Keystone

by Katie Delahanty

  “Fine.” I shrug, and we stand, facing off.

  His eyes are stone, without a hint of their usual mirth. “There is nothing, and never was anything, romantic going on between Faye and me. We’re partners and friends. That’s it. Besides, it’s against Keystone Code for partners to hook up,” he says, his jaw taut. “There’s too much at stake to let emotions get in the way of a job.”

  “So that’s why you picked me instead of Chloe? You were avoiding temptation?”

  He steps closer to me, his face softening, and tucks my hair behind my ear, sending hot chills down my neck. “Don’t sell yourself short, Ellie.” Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “I picked you in spite of how beautiful I’ve always thought you are. I picked you because you’re the best.”

  His breath tickles my ear, and my heart skips a beat, but I refuse to let him play me. “I told you I’m not falling for any of this,” I say, ducking away from him and waving my hand in front of his face.

  “And I told you I’m not trying to get to you.” He sighs. “I was being honest, but never mind. You clearly will only believe what you want to believe. Did I answer your question? Can we move on now?” He’s restored to his normal, cocky self.

  I swallow hard but thrust my chin forward. “Yes.”

  “Thank you.” Turning, he heads back down the path. “You were a Maker. Do you know anything about building a Network following?”

  Relief rushes through me at the thought that I might actually be able to help with something. “A little… We can buy followers, and I’m sure Stewart can hack the Network, so I can change the dates on whatever content I upload…”

  “Good. You’re in charge of building our backstories, then. I’ll take care of currency accounts and retina scans. We’ll need pictures of Beau and Betsy for the facial recognition cameras, so figure out what she looks like. How long will your makeover take?”

  “I don’t know. A couple days?” I’ll ask Sophia to help.

  “Tomorrow it is,” he says like he didn’t hear me. The path forks in front of us, and we stop at the crossroads. “And may I suggest extensions? Chloe says long hair is everything on the Skywalks.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I grit my teeth.

  He keeps talking. “Abignail is right, you know. In order to convince Nicki we’re brother and sister, we need to be comfortable with each other.”

  “And how do you suggest we do that? Trust falls?”

  “Oh no, we’re not to that level yet. I barely know you.”

  I roll my eyes.

  He barrels on. “Meet me tomorrow at six in the clearing behind my parents’ house—they’re out of town. I’ll show you where I grew up, and then I’ll teach you to walk and talk like an Influencer. You know, since I’m an expert.”

  “I can’t wait,” I deadpan.

  “Great.” Heading down the path to the right, he grins over his shoulder. “Don’t be late, Bets.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  January 4, 20X6, Keystone

  Tramping through the snow, I pull my coat tight over my chest. I can’t stop thinking about what Garrett said yesterday, about picking me because I was the best. And I’m not even going to go there with the beautiful part. I hate that I’m flattered—that his opinion matters to me—that I want to believe it’s true. Because it doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about me; it only matters what I think. It’s unlike him to let his guard down, so there’s got to be something he’s hoping to get by complimenting me, but it’s also been fun pretending what he said was true. Ugh. I’m so needy.

  Up ahead, Garrett sits on a tree stump in the clearing, staring off into the distance. Gone is the messy chin-length hair that obscured his face. It has been replaced with a short, cropped cut, dyed a golden brown and mussed with some sort of pomade that accentuates his cheekbones, makes his murky eyes glow brighter. Except for the three black bars under his left eye, he could rival any of my Influencer friends.

  He catches me admiring his perfect profile, and my cheeks flush.

  “Do I make you nervous, Bets?” He grins as I approach. “We can’t have you blushing so easily. You’ll give us away.”

  “Are you incapable of using a person’s full name?” I ask, stopping in front of him, my cheeks now heated with annoyance.

  “Of course not. Ask Chloe.” He presses his lips together, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Your hair looks nice.” Picking up a strand of my pale-blue waves, which now finish halfway down my back, he examines them. “This is a good look for you—less sulky and murderous—more approachable.”

  I ignore him. “Speaking of Chloe—since we’re here to learn everything about each other—you haven’t told me. What reason did you give her for picking me as your partner?”

  “Slow down, Ellie. Maybe we should establish some ground rules first.”

  “Ground rules? I thought we needed to be so in tune with each other we know what the other person is going to do before they do it. That comes with honesty, full disclosure.”

  He folds his arms over his chest. “That’s what I mean. I tried ‘full disclosure’ yesterday, and you didn’t believe me. This is never going to work if you think I’m lying to you. We need to agree that we’ll be honest with each other.”

  I wish I could tell him everything, but there’s no way. Having no intention of letting my secrets slip, I’ve been rehearsing my backstory all morning. “Fine.” I raise my right hand. “I solemnly swear to believe everything you say is the truth.”

  “Great. Me, too.” He stands. “Let’s go inside.”

  Clasping my hand, he tugs me toward his parents’ house. Irked that his touch sends shivers up my arm, I untangle my fingers. “You didn’t answer my question,” I say, taking two steps to his one.

  “I don’t owe Chloe any explanations, but if she asked, I’d tell her the truth. My parents made me do it.” He delivers the line without looking at me. “They were afraid you would tank the whole heist without the right person to guide you.”

  “And why did you really do it?”

  “Don’t you have any new questions?” We arrive at the back door, and he takes out his lock-picking kit. “I just told you.”

  “But that can’t be the truth.”

  “Can’t it?” Kneeling, he makes quick work of the door.

  I frown. Unable to prove it isn’t the truth, I change the subject. “Don’t you have a key to your own house?”

  “I don’t live here. I live in the dorms like everyone else.”

  “But you grew up here.”

  “Yes, but I told you, I don’t get special treatment. No one has the keys to a master thief’s cottage except a master thief.” Opening the door, he pushes me forward. “Now get inside before someone sees us.”

  He closes the door behind us, and my vision slowly adjusts to the dark. We’re standing in a mud room where the walls are lined with glass cases filled with glittering gems. “Before I forget, I have a present for you.” He flicks on a light and hands me something from his pocket. “Your AMPs.”

  I almost drop the contraband item. “Aren’t these against Keystone Code?”

  “Yes, but you should practice wearing them so you don’t look awkward when Betsy needs to use them. Plus, they’ll disguise your eyes so they read as Betsy’s.”

  My fingers close around the contacts I so detested in my former life.

  “Besides, some rules are made to be broken,” he adds. “That’s what tonight is about. This way.” He ushers me into the kitchen, flicking a switch on an antique wall panel that illuminates the chandelier over a round dining table surrounded by wicker chairs. “Try to relax and have fun. Nobody will believe you’re my sister if you’re always so jittery around me.”

  “To be clear, you do not make me jittery. It’s just my nature. But I will try to come off as your carefree, adoring sister.”
>
  “Thank you.”

  I tuck the contacts into my cargo pocket. “It’s so French in here,” I say, running my fingers over striped satin curtains that frame a leaded glass window.

  “Yeah, my mom lived in Paris before my parents were married. She would’ve loved to stay there, but it wasn’t possible. Robie promised her a chateau if she came to Keystone, and here it is.”

  We walk into a living area. In keeping with the streamlined Keystone aesthetic, the space is bright and light, with floor-to-ceiling windows that open to the woods, but that’s where the similarities end. The room is packed with stuff. One wall is lined entirely with books, and next to it a sculpted marble fireplace is flanked with intricate moldings. Gilded-framed paintings lean against ornate wooden tables and velvet couches. While examining the crystal chandelier twinkling overhead, I trip over a tassel on the rug and nearly collide with a vase painted with blue dragons and flowers, catching myself just in time.

  “Good thing you didn’t break that one. It’s from the Qing dynasty,” Garrett says, ducking behind a claw-foot wet bar. “It’s worth millions.”

  “Good thing,” I mutter. “Did your parents steal all of this?” I ask, picking up a jewel-encrusted brooch.

  “Yep.” His voice sounds from behind the bar. “A K-12 protect-a-lok with tamper resistant screws. Too easy, Dad.”

  My jaw drops. “But what about stealing for the fun of it? I thought it wasn’t about the stuff?”

  He reappears with a bottle of vermouth in one hand and peach schnapps in the other. “Now you know my dirty secret: my parents like stuff. They just have interesting ways of getting it.”

  Laughing, I relax, comforted that his parents have their own version of smoke and mirrors. “Literally what are you doing with those?” I point at the bottles.

  He takes out two etched crystal glasses and adds ice to a shaker. “Truth-serum cocktails are served.”

  “No, no, no.” I shake my head, watching him pour the schnapps.

  “Ellie, we’re going to be in a situation where we have to party. We need to be able to stay in character and keep our secrets.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I thought you wanted me to spill my secrets.”

  “To me, yes. To Nicki, no. It’s good to have a tolerance and to know how to fake it.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” I reply. “I’m a pro at faking it, and let me be the first to tell you, that combo is disgusting.”

  “I was undercover as an Influencer last year, and people were drinking all sorts of combinations.” He frowns.

  “Yeah, well, I lived in the real world more recently than you, and trust me, nobody wants to drink that. Let me back there.”

  He steps aside. “Be my guest.”

  Crouching behind the bar, I study the possibilities, blowing dust off the bottles. Some of the labels are so faded they look like they’re from the Qing dynasty, too. Finally, I opt for switching the vermouth for some brown stuff that I think is bourbon.

  “This isn’t what people will be drinking, either, but whatever. It’s the best I can do.” I shake the cocktail and pour it into the glasses. I sample the drink and wrinkle my nose. “It’s not so bad…”

  He takes a big sip of his. “I like it. You’re officially our bartender.”

  “That’s the second-nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “Yeah? Well, don’t get used to it. In here we can be ourselves, but out there…” He gestures to the woods. “We keep our game faces on.”

  “Agreed.” I clink my glass against his. Maybe this will be fun.

  Cocktail in hand, he links arms with me, and we stroll out of the living room into the dining room.

  “We used to have big dinners here every night when we were kids,” Garrett says, gesturing with his glass to a long rectangular table with seating for ten. “I don’t know if that will ever happen again, now that my brothers and sister are scattered in the field. I miss those days.”

  He seems serious for once.

  “Where are they?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Their work is top secret, and they can’t risk coming back here that often. The last time I talked to my sister, she said they leave coded notes in safe houses for one another, but they barely ever see one another in person.”

  “You’ll all be here together again someday, I’m sure of it,” I say. Picturing him as a little kid joking with his siblings causes a pang in my chest. My childhood was so isolated it’s the kind of family I dreamed of, the life I’d only seen in movies.

  “I’m not.” His smile is sad, but he changes the subject. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, you know.”

  “You haven’t asked any.”

  “I realize that. That was my segue,” he says. “What’s the most important thing for me to know about you?”

  Already fuzzy from the drink, I call on Self-Awareness class, speaking in a stream of consciousness. “You need to know I’m fiercely loyal. I’ll stand up for—defend—do anything—for my friends. Friends, to me, are the most important thing in the world.”

  He takes a sip of his drink. “Loyalty. I like that about you.”

  “Another thing you like about me.” I tilt my face up to his. “Wow. This truth serum works fast. Or maybe you’re a lightweight.” I grin.

  “I’m not allowed to lie.” He laughs before turning serious. “And I like lots of things about you.”

  He surveys my face, and my heart skips a beat.

  “Do you miss your family?” he asks.

  “Not really.” I shake my head, highly aware of his bicep beneath my fingers, trying to keep from curling against his chest. “I could never live up to their expectations, so I mostly kept to myself. I’m used to being alone. And life is probably less stressful for them without me…”

  “I bet they miss you. You know, the whole not-knowing-what-you-have-until-it’s-gone type of thing.” He searches my eyes. “I know my life was way more boring before you showed up.”

  My stomach flips. Needing space before I do what my instincts are telling me to do and rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, I untangle my arm and wander into the foyer. “What’s up there?” I ask, pointing upstairs.

  “Bedrooms. My parents’ offices. We should stay down here.”

  I down my drink and bite my lower lip. “That’s no fun.” Giggling, I run up the stairs.

  He chases after me, reaching out to stop me, but it’s too late. I burst into the first room I see. It’s an office cluttered with more stuff. The walls are lined with framed articles.

  BRITAIN’S BANKS BAMBOOZLED: DARING DUO ESCAPES WITH MILLIONS

  PARIS ON ALERT: BEWARE OF THE PROWLING PAIR—NO SAFE IS SAFE

  LOCK UP YOUR DIAMONDS: THIS HEROINE’S GOT HUSTLE

  “So much for ‘if you know it, it’s enough,’” I say, scanning the articles, amazed by how many there are.

  “It’s human nature to want people to know,” he says from behind me, his breath warm on my ear. “Being humble is great, but I think it’s okay to sometimes be proud.”

  “I agree.” I can’t stop reading. “They’re fabulous.” I exhale. Intoxicated by their exciting escapades, I feel my heart pumping in anticipation, wishing I could live out some of these heists myself. “You’re so lucky. This is probably what your life is destined to be like. Traveling around the world, attending fabulous parties, stealing the truth…”

  “It’s what your life will be like, too.” Taking me by the shoulders, he turns me to face him.

  “Do you think so?” I ask, lifting my face to his.

  “If you want it.”

  Our eyes meet, and I sense we’re level with each other, even though he stands much taller than me. His hands slide down my arms, and without thinking I ask the first question that comes to my lips. “Why are you so hard on me?”


  He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because I like you.”

  My stomach constricts.

  “But I’m not supposed to like you,” he whispers, wrinkling his nose. “It complicates things.”

  “Is liking me against Keystone Code?” I ask.

  “Sort of.” He chews his lip. “But just so you know, whatever happens out there”—he points at a window—“you know the truth in here.” He thumps his hand over my heart, and I’m sure he can feel it pounding.

  I search his eyes, trying to make sense of what he’s telling me, but they’re returning to their usual unidentifiable mix of humor and superiority. Whatever window I had to his soul is closing.

  Checking his watch, he sighs. “I’m late. We should go.” Without giving me time to respond, he grabs my hand, guiding me down the stairs and outside. “That was fun. How do you feel?”

  “Fine. I’m fine.” It’s the first time I’ve lied to him all night.

  “Good.” Dropping my hand, he locks the door behind us. “See you tomorrow, then, Bets.”

  Raising his eyebrows, he bumps his forehead against mine before jogging down the porch steps and heading for the woods, leaving me to stare after him.

  I’m so confused.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  January 4, 20X6, Keystone

  My evening now wide open, I head to the Vault. I have no clue what just happened with Garrett, and rather than analyze our conversation to death, I grab my journal, grateful I have the past to distract me.

  …

  March 2, 20X5

  Truth: We are all liars.

  Under the cover of the black-and-white umbrella, I ducked into the Anonymous, the basement pub on River Street where Crystal was waiting. With exposed brick walls and a small collection of rickety tables surrounded by barrel chairs, it was dim, dank, and sour. She sat alone at a table, the sole patron except for a few early-morning drinkers posted up at the bar. After the dark night, I would have preferred to soak in the light of the market, but I wasn’t in a position to disobey orders.

  “Thank you for meeting me,” she said as I sat, her voice low. She wore a fitted gray jacket and a hat with black net draped over one eye. Her makeup was pale, the only pop of color the shell pink that zig-zagged across her lips.