“Because if I made you afraid, I could control you.”
The honesty is sharp as a slap. She’s right, and even though she’s grinning like this is some brilliant move, it’s not. Norcut isn’t the first person to do that. There was my dad and then there was Carson. There were other fears wedged between them too. Fear of losing my sister. Fear of losing Griff. Fear of being discovered.
I’m nothing more than a coward. I spent my entire life in knee-jerk reactions, devising plans to get away when, in reality, there was no escape. Because everywhere I go, I am still what I am. The coward. The accomplice. The right hand for more powerful people.
People like you were meant to be used, Joe once said, and the idea enraged me. I thought about it after he died.
Correction: after I had him killed.
I thought about it a lot. But until now, I never thought he was right.
“Is it really that terrible?” Norcut leans forward. “We can give you money, power, all the technology you could ever want. We can give you protection. Family. You don’t want to be alone anymore. You want a family and we can be that family. We want more for you.”
“That’s a lot of promises coming from someone who uses her son as bait. What promises did you make him?”
Norcut goes still. We both do. I wasn’t planning on saying that. I’ve given up my hand because I got mad. That was a mistake.
Then again, now I’m the one who’s leaning forward. “Why would you do that anyway? Isn’t he useful to you anymore?”
No reaction. Norcut doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t blink. There’s no shudder and damn sure there’s no regret in those pale eyes. Not really surprising, I guess. She is a shrink. They probably teach them how to stay professionally blank. How very useful.
I wonder if she taught her son, Milo, the same?
I smother the thought and force myself to keep staring down Norcut. “What happens to me when I’m not useful anymore?”
“What do you think?” Norcut studies me, then glances at Hart. Judging from the way her eyes waver, he’s doing something and she’s watching it, but I can’t tell without turning around. My skin crawls.
“How did you get the phone?” Norcut asks at last.
“Found it.”
“Did she help you?”
She. Alex. I shake my head and Norcut goes blank again, kicking into therapist mode. “It bores me when you play games.”
“Then let’s stop playing.” I place both hands on the armrests and sit straight—straighter. “Forget finding Michael, what if I could get back the money he stole from you right now?”
From the corner of my eye, I watch Hart draw closer. The air is straitjacket tight, a breath held before the plunge.
“I’m listening,” Norcut whispers.
“Let me use your computer. He moved the money to another account—one I can get into. I’ll transfer the money wherever you want it to go, and in return, I get to leave.”
“Why do you think we’d let you go?”
“How do you know I haven’t planned for that?”
And there it is. There’s the flicker. For all her power over her merry band of hackers, Norcut still doesn’t understand what we do. She’s afraid of it. Of us.
Of the damage we could do.
“You don’t let me go,” I continue, lifting my palms to indicate the office, “you won’t keep your money—or any of this—for long. I know exactly how I’ll burn you.” The biggest lie I have ever told and it sounds so logical, so believable, and she’s buying it.
But she won’t for long. If I’m going to bluff, I need to be fast.
I want out of here. I want to be the farthest thing from Norcut’s mind and the farthest I can get from Looking Glass.
I watch her carefully. “Besides,” I add. “Why would you want me anymore? You could get someone new, someone who’s more . . . your type.”
She doesn’t answer, and in the silence, I realize why: “I never was your type, was I? I was just bait for Michael.”
Norcut shrugs. “Who were you talking to?”
Lily. Lily. Lily. I shrug. “Michael, who else?” Norcut’s gaze slides to the cell, lingers on my sister’s number. “Surely you know he’d spoof his real number,” I say.
“Then why’s Michael looking for you?”
“Maybe he loves me? I am his daughter.”
“He didn’t come for you when I sent you to Bender’s house.”
I take an unsteady breath. “Maybe that wasn’t part of the plan.”
Norcut pauses, considering me for a beat, before rolling her chair to the side and rising. She smoothes down her dark gray pencil skirt. “You have ten minutes.”
“I only need five.”
We trade places and I try not to flinch as we pass each other. Hart and Norcut both stay within easy reach and it doesn’t escape me how Hart’s hand goes to his pocket and lingers. Too small for a gun, so that leaves a Taser? Something else?