Or like he is.
“Girls,” Bren says, arms clamped tight around her middle. “You remember Detective Carson, don’t you? I know you do, Wick. Lily?” She searches my sister’s face. “Do you remember?”
Lily nods, serene as some ceramic doll . . . as long as you don’t notice how her hands are clenched.
“There have been some new developments,” Bren continues. “Some possible leads in your father’s case. He’s going to monitor the house for the next few weeks. Make sure we’re safe.”
“It’s all going to be fine,” Carson says.
All I hear is you’ll have to do what I want.
I stare at the detective and know I’m never getting out of this.
Still, he’s keeping up his end of the deal. I should feel safer now.
Funny how I don’t.
16
It feels like I’ve only been asleep for minutes when my new phone vibrates, skittering around on top of my nightstand. I slap my hand around until I find the cell, hold the screen a few inches from my face. It’s a text from Griff.
morning, wicked
I text
can’t wait to see you
And I can’t.
Another text message.
What do you have for me?
Ugh. It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I know it’s Carson. He’s using a burner phone.
A body isn’t enough?
A few seconds pass and my phone buzzes again.
Maybe your social worker should pay you a visit.
I start typing a text illustration of a hand giving Carson the bird. I’m barely into my tenth dash before the next text comes through:
Maybe I should let him have you. Or them.
My heart heaves. He’s just screwing with you. Stick to your part of the agreement and he’ll stick to his.
Thing is, Carson would sacrifice Bren and Lily, and no matter how much I try to ignore this, it simmers under my skin.
I roll to my side, deleting the texts and opening my phone’s email app. Thankfully, it’s only the usual school bulletins and sports practice schedules. Nothing that can’t—crap. There’s an email from Ian. He’s finished the notes for our project and wants to meet.
I start to blow him off and decide against it. I might as well get this over with so I send a quick message asking Ian to meet me after school tomorrow. Then I switch to the sniffer’s email folder. All of Bay’s information has been feeding directly to my in-box, making it easy to see everything at a quick glance.
I scroll through the items, wincing at the two texts telling poor Ian to “get the fuck back here.” I guess the kid really wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t like to be home. The emails between father and son aren’t much warmer either. Bay must have sent Ian ten different college applications—all expensive, Ivy League types—with orders for Ian to “get to work.”
Wow. If I were Ian, I’d pick the school farthest from Bay and focus all my efforts on that one.
I linger a moment more on the other emails, checking the sender names . . . and that’s when I see it. There’s a single email pinned between a scheduling request and something about an upcoming hearing.
It’s from Dr. Norcut.
I push myself upright, kick off the blankets. I had no idea they knew each other. I stab the email with my thumb and it opens in another screen.
Mr. Bay,
We’ve had our differences in the past, but you and I both know how important it is that we find Kyle before the police do. Please consider stopping by my office. I have a few thoughts on where we might find him.
Dr. Allison Norcut
Huh. It probably would go better for Kyle if he offered himself for questioning. Of course, if you killed someone, you probably wouldn’t want to do that.
It kind of sounds like Norcut thinks he did kill someone. Or might have. Or . . . wait . . . is she intending to turn Kyle over at all? Or is she offering to help cover it up?
I reread the email and still can’t decide. By finding Kyle before the police do, could they get him out of the country? Definitely . . . right?
Actually, I have no idea. I do know if Bay can look the other way while my dad tortures my mom, he’d have no qualms with trying to get his kid out of a murder charge.
I punch the forward button, plug in Carson’s personal email address. If the detective wants something, he can have this.
Even with two coffees in me, Monday is still an exhausting blur. Go to class. Get homework. Go to another class. Get more homework. All I really want to do is crash, sleep for a week, and then smooth things over with Lily and Griff.
Of course, in order to do that, I’d have to know how.