“It must have been Kyle who followed me,” I say slowly. “I fell in that sinkhole and he covered it not knowing I was down there.”
Carson goes still. “Do you think you could identify him?”
“No, not really. I only saw him from a distance. He was tall . . . had baggy clothes.”
“Brilliant, Wicket. That narrows it down. What happened?”
I quickly sketch the details: sinkhole, mud, a whistle that makes my skin crawl, and the footsteps that circled my car. I study the veins standing up on the backs of my hands and tell Carson everything: how I’ve screwed myself, how I’ve endangered my sister, how I’ve endangered my mom.
As soon as I say the m word, I cringe. Which mom? What was I thinking?
If Carson notices, he doesn’t say anything. In fact, he’s so quiet I finally look up and, out of everything I expected to see, I never thought he’d be smiling.
“What?” I demand.
“Maybe we can use this to our advantage.”
Carson sounds so hopeful my heart should lift, but the way he’s smiling makes my skin go cold.
“This is excellent,” he continues. “Really excellent. Welcome to the side of good, Wick. You’re finally going to help do the right thing.”
“What?”
“Aside from Ian, you’re the only other person who’s seen Kyle alive. He’ll track you down. He’ll have to. So we make that work for us. I’m going to use you. As bait.”
Griff puts his hand on top of mine. “You can’t do that.”
Carson laughs. “You sure? Because I don’t think she has a choice. She blew it. He saw her—has probably traced her car by now. She’s a loose end.”
He’s right. I stare at the carpet, not sure I can even say what I need to say because he’s right and now I have to live with it.
“I could protect you, Wick,” Carson says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. It makes his words slide like butter. “But you’ll have to do what I want.”
14
Someone from Carson’s team calls, and while he’s on the phone, Griff and I leave. I need to get home, call Bren from the house number, and tell her I broke my phone. I’m worried she’s been texting me and, since I haven’t responded, my adoptive mom will be convinced I’m dead in a ditch somewhere.
It’s kinda funny how close to the truth that almost is.
Griff and I walk silently to my car, making it to the end of the dirt drive before he finally turns to me.
“Bait?”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Don’t.”
“Wick—”
“Don’t! Just don’t. I have this. It’s fine.” I focus on the road, acutely aware of Griff’s gaze sliding up and down me.
“You didn’t know her, did you?”
“Lell? No. Did you?”
“Yeah. Sort of. She lived a few doors down from us. Her mom liked to party with my mom.” Griff stretches his legs out, plays with a loose thread on his jeans. “I haven’t thought about her in years. I must’ve been one of the last people to see her before she . . .”
Died. Say it. I can. Why can’t he?
We make a left onto the main highway and I force myself to be quiet. I want to ask for more details, but Griff still seems to be working through his memories. He’s staring out the window, wandering through cast-off moments he never thought he’d have to remember.
“Her trailer got robbed,” he says at last. A cop car passes us and we both sit straighter, watching the rearview mirrors. Griff because he’s trying to see if it’s his cousin. Me because, well, I’m me.
“I remember my mom dragging me over there so she could see Lell’s mom.” He sinks into the seat. “I think her name was Reichelle. Anyway, I remember Reichelle just crying and crying and Lell was, I dunno, smiling like she was okay with all her stuff being broken and stolen.”
Griff shakes his head, cracks his knuckles. “I thought she was as crazy as her mother. Later, when we all found out she ran off with that rich kid, I thought I knew why she didn’t care. He was just going to buy her more stuff. It was probably freeing to lose it all.”
“Really? I think that’s weird. Don’t people usually get attached to their things?”
“Yeah, and after a while, it owns you. If you lose it all?” His voice tilts and there’s a wistfulness that I’ve never heard in it before. “You get to build it back up.”
“Do you really think she thought they were going to run away?”
“Oh yeah.” Griff sighs heavily as we turn into my neighborhood, staring down the gas lanterns as we pass the entrance. “I was barely around her and I knew all about her rich boyfriend. Maybe she already knew they were going to run. Maybe to her, she already had a light in the dark. She thought he was her savior and he killed her.”
I park the Mini in the garage and reach for Griff’s hand, missing it by a mile. “Griff?”
“I’m going to check the house.” He jumps out of the car, slams the door behind him.
“I’ll come—”
“Don’t.”
I do. I push past Griff and he grabs my arm. It’s nothing . . . or it should be until Griff’s fingers dig in, hitting damaged nerves. My vision ripples.