by Danah Logan
My shoulder? Oh wow, I totally forgot about that. I slowly rotate my shoulder, move my arm up and down. It’s still a little sore, but nothing like it was just a few days ago. It feels more like a faint bruise now. I should probably take it easy, but the need to work myself to utter exhaustion is too overpowering.
"It’s fine."
Without another word, Nate stands up, and I trail after him. He leads me through the foyer and down the hall of the west wing. I haven’t been down this way yet.
Maybe I should ask him for a map.
At the end of the corridor, Nate opens a set of double doors, and I follow him down another set of stairs. The staircase is double-wide, wider than I would have expected it to be. This was probably another one of his additions. The color scheme of espresso floors and white walls extends to the lower level as well. Stopping on the last step, Nate flips a switch and—whoa.
"What the—?"
Standing on the step next to him, I take it all in. In front of me is a gym that puts the one at school to shame. Any equipment one could ever use is set up in neat clusters.
Nate walks farther into the room and starts pointing at the different groupings. "Free weights, cardio, sandbag, weight machines." He turns to the far wall with two sets of double doors. "The showers are over there." He points at the left set, followed by the right. "And the pool is through there." Before I can say anything, he continues, "The running track is over there."
"Pool? Running track? What the fuck, Nate?" I don’t know why I sound so angry; I’m more stunned than anything else. Maybe it’s that he has surprised me once again? I’m tired of getting blindsided. Nate stares at me as if to assess the reason for my outburst. I rub my hands over my face. "Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just went off on you."
The corner of Nate’s mouth pulls up into a smirk. "You had an eventful day. And night." He leaves it at that.
"I guess," I concede.
"Well,"—he puts one hand on my shoulder—"knock yourself out. I’m heading back up; I need to go through some paperwork before the morning." And with that, he turns and walks up the stairs.
I spin in a circle and grin. The area must span most of the estate's footprint above, if not more.
Chapter Thirteen
It’s past four in the morning when I finally get back to my room.
After I scrutinized the entire gym—everything was high-end, of course—I decided to hit the running track. In the locker room, I found shelves stocked with workout clothes—male and female. I briefly wondered if the female clothes were mine or Margot’s. In the end, it didn’t matter.
Note to self: ask Nate what to do with the dirty laundry.
Indoors, I usually stick to the treadmill for my cardio, but running "free" was just too tempting. Despite Nate letting me move around on my own, I didn’t realize how caged I felt until it was treadmill versus track. I have no clue how far I ran; the distance seemed longer than the average running track, but it also could’ve been an illusion since it’s all underground. The first few rounds, I marveled how Nate, or maybe his grandfather, had pulled that off—the construction must’ve been extensive. After that, I turned my brain off and just ran…and ran…until my legs gave out. I’m no long-distance runner by any means; however, when I finally stopped, the clock on the wall showed that it was an hour and a half later. Not to mention that I couldn’t even see through the sweat dripping down my forehead. Looking in the mirror, I might as well have jumped into the pool with my clothes on.
Post shower, I found myself sitting by the pool on one of the lounge chairs, staring at the almost sapphire-looking water.
I replayed the phone call with Rhys in my head; he was so broken. Seeing the pictures from Wes’s house didn’t help ease my guilt either. My friends are worried sick. They’re probably scared out of their minds, and I’m playing house in this mansion. I had just worked out for Christ’s sake while my family and friends probably haven’t slept in days.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
My breathing increased, and I put my head between my legs.
I’m not sure how long I tried to get it back under control before the door behind me opened. A moment later, the lounge chair next to me dipped, and I felt a hand between my shoulder blades.
"Talk to me." Nate’s voice was low and hesitant.
"Were you spying on me again?" Still being bent over, the question came out muffled.
"I was worried. You’re still injured. I didn’t want anything happening to you."
That would be a yes.
At his admission, my throat tightened, and a whimper escaped me. I tried to keep it all in, but my body had a mind of its own. The tears started flowing. Despite my attempt to keep the sobs to myself, Nate felt the tremors going through my body. Carefully, he grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me toward him. I didn’t want to look at his face; if I saw his worry and love for me, I wouldn’t be able to focus on my guilt. I shouldn’t feel happy about Nate’s affection for me. I shouldn’t enjoy spending time with a criminal. He took me against my will. He took me from Rhys.
I tried to push him away, but his hold just tightened.
"Let me go!" There was no force behind the words, and we both knew it.
I didn’t even attempt to struggle. Instead, I slumped against my big brother and let him hold me. He didn’t say anything; he just held me until I had no more tears left.
"You need to get some rest."
Not responding, I just nodded, stood up, and left him sitting there.
Opening the door to my room, I get yet another surprise. There, on my nightstand, lays a phone. My heart rate increases, and I dive at the small device. As soon as I pick it up, I realize it’s not my phone. It’s a newer model. My gaze falls on a short, handwritten note on the nightstand.
Lilly,
This is your new phone. Your old one was damaged in the accident. With everything that’s going on, it took me some time to download your personal data and transfer it over. This is a secure device, but until we can get all the details straight, I won’t connect the phone to the network. However, I thought you might want to have your pictures. I also took the liberty of adding some new ones.
N.
Secure device? Not connected? What does that even mean? Tapping the screen, the phone lights up, and I stare at the Enter Passcode screen. Is this a joke? He’s giving me a locked phone. No, he isn’t. Nate would find a way to reprogram this phone with my passcode.
Slowly, I press my thumb on the four digits, and sure enough, I’m met with my background screen—a picture of Denielle and me from last summer. Sloane took the photo when we all were at the lake together.
Hesitantly, I click on the rainbow-colored flower. At the top is an additional folder labeled "Lilly." I tap the album, and my breath hitches. The first picture is the one of Rhys and me at Bones. The one in which I had leaned into him, eyes closed, looking so…happy.
I keep scrolling and find the picture that made it to the Internet, thanks to brother dearest. As much as I would love this photo for reminding me of the moment Rhys kissed me on the steps of Denielle’s house, the negative association of everyone staring at me with judgment and contempt has ruined the picture for me. My thumb briefly hovers over the little trash can icon, but I decide against it. I want—no, I need every picture of Rhys I can get at the moment.
Next is a picture of me at Magnolia’s. It’s the day I met with Denielle and told her everything. Denielle is walking away from the counter, and I’m looking at her retreating form—probably trying to figure out what my best friend is wearing. I smile to myself, remembering the moment I took in her unusual attire, when something else catches my eye. I zoom in with my thumb and middle finger. A few steps beside me is the creepy guy who talked to me that day. He is slightly blurry as the camera’s focus is on me, but you can make out how he’s staring at me. Leering. A shudder runs down my spine.
Following are random shots of me with Denielle. From the gy
mnastics meet and us walking to or from school. I don’t look closer and keep scrolling.
The surprises keep coming as I stare at the photo now displayed on the small screen. We were so careful. We waited over ten minutes to even get out of the car, but there it is, clear as day—or night, for that matter. Rhys and I are sitting at the small corner table in the café several towns over the night Nate sent his first message. Rhys is holding my hand, and we are looking at each other.
I’m sure that no one entered the café after us that evening.
The last photo makes my breath hitch. It’s not a photo at all; it’s the still of a surveillance or security camera. In. My. Living room. Rhys and I are cuddled up on the couch under my favorite throw blanket. He’s placing a kiss on my temple, both of us holding a mug in our hands. What is this? I’m going to be sick. I jump off the bed and race out of my room.
"NATE!" Where the fuck is this piece-of-shit brother? He went too far! I roar his name as I run past the staircase coming up from the foyer. I pound at his office slash NASA control center but don’t get an answer.
"NAAAATE!" I’m shaking from rage.
My brother comes tearing out of the last room before the hallway turns; he is still trying to pull his shirt over his head when I attack. I hit him full force across the jaw, and he stumbles back—stunned.
"What the—?" He’s holding his jaw, and I’m panting, trying to catch my breath.
"You sick asshole! How could you?" I clench and unclench my hands. I’m ready to strike again, but I’m sure he’ll block me now that I got one hit in.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Now Nate is fuming, but at the same time, he looks at me with wary eyes.
"This!" I shove the screen in his face. "Wasn’t it enough for you to spy on me from afar? You had to break into my home?"
Nate glances at the screen then back to me. "That wasn’t me."
With those three words, my rage deflates. "What do you mean?" I rasp.
All of a sudden, Nate looks…nervous? Apprehensive?
"Come with me."
As soon as Nate sits down in his desk chair, all the screens come to life. It’s as creepy as it is fascinating. The wall monitors currently show the surveillance cameras of the property—some inside the house, some outside with what looks like night vision.
I stand behind him as he starts typing in a command line window on his laptop. He types something and flips everything to the monitors on his desk. Then, he opens a second window and starts typing there—then a third and a fourth. Both monitors on his desk display black windows with green lines of code. It looks like he’s running some kind of program, but what do I know?
"This may take a moment. Tristen changed the passwords," he murmurs.
Tris—what?
All I can do is stare at the screens. Every so often, Nate types something in, and then lines of code start scrolling over the screen again. According to the clock on one of the wall monitors, it’s 4:30 a.m., and by the time all six screens on the walls go dark, the little numbers on one of the desk monitors show 5:12. The entire time, I stand there watching, neither of us talking.
"Here we go." Nate’s finger hovers across the enter key. "I want you to know that I had nothing to do with this. I didn’t know about it until the week I decided to speed up the timeline. George came across it while doing recon, and I later went back through the feeds as far as I could. That’s how I got the picture. I honestly just thought that you would like that picture of you and…your boyfriend. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot." The last few words are spoken so low they’re barely audible.
Nate turns for the first time since we came in here, and our gazes lock. He scrubs a hand over his mouth.
"Okay," I rasp out.
He hits the key, and all six wall screens come back to life. This can’t be. I try to draw in a breath. I can’t breathe. I clutch my hands to my chest and stare. In my kitchen are several strangers. Tristen sits at the head of the table, half-hidden behind his laptop. I focus on the other pictures in front of me: the living room, the entryway, the garage, Heather and Tristen’s bedroom. I squint, and sure enough, Heather is curled up in the bed. My eyes take in every small rectangle displayed on the wall right now. There must be at least two dozen cameras in the house, including—FUCK.
"This is my room…" I’m going to be sick. I force myself to look at Nate. "Did you go through the feeds?" What I’m asking is Are there videos of Rhys and me?
"I have." Nate’s face gives me the answer without having to voice the question. My knees buckle.
The first thing I hear is the clicking of keys. My cheek sticks to the material I’m lying on—what the heck? I slowly start moving, and when I attempt to turn over, a wall stops me. Oh, I’m on the leather couch in Nate’s office, a blanket draped across my legs. My face was stuck to the seat cushion, and now I am plastered against the back of the sofa.
How did I get here? What time is it?
"It’s almost noon," my brother’s voice informs me.
Did I ask that out loud?
I drape one arm over my eyes, debating if I should go back to sleep. If I’m asleep, there can’t be any more surprises. No more lies that make my life an even bigger farce.
"I’m sorry you had to find out like this." The sorrow in his statement is palpable and makes me want to curl up in a ball.
"Why are there so many cameras in my house?"
"I don’t know, little sister. I’m trying to find that out."
That gets my attention, and I sit up. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, it doesn’t make sense that the house is wired like it’s for an episode of Big Brother. That your and Rhys’s phones were tracked; this all seems to be overkill. If it were just about me"—Nate pauses and looks at me with his mouth pressed in a thin line before continuing—"it would be sufficient to cover the entrances, maybe the phones." He trails off again.
"You think there is more behind it?"
"I do. Until last night, I only went in once—right after George informed me of the ‘internal surveillance within Miss Lilly’s residence,’ as he called it." Nate chuckles, and I cock my head.
"George can be very…formal," he explains and, after a breath, amends, "when he wants to be. He switches from cussing me out to talking like an old English lord within the blink of an eye."
"Um…is he…?" I make a swirly motion with my forefinger next to my head. It wouldn’t be surprising if one crazy dude employs another, right?
Nate barks out a laugh. "No, he’s as sane as they get. He is more levelheaded than anyone I’ve ever met."
"Sooo…?" I let the sentence hang, hoping Nate will continue without me having to probe.
"He was raised very...traditionally. His parents were part of New York’s high society. He had a personal tutor and all the shit that comes with it. George rebelled, left school, and joined the military. He left his life behind and didn’t look back. But after he got injured—he never told me exactly what happened—he needed to start over. That’s when he came back to New York and became a P.I. He refused his family’s fortune. He ran into my mother one day, and she remembered him, even though he was several years older. They used to run in the same circles. Somehow, the connection to my grandfather was made. He’s been working for us since, in one way or another."
Or another.
"Couldn’t you find out what happened to him?" My curiosity is piqued.
My brother looks thoughtful for a moment. "I could. I checked him out on the surface, but whatever he did in his past is well hidden. He is very good at disappearing. Unless you know where to look, you won’t find anything about George Weiler. He had already worked for my grandfather for years. I’ve seen him around for just as long growing up. I trust the man, and it seems wrong to invade his privacy more than necessary."
I almost laugh out loud. Nate, who has no qualms about hacking into a school surveillance system or implanting a program on a hospital server, doesn’t want to spy on his bodyguard
—or whatever the man is. However, the sincerity in Nate’s voice makes me refrain from making a snarky remark. Instead, I change the topic. "So, what are we doing about the cameras in my house?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?!" I want to demand answers as to why the hell there is so much surveillance in my home. I’m about to say so when Nate’s raised hand stops me. Apparently, he recognizes the signs of an oncoming rant by now.
"It’s not important at the moment. They’ve been there for a long time from what I’ve seen. For now, we have to focus on the tasks at hand."
"Which are?" I finally round the desk, looking at the monitors. One is covered with surveillance pictures and one with—I have no clue. It seems like some interface, but I have no idea for what.
Nate holds up one finger. "Getting your story straight. Our story." Finger number two joins the first. "Making sure you get to talk to Rhys and"—he adds a third finger—"figuring out our next steps."
I blankly stare at him for several moments before conceding. "Okay"
Suddenly, Nate stands up and walks out of the room. Over his shoulder, he calls, "Hold on one sec."
At first, I am shocked that he leaves me here alone, all the computers unlocked, but before I can even debate using this to my advantage, the door clicks open again. Nate rolls another desk chair through the opening and positions it next to his. "Sit."
I follow his command and wait, unsure of what’s happening.
"Before we do anything else, we are changing the security in your room, and I am going to show you how to navigate the system. I want you to learn your way around."
Wait. What?
I can’t believe my ears. He’s giving me access? To the whole system? I must have misunderstood. Nate starts hitting some keys, and in addition to both monitors now showing the same interface, the wall screens are lighting up with the usual surveillance footage of the property. A few more keystrokes and I am looking at the rumpled sheets of my bed on full display on the bottom middle screen.