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  “What are you doing to encourage him to involve you?”

  My mom winces. The camera zooms in as she covers her mouth—her bruised mouth—and suddenly I know who “he” is. My dad. They’re talking about my dad. What kind of interview is this?

  “I’ve asked to help,” she continues, her gaze wandering around the cramped room. “I told him I would be willing to work. He was . . . uninterested.” Her hand drops to the table, revealing a pale forearm marred by dark fingerprints. “I did try, Detective.”

  My hands curl. Detective. Work. She’s collaborating with the police. I crank the volume again, trying to identify the guy’s voice.

  “Then you should try harder,” he says. “You know how to handle him, Mrs. Tate. I know you do. You wanted him in the first place. He’s your husband.”

  My mom’s eyes lift to the camera, stare straight at me. “I wanted him to save me. There’s a difference.” She swallows. “I have to go.”

  The camera wiggles, the screen goes black . . . and white letters appear.

  See What They Did To Her?

  My breath dries up. What. The. Fuck? I minimize the video and click on the table of contents again, scrolling through the list. So many interviews. I watch them all and realize this wasn’t just a onetime thing. My mom was a police informant.

  And “see what they did to her?”? Who’s “they”? The police?

  Outside, a tree branch shakes against the glass, and even though I know who’s there, I still stiffen. I turn to look, somehow convinced it’s Todd, who’s about to crawl through and finish me. It’s only briefly though because his smile is white in the dark. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine.

  I throw open the window and Griff spills into the room, turning the air heavy, thick, into something I can’t inhale.

  I have to gulp.

  “You came,” I say, digging both hands into his T-shirt, pulling him close.

  He angles himself over me. “Always.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  We sit in my too-bright bedroom, listen to Bren pace downstairs, and I tell Griff everything. Well, almost everything. I leave out Jason entirely . . . and some of Carson. The secrets thump in my teeth and toes and I ignore them. It’s just the trouble with heroes again. If I tell Griff, he’ll want to save me. Better yet, he’ll want to save Bren and Lily.

  And he’ll want to do it honorably.

  Tell the police. Confide in a teacher. Speak up. It’s not that Griff’s a Boy Scout, but he uses his skills for the greater good. I don’t want to save the whole world. Just mine. I’ll play by Carson’s rules to do it. Griff won’t.

  He’ll look at me differently because I will.

  There’s enough said about me at school and on the newspaper blogs. I’m not going to add to it. So instead I concentrate on the assistant’s death. At first, Griff keeps rubbing the muscle between my thumb and forefinger. After I tell him the details about the body, he stops.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  Funny. With Bren, I never thought about it. I just said what she needed to hear. With Griff . . . “No. I mean yeah. Yeah, I’m rattled. I think I’ll be okay though.”

  “I think you’re wonderful.”

  The words surprise me and my heart twists hard. Griff often says things like that, and, every time, they make me melty. Sometimes I wish they didn’t. I’m not sure what to do with the girl he turns me into.

  Then Griff smiles that smile I crave and I lean into him, pressing my lips against the corner of his and scooping handfuls of his polo shirt. It’s so soft and thin I can feel his heart’s bird-wing beat. Griff goes rigid, but his hands ease around me. Ever since Todd, we’re so careful—and even as careful as we are, when his hands push up my rib cage, I flinch.

  “Wick?”

  “Sorry. I’m . . . sorry . . . just . . . it was a bad night. I’m sorry.”

  He pulls back, disappointed. I am too. Then again, I’m also relieved . . . which is disappointing . . . and disconcerting. How can I be afraid to be with him?

  And even more afraid to be without him? Once upon a time, I wasn’t afraid to be without anyone. I only needed Lily. Now . . . Carson’s right. I have too much that can be taken away.

  Griff closes my hand in both of his. “It’ll get better. You’re still recovering.”

  Recovering. Like I’m broken, and I’m not. I look away, eyes falling on my computer.

  See what they did to her.

  It’s something Griff and I would agree on.

  “It gets worse actually.” I untangle myself from him, swiping the DVD case from my desk. “I need to show you something.”

  I hand it to Griff and his mouth twists. “Isn’t that your mom’s name?”

  “Yeah. I was waiting to give my statement to Carson. This cop gave it to me. He even wrapped it like some sort of messed-up birthday present. There’re a ton of interviews.”

  “What would the police want with your mom?”

  “I think she was informing on my dad.”

  “Willingly?”

  “Don’t know. I watched all the files, and from what I saw, she didn’t seem super thrilled about it and there’s a message at the end of the first interview. It says ‘See what they did to her?’” Something shifts in . . . out . . . of Griff’s features. “What?”

  “Something’s wrong here.” His green eyes go dark. “One of the cops just gave you the DVD? Which cop? Why?”

  “Never met him before. His name was Hart.”

  “Hart? That doesn’t sound familiar.” Like me, Griff helps the police from time to time. Unlike me, he actually wants to be there. His cousin works in narcotics, and thanks to Griff’s help, they brought down my dad, catching him with so much evidence he won’t see the light of day for years. Griff testified that I had nothing to do with any of it.

  It’s a lie Carson still doesn’t believe.

  “Are you sure he was a cop?”

  I shrug. “I did a quick internet search and didn’t find anything, but he had the right uniform. I guess that could be stolen or bought. It was a costume party.” The more I think about it, the more my brain clings to how his shoes looked next to mine. They were shiny black loafers, not government-issued black boots.

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” Griff continues. “Why would he give you something like this? Why would someone put a message at the end?”

  “No idea.” That should bother me more than it does, but right now, all I can think about is my mom. All those years we stayed. . . . I thought it was because she was too afraid to leave. I hated her for it. What if she had no choice?

  “It doesn’t change the fact that she was working for the police,” I say.

  “The same way you are?”

  I go still, feel the question fall through me until it hits bone. I thought he didn’t know.

  “Tell me you aren’t working for him, Wick.”

  I focus on the white zombie makeup slicked on top of my hands. The more I rub to get it off, the worse it smears. “How did you find out?”

  “Rumor. Carson’s closing cases left and right. He’s the department’s biggest rising star, making connections no one else has ever thought of. It’s like he’s psychic . . . or he has a really good hacker.”

  I nod, take a deep breath. “I’ve been doing odds jobs for him for a few months now.”

  “Jesus, Wick. Why?” He’s pissed, edging away from me, and I follow . . . stop. In the space between us, the words I need seem to come more easily.

  “He knows I was involved in my dad’s stuff and with Todd. He says he’ll dig into me and he could find enough to put me away too.”

  “By agreeing to work for him you’re practically admitting guilt!” Griff pushes ink-stained hands through his dark hair. “He’ll just use you and arrest you later!”

  “And give up the glory he’s getting? I do
n’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.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  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.

  “Wick?” Bren’s voice floats up from downstairs. “Breakfast is ready!”

  “Coming!” I stick my hand behind my headboard, feel my jump drive pinned to the wall and the DVD taped just below it. Relief rushes through me. Not like they would’ve gone anywhere since last night. It’s reassuring to touch them though. Turning off the lights I left burning all night, I get dressed, and by the time I hit the stairs, my hands have almost stopped shaking.

  In the kitchen, my little sister and Bren are making breakfast. The whole lower floor smells like waffles and cinnamon.

  “Wick!” Lily rockets off the bar stool, a blur of pale blond hair and bright pink T-shirt. She hugs me hard. “Mom told me what happened.”

  Mom? I stare. Lily’s talking about . . . Bren?

  “Yeah, it was pretty awful,” I say, ignoring how Bren is now watching me, dissecting my words for emotional cracks Norcut would need to medicate. I think about smiling at her and then think again because I have no idea how that would be interpreted.

  Besides, when did we start calling Bren Mom? This feels huge, but I sit down like I barely noticed, digging into the scrambled eggs Bren sticks in front of me so I don’t have to face either of them.

  If Bren is now our mom, where does that leave our real mom? Do I tell Lily about the DVD?

  My first instinct was to show her. Now I wonder if I should. It’s been four years since our mom jumped. Bren is more her mother than our mother ever was. Maybe Griff’s right. The DVD said: See what they did to her? Well, yeah, I see it. Doesn’t change anything. Maybe I should leave it alone.

  I don’t know if I can.

  “Did you take your meds?” Bren asks me, sliding another waffle onto Lily’s plate.

  “Yep.”

  She beams and I have to fight a smile. I kind of hate that Bren sets the bar so low. Then again, it’s nice to be able to make someone so happy. These days, Bren thinks it’s a whole new me: no migraines (meds), new hair (blond), and fancy car (gift).

  Bren pours more waffle batter into the iron. “I spoke to Dr. Norcut’s office. You have an appointment for Monday morning—before school—so it won’t interfere with anything.”

  Whoopee for me. “That’s great. Thanks.”

  Bren double-checks the timer on the waffle iron. “What do you have planned for the day, Wick?”

  “Government project I need to finish. I have to go down to the courthouse to take notes during some of the trials and put it in a report.”

  Which is a convenient excuse to get a closer look at Bay. He’s supposed to be working today. Thanks to government cutbacks and overloaded dockets, the court system runs Sa
turday court once a month. Bay should be putting in a full load today. After last night, I’m not sure if he will be. Hopefully, I’ll get lucky.

  Bren’s spatula hovers above the waffle maker. “Like at the courthouse with the criminals? Is that safe?”

  I smile. Sometimes it’s touching how much Bren worries. Other times, I wonder if she thinks I’m an idiot who will wander into the first panel van marked “Free Candy.” “I’ll be fine, Bren. If anyone kidnapped me, they would return me. Promise.”

  I’m shooting for a laugh. Bren just stares me down.

  I sigh. “It’s a project the juniors do every year. I’ll call you when I’m leaving.”

  Bren’s face creases into a smile and she looks at me like I’ve just done the most amazing trick. “Okay, just be careful, Wick.”

  “Always.”

  The Peachtree City Courthouse shares the same low-slung building as the library. I park by the long-dead fountain and wait in line to get through security—security pretty much being a metal detector and a single overweight cop sitting on a plastic chair, his thumbs jammed into his straining belt.

  “Purpose?” Body by Budweiser asks me.

  “Research for school.” I hold up my laptop and he passes it through the scanner. No bombs. How very unsurprising. Triple B gives me back my computer without a second glance. It always amazes me that no one realizes I don’t need a bomb to do damage. Whatever though. Makes my life easier.

  According to the online schedule, Bay should be in the first courtroom, and just as I push through the courtroom doors, he’s taking the bench. Considering what happened last night, he looks pretty good—hair’s helmeted into place with gel; his eyes snap around the room like he’s ready to get started.

  Or like he’s looking for someone.

  It’s just past nine a.m. and I have my pick of seats. I head toward the front, staying near the wall so I’m close to Bay, but far enough that I have some privacy. Very few people notice me—probably because I blend better now than I did in my previous life. If I had known Ralph Lauren clothes were an excellent cover, I would’ve used it.

  Then again, if I could have afforded Ralph Lauren clothes, I probably wouldn’t have been hacking in the first place.