Chasing Truth

by Julie Cross

  Connie exits shortly after, offering us a brief good-bye.

  Our cab arrives quickly, and after we hop in and are down the road, I explain who Connie is and how I know her. Harper stares out the window, listening but saying nothing.

  ...

  When Connie finally calls me, hours after leaving the FBI office, I jump to answer. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “The mystery email address,” Connie says. “It belongs to a Bret Thomas. I believe he—”

  “Goes to my school.” My stomach drops. I knew it. I knew that guy was bad news. He lied right to my face and I didn’t catch it. “Oh shit, this could mean…well, it could mean that Bret is capable of…” Murder? God, I can’t even.

  “Ellie, listen to me,” Connie says firmly. “You and your boyfriend have to stop this Nancy Drew stuff. You heard the agents in the interrogation room earlier. They don’t believe this was a solo job, and since Agent Lawrence was the only taken in, someone else could be watching you two—”

  “Wait,” I interrupt. “My boyfriend? You mean Miles? He’s not my—”

  “Whatever he is, he asked me to help him get access to the FBI database.”

  “Did you?”

  “No,” Connie says. “And I’m not going to. Let me snoop around for now. If Agent Lawrence is innocent, that means someone went through a lot of trouble to frame him. Whoever killed the senator’s son is likely to go after anyone caught digging for answers.”

  My heart bangs inside my chest. Miles seemed so sure that it was Aidan this morning. Why would he dig around more?

  After hanging up with Connie, I hunt around the apartment for my shoes while texting Dominic.

  ME: this is Ellie. Have u seen Miles today?

  DOMINIC: how did u get my number?

  ME: from Miles. Have u seen him???

  DOMINIC: Party at my house right now. He’s supposed to come over any minute

  ME: Great!! Don’t let him out of your sight! And stay away from Bret!

  I pause in the middle of the apartment, trying to figure out what I should do first. Connie told me to leave things alone, but this Bret info…it has to mean something. He lied to my face. He had me fooled. Bret has to be a part of this. Is that why Aidan was so concerned with the surveillance footage of the parking lot? Did he and Bret work together? I swallow back that thought. I don’t even know what to believe anymore.

  I need Miles. Now.

  Dominic said Miles was coming over soon. But maybe he hasn’t left yet.

  My phone rings for the millionth time today. Jack.

  “How are you two holding up?” he asks.

  “Bad, I think.” I glance into Harper and Aidan’s room where my sister has left behind a tornado of papers and folders. “Harper tore up the entire apartment, wouldn’t tell me what she was looking for, and then took off for the Feldsteins’ to get her paycheck.”

  “She thinking about leaving town?” Jack asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “If she is, she hasn’t told me yet.”

  “Well, that’s good, then. She won’t go anywhere without you,” Jack assesses. “Give her space. Let her process. Try not to worry. I’ve got my eye on you two.”

  He’s got his eye on us.

  All eyes on you.

  Alleyesonyou.

  I was about to walk out the apartment door but suddenly I’m frozen in place, ice running through my veins. I manage to stutter out a reply, “Uh…okay. Thanks, Jack. Talk to you later.”

  I stuff my phone into my pocket and race to Harper and Aidan’s room. It’s in post-tornado state, but Aidan’s phone still sits on the nightstand in plain sight. With shaking hands, I grab it, punch in the password, and scroll back through his texts with Jack. Way back. To June 15. My heart nearly stops when I see what Aidan sent to Jack at 9:32 p.m. on the night Simon died.

  AIDAN: want anything from WaWa?

  JACK: sure. My usual hoagie

  AIDAN: meet u around back in twenty

  Aidan never mentioned Jack when he brought up that story. They worked together that night. At the Gilberts’. Either they’re still working together or Jack set him up.

  I drop Aidan’s phone onto the bed and run out the apartment door toward Miles’s place.

  I bang on the door. No response. I bang again but no luck. I’m about to pick the lock and break in, but the knob turns. It’s unlocked.

  Two steps into the living room, and I let out a scream.

  Clyde is lying in a heap in the middle of the carpet.

  CHAPTER 48

  Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod.

  I drop to the floor beside Clyde and lay my ear against his chest and listen. I try to hold perfectly still, but I’m shaking all over.

  His lungs expand; a rise and fall of his chest follows quickly after. I release a breath of relief and shake his shoulders. “Clyde! Clyde, wake up!”

  He stirs but doesn’t seem to regain consciousness. Is this what Miles looked like when Clyde found him? I look over the rest of the apartment. Chaos swarms around me. Every drawer, cabinet, and container has been opened and taken apart. The door to the secret room has been drilled and removed from the hinges.

  Oh God, this is bad.

  “Clyde! Please wake up!” Nothing seems to work, and I begin to panic about shaking or touching him; what if he has a neck injury?

  I take in a slow, deep breath and force myself to prioritize, mentally form a list of tasks in order of importance. I shoot Dominic and Justice the same text. Then just to be extra safe, I add Chantel and Jacob.

  ME: Do NOT let Miles out of ur sight .

  I remove Clyde’s phone and dial 911.

  “My neighbor is unconscious but breathing,” I say in a rush. “I think he hit his head or something.” I give her the address and then hang up.

  By the time I’m backing Aidan’s car out of the parking lot, sirens are already blaring in the distance. It’s dark now, too, and what had been drizzling rain turns into a downpour with pellets of ice hitting the windshield. I try not to speed on the way to Dominic’s house, but my adrenaline levels are too high. When I pull up to the DeLucas’ house and hastily park the car among the sea of my classmate’s vehicles, I send Harper a text.

  ME: don’t go back to the apartment. Not safe. Get a cab to FBI office and STAY there . Stay away from Jack!!!

  I don’t know if she’ll do what I’m asking, but I can only hope. I shut the engine off and and hop out of Aidan’s car. Dominic’s house is packed with kids from school, and it’s loud as hell. I shove people aside, searching the entryway.

  What if Bret is here? What do I do? Is it Jack and Bret and some mystery guy and they framed Aidan? Or Aidan and Jack and they framed Bret? Or all three of them?

  I spot Justice hanging with Chantel. Both of them are decked out in full party wear, drinks in hand. I’m still in my school uniform, my legs now wet and muddy from running through Dominic’s yard in the rain.

  “Oh wow, you’ve had a rough day,” Justice says, assessing me. “Let’s get you a drink.”

  I swat away the cup she thrusts in my face. “Where’s Miles?”

  “I think he’s in the kitchen—”

  I’m already pushing my way through to the kitchen. I glance around, scanning the room. No Miles. I hear Dominic’s voice and head straight for him. I yank him from a deep discussion on the best nineties punk bands and spin him to face me. “Where is Miles?”

  “Jesus Christ. Who invited you?” He tugs out of my grip and gives me his signature glare. Then he stands there like an ass for a good ten seconds, takes a hit off someone’s joint before finally answering me. “And Miles was here, but his dad came to get him.”

  “What do you mean his dad came?” I demand. “What did he look like?”

  “He had some like you know hair and eyes, kind of big eyes.” Dominic holds up a hand several inches above my head. “And he was sort of tall.”

  “Oh my God, you suck,” I groan. “Who else saw this guy?”


  I grip Dominic’s arms and shake him. “Focus! Tell me what the guy looked like. Was he thin? Did he have any gray hair?”

  Dominic’s eyes widen like maybe I’m scaring him. Good. “Uh… Normal, not thin. His hair was kinda like mine. Definitely not gray.”

  “Definitely not Miles’s dad.”

  “Relax,” Dominic says. “Let me call our man Miles Beckett.”

  Seconds later, I hear the buzz. I drop down on the floor and look beneath the center island. A black cell phone vibrates against the ceramic floor.

  Panic hits me from every side. I pull the phone out and look it over.

  “Well, there you go. That’s why he’s not answering.”

  Miles would never leave his phone lying around on purpose. I stuff it in my coat pocket and stand. “Call me the second you see or hear from him.”

  I don’t wait for Dominic’s response.

  I head straight out the back door and run around the house, looking for signs of something, but what, I’m not sure. I fight the urge to shout Miles’s name at the top of my lungs. Cold rain hits me in the face. Mud and water splash up my legs. I make a full circle around the house but nothing. No Miles. No anyone.

  A classmate nearly plows me over, trying to avoid a puddle in his dress shoes. I zoom in on his feet, staring at them for several seconds. Shiny shoes. No, super-shiny shoes. Like Aidan wears. Like the Secret Service all wear. And old jeans. Someone who’d been on duty and changed into something more comfortable. Didn’t bring a second pair of shoes to work.

  There must be an agent that fits the profile Dominic described, someone like that guy at the Gilberts’—

  Shit. Oh shit. What was his name? Rider, I think. But he couldn’t have posed as Miles’s dad. Neither could Aidan for a number of reasons, one being that he’s locked up at the moment.

  Jack.

  Jesus Christ, it is Jack. And he has Miles. But why? Why—

  Come on, Ellie, think. You need a plan.

  I’ll just have to get to the FBI office and tell them everything. But that could take too long. It might be too late by that point.

  I pull out my phone in the dark, rain landing on the screen, and with shaking hands, I dial the number Mr. Beckett scrawled on a slip of paper and then tossed into the fire.

  “Please state your pass code now.”

  My voice is shaking, but I force it steady when I recite the German words Mr. Beckett had quoted me. I wait two seconds, and then the automated voice speaks again. “Pass code verified. Thank you for calling voice mail box six-three-four-seven-two. Expect a return call from your party in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  The line goes dead, and I stand there shivering in the rain, staring at my phone, stunned and utterly let down. Why had Miles’s dad made it sound like an emergency number if it was nothing more than a super-secure answering service?

  I hop in the car and peel out of Dominic’s neighborhood and head for the FBI office. I take a back road, not wanting to get stopped. It’s dark, and the rain pounds hard against the windshield. I can barely see where I’m going. I feel around on the left side of the steering wheel, searching for the brights. My elbow makes contact with something. I glance down and gasp.

  Fingers. A hand.

  Two faces appear in the rearview mirror, and a finger presses down the lock button. I don’t even have to look. I already know who it is.

  CHAPTER 49

  The car swerves toward a ditch. My heart jumps up to my throat. Then what feels like a gun presses into my right side. I stifle a scream.

  “Easy there, Ellie. Keep that car on the road, understood?”

  Jack is in the backseat of Aidan’s car.

  I chance another glance in the mirror and spot the young agent who caught me in the Gilberts’ house. Rider. I was right. I’m shaking, but I manage to regain control of the car.

  “Good girl,” Jack says. “Just keep on driving straight, hands right on the wheel, ten and two, where we can see them.”

  “I told you she’d be a problem.” Rider digs his gun harder into my side. “She even got a license?”

  “Enough,” Jack snaps. “Two more miles and then make a left, okay?”

  “What are we—” I push the words out despite the fear. “Where are we going? And where is Miles?”

  Rider pats down my coat pockets with his hands and snatches both my phone and Miles’s. The sound of the screens cracking follows seconds later. “We’re going to a better place,” Rider says, laughing.

  “Enough,” Jack repeats. “Here, Ellie. Left turn.”

  The left turn takes us on an even darker, more desolate road. This is not looking good. Not at all. “If Rider is the bait, then are you the brains or the marksman, Jack? And which one of you is ‘all eyes on you’?”

  Jack doesn’t respond for several seconds. I can see him shaking his head through the mirror. “You just can’t stay out of shit, can you, kid? It wasn’t supposed to be like this…dammit.”

  Fear tumbles through my stomach; my hands grip the steering wheel tighter.

  “You were in Dominic’s house,” I whisper. “You did something to Miles.”

  I choke back a sob. I might be too late to save Miles.

  “Kid had it coming,” Rider says. “Running around like he’s in the fucking teenage FBI? If he wants to play cops and robbers, we’re gonna show him how it’s done.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Jack snaps again at Rider. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. No idea who that kid is. We’re gonna have to…”

  I tune him out and focus on a sound barely audible. A soft, repeated thud. Jack and Rider couldn’t have been at Dominic’s much earlier than me; they couldn’t have taken Miles far. In fact he could be very close by.

  The rain pounds against the windshield. I lean forward, grip the steering wheel tighter, and wait for the right moment. A tree appears in the distance. I tug my seat belt, checking it twice. And then I do probably the stupidest, most dangerous thing possible. I turn the wheel sharply to the left. The back end of the car swings counterclockwise. Both Jack and Rider shout and slide across the backseat. Rider’s door hits the tree, throwing them toward the other door. The impact is harder than I expected. My head bangs against the driver’s side window. Spots form in front of my eyes, but I manage to fumble around for the button near my knee and pop the trunk. I fling the door open and race around the car.

  Before I can even glance inside, a leg swings over the edge and Miles is standing in front of me. There’s a cloth tight around his mouth and his hands are cuffed in front. My fingers tremble when I tug the cloth off his face.

  “Hurry! Get these off me.” Miles lifts the cuffs and glances over his shoulder, checking for movement from inside the car. “My pockets.”

  Water drips from my nose and chin, but I dig in his pockets until my fingers land on his pocket knife. I find the corkscrew on the knife and squat down in front of the cuffs. “Where’s the lock? I can’t see!”

  “Come on, Ellie,” he says. “You know how to do this.”

  Hearing my name rolling off Miles’s tongue in that familiar way urges me forward.

  He looks over his shoulder at the back window and presses to the balls of his feet. They’re moving around in there. Jack and Rider. I shake the water from the cuffs and locate the lock. I’ve got the corkscrew working inside it when the rear car door opens and Jack tumbles out. He reaches in and pulls Rider to his feet.

  Shit. Oh shit.

  The lock pops, freeing Miles’s hands just as Rider lunges at me. Miles kicks him square in the chest, sending him flying backward. In a flash, he’s got Rider’s gun. He aims it at Jack while Rider gets to his feet again. Miles grabs the back of my coat and pulls me behind him.

  “Run!” he orders.

  A shot fires, ringing loud in my ears. I turn to run, but duck behind the hood of the car. Miles joins me, taking cover. He fires two shots into the dark.

  “Go!” He points toward the woods.


  I take off running, my heart pounds, mud sloshes up my legs. Miles catches up to me, his steps splashing mine, his breathing just as rapid as mine. We run in the dark, dodging trees, not slowing down even to glance over our shoulders. I can’t see anything ahead. Can’t make out a road or opening other than the one behind us. And we definitely aren’t going back the way we came.

  Miles is moving slower than I expected. When I look over at him, he’s got one arm draped carefully across his stomach.

  Oh my God, did he get shot? I open my mouth to ask him, but Jack’s and Rider’s voices grow louder. Or wait…are they ahead of us now? Miles hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me against a tree.

  “What happened—?”

  He lifts a finger to his lips. “Shhhh.”

  I clamp my mouth shut and hold perfectly still. He presses himself against me, concealing both of us behind this tree. We’re making great effort not to gasp for air, silent except the rise and fall of our chests. But when Miles rests his forehead against mine, I notice his breathing is more labored. I keep my eyes on his, internally panicking. I slide my hands beneath his shirt, feeling for any sign of a gunshot wound. As if I even know what that might feel like. Stickiness from blood? A giant hole blasted through him?

  “It’s my shoulder,” he whispers. “I think it’s dislocated.”

  I locate his right shoulder in the dark and gently slide my hand over it. My stomach rolls conjuring a mental image of what this probably looks like. I set my arm beneath his, trying to support it, take the pressure off his shoulder. I follow the path of his left arm all the way to the gun in his hand. He’s right-handed. Can he even shoot with his left hand? I shake that thought. It’s not the time to ask.

  “Come on out. We’re gonna find you two eventually, might as well cooperate,” Rider’s voice echoes through the woods. He’s pretty far away. At least it sounds like he is.

  My heart pounds. Miles’s thuds just as fast against mine. We both hold perfectly still.

  “They’re not over here!” someone shouts. A new voice. One that doesn’t belong to Jack or Rider. “You sure they’re armed?”