“And give up the glory he’s getting? I don’t think so. Carson could bring down a corrupt judge on this one. He’d be a freaking legend around the station.” I’m trying to sound light and I’m failing. The words are bitter, but they’re also true. “Carson needs me. It’s not like I have much of a choice. It isn’t just me he’s threatening to hurt. It’s Bren too. Lily.”
We both go quiet. After a moment, Griff clears his throat, looks toward my window. “So do you have a new job?”
Funny. I can tell he’s already guessed the answer.
“Yeah, Carson wants me to investigate Bay. He thinks the judge is dirty and he wants my help proving it.”
“You know this is blackmail.”
“Yes.” I rub my temples with both hands. Every time I close my eyes, I see the dead girl . . . and then Judge Bay’s face. He wasn’t just horrified. He was scared. Why do I keep snagging on that?
“So when does it end?” Griff asks.
It doesn’t. The rest of the world thinks I brought down Todd by physically fighting back. He attacked me, I fought him off. He took my sister, I tracked him down. The truth is . . . a little more complicated.
I hacked to find Todd. I broke the law. Even though Carson doesn’t have proof yet, he can search hard enough and long enough to eventually find something.
What would that do to Bren? Worse, what would it do to Lily? My sister is so sweet. She wants to fit in. She wants to be loved. She wants everything to be okay.
It’s my job to make sure it will be. If working for Carson will keep the detective from unpacking my past and ruining Bren’s and Lily’s futures, I’ll do it.
Griff studies me. “It could end if you found something on him.”
A laugh skids out of me, stops. I’ve never worked like that. Not with my dad. Not later with his partner, Joe. Not now. I’ve never fought back. I’m not brave. I’ve always just tried to disappear.
“It might not be hard to do,” Griff continues. “Think about it. If he’s willing to blackmail you, what’s he done to other people? You could find something and use it as leverage.”
I stare at Griff. Leverage? What a pretty way of saying blackmail. Pretty and not like Griff at all. Am I rubbing off on him?
Leverage. I roll the idea around. He’s right. I’ve been so caught up in damage control I didn’t think about how to turn this. I could. My new life is worth everything to me.
And Carson’s career is worth everything to him.
“As for your mom?” Griff shakes his head. “There’s something wrong here, Wicked. Really wrong. Why give you the interviews now? What’s the angle?”
Another good point. Getting the DVD is problematic. If the Hart cop wasn’t actually Peachtree City Police, then who is he? And how does he know me?
“Going after Bay is dangerous stuff.” Griff pulls away again, putting more space between us, and I sit on my hands, tell myself the knot in my chest is not panic.
But in my head, Carson’s smile slides wide and I hear him ask, “Think he’d still want you if he knew you were working for me?”
“You’ve got to find a way out of it,” Griff says.
I nod, agreeing because I should, not really because I do. Finding dirt on Carson . . . getting a copy of my mom’s interviews . . . they’re interesting problems—interesting and scary. Tracking down Bay? That one feels perfect. The temptation is hot syrup warm against my teeth.
Griff turns the DVD case over and over in his hands. “I really don’t like it.”
“Yeah, agreed.”
“No, really, Wick. It feels like . . . a trap.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
I snake my head around to face him. “What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t sound freaked. You sound . . . interested.”
And he sounds hurt. Worried.
“Well, I am a little bit interested,” I say. The words are defensive and guilty and they piss me off. I shouldn’t feel, sound, or even be guilty. “I have every right to be ‘into it.’ It’s my mom.”
Griff won’t meet my eyes. “Promise me you’ll look for leverage on Carson.”
“Gladly.”
“Whatever this is, it’s bad. You have to stay away from it.”
“I will.” It shoots out so fast I don’t realize until seconds later that I’m lying.
6
Hours later, I wake, choking on a scream. Sunlight pours through the windows, casting yellow squares across my bed. My hands are fisted in the sheets and my T-shirt’s soaked through. I’m alone though. I’m okay.
I am.
Except I can still feel Todd’s fingers twisting into my hair.
I lean off the side of the bed, check the floor. Empty. I squint at my room’s air vents. The grills are still down. Empty. Closet’s wide open—I leave it that way all the time now—it’s also empty.
Like always, so stop acting like a spaz. Stupid how I can’t. Maybe that’s normal. I almost died and I almost killed Todd. Maybe whatever’s left should be a little broken.
Don’t think about it. But if I don’t think about Todd, I start thinking about Griff, and that’s no good either. I stare at the window he used last night and my throat closes.