I shrug, settling against the wall as Joe explains the scam.
“I want to make sure we have distance on this,” he says, face starting to flush as he talks about the targets. “Heather will call them up and get their email information.” Joe gives the thin girl—Heather—a shove and she moves over just before Joe collapses into her seat.
“It’ll reassure them that we’re not asking for money up front,” he continues. “We’ll direct them to the website and tell them to input their donations there.”
Nice. It makes it awfully easy to steal stuff when people just give it to you. It’s not a bad phishing scam actually. On paper, the charity organization looks good—nice website, caller ID shows the charity’s name—and Heather has a remarkably smooth voice for someone who looks like a train wreck. They’ve done their homework and we’ll have to work fast, but by the time complaints roll in and the police get evidence, we’ll be long gone.
“And,” Joe adds, “when we send them their email confirmations, when those rich bastards click to print off their donation receipt, you’ll have them, Wick.”
Wick’s gaze dips to the floor and sticks. I don’t get it. If she’s really working with them, shouldn’t she look more . . . into it? What’s with the hesitancy?
“Griff here’s a whiz with firewalls,” Joe says.
Wick’s head jerks up, waves of red hair sweeping against her cheekbones. “I can’t do this, Joe. I’m already under surveillance.”
“That thin cop?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s not a problem yet. No warrant, right? No security breaches?” Joe tips forward and I watch Wick’s fingers curl into the couch cushions. To hold herself back? Or to keep herself from running? “’Cause you of all people should know. Well?” Joe’s tone climbs. He’s getting pissed off, and without even realizing it, I’ve pushed away from the wall. “Have the cops traced you?”
Wick’s mouth twitches. A smile? A laugh? I can’t tell. She swallows. “No, they haven’t traced me.”
“Then we’re good—at least for a little while longer.” Joe sits back against the chair, propping both hands on his belly. “Don’t go soft on me, Wick, or I’ll have to toughen you up. There are all sorts of ways to hurt you now, and I remember how your old man used to do it.”
Disgust ripples through me, but Wick nods like this is no big deal—except her fingers are still dug deep into the couch cushions, knuckles going gray. I don’t recognize this girl. I’ve known her for three years and I’ve never seen her look so . . . ruined.
I didn’t think she could be ruined.
“You might think because your dad’s on the run that you’re beyond his reach,” Joe continues. “But you never will be. He’ll always have me and I’ll always have access to his people. I will fix you so you have nothing, understand? Do you understand?”
I’m moving before I know what I’m doing, stepping toward him—toward her—but Wick has eyes only for Joe.
“Yeah,” she says, and I stop, check myself. Wick didn’t even notice I moved, but Joe did.
We finish about an hour later. My second exit from Joe’s house is pretty much the same as the first: he points to the door, we go. Wick stops on the porch to arrange her messenger bag and I use the opportunity to pause next to her, sneaking a sideways glance and realizing, as usual, she isn’t looking back at me.
Probably just as well. This girl should be nothing more than a target. She’s part of a job, my ticket to something better, and yet . . .
It doesn’t matter. Remember what you’re supposed to be doing.
“You okay?” I ask.
The pause is so long I start to think Wick didn’t hear me. I look at her again, realize she’s thinking about her answer. You can see it in the way she grinds her teeth.
“Yeah, sure,” she says finally.
“How do you feel about the job?”
Wick’s upper lip wrinkles. “Oh, it feels peachy. Nothing like knowing Joe’s boinking a junkie he’s involved in his scam to make me feel all warm and tingly inside.”
Agreed. Heather is a potential complication—one I will definitely be bringing up to Carson. I tilt my head toward my bike. “You want a ride home?”
There’s a brief amused flash in Wick’s eyes. They’ve gone light blue again, vivid enough to distract me until she starts rubbing the back of her neck.
I smile, mentally willing her to agree to the ride home.
Wick drops her hand. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea.”
“Why’s that?”
“You don’t have to be nice, Griff.”
I thought girls wanted . . . what? I’m stunned stupid—until Wick power walks away from me and I have to take off after her.
“Let me give you a ride,” I say, striding along next to her. “It’s got to be almost an hour’s walk, right?”
When Wick doesn’t stop, I touch her upper arm and she sidesteps me. Fast.