Remember Me (20 page)

“More than hacking? More than all of this?” Milo pans one hand to our surroundings. He smiles again, and in that moment, my skin pushes up in goose bumps.

“You should think about that,” Milo says, turning away. “I'm sure I'll see you around.”

I watch him walk back into the darkness until the shadows have melted him completely. Down the hill, a headlight swings through the lower parking lot. Griff.

I scramble down the hill and I'm barely settled on the bike before Griff pulls away, speeding toward the exit. We make it to the first traffic light before he finally turns to look at me.

“You're never going to get out of this, Wicked.”

“I did get out of it. Milo cut the feed. Carson lost.”

“For now. What about a week from now? What about a year? Don't you understand? He's never going to let you go. Once you're useful to them . . . it's never finished. You'll never escape.”

“Yeah, I will.” My bag is wedged between us and it takes me a minute to open it.

“Did you find what Carson wanted?”

“I think so.” I hold up my jump drive and Griff gives me a
so?
look. “They're pictures of the dead girl I found—Lell. I don't know how Chelsea got them or why she gave them to Price, but Bay wants them so there's something good here. I'll make it my ticket out.”

“You really think he'll keep his promise?”

He will if he knows what's good for him.
I look at Griff and can't smother my giggle. “Yeah, he will. Remember what you told me? Get leverage? Well, I did.”

“With the virus?”

“Exactly.” I can hurt Carson where it hurts the most now: his career. It's all he has and I'll ruin it. And just thinking about it makes savage satisfaction surge through me. Is this what Carson felt when he blackmailed me? When he looked at everything I had gained and knew it was leverage?

I grin at Griff. “It's done. I'm free.”

 

Carson's house looks
bottled up as ever, but after we park, the back door opens and Carson waits for us to come in.

I lean close to Griff as we approach. “Give me a couple minutes to talk to him and then we're out of here.”

Griff nods, waiting in the kitchen as I follow Carson into the living room. He drops onto the sofa, pushing paperwork to the side. He looks utterly at ease . . . until I see his hands are shaking.

Rage.

Good. I flick the envelope on top of the pile. “I'm done,” I say, and my smile is crazy easy even though I'm sweating under my clothes. “I'm finished.”

“Are you now?” Carson slowly opens the envelope, eyes on me. “We had a deal. How do I know you kept your end?”

“Take a look at what I brought you.”

The detective spends a few minutes trying to access the jump drive from his personal computer, and when he finally does, his breath hitches. “These were in Price's office?”

“Yeah, and I found them just before Bay came in. If I had to guess,
that's
what the hacker's client was looking for. Enjoy.” I turn to leave and Carson seizes my wrist, twisting it.

“Nah-ah-ah. You're not finished here.”

My fingers curve into claws. “I think I am. Deal's a deal. This is your problem now.”

“Your problem too if Lell's killer comes looking for you.”

“I'll take my chances.”

“You said Bay was at the courthouse? You saw him?”

I take a steadying breath. “Yeah, and I quit. We're finished, Carson.”

The detective's mouth curls into a knot. “You'll quit when I'm finished with you. That's the way this works, trash. I can make you do whatever I want.”

I lean into Carson, smell how his breath is dry as graveyard dirt. “Not anymore. I uploaded a virus onto Bay's computer. One keystroke from me and it will activate, putting your digital fingerprints all over his computer files. Try explaining
that
to your chief of police. You threaten anyone I love again and I will burn you, do you understand?”

Carson's eyes narrow and, again, I can't help my grin. “You're screwed, Detective.”

He studies me. “You know you have your father's smile?”

“You know you didn't get anything on me?”

“Maybe so.” The detective's eyes flick away from me. He nudges his chin toward Griff. “But I did get him.”

26

“Liar.”

Carson shrugs. “Wanna see?”

Before I can answer, he lifts the television remote and clicks on the set, revealing a black-and-white shot of Griff at the side entrance we used. Filmed from only a few feet above him, the image clearly shows his face just before the screen goes black.

“Ta-da!” Carson's smile makes me want to vomit.

Or maybe it's just the image of Griff—time-stamped—on the television screen as Carson plays the silent clip again and again and again.

I flick my eyes away, only that's no good either because now I'm staring at the real Griff, just a dozen steps away in the kitchen, waiting for me to return.

“You know, I think it actually works out better this way.” Carson pauses the video, taps two fingers against his chin. “He has skills. Granted, they're not as good as yours, but he has so much to lose.”

He does. SCAD. Art. His whole future.

Carson studies me. “I could make him inform for me—think about how he can be seen around the station. More convenient than using you. Everyone will just think he's visiting his cousin.”

“His cousin will never let you do this.”

“His cousin's afraid of me. And if Griff doesn't do what I want?” Carson gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “Well, I'll just use that footage to introduce him to the world as a burgeoning criminal and terrorist—breaking and entering, intent to do harm, trespassing charges for starters. It's certainly enough evidence for a search warrant. I wonder what else we'd find if we searched his house? Think he's as careful as you are about hiding your nasty little computer habits?”

No. He's never had to be.
Griff's one of the good guys. Always has been.

Carson settles into his couch, remote control in one hand, jump drive in the other. “If I play it right, I can make sure he does a nice bit of jail time as a domestic terrorist.”

“I will take you apart if you touch him. So help me I will pull your world down.” Strong words for someone whose knees are pushing toward the floor. I need something better here and all I can think of is how Carson has Griff. He's almost eighteen. He'll be tried and convicted as an adult and it'll follow him forever. The future he wants will never happen.

All because of me.

All because he was trying to
protect
me.

“You go after him,” I say. “And I'll . . . I'll . . .” Go public? Can't, I would hurt Bren and Lily. “Do not underestimate me, Carson. I will use that virus. You won't be able to explain your way around it. It will destroy you.”

The detective's smile evaporates. “I bet it would. Even with me out of the picture, it still wouldn't help him. I turn in that video, you activate that virus. Doesn't matter. Griff'll still be prosecuted. Think that fancy art school will want him with a record?”

“No.” The word emerges soft and round and nothing like me. When Griff was picturing his life, it was never like this.

And it's my fault.

Carson's staring at me with the smile usually reserved for newspaper columnists and mothers with babies. “So congrats, Wick, you outsmarted me. You're free. Too bad I'm just going to use him instead.”

“Please don't.”

“Then offer me something better.”

How? If I offer myself, Carson will accept and Griff will go free . . . and then I'll still be working for Carson after I told Griff I was done.

He won't forgive me.

I listen for the shuffle of Griff's sneakers in the kitchen, but there's nothing, and when I sneak a glance, I realize Griff's not moving because he's watching me. His eyes meet mine and he smiles. I have to force myself not to wince.

Can I give myself back to Carson to save him? Without a single doubt.

It would destroy us. I know it would and that's what's so scary because I would still do it. In less than a heartbeat.

I can't decide if that admission makes me cold.

Or maybe I'm just pathetic because, if I lose Griff, I have no idea how I'm supposed to live with that.

“Nothing? No offers?” Carson tucks his arm behind his head, slouching down as he starts running the video over and over again. “Then we're done, trash. You're free. Also? If I find out you told him about the tape before I do, I'll go public with it, understand?”

Another threat. Pointless really. If I tell Griff about the tape, he'll want to steal it and I'll want to help and Carson will be expecting us. Whatever we did would only make things worse.

It almost makes me want to laugh. Carson owns me more now than he did before.

“Don't touch him,” I say. “Leave Griff alone and you can have me. I'll work for you, but you have to promise
never
to touch him.”

Carson looks up, eyes alight. I've just given him exactly what he wanted. Now he just has to give me what I want.

I swallow. “If I do this . . . how do I know you'll leave him alone?”

“You think he's any use to me?” The detective leans forward. “You do what I want, I'll stay away from him.”

“And the tape?”

“Help me close this case and I'll give it to you.”

Or I'll take it
. I nod. “It's a deal.”

“I'm going to make you a hero, trash—in spite of that bad blood of yours. Think of losing Griff as a growing pain.” He cocks his head, studying me with the keen, questioning eyes that belong to addicts or pit bulls. “That boy'll never forgive you for working for me again.”

No. He won't.

Carson leans forward, pats my hand. The gesture's so awkward, it feels borrowed. He's slipping into Good Cop again. “Even if Griff doesn't, you were never going to stay together anyway, Wick. I've seen the way he looks at you when we work together.”

I stiffen.
Don't say it. Don't say it.

“It's like he can barely believe what's coming out of your mouth. He can't reconcile his pretty, lost princess with the criminal standing in front of him. This was destined to be messy. It was always going to end badly.”

I look away. I hate admitting when Carson's right.

27

I fake it the whole way home. Everything is fine. The future looks great. We're together.

At first I'm proud I can maintain the lie . . . then I realize of course I can. Lying is what I do best, isn't it?

“Do you want to come in?” I ask after we pull into the driveway. Griff nods hard, his smile suddenly too big for his face. I play with my house keys because I don't want to see it, definitely don't want to remember it.

Too late.

We check the house together. Windows, doors, security system, they're all exactly as I left them. Should make me feel safe. Instead, it just feels like a reprieve.

Kyle is still loose. Jason still knows I'm snitching. Carson . . . I still work for Carson. And, for a second, I think I'm going to start crying all over again.

Since Bren and Lily are out, we go to the kitchen. Him telling me about an artists' club he's joined at school. Me counting tiles so I know precisely how far away I have to stay to do this.

“Griff? We need to talk.” A cliché, but the best I can do. I don't look at him. “I've decided to keep working for Carson.”

There's a long pause, and into it I fit everything I want to say and can't: Carson has a recording of you breaking into the courthouse, I'm doing this to save you, I love you, and I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Griff leans one hip against the counter. “Why?”

Yes. Why? The words I need dissolve in my hands. “Why not?”

“Because you hate it.”

I take a shaky breath, wince when his palm snares mine. “No.
You
hate it.”

“Yeah . . . I do. I don't understand, Wick. Why'd you change your mind? Does this have something to do with . . .”

I tense. “What?”

“I don't know.” Griff scowls. “Is it about Milo's bullshit? How hackers should rule the world or whatever?”

“No.”

“Because he likes you. A lot. I can tell.”

I close my eyes, open them. I could use Milo to finish this. Griff would never suspect the real reasons.

“I hate how he looks at you,” Griff says slowly. I tug at my hand, but he doesn't let go and I need him to. I can't be this close when Griff starts looking at me like . . . like I'm me and not the girl he wanted.

The girl I wanted to be.

“I like him too,” I say. “We're . . . the same kind of person, Griff.”

Just saying it aloud makes me realize it's true.

Griff's jaw tightens. “You're right. I can't keep up with you two.”

Because you're better.

“Every time he looks at you,” Griff says, tracing the lines on my palm, “I want to beat his head into the pavement.”

I stare. He won't meet my eyes and all I can hear is my breath, rattling past my lips. I don't know what to say.

“I hate that about myself,” Griff continues, touching his fingertips to mine. “I never wanted to be that guy, but when I'm with you, I am.”

“I'm sorry.” It is fast and instant and I mean it. “I'm so sorry, Griff.”

“Don't be.” His smile is fake, and when he lets me go, my hand goes cold. “It isn't your fault. It's mine. I can't be like this. I think part of me always knew you would never quit. I knew I would have to walk away.”