Our eyes meet and I stiffen. He’s not thinking of the work. He’s thinking of how I fell apart and cried. He’s thinking I can’t handle it.
He might be right. A pang of anxiety hits me low and spreads through my bones. Is this how he’s always seen me? How long has he felt like this? When I imagined this conversation . . . it never occurred to me that I would see another side of myself.
One that was even more loathsome than the person I thought I am.
Griff smiles, and this time it’s real. “You’re the most honest criminal I know, Wicked.”
He takes a cautious step toward me—because he can’t trust me? Or because he can’t trust himself? He touches my face with the backs of his fingers, runs his thumb over my lips. It drives delighted chills up my spine. My body responds to him like everything is the same.
Like nothing’s ruined.
His fingers find the hollow behind my ear, the blunted edge of my jaw. I lean into him and feel how my insides knock loose.
He can bury me alive.
Griff softly touches his lips to mine, a ghost kiss to say good-bye. It’s so damn fitting I want to scream.
“Good-bye, Wicked.” He pauses, waiting for me to say it back and I won’t. Maybe if I don’t, he won’t leave.
I can’t do this. I have to think of a way around Carson’s threat.
But Griff’s already walking away and I have to fight not to run after him. Just as well since I don’t think I’d make it two steps. His absence is immediate and heavy and I can’t breathe around it.
Griff slams the door and my knees hit the floor.
28
The next day, I play sick. Actually . . . it’s not really playing. I don’t think I could get out of bed if I tried and the realization makes me want to laugh until I puke. I am truly my mother’s daughter now.
Up on the nightstand, my phone vibrates. Another text. Lauren?
Carson.
He wants to meet day after tomorrow and I’ll need something good to give him.
I stare at my ceiling, weigh my options. The sniffer is working great if I’m interested in reviewing Bay’s work material or discovering what party his now dead assistant wanted him to attend. Other than that, it hasn’t been much good. Carson already has the pictures of Lell. So that leaves . . .
Norcut. I’m not super thrilled about pursuing her either. It hits awfully close to home since Bren has been taking Lily and me to the child psychiatrist for almost a year.
Hard to tell what her angle is. Is she trying to help her onetime client? Or is she trying to help cover something up? I could find out. She has less security than Bay, which makes her an easier target.
Except that would mean using Milo, wouldn’t it? Finding a way into Norcut’s computer files from scratch would take time. Using Milo’s in . . . it could be a fast job. But that would require asking a favor from Milo.
Milo, who looks at me in a way that Griff hates.
Then again, that doesn’t matter anymore, does it?
It still takes me a few minutes to screw together the courage to call him though. I dial Milo’s number and it almost goes to voice mail before he picks up, his voice sleep-sticky. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”
“Remember when you told me you could get into Norcut’s network?”
“Yeah.”
“I want to follow up on it.”
“Great.” There’s a rustling from the other end. Milo must be sitting up, throwing off the blankets. “I’ll meet you today. We’ll talk it through. I didn’t make it the easiest system to navigate.”
“No.” I run one hand over my face and realize my hair is sticking out everywhere. “No need. I already know how I want to work it. I’ll get into her office. I just need you to get me a distraction and her passwords so I have time to mess with the computer in her office.”
“Fine.” Milo sounds deflated. “I’ll do something with the security system. I’ll call you back tonight with details.”
I hang up and flip the phone onto the bed. Now for the rest of the plan.
I go downstairs and find Bren in her office, reviewing a contract as thick as my fist. “Bren?”
She looks up and her face creases into a smile. “Are you feeling better? How’s your head?”
“Not that great.” I try to arrange my features to look depressed. It’s not hard. “I think I need to see Dr. Norcut. Could you get me an appointment?”
Dr. Allison Norcut is one of the East Coast’s top child psychiatrists, with a waiting list that’s rumored to be three months out. I wouldn’t know. Any time Lily and I look sideways, Bren drags us in. And, sure enough, she’s able to get me an appointment for the following afternoon.
We pull into Norcut’s parking lot precisely ten minutes ahead of time, but because Bren is still on the phone with a client, we spend another five or six minutes sitting around.