walks away, and it looks like he’s gesturing to someone off camera. I save the video to my computer and try to find other camera angles. There is only one other—pointed at the desk in the back office.
The guy obviously bought something else in addition to my bracelet, so maybe there’s some mistake. Maybe the bracelet was actually intended for someone else. I shake my head. I’m not naïve enough to believe a coincidence that big. Jack said someone is trying to link us. What does that even mean?
Something about this nags at the back of my mind, but I’m too tired to sort it out. I’m sure tomorrow it’ll make more sense.
Though, nothing so far has, so why would this be any different?
Chapter Ten
JACK
Liv leaves me a voicemail telling me she got a card from a mystery person in Richmond and then texts me she’s fine? My guess is she looked up the jewelry store, too, and is freaking out because it’s in Richmond. She’s going to tell me she’s okay because she either doesn’t trust me or she doesn’t want me to worry. Neither makes me feel better.
And what picture is she talking about? It sounds like someone sent her a picture that they took of her. Which is creepy as hell. My plan was to find this salesman Robert today and see if he had a description of the guy who bought the bracelets. But maybe it would trigger his memory if I brought in the actual bracelet.
Yeah, I know how that sounds, and I’m honest with myself enough to know I’m making an excuse to head to Norfolk again. I start to text Liv to let her know I’m on my way, but at the last minute I don’t. Better if I just show up before she has a chance to conveniently not be home. I can’t expect she’ll be happy to see me. Not after the way I left her, and not with all stalker signs pointing to Richmond. She didn’t even take my call last night, so why should I think showing up would make her any happier?
The weather is warm for February, and it’s Saturday with little traffic on the road to Norfolk. It takes an hour and a half to get to the mansion. I pause outside the open wrought iron gates, wondering why Mr. Brownlow leaves them open during the day. I can get inside without a hassle, but so can anyone else. Obviously.
I ride in and park behind Liv’s car, an Infiniti Q60. At least she’s getting all the best things now. The bitter knot in my chest tightens as I stare at it. I should’ve just asked her to send a picture of the bracelet. The last thing I need to do is look like a stalker to Liv, especially after she told me to leave her alone. But if someone really is after her, I can’t turn my back.
I switch off the engine and remove my helmet, placing it on my bike. I walk to the front door, take a deep breath, and ring the bell. A tall, lanky man in khakis and a polo shirt opens the door, his eyebrows pinching slightly as he looks me over, then over my shoulder at my bike. Yeah, dude, I get that I look like a thug to you. Deal with it.
“Is Liv here?” I ask politely. He doesn’t say anything. “Olivia?” I press.
“Who is it, Terrence?” a woman’s voice calls from behind him. The man opens the door wider as a round, older woman steps into view, wearing a black dress and carrying an iPad.
“Hi, I’m looking for Liv,” I tell her, smiling.
She smiles back. “Are you a friend from school?” I notice—and appreciate—that her eyes don’t skim over and judge me like his did.
“I’m a friend of hers, yes.”
She gestures me inside. I step onto the marble floor, glancing around at the bright chandeliers, mahogany walls, and enormous staircase. The kind of house I picture my father living in.
“I’ll let Olivia know you’re here, um—”
“Jack.”
“Jack. Okay, just a moment.”
She disappears up the staircase as Terrence closes the door. He doesn’t leave, though. Keeping an eye on me. I wonder how often Liv has friends over. My guess is not too often, considering how surprised he and the other woman are to see someone at the door for her.
“What are you doing here?”
A gray-haired man steps into view from behind a large mahogany door off the foyer. Her grandfather hasn’t changed since I last saw him, the day I turned his granddaughter over to him. He’s not wearing a suit this time, but he still carries himself as if he’s dressed for business. He was pretty nice then, from what I remember, and grateful to me for reuniting them. But as he approaches me, I can feel his gray eyes slicing through me. Carlton Brownlow is definitely not happy to see me again.
I straighten and nod at him. “Mr. Brownlow.”
“Answer my ques
tion,” he says sternly. “Why are you here?”
Calm. Stay calm. “I’m here to see Liv.”
“For what purpose?”
“That’s my business, sir,” I say, keeping my voice even and polite. By the flash in Brownlow’s eyes, I can tell he’s not impressed with my attempt at composure.
“Olivia is my business now. You are not in her life anymore. I suggest you go back to where you came from.”
“After I speak with Olivia.”
He steps closer, his eyes narrowing, and for a moment I’m actually a little afraid of him. This honest man is nothing like Bill Sykes, but in a way he’s even harder. If he could make me feel like this with a glance, I can imagine what he’s like conducting business deals. Despite the situation, I can’t help but respect that intensity.
He nods at Terrence, and the guy disappears. “Young man,” Brownlow says quietly, “I imagine you’re here because you wish to be with my granddaughter. I see it in your eyes, and I see that you’re not a man who gives up easily.”
He enunciates the word man carefully, and I get the feeling it’s a threat. I swallow hard. Liv is still seventeen, and my being eighteen could cause a problem that I don’t want to deal with.
“I just need to talk to her, that’s all. I’m not stealing her or anything.”
He glances toward the empty staircase, then back at me. “You think I find that funny? I know you had something to do with Olivia’s kidnapping last year.”
My composure finally crumbles. No wonder he’s so cold to me. I can’t blame him. “That wasn’t me,” I say, a little too fast.
“But you were involved somehow, weren’t you?” He shakes his head when I don’t answer, the corners of his lips tightening in disappointment. “Exactly. Why would you come back here now, after she’s worked so hard to get past all that happened to her? Do you know how long it took for her to recover? All the sleepless nights and breakdowns she’s had to overcome with therapy?”