Lies I Told (21 page)

We were up and over the window ledge in less than thirty seconds. It took us twenty more to race to the alarm keypad in the foyer, and I took a few moments to catch my breath, repeating the alarm code I'd memorized before leaving the house. I didn't want to make a mistake.

When my hands were steady enough, I reached out and punched the keys.

8-3-6-0-1-2

Time seemed to stop as I waited for the red status light to change to green. I didn't dare move, didn't dare look at Parker. I was ready to take off running when an almost inaudible beep sounded from the keypad. The light turned green.

I exhaled noisily. “Jesus.”

“Let's check out the glass before we go to the carriage house,” Parker said.

We made our way back to the living room, using Parker's penlight to scan the ground for the piece of glass he'd removed from the window.

“Careful where you step,” he warned.

I was beginning to wonder if it had rolled under the desk, or even the sofas near the TV, when I spotted a glimmer on the carpet.

I pointed. “There.”

Parker shone the light in that direction. There it was: an almost perfectly round piece of glass about six inches in diameter.

I picked it up while Parker removed the auto-glass adhesive from the pack. I held the circle up to the flashlight.

“Nice. Not a single crack,” I said. “We got lucky with the carpet.”

I held the glass while Parker ran a thin line of adhesive around its edges. After that he had to work fast to replace it before the glue dried. It wasn't easy. We had to get the glass back in position without letting it fall through to the other side, and I stood on the desk near the window, trying to help him line it up before we pressed it into place.

When it looked like we had it right, he tipped the glass gently into the empty spot in the window, careful not to press too hard. He shimmied it a little, trying to get it just right before the adhesive dried. Finally, he stood back.

“I think that's it.”

I leaned in for a better look. It was almost seamless. There was a very small ring around the piece of cut glass, but I
didn't think anyone would notice it in passing.

“Looks good.” I held out a hand to Parker. “I'll finish it.”

He handed me a small bottle filled with blue liquid and the cloth he'd used to tap out the cut glass. I sprayed a little of the cleaner on the cloth and wiped the glue residue off the window before hopping down off the desk.

“Carriage house?” he asked, putting everything back in the pack.

I nodded, leading him through the house to the kitchen.

“Time,” Parker gave the command, and we watched the cameras at the back of the house, waiting for a gap. When we had the timing right, we sprinted across the lawn until we reached the back wall of the carriage house.

This part of the property was in shadows, which was why we'd used it as an approach. The camera aimed at the carriage house entrance prevented us from using the door, so we repeated the procedure we'd used on the window in the living room.

This time we weren't as lucky, and we heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass as the circular piece fell to the carriage house floor.

“Fuck,” Parker muttered.

“We'll deal with it when we get inside,” I said. “Just go.”

Parker opened the window, then waited for me to crawl through before following. We landed on the concrete floor and immediately spotted the broken glass a few feet from the window.

“There are some old windows leaning against the walls.
Maybe we can borrow glass from one of those?” I suggested.

Parker sighed. “I'll look.”

I hurried to the center of the carriage house to the gray floor mat. It wasn't off-center anymore, and I wondered who had been out here. And why. Did Warren Fairchild check on his stash now and then? Did he add to it?

I pulled back the mat and dragged it aside. I'd been expecting the hole in the floor, but it still shocked me to see it. Ten feet wide by ten feet long, it was a lot bigger than I'd thought it would be. Big enough to require two doors instead of one, probably because one would be too cumbersome for one person to lift.

I walked around the doorway in the floor, cataloging details. The double doors were made of what looked like steel. They were designed to meet in the middle, to fold back against the floor when open. Three metal bands—one at the bottom, one in the middle, and one at the top—ran across both doors. Each one was sealed with a hefty padlock.

I looked more closely, sure I'd missed something. There was no way Warren Fairchild's gold was secured with a bunker and three padlocks.

“That must be it.”

Parker's voice made me jump. I looked over my shoulder to find him standing behind me.

“There's no way the gold's in there,” I said.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “That has to be it. You said you searched the house, and I ruled out the garage.”

I stared at the doors. “Yeah, but . . . padlocks? If Dad's
right, there's twenty million dollars worth of gold down there. It doesn't make sense.”

“That's exactly why it does make sense.”

I looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

“This is a guy who stockpiles gold bars to prepare for a potential catastrophe. The same guy who's worth millions but wires his house with a low-tech security system monitored by local rent-a-cops and then doesn't even attach said system to the bunker holding his gold.”

“That's what I'm saying; maybe it's not down there.”

Parker shrugged. “I think you're wrong. But there's only one way to find out.”

I tipped my head at the padlocks. “Those are going to need some big bolt cutters. We can't do it now. He'd know someone was here.”

“We'll execute as planned. Come in when they're not home, cut the padlocks off, and be prepared to take the gold. If it's not there, it's a standard B and E. No harm, no foul.”

A seed of hope blossomed inside me. If the gold wasn't there, we wouldn't have to steal from Logan and his family. Nothing that mattered, anyway. We'd still have to leave Playa Hermosa, but maybe I would be able to live with myself afterward.

“On the plus side,” Parker said, bending down to replace the mat over the double doors, “we're done for tonight.”

“Did you find the old windows?” I asked.

He nodded. “Already replaced the glass. We're good to go.”

“Wow, you're fast.”

He grinned. “I'm a pro.”

We exited the carriage house through the window, lowering it carefully to be sure the new piece of glass didn't fall out. Then we hurried back across the lawn, avoiding the cameras.

We stuck to the walls until we reached the living room window. We'd left it open, and I kept watch while Parker climbed in to reset the alarm. He reappeared a minute later, hurrying out the window and shutting it while counting, careful not to exceed the two-minute delay.

Window securely closed, we timed the cameras and raced across the lawn. My heart pounded in my ears as I scrabbled over the fence and waited for Parker to land behind me. When he did, we hurried into the trees, anxious to be away from the Fairchilds' cameras.

I took one look back at the house and grounds. The next time I was here this time of night, it would be to steal the gold. And it would be the last night I'd be in Playa Hermosa.

“Are you going to eat that or play with it?”

I looked up at Selena, sitting next to me in the cafeteria as the rest of the group talked and goofed off around us. “Both?”

She looked at me questioningly, and I realized that there were downsides to having friends. To having someone know you.

I took a halfhearted bite of my salad, hyperaware of everything going on around me. Logan's hand on my knee under the table. The holiday lights winking around the cafeteria in celebration of the upcoming winter break. Harper and Olivia bickering over some kind of archaic fashion rule.

It had been two weeks since our recon mission at the Fairchilds' house. I'd spent most of my free time with Logan, trying to act normal. But inside, I was screaming against the
ticking clock of my time in Playa Hermosa. My time with Logan and Selena.

Plans for the night of the theft were under way, and my mom was working to verify the Fairchilds' schedule with Leslie, hoping for a two-day period when the whole family would be gone. Anything less and it would be tough to make a clean getaway before it was discovered that the gold was missing.

I glanced over at Logan, and he leaned down, leaving a gentle kiss on my cheek. Something painful tugged at my heart as I looked into his eyes, saw the light there that was meant for me. I wondered if he saw the same thing in my eyes. If later he would think everything I said was a lie, or if he would remember the way I looked at him and know some part of it had been true.

I glanced away as he went back to his conversation with Raj across the table. I couldn't help smiling as my gaze fell on the others. Olivia and Harper, engaged in their heated debate about clothes while Rachel rolled her eyes next to them. Raj, leaning over the table, talking to Logan with intensity about a new video game. David, on the other side of Selena, holding her hand under the table.

I would miss them. Even Rachel, in some strange way. She was a pain in the ass, a royal bitch sometimes. But she cared about her friends, was even willing to look crazy for them. She had gone to bat for Logan when it counted, even if he didn't realize it yet. That made her a better person than me.

They weren't perfect. They had problems. Made mistakes. But they were real, and the authenticity of their lives suddenly stood in stark contrast to the shiny facade of my own.

I'd created a facsimile of a life. It had seemed real when I hadn't looked too hard, like one of those books with two images—one on top that seemed complete until you lifted it to reveal the detail underneath.

I don't know why I hadn't noticed it before. Maybe Parker had been right. Maybe I had been too young. Too grateful to have a chance at a real family. Too afraid of what I would find—and what I'd have to do about it—if I looked too hard.

Now I had, and nothing seemed any clearer for the revelation.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, surprised to see a text from my dad.

Meeting 3:00pm

I looked at Parker, holding his phone. He met my eyes, the wordless communication we'd developed on the job moving between us.

It could only mean one thing: it was time to make our move.

I knew the plan was in motion the minute I got home. The atmosphere was charged, full of expectation, like the air in the moment before a thunderstorm.

“Are we all set?” Parker asked, the moment the door to the War Room was closed.

“As set as we can be.” My dad gestured to the table. “Sit, and we'll go over everything.”

Parker sat down, nervously tapping his foot. “Do we know when the Fairchilds will be gone?”

I swallowed my annoyance. He was too eager to see the job come to a close, totally insensitive to my inner conflict. He had nothing to lose. No good-byes to say. His friendship with the guys was a surface one, and Parker had never been interested in Rachel beyond the job.

“In a manner of speaking,” my dad said.

I looked from him to my mother.

“Warren and Leslie are staying in Burbank for a charity gala and golf tournament this weekend,” she said.

“What about Logan?” I asked.

She took a deep breath. “He isn't going.”

“Then it will have to be another weekend,” I said.

My dad shook his head. “Impossible. They don't have another event scheduled for the next two months. We can't afford to wait. Besides, everything is in place. We need to move.”

“We can't just take the gold with Logan home,” I said. “And I doubt I can keep him out of the house long enough for you guys to do it.”

“You don't have to,” my mom said.

“Then what's the plan?”

I knew I wouldn't like it when my mom cut a glance at my dad before returning her gaze to me. Like she was seeking his last-minute support.

“You'll be at Logan's the night of the theft. We have a mild sedative that you—”

“A mild
sedative
?” I interrupted.

“It will just put him to sleep for a while,” my dad said. “Long enough for us to get the gold.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “I'm not drugging Logan.”

“Yes, you are.” My dad's tone was firm, his gaze unflinching. “It's what has to be done to complete the job.”

“I can't do it,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice.
But even as I said it, I knew I would do what I was told to do. Our safety and freedom depended on it.

“Yes, you can, honey,” my mom said gently. “I know it's hard. I know you have . . . feelings for Logan. But it has to be done. We all risk exposure if we stay here much longer.”

“And might I remind you,” my dad added, “that your carelessness is partly to blame for that.”

I was hit with a fresh wave of guilt. He was right. I was the one who'd kept—and carried—the ID card. I was the one who'd let Rachel Mercer wander the house the day she'd found the shredded map of the Fairchild estate.

I glanced at Parker, but he was silent. He wasn't going to bat for Logan. He was on Team Get Out Now, whatever it took.

“What would it do to him?” I heard the defeat in my own voice. Hated myself for it.

My mom's shoulders relaxed a little. “It's just Valium. It'll put him to sleep for a few hours and he'll wake up good as new.”

I was still thinking about it when my dad launched into the plans for the night of the theft. “You'll hang out with Logan on Friday, wait until just before midnight, and slip the Valium into his drink. Parker will be at Allied, waiting for our signal.”

“What signal?” I asked.

“We have to carry cell phones on this one, Gracie,” my mom said. “It's risky, but it's the only way to keep in contact with everyone so spread out. If any of us gets picked up, it's
SOP for getting rid of it.”

Standard Operating Procedure for getting rid of a cell phone was to surreptitiously submerge it in a body of water or to remove the memory card, snip it into pieces, and take a hammer to the cell phone. Depending on the resources available at the time.

“You'll text me when Logan's out, and I'll text Parker,” my dad continued. “Parker will get in front of the guard he's been taunting at Allied, make him think he has a shot at catching him.” He looked at me. “Then Parker will double back to Allied and put the Fairchild cameras on a loop. Once we know he's done, you'll buzz us in through the gate using the alarm keypad.”

“Where will you and Mom be all this time?” Asking the question meant defeat. He'd pulled me into the plan, forced me to visualize it, to be a part of it. With every question I asked, every suggestion I made, I was that much more committed.

Psychology 101.

“We'll be waiting in the truck near the cliffs,” he said. “We'll start to move when I get the all clear from Parker, and we'll be at the gate when you buzz us in. Be sure to close it behind us so the neighbors don't get suspicious.”

“Then what?”

“Then you'll put on the mask we give you—”

“Mask?” We'd never worn masks before.

He nodded. “We'll all have masks. Eventually, they'll know it was us, but we don't want to give them anything we
don't have to, just in case.”

I heard the rest of his sentence in my mind.
In case we get caught. In case it goes to trial. In case the loop on the cameras goes awry and the footage is used as evidence.

“We can take them off once we're inside the carriage house, away from the cameras,” my mom added, as if such small consolation somehow made everything else okay.

“We'll back the truck up to the carriage house,” my dad continued. “Then we'll break the locks on the bunker and start unloading the gold.”

“If it's even there,” I said, still half hoping it wouldn't be.

“It's there,” he said.

“What about Parker?” I asked.

“Parker will keep watch at Allied, make sure they're not suspicious that their cameras have been tampered with. When we have the gold loaded, we'll text him a location and pick him up on our way out of town.”

“And that will be it?” I say. “We'll leave straight from the Fairchilds' house?”

“That's the plan,” my dad said. “Both of you need to be packed.” He leveled his gaze at me. “No mementos, Gracie.”

I chewed my lip.

My mom spoke next. “I'll drop your father at a dummy car and he'll take you and Parker to the safe house while I make the gold drop to our buyers. We'll meet up after that.”

“Wait . . . we're splitting up?” Parker asked.

“It's the smartest thing to do in this case,” my dad said. “Your mom is the one who arranged for the sale of the gold.
These are her contacts. The rest of us shouldn't be exposed if we can help it.”

“Then what?” Parker asked.

“We'll leave the country,” my dad said. “It's all arranged. But we can talk about that once we're clear.”

Because it wouldn't do to have one of us picked up knowing where the others were going. Better to wait until we were all free and clear before divulging our destination.

I reviewed each step, each piece of the plan taking me further away from Logan. From the first life I'd had that had seemed real.

“You'll have to get yourself invited to Logan's Friday night,” my mom said. “Can you do that?”

I nodded. I wouldn't even have to ask. If his parents were out of town, he'd want to spend time alone with me. He always did. I'd played him to perfection.

There was no pride in the knowledge.

The rest of the week passed quickly under the duress of my impending good-bye. I wanted to hold on to it. To make every cafeteria lunch and gossip session with Selena last. To memorize the feel of Logan's hand in mine, of his steady presence as we walked the Playa Hermosa campus on our way to classes.

By Thursday night I was in a state of emotional panic. Tomorrow I would say good-bye to Selena and the others, although they wouldn't know it was good-bye. I would see Logan. We would cuddle on the couch and watch movies.

And then I would drug him and steal from him.

I was lying in bed, trying to coax myself to sleep, when I heard the voice outside my window. I held still, listening more closely, trying to figure out who it was. I thought it might be my dad or Parker, but a few seconds later I realized it wasn't either of them.

It was the man next door.

I got out of bed and crossed to the window, careful to stand to the side in case he happened to be looking my way. The house was dark, and I turned my attention to the backyard, wondering if I'd imagined the voice. The outdoor lights were off, too, the yard empty.

I was just about to go back to bed when I saw a faint orange light glow in the dark near the trellis. A cigarette. And then, again, the man's voice.

“Does it surprise you? He's always left too much to chance.”

I leaned closer to the window, straining to hear.

“Patience is a virtue,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “And in this business, a necessity.”

I tried to imagine the kind of business suited to such a weird guy. Dealer of exotic animals? Manager of elderly musicians? Hot tub aficionado?

“Yes, yes. I'm aware.” The man's voice was curt. “They'll come to me when they're ready. When they must.” A pause. “Good night.”

I moved away from the window and crept carefully back to my bed. As if the man were superhuman. As if he could somehow hear and see me through the walls.

I wished suddenly that I'd snooped closer to home. Now I would never know the identity of the man next door, never know why he spoke so cryptically to the birds or sang creepy old songs. He would always be the crazy guy who'd lived next door to us in California.

Just one more of Playa Hermosa's unanswered questions.