No. No way. I tuck both hands under my legs and grip. I trust Griff. He would never use that against me. He warned me about the money, about my dad, about Carson.
The thought makes something else climb to the front of my mind: what about Detective Carson? He had my computer at his house. Just because it didn’t look tampered with doesn’t mean it hadn’t been. If he had me working for him, who’s to say there wasn’t some other computer kid too? Maybe he had someone else go through the files, comb for keystrokes. It would take forever. He’d have to go deep . . . or I would have had to make just one mistake.
Like Alex said, if you have enough money, they can hunt you all they want, but they’ll never find you, and Detective Carson has been missing since that night I took down Ian and Jason. No one’s been able to locate him.
What if it was because he had enough money to run?
I give myself a mental shake. No, impossible. Lily took the money while I was in here and Carson was gone before then.
Unless he accessed the account after going into hiding. Once he saw the sudden deposit of eleven million dollars.
“Tell me who else, Wick.” Norcut takes another step toward me and I flinch.
“Detective Carson,” I say, flicking my attention from the therapist to Hart and back again. They were interested in him before. Are they still now? I know the timeline doesn’t work, but will they?
“He could’ve accessed the account,” I continue. “Transferred the funds. You said yourself you haven’t been able to find him. This is probably why.”
“That’s quite a suggestion,” Norcut says. “Are you sure it couldn’t be someone else? Someone closer to you?”
Chills crawl up my spine. They’re thinking Griff. Have to be.
I start to deny it because it can’t be. But the thing is . . . if they stop looking at Griff and start looking at the other people around me . . . how long until they suspect Lily? Just because I was blind to her doesn’t mean Norcut will be. She treated my sister as well. She knows her.
But will she suspect her?
“I keep telling you I work alone.”
Norcut scoffs. “Clearly, someone knew about you.”
“Someone like your son?” I regret the words as soon as I say them but it is possible. Milo was Griff’s builder long before he was mine, and I used Griff’s laptop for months. If Milo had installed something on the computer, it’s very possible he knew my log-ins . . . I just don’t think he did.
Or is that just my hope talking?
I sigh and try to look bored. “Again, I work alone. The closest I ever came to having bosses was Michael and Carson.”
“So wiping your account is what? The detective’s revenge?”
She might have a point. I did help expose his blackmailing habit. Milo may have planted the bomb evidence on Carson, but I motivated him to do it.
“I dunno,” I say. “I think eleven million is pretty good motivation all by itself.”
I don’t bother asking Norcut if she agrees. Judging by the single muscle spasm in her jaw, I’d say she does.
“I want the money,” Norcut says at last.
My smile feels stapled on. “And you’ll get it.”
“You’re right, because otherwise I’m going to burn you, Wick. Do you understand? I’m not talking about how you broke privacy laws or how you helped run credit scams. I’m talking about premeditated murder. I’m talking about how you took revenge on Alan Bay for refusing to grant your mother those restraining orders. I will give the police everything and then I’ll start on your family.”
Cold trickles into my veins and spreads. “You’ll get your money,” I whisper.
I just have no idea how.
Norcut doesn’t bother telling me to keep my mouth shut—I’m sure she knows she doesn’t have to—and I spend the next two days in a blur, pretending to track down money I have zero idea how to find. Hart never says anything, but the others keep their distance like they’ve been warned, and Milo doesn’t show. It’s probably just as well. I don’t think I could take Alex’s questions or face Milo’s smile. I need time to collect myself, think of a way out.
But the longer I think about killing Alan Bay? The longer I think about having to find the money? The worse I shake. I sit on my bed and rub my sweaty palms against the comforter, trying to decide where to begin. Whoever took the money logged in as me so I should be able to track the outgoing transfer. The date, time, and amount are no problem. The real issue will be getting into the receiving account. That sort of stuff takes time.
Which I don’t have.
The other problem . . . it may be impossible. If the money was transferred from the receiving account, if I can’t find a way in—because, let’s face it, my usual Trojan viruses are not going to work here—if I can’t fix this . . . I take a deep breath. Still feels like there’s a brick behind my heart, but whatever. I have to find a way in.
I rinse my clammy hands in the bathroom, take a thumb drive and notebook from my bedside table, and return to my computer station. I start with the receiving account—another bank in the Caymans—and I’m so absorbed I almost don’t hear the whisper of the glass doors.
Almost.
I’ve kept the overhead lights low and it makes his shadow sweep across my desk. We both pause, and for a very long moment, there’s nothing but our breathing.
“I know, Milo.” I keep everything I am focused on the computer screen, but my hands have gone to my lap. My fingers keep twisting each other. “I know she’s your mom.”
“Yeah. That’s why I came.” Milo pulls a chair close to me. We’re near enough to touch now, but we don’t. “You said once that we were the same,” he says at last. “Do you remember that?”
I turn, force myself to look at him. Milo’s eyes are hazy and far away like he’s pretending to be somewhere else, like he’d rather be anywhere else.
That makes two of us.
“I remember.” We were arguing about whether we should be together. I told him I thought we were dangerous together, that we were too much alike. Milo said that’s why we were perfect for each other.
I said that’s what made it scary. Who was going to be the voice of reason? Or, worse, guilt? I engineered Joe’s murder. Milo destroyed Detective Carson. We both know what it’s like to lash out because it’s our first instinct.
“You were right,” Milo continues, studying his palms. His hands are shaking. “We are the same. We’re the children of criminals. You didn’t realize what you were saying at the time, but you were totally right.”
I turn away, train my eyes on the wide windows. It’s another gorgeous day, but behind the tinted glass and without the overhead lights, we’re sitting in a pocket of shadows.
“You’re simplifying this a bit, don’t you think?” I ask.
“No, not really. We are what we are. I think that made us right for each other—who could understand me better than you? But that’s not what you want. You want to be better. You’re looking for a hero. Hell, you are a hero. I’m not.”
“You saved me.” And in spite of the anger and in spite of the fear, I know this is true. I turn and almost touch him. I curl my hands into fists instead. “Who knows what would’ve happened at Judge Bay’s if you hadn’t rigged that explosion—”
“I didn’t do it to save the others. I did it to save you. I’m not interested in sticking my neck out to save other people. I don’t have that instinct.” His smile is thin and pained and nothing like the boy I know. This isn’t Milo looking at me now. There’s nothing swaggering or cocky or confident. “Considering my genetics, I probably wouldn’t have understood self-sacrifice even if they’d tried to teach it to me.”
My laugh is a single sputter. “Are you trying to say you’re the bad guy? Because that’s stupid, Milo. I know you’re not.”
He considers me, those gorgeous eyes nothing but smudges of dark now. “I am though . . . and I’m okay with that. Or I was. Until you. That’s the thing, Wick. You’r
e going to want honesty from me, and hell, I’m going to want to give it to you, but if I do, you’ll never forgive me.”
My stomach twists hard. “Forgive you for what?”
“I sourced you to Looking Glass.”
I blink, stare. “I know. You told me you told them we were dating—”
“You’re not getting it,” he says and I can feel his eyes traveling over my face in spite of the fact that I can’t see them. “I sourced you. Not your dad. They never would’ve been able to put a face on you without me. I even made money on it. Wasn’t until later that I regretted it. Well. I sort of regretted it because then we were together. That was because of me too.”
I try to swallow and can’t. “Milo, you took away my life. You made my secrets theirs.”
“Yeah, I did.” He leans forward and I shy away, press my spine into the chair. “But what if you’re better because of it? What if you used Looking Glass as an opportunity?”
If there was regret in his voice before, it’s gone now. Excitement’s piling up the sentences and I know what’s coming next.
Maybe because I always did.
“I was never kidding when I said you could rule the world,” Milo says. “Why play by the rules when you can make your own?”
“Because it’s wrong. I know you know what my dad did. He broke all the rules and look what happened.”
“Your mother followed all the rules and look what happened.”
My breath hitches like Milo punched me. He might as well have. “Don’t you dare use my mother to prove your point.”
Milo shrugs, sits back, and watches me.
“Do you work for them?” I ask. “Is that why you came here?”
“Yeah, they knew you weren’t buying into the program.” Milo takes a deep breath in, holds it, and when his head twitches, I know he’s looked away from me. “They knew if I came in and told you to trust Hart and Norcut, you would—because you trust me. Or you did.”
I’m suddenly falling. I’m falling and I’m falling and I’m sitting so still he won’t be able to tell.
But I can. I can feel every crack and fissure as I break.
“Then all of the kissing and . . . and—” And I can’t say it. I’m Bren now. I’m a coward now. I’m too scared to say the words I need because once I say them, they’ll be real. He faked everything. None of what we had was real.
It was engineered. Just like when they used my mom. Just like Alex said.
I study Milo, try to cram my thoughts into something useful, but all I can think is What do you do when you find out everything you are is made-up?
“No. What we had wasn’t a lie.” Milo looks away and there’s a soft breath of movement by my knees. His hands press together and separate, go to his knees, and move to his lap. “What I had with you might have been the truest thing even if it is the truth that will end us.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?”
“Because I’m being honest enough to tell you.” Milo laughs. It’s so sudden I jump, maybe even recoil. Everything feels so different and so entirely the same.
Milo watches me. “And that’s the most hilarious part, isn’t it? Before you, I would never have told the girl I wanted—I loved—the truth. Not if it meant losing her. But now . . . now I know that when you love someone they deserve nothing less than the truth.”
“I . . . I . . .” I can’t breathe. He can though. Easily. Milo’s chest rises and falls. He’s relaxed. Unburdened.
Because now I am. He gave his lies to me to carry, to hold, to know.
Tears smear the room and blur his face. I inhale hard. There’s a choice that has to be made now. I have to decide what we’re going to be and somehow, some way, I know if I cry now it’s over. If I lose control, I will lose him.
I hate that. I might hate him. Or I might just hate me. For believing him.
I clear my throat. “Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I need you to run.”
“Why?” I ask. The word is high and reedy and nudging dangerously close to tears again.
“Because I know you’re in trouble.” Milo leans closer, bracing both forearms on his knees. “My mother lied to me too. I really wanted to believe her and she lied. You’re not safe.”
No shit, I want to say. You think? I want to add.
“How can I believe you?” is all I say. I scoot my chair back another inch and he does not follow me. “This could be another lie.”
Milo winces, then nods, like he deserved that and he did. He did.
So why do I feel like I just wounded myself?
“It’s not a lie,” Milo says finally. “I know you’ve seen the guys watching the building. They’re not competitors. They’re government—FBI, CIA, something. They’re onto Looking Glass, which is bad for you because now Hart and my mother need that money. Fast. They can’t disappear without it.”
“How do I know this isn’t another one of your games?”
“You were never a game.”
“Don’t.”
Milo’s sigh is harsh, ragged. “Even when I told her about you, it was never a game. It was survival. It’s what I did to keep going. You get that. I know you do.”
I do.
“Where would I go?” I ask, sounding light, amused. It is amusing. “They’ll hunt me. You’ve given them what they need to hunt me. My cover’s blown. I can’t go home. I can’t even access what I need to escape.”
“Bren knows something’s wrong.”
My head snakes toward him. “What do you know about that? Did they do something to her?”
“No. They’ll stall her for as long as they can, but considering you spoke with Lily and now Bren’s asking to see you . . . they know they don’t have much time.” Milo pauses, but we both know what’s coming next: “That’s going to make things difficult for them and they’ll make it difficult on you.”
“I know.”
“You don’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t sound so confident. They will kill you, Wick. Trust me. Everyone here is expendable—that’s why they knew it would work. No family. No histories. No one to come looking if the hackers disappear. It’s one of the reasons Looking Glass works so well.”
“And the other reasons?”
“My mother sourced the talent and Bay found the clients. It was great. They were racking up millions, then Michael raided the account.” Milo waits until I look at him. “You didn’t kill an innocent man, Wick. What you did . . . you had no way of knowing.”
“Is that supposed to help me sleep at night?”
Now it’s his turn to look away. Milo studies everything—anything—that isn’t me. “Hart and my mother know what Alex is doing.”
My heart jams into my throat. “Why haven’t they done something then?”
He lifts one shoulder. “Not the right time? She has something else in mind? No idea, but you might want to pass that along.”
“How? On my way out the door? There’s no escape from Looking Glass.”
Milo’s laugh is soft this time. “I didn’t think you were capable of playing stupid.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Except I do. Of course I do. He’s talking about the security system. I know how to scam the cameras—they’re fixed, they’re vulnerable—and he knows I know it. They’re Looking Glass’s sole weakness and he didn’t tell them.
Which means he’s on my side.
Or that he was always leaving himself an escape hatch.
Or that this was planned all along and they’ll be waiting for me.
Milo leans forward, presses something small and hard into my hands. His cell phone. I shove to my feet and thump into the corner of my desk. “What are you doing?” I manage.
“A good builder always leaves a back door into his system, right? That’s my back door and your way out.”
I force myself to move. “Why are you telling me everything now?”
No answer. I didn’t figure there would be. Somehow, I’ve blundere
d all the way to the door without realizing it and Milo hasn’t followed me. It’s a relief.
So why am I lingering?
My hand fists around the door handle and Milo’s voice snakes from the dark.
“When you run, promise you’ll be fast, Wick. Disappear. Use every trick you have. Because when they come for you, it will be with everything they have. There will be no mercy, no pity. You’ll only have one chance.”
26
I slide my card through the elevator’s reader with shaky, sausage fingers. Everything’s gone numb. Clumsy. I lean one hip against the polished metal wall and focus on my feet.
On my anger.
Like an idiot, I believed in Milo. I wanted this fairy tale to work. I ignored my gut. Oh my God, I’ve been so stupid.
Kind of amazing how the realization makes everything go hard inside me. My legs straighten. My brain starts to click past the panic and into my next move. First I’ll need to override the camera feeds. Then I’ll need to override the elevator. Would it be better to go out the front? Or through the parking deck?
My instinct says parking deck because there will be fewer witnesses, but there’s a gate at the exit and I’m not sure if I could climb it. The elevator doors open and I turn for my room. I don’t look at the security cameras I pass, but I feel them. Everything that keeps us safe also keeps us in place.
I swipe my key card and push through the bedroom door. Alex is still at her desk. Her fingers pause over the laptop keys. She doesn’t say a word though. She’s still mad at me and I should let it go, but Norcut knows about Alex.
Alex, who just wants to be safe for a little while.
Alex, who had to pick between the monsters out there and the monsters in here.
We are so alike. Can I live with myself if I leave her?
God, no.
“We have a problem,” I say softly, putting the cell on my bed. She starts typing again and I take a step toward her. “We have to run. They know what you’re doing.”
She stops typing and slowly—too slowly—pivots to face me. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Trust Me Page 14