Out of the Dark: A Thrilling Romantic Suspense Novel (The Dark Series Book 2)

by Danah Logan

  The first day, we went over what I know about coding, which is what school taught me. Nothing out of the ordinary—basics. Once Nate was satisfied, he started giving me little tasks: write a program that does XYZ. Simple things. Then he started timing me. I thought he was messing with me, but he just stared at me blankly and pressed the start button on his phone's stopwatch.

  Later that evening, he handed me several textbooks to go over. He'd be quizzing me in the morning. He wasn't joking about that either. I got to see a whole other side of my brother. He was in his element, and his genius was apparent. Instead of going to my room that night, I napped for a few hours on the leather couch in the NCC—books all around me. I didn’t anticipate that an eight-hundred-page textbook could make such a comfortable headrest.

  After I passed his pop quiz, he pulled up several scripts written in what I had to study up on, and said, "Tell me what that does." He started the timer again. Oddly enough, I scanned the lines on the screen and was able to give him the correct answer. It just made sense as soon as I read over it. There were still several commands I didn't know, but something clicked into place in my brain. I’ve always known that computer science comes easily to me, but by Thursday afternoon, my brother declared that I'm a natural.

  After dinner, for which we had to go to the kitchen—no food in the computer room after my tea incident—he showed me how to execute the scripts he uses to get into places, what he needs to modify every time, and how he obtains said information. As an example, he used my high school's security feed. A shiver ran down my spine as I scanned the empty hallways of Westbridge High. I immediately recognized the frame where Rhys and Katherine's encounter had taken place a few weeks earlier.

  "And they don't know that we're watching?" That was mind-boggling to me.

  "No. As long as you don't forget to run the first three commands that execute the subroutines, you're invisible to the system," Nate reiterated. He'd shown me everything in detail, answered all my questions, and explained why he designed it the way he did.

  "How did you learn all this?" I asked him at almost two in the morning on Friday.

  A small smile appeared on his face. "I told you that anything computer-related always came easily to me." I nodded, and he continued, "My high school teacher had me do college-level course work freshman year. Eventually, he called one of his old friends at MIT, who let me attend his online lectures. I started designing my own stuff sophomore year and had a full ride to several of the best colleges in the country. But I wanted to stay close to Audrey and chose Caltech instead of going to the East Coast. While I was, uh…away, I read. A lot. Every textbook I could get my hands on since I didn't have access to an actual computer."

  We talked more about how he designed the estate's security system, and I started studying the code for that until I literally passed out on the keyboard.

  Before Nate goes to pack his bag mid-morning on Friday, (he doesn’t need much since he has everything at his house in LA) he tasks me to write a subroutine for my security camera and mics. He wants the system to send an alert if the mic detects a specific phrase. Essentially, it’s nothing useful, only good exercise. Nate leaves the details to me, and my pulse speeds up as I grin to myself and finish the final lines of code.

  "So, what did you decide?" My brother tries to look over my shoulder, but I quickly minimize the window.

  "You'll have to wait and see." His narrowed eyes tell me he doesn't like that one bit, which gives me even greater satisfaction.

  Nate lets the topic go. Instead, he says, "George will be here soon, and I'll head out around one. You have the plans for the weekend on your phone. I'll be back Sunday night."

  I nod, trying not to roll my eyes. That he didn’t plan out his potty breaks and put them on my calendar is a surprise. He even put in when he plans to go to bed, and at what time he’ll be with whom. I have all of Margot’s information, including the IMEI to her phone. Nate installed a GPS tracking program on his phone and modified it so it is only visible to George and me. A simple Friend Finder app wouldn’t do—not secure enough. Hence, why my friends had to remove those from their phones.

  Sitting next to me in his desk chair, my brother is playing with his phone. I look at him for a long moment before I voice my thought. I haven't spoken to Nate about Rhys in two days, mainly because my brother has kept me busy the entire time, but that doesn't mean I didn't think about it.

  "Nate?"

  "Hmmm…" He doesn’t look up, typing away on what looks like an email.

  "What if Rhys won’t forgive me? He still hasn’t texted or called," I whisper.

  My brother's eyes meet mine, lips pressed in a thin line. "I don't know, little sis. He'd be a fool. His problem is with me, not you."

  "Has George mentioned anything to you?" I haven’t spoken to George either since his last status update on Wednesday out of fear of what he might tell me.

  Nate sighs, and I don't know how to take that reaction. "George says Rhys has texted him a few times, mainly to check how you are. He's been playing a lot of video games since Wes went back to school. Denielle has been by in the evenings—she went back to school as well. Also, Heather came by earlier today to bring Rhys his phone. She stayed for about an hour."

  And that's why I didn't ask.

  My mind starts reeling. Den and Wes are back in school. Has anyone said anything to them? Or, more importantly, how did they explain where they were? Heather went to see Rhys. Why now? If he’s been alone all this time, why hasn't he contacted me?

  I bite my lip and swallow over the lump in my throat. Whenever my thoughts have gone there, I’ve forced myself to block everything out not to fall apart, but the mention of my adoptive mother makes a wave of emotion crash down on me that I can barely control. We haven’t discussed yet what I will tell them when I’m back home. It’s only five days away, but it seems like a lifetime.

  "We need to talk about what I will say to everyone when I go home," I start hesitantly, not sure if this is a good time to bring that up.

  Before Nate can respond, a beeping sound comes out of a speaker I didn't know existed in this room. The top right wall monitor, as well as one of the screens on the desk, switch to full-screen, showing the circular driveway in front of the main door. A blacked-out Explorer is pulling into the drive, and I glance at my brother. Nate doesn't seem alarmed at all, which can only mean that our head of security has arrived.

  Our? When did his change to our head of security?

  I stand at the top of the stairs while Nate is halfway down when the front door swings open. I’ve seen George on the screen several times; I’ve spoken to him just as many. However, seeing the man in person is a whole different story. The heavy wrought-iron door slams shut, and the noise makes me jump. The flutter in my stomach is swallowed up by a pit the size of the Grand Canyon as I watch the scene below unfold.

  Nate greets the other man with a handshake and one of those half guy-hugs.

  "It’s good to see you, George. Any trouble coming in?"

  "Nate," he greets my brother. "No, Joel had a new co-pilot that almost shit his pants when I got on board, but otherwise, no issues." The corner of George's mouth twitches ever so slightly.

  My brother takes a step back, and both men turn to look up the stairs at me.

  "Miss Lilly. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Speeding down the driveway, I watch my little sister in the rearview mirror. She stands in front of the main door with her arms wrapped around her midsection. Behind her, George's gaze follows my car until I'm out of sight. I shift down and push the gas pedal of my silver Ferrari 812 to the floor. If I don't get out of here, I’ll turn around and stay—consequences be damned.

  I don’t think Lilly is aware of how well I can read her—the small tic she has, snapping her thumb against the rest of her fingers when she’s nervous or, like now, hugging herself when she thinks about her boyfriend.

  Rhys McGuire,
what am I going to do with you?

  While I loaded my bag in the passenger seat, Lilly was admiring the other vehicles I keep here at the estate. I keep several model cars on all my properties—anything from my toys, aka fast but impractical, to big-ass SUVs, like the Escalade two spots down.

  I don't think she realized it herself when she mumbled, "Rhys would love this one." All the while, she walked the length of my matte-black Audi R8. I bought it on a whim when Julian and I decided to race on one of our boys' weekends, and neither of us had a bike available. We had driven his Viper to the place we stayed at, so what does a person with an unlimited amount of money do? They walk into the next luxury dealership and buy the fastest car on the floor. Which was a showroom model to demonstrate the custom options they offered. I’ve barely driven it since because, with the 5 % tint, you can’t see shit—the things I did in my twenties. I shake my head at my younger self.

  Lilly had stared off into the distance, hand still on the roof of the R8, as George met my eyes in understanding. She's not taking Rhys’s silence well—one of the reasons I pushed her to the brink of mental exhaustion for the last two days. All so she would not think about him.

  George has kept me updated on Rhys’s whereabouts, which aren’t a whole lot. He hasn’t left Wes’s house at all, and according to George, all he's been doing is playing video games and sleeping. I guess the boy also needs a distraction.

  I twist my arm and glance at the Richard Mille 031 watch my fiancée gave me for Christmas last year. I made sure to put it on before I left. Going back to LA means ensuring I look the part. Joel sent a text right before I left that we're delayed for two hours due to weather along the route. I have three hours until takeoff. I pull over to the side of the road and take my laptop out of the canvas messenger bag I've had since college. One of the last few memories I made with Audrey—she picked out the patches that are sewn all over it. This bag goes everywhere with me, despite Margot's objections.

  I push the driver’s seat back as far as possible, which makes typing on the laptop propped up in the middle a tad bit easier. I installed all the necessary programs on this computer before I packed it up. The set-up only takes a few minutes, and I hit dial. I can't stop the smirk on my face, thinking about the name that's about to pop up on the screen on the other end.

  Knowing that it may take a moment for him to answer, I try to be patient. But when I listen to it ring for the seventeenth time, I grow frustrated. Just as I'm about to stop the call program on my laptop, he picks up.

  "Hello?" He sounds cautious.

  "Soon-to-be brother-in-law!" I greet him with exaggerated cheer.

  "Really? What if someone would've seen the screen?" he hisses. Aww, I detect annoyance, which makes me grin even more.

  "It was worth it. We need to talk."

  "Is that so, PSY-CHO?" Rhys repeats the ID I programmed in for this call. I know what he's been calling me behind my back, but it doesn't bother me. He's a kid in love, and even my baby sister has called me that a few times over this past week. Neither of them is that far off—sadly. But things will change soon enough.

  "It is. Our girl is upset, and I don’t like her upset," I explain my call.

  "She’s not your girl! Stay out of our business," he seethes into the phone.

  "She is my sister. Everything involving her is my business." I consciously make my tone go cold.

  After all, I am a psycho, right?

  That shuts him up, and I continue. "I understand that you have a problem with me. That's fine. But none of this is Lilly's fault. You are making her believe her loyalty to me—her real brother—is something she needs to regret. I never asked her to choose me over you, and that's not what she did. You need to get your head out of your ass and try to see her side. She is my only family, and I am hers—as far as we know. But she also needs you. You ignoring her makes her question everything you promised her."

  There is more silence on the other end, and I gaze at the dash to make sure I’m not running out of time. I hear Rhys inhale deeply before he says, "I need time. I’m tired of lying. I don’t want to lie to her and tell her everything is fine when it’s not."

  "Of course nothing is fine. I fucked up. You fucked up. But she still forgave both of us. Our girl has more heart than you and I combined. She doesn't deserve this. Even if you need time… Talk. To. Her! Tell her that."

  I don't wait for a response. I’ve said my peace and will know soon enough if he listens or not.

  Thanks to LA traffic, I pull up to my house as the sun starts setting. I notice several rooms on the top floor are lit up.

  FUCK!

  I take my time parking my Aston Martin One-77 in its usual spot next to the white G-Wagon in the motor pool. I texted Hank earlier to leave it at the company's private hanger. I had no desire to deal with a car service today, and he stopped asking questions about my random requests a long time ago—rich people's eccentrics, as you could call it. I basically turned him into my P.A. years ago.

  Glancing over, my first thought is that Lilly would probably enjoy the Mercedes since she totaled her Jeep. "Maybe someday I’ll be able to give it to her."

  Mentally preparing myself, I slowly make my way inside. I stop in the kitchen for a glass of water before heading upstairs. Margot stands in the middle of my bedroom with several garment bags draped over the king-size bed, both armchairs that sit in front of the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the pool, and even hanging from the doorframes leading to the master bath and closet.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  She hasn't noticed me yet, digging through one of her three Louis Vuitton Courriers—also occupying my bedroom.

  "Sweetheart?" I keep my voice low and force my hands to unclench. I hadn't expected to see my fiancée tonight. It's almost nine, and I want to check in with Lilly. George has sent me several texts, and I know everything that's happened since I left, but I want to talk to my sister. Seeing her face, even if it’s on a screen, would help release the tightness in my chest.

  Margot whirls around. "DARLING!" Her face lights up with a smile, but she doesn't move away from the trunk. For the first time since we've been together, I notice how atypical our relationship is. Any normal couple that hasn't seen each other in weeks would at least embrace, if not rip each other's clothes off. But neither of us makes any indication to do any of that.

  I try not to sound like an ass, but the urge to just kick her out is taking root and spreading through my entire body. "Why are you here, sweetheart?"

  She has her own seven-bedroom house on the other side of town.

  Why is she in my house?

  She finally straightens and comes over to me. Placing her hand on my chest, she raises to her tiptoes and places a kiss on my cheek. "Your house is closer to the airport. We just landed from France, and I didn't want to drive all the way home if I have to be back here tomorrow for the party."

  "What do you mean here?" I hope she is just using here as the figurative way of describing this part of the greater Los Angeles area.

  "Darling, don't you remember? Celeste's party is here. Julian is renovating the pool, and their house is a disaster."

  Fucking Julian.

  I swallow my curse. He did that on purpose so that he doesn’t have to deal with this ridiculous party.

  "No, I don’t remember. When exactly did we decide on that?" There is no point in arguing now. I'm sure everything is already planned, ordered, and paid for.

  Margot puts her finger on her chin, looking away—a gesture that is endearing on my sister but makes me want to rip my hair out looking at the woman in front of me.

  "I think we talked about that while I was in France."

  We most certainly did not.

  "I want everything back in order by the time I leave Sunday afternoon." I can no longer hide my annoyance and stalk out of my bedroom before I say something I’ll regret.

  I should’ve stayed home.

  Home? This is the first time I
’ve referred to the vineyard as home. It’s always been my "sanctuary," but home? Though, it’s not actually the vineyard that prompted the thought.

  Margot doesn't know about my NCC—as Lilly has started calling my office—here in LA. It's in the basement, behind the gym, and my fiancée rarely ventures down here—sweat stench and all. It has the same security measures and the same security system I have at all my properties. I don't hide my office from my fiancée, but it has also never come up. Here. At the vineyard, it's in plain sight, and she accepted that my office is for business only. I could hide a dozen clowns on unicycles in there, and she wouldn’t know—or care.

  Again, what does that say about our relationship?

  I start up the cameras for this property, make sure Margot remains on the second floor, and set the motion sensors for the stairs on alert before booting up the other computer to log into the feed of the vineyard.

  The one room I have no cameras in, on any property, is my office. I find Lilly running on the track. Based on the appearance of her hair and clothes, she must've been at it for a while. When I don't see George on any of the cameras, I dial his phone.

  "Nate," George greets me as usual. He has never wasted time with formalities, though my sister at least gets Miss Lilly.

  "How is she?" The tightness in my chest turned into a vice when I discovered the state my little sister is in.

  "He called," is all George has to say.

  Glancing back at the monitor, Lilly is just starting another round of the quarter-mile track.

  This is not good.

  After having turned my bedroom into the showroom of La Déesse, one of the most overpriced boutiques I’ve ever had to set foot in and lose three hours of my life, Margot eventually ventured downstairs. I abandon my post watching my sister run for dear life in order to avoid my fiancée coming down to find me.

  Margot wants to order in Chinese, something we used to do all the time, and I used to enjoy with her. However, right at this moment, I don't want to eat or have meaningless chitchat. I want to banter with my little sister, push her buttons to get a rise out of her. I need to know she is okay. I never expected our relationship to develop the way it did when I brought her back. I don’t know what I expected at all, to be honest.