Overture (North Security, #1)

I slip into my pajamas. Little penguins march across the pale blue flannel. It makes me feel safe and warm—I need that tonight. There are only a couple more months of sleeping in this house. There’s no reason for me to come live here after.

The lights are off when I step into the bedroom. A lamp clicks, and light floods the plush beige carpet. I gasp at the sight of Liam standing near the entrance. His lids are low in the dim lighting, his green eyes burning emerald tonight. “Going to bed?” he says, the question lazy. Of course I’m going to bed. The question is what he’s doing here.

“I’m tired,” I say, a little cautious. A little afraid. “Are you going to bed, too?”

He shakes his head. “I thought I’d tuck you in.”

Tuck me in? He didn’t do that when I was twelve years old. Why would he do it now? The idea wakes up every nerve ending in my body, as if I’m imagining his touch over the blanket, under the blanket, all around me. Nothing about my thoughts is innocent.

He waits while I brush my teeth and change in the closet. I find him sitting on the edge of the bed when I come out, and I climb in, uncertain what comes next.

“Your father made some people angry,” he says, his voice low. It’s as if the admission is torn from him, and it makes me wonder what else he’s been keeping held so tight. He pulls the sheets up high on my body, so it almost touches my chin.

“What does that mean?”

Liam brushes the hair away from my forehead, the touch of his blunt fingertips shocking even in their innocence. “It means he had enemies when he died. Dangerous people who would have hurt you out of a misguided sense of revenge. You couldn’t go into the system.”

“Is that why you got custody of me?”

“I could protect you.”

My throat feels tight. “So you didn’t know my father? Not really?”

“I knew of him. That was enough for me. The rest doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” I say, frustrated that he can still pretend this isn’t everything. “It’s the whole reason you took me in. The reason you turned your life upside down.”

“You’re safe now, child.”

The word child makes me rankle with the desire to refute him. But he’s sitting on the edge of my twin-size bed, wearing a tux while I’m in jammies. I can’t refute anything. He bends to kiss my forehead, and I push him away with a glare. I don’t want a chaste kiss on my forehead. I won’t accept it.

He frowns. “What exactly did Josh say to you tonight?”

“He said you believe you can’t love anyone. Is that true?”

“I suppose it is,” Liam says, sounding unnaturally calm about it. As if it doesn’t bother him to miss out on such a thing. “I care for you, though. Is that what you’re worried about?”

I sit up in bed. “Tell me something. If you weren’t friends with my father, how did you even know that his daughter was orphaned? Was there some kind of mass e-mail to people in the intelligence sector? A post in a secret Facebook group? Lost little girl needs a strong and seriously grumpy man to become her guardian.”

I’m panting by the time I’m done talking. It’s not only myself that I’m fighting for right now—it’s him. It’s us. And I’m willing to tear down every construct of our guardian-ward relationship to do it.

Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation. His lip twitches as if he’s holding back a laugh. “Seriously grumpy man?”

“You’re like a bear who’s been woken up from hibernation.”

“Maybe,” he allows. “But I have a reason to be concerned about you.”

“That’s why you freaked out about us going to the club?”

“Well, that and the fact that you’re not eighteen yet. Where did you get fake IDs?”

“Look… I have to tell you something about the club.” Nighttime is made for confidences, and I have the irrepressible urge to confide in him. Maybe it will become my downfall, trusting Liam. I have to try. “That man—”

“Criminal,” Liam corrects gently.

“It wasn’t random that I met him there. I went there to find him, so that I could—”

“I know exactly why you went there.”

My mouth snaps shut. “Excuse me?”

“You obviously were looking to lose your virginity.”

Shock steals my breath, so I can only stare at him in bewildered horror. After a moment I’m suffused with outrage. “And what makes you so sure about that?”

“I understand,” he says, with what appears to be sympathy. “You’re clearly experiencing a spike in hormones. Maybe even still suffering from some late stage puberty.”

I stare at him in undiluted horror. I’m over here thinking about love and sex, about protecting my friend, about a new beginning. And he thinks I’m having hormones.

“Samantha,” he says gently.

“No, you’re probably right. Hormones. Puberty.”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I’m embarrassed and horrified and most of all, so sad I could cry. Tears prick my eyes. Anger rushes through my veins in a heavy beat. Maybe I actually am experiencing hormones, but that doesn’t mean what I feel for him isn’t real. “Good night.”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN





The violin was considered the leader of the orchestra before conductors became common.


SAMANTHA

In some ways Liam North was an indulgent guardian. He would spend two hundred thousand dollars on a violin. He persuaded an infamous violin teacher to move to Kingston so that I could visit him once a week. There were an endless supply of books and music. I always had the latest model phone, some before they were released to the public due to his connections at the major tech companies.

In other ways Liam was the strictest guardian.

My transient existence as a diplomat’s daughter had given me its own education. I knew how to barter for fish in an Indonesian market and how to counter the early signs of frostbite, but I couldn’t name most of the states. School, he decided. Not private tutors. Not correspondence courses. I should attend an ordinary school with ordinary classes. I’m not sure how ordinary it is to be driven every day by an armed guard in a limo, but St. Agnes did give me a normal experience.

As normal as you can be when the tuition costs thirty thousand a year.

“You ready?” Laney murmurs.

I’m fiddling with the Bunsen burner, nudging the beaker with my tongs. According to Mr. Washington there should be precipitate once the molecules get hot enough to release the sodium. “I’m ready to be done with this experiment.”

“Forget about the experiment.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re going into finals with a ninety-nine.” Laney is freakishly smart, which means she can get straight As without even paying attention. Meanwhile I can’t figure out whether I missed something crucial not going to elementary school or whether I’m just naturally terrible at chemistry. If these were sheep intestines that needed to be stretched, if I needed to figure out the precise frequency of a note, I could muster up some interest.

Impatient, Laney taps the beaker. A small pile of white powder appears at the bottom. “We should be grateful he agreed to meet us here.”

“Seriously?” I mutter, writing down my findings in the lab notebook. “I know that, but I still don’t know how we’re going to get past the hall monitors.”

St. Agnes could pass for a high-security prison. Every school shooting that happens somewhere in the country is another excuse for them to add metal detectors and cameras—all of it expensive. It makes doing something as simple as skipping class a tactical maneuver worthy of North Security. Luckily I have the daughter of one of the greatest strategists for a partner.

She pulls a key card from her pocket, letting me see it for only a brief moment before slipping it back into her navy blue sweater. “Simple.”

I stare at her, incredulous. “You stole Mr. Washington’s security pass?”

“Don’t freak out. He’s always losing his pass, so much that the secretary at the front office keeps an extra one for him in her desk.”

“What happens when she sees that it’s gone?”

“That won’t be for days. We’re going to graduate next week.”