“All clear,” Josh said.
“You’ve seen too many cop movies.” I elbowed him with a smirk, trying to cover up my nerves. Yanking out the chair behind the secretary’s desk, I booted up her computer and waited for the Easton Academy home page to load.
“How are you going to get in?” Josh asked, leaning one hand on the desk.
“I still have Lance Reagan’s secret code,” I told him.
“Lance Reagan’s what now?” he asked.
I glanced at him over my shoulder. “I thought all the Ketlar boys had it.”
Josh’s brow knit. “I’ve never even heard of it,” he said, pouting.
“Oh,” I said, blushing. “Sorry.”
“Can it get you into any computer on campus?” Josh asked.
“Yep.” I nodded.
“How did
you
get it?” Josh asked, standing up straight and crossing his arms over his chest.
My face burned and I turned my attention to the computer. Josh would not like hearing about me and Dash sneaking in here alone, nor about the fact that Dash had shared this boys-only secret with me and not him. Especially considering Josh and I had broken up just a few months afterward when he’d caught me and Dash kissing at the Legacy. We’d been drugged at the time, but still. It wasn’t a favorite memory for either of us.
“I’m just that connected,” I said casually, my fingers flying over the keyboard. I hit enter and the computer beeped ominously.
INVALID PASSWORD. PLEASE RE-ENTER YOUR PASSWORD NOW
.
My heart sunk to my toes. “Crap. They must have figured it out and blocked it.”
“Let’s try Hathaway’s computer,” Josh suggested, moving toward the other office.
“Why? What makes you think you can get into his?”
Josh settled in behind the wide desk while I stood tentatively in
the doorway. “He’s a dad. Dads always use their kids’ birthdays as passwords.”
Huh. I wondered if my dad did that. And if so, did he use mine or my brother, Scott’s?
“And what? You know Sawyer and Graham’s birthdays?” I asked. A few embers glowed in the big, stone fireplace on the far side of the room, and I got a chill as I remembered being interrogated by Headmaster Cromwell in front of that fireplace earlier this school year, on the night Cheyenne Martin was killed.
“No. But I know Jen’s,” Josh said.
My heart twisted. Jen Hathaway had been Josh’s girlfriend at St. James.
Josh hit enter. There was another ugly beep.
“Damn,” he said. “Didn’t work.”
“Maybe he’s got the boys’ birthdays on his paper calendar.” I nudged the rolling chair he sat in with my hip so I could flip through the blotter-style calendar atop the headmaster’s desk. There were all kinds of appointments listed—meetings with the board every Monday, a founder’s luncheon in March, a budget meeting every month—but no birthdays.
“Nothing personal anywhere,” I groused.
“Told you he’s a workaholic,” Josh said.
Downstairs, a door slammed. We both gasped and my hand flew to my mouth.
“What else could it be?” Josh whispered urgently, his fingers poised over the keyboard.
Suddenly an idea popped into my mind. An idea that was way too morbid to work, but it was all I had. “What about the day Jen died?” I whispered.
Josh looked at me in almost an accusatory way. Like he was ashamed that my brain could even go there.
“Do you know when it was?” I said, ignoring his look. “Sometime last summer . . . . ”
“I know,” he said quietly.
“Just try it,” I hissed.
He did. His fingers hovered for a second above the enter key, but when he finally hit it, the welcome screen came to life.
“It worked. I can’t believe it worked,” he said. “Hathaway’s even more twisted than you are.”
There was another slam. Closer this time. Josh and I froze. Then came the distinct sound of whistling, and the squeak of unoiled wheels moving closer and closer and closer. For a split second there was silence. And then the door to the outer office opened.
“Shit,” Josh whispered.
He hit the floor and jammed himself in under the desk. I couldn’t move. Terror took hold as the whistling echoed eerily off the high ceilings in the outer office.
“Reed!” Josh whispered, groping for my hand. He yanked on my fingers and I dove down, my knees slamming into the hardwood floor. I whimpered in pain as I curled into a ball and crammed in next to him.
Janitor
, Josh mouthed as we heard the sound of a garbage can being slammed against another while it was being emptied.
The whistling grew louder. The janitor was coming in. His feet shuffled along the floor and he let out a groan as he lifted the headmaster’s garbage can. He walked out into the secretary’s office with it, knocked it against the larger can, then came back and replaced it. Throughout this entire enterprise, I didn’t breathe once. Josh’s hand clutched mine so hard I thought he was going to dislocate my fingers. Then the outer office door closed, the wheels squeaked again, and the whistling faded away.
“Oh. My. God,” I whispered.
Josh nodded, his face millimeters from mine. “Let’s get this info already and get the hell out of here.”
We crawled out and I stood up, taking a deep breath. Quickly, I brought up the student information folder and found Noelle’s file. In it was the contact information for her parents, as well as all three of her living grandparents. Noelle’s grandmother, Lenora Lange, was listed as an alumna of Easton, and also of Billings House. I scrolled to her address and phone number and my heart completely stopped.
“Sonofa—” Josh exhaled over my shoulder.
Grandmother Lange lived in Paris, France.
I stared at the bank balance on my computer on Friday morning, wondering if what was left of my Billings Fund money would be enough to cover a round-trip ticket to Paris, which was, of course, the least of my worries. If I was going to do this, I was going to have to get off campus, which required an excuse and a pass. And even if I did manage to get that, I was going to have to find a way to get to the airport, and a way to get to Mrs. Lange after that. Not to mention I had to figure out how the hell I was going to explain to the old woman—whom I’d never met—that I’d just flown across the Atlantic to get an excuse note for Noelle, when I could have simply gone to her parents in New York, and when I had no idea where Noelle herself was.
My head dropped and my forehead pressed into the keyboard as I moaned in desperation. If only I knew someone in France, preferably someone who knew Noelle and her family. Where was Kiran Hayes
these days? Didn’t models spend, like, 75 percent of their time in Paris? I lifted my head again, a twitter of hope inside my heart. But then, if I called Kiran, I’d have to explain. And she would completely freak out if she knew Noelle was missing. Besides, I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. What I really needed was someone who would just do this for me, no questions asked.
Someone European.
I laughed mournfully at my own silly turn of thoughts. Like I, Reed Brennan from Croton, Pennsylvania, was supertight with anyone, anywhere in Europe. And then it hit me like an arrow to the chest.
Upton Giles.
My very fingertips tingled and I bit my bottom lip in excitement. I could call Upton. Upton would do anything for me. He’d both said and proven so more than once. He may not have been in France, but he was in England, which was a hell of a lot closer to Paris than Easton, Connecticut.
I glanced at the clock. It was 7:15 a.m. here, which meant it was 12:15 p.m. there. Could I possibly be lucky enough to find him in his dorm room? It was worth a shot.
I quickly opened up Skype and dialed Upton’s number. It rang a few times while I looked at the hold screen and then, all of a sudden, he was there. Smiling, shirtless, Upton Giles leaned over his desk as he hit the keyboard to answer my call.
“Reed! What a fantastic surprise!”
I got an extreme close-up of his bare chest as he sat down at his desk, and then his gorgeous face was in full view again. Already, I
was blushing. I may have been completely committed to Josh now, but that didn’t mean I was immune to Upton’s world-renowned hotness.
“Hi, Upton. It’s good to see you. But is there a reason you’re shirtless at noon?” I joked.
He laughed that carefree Upton-y laugh. “Do I offend?” he said, opening his arms wide.
I blushed even harder, remembering exactly what it felt like to be in those arms, leaning against that chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
Okay, Reed. Focus. This is not about that right now. This is about Noelle.
“Not at all,” I said. “But Upton, I’m actually calling because I need a favor. A huge, important favor.”
Upton’s expression grew serious. “What is it?”
“Is there any possible way you could go to Paris?” I asked, biting my lip again, this time out of extreme doubt. “Like, today?”
Upton laughed while I stayed deadly silent. “Wait. You’re serious.”
“There’s this kind of a scavenger hunt thing going on at school,” I said, making things up on the fly, “and the prize is . . . well, it’s something I really want. But there’s something I’m supposed to get from Paris,” I told him.
“What is it?” Upton asked.
“I have to get a note from Noelle’s grandmother excusing her from school for the next two weeks,” I said. “And I need it overnighted to me.”
There was no way he was ever going to buy this. The whole thing
sounded so ridiculous, even to my own ears, that I half expected him to ask what drugs I was experimenting with.
“Why would
you
need to get
that
?” he asked. “Sounds more like something Noelle would have to get.”
“Well, we’re a team,” I told him, surprised at how easily the lies were rolling off my tongue. “The two of us.”
“Oh. Okay, then,” he said, lifting one shoulder. “Why not? I could go for some authentic croque monsieur. Plus, I worship Lenora. She’s a total minx, that one.”
“You know Noelle’s grandmother?” I asked, surprised.
“Of course I do,” Upton said, clearly surprised. “Our families go way back, remember?”
“So you think she’d be okay with this?” I asked.
“Are you kidding?” Upton said. “Woman’s got a latent wild streak that burns brighter than Noelle’s does. But Noelle could have told you all this. Is she even there?”
“Not right now,” I said, swallowing at a sudden tightness in my throat. “I came up with the idea to call you on my own.”
“Oh, okay. Well, tell her it’s done. And if she has any messages to relay to Grandma, have her text me.”
I swallowed again, my throat now filled with a heavy mix of gratitude, guilt, and fear. Noelle wasn’t going to be texting anyone any time soon. She might never see her grandmother again. That was, unless this crazy plan of mine worked. “Upton, thank you so much. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “But this’ll be fun.”
“Whatever you say,” I replied with a grin. “Thanks, Upton.”
Just then there was a quick rap on my door and it started to open.
“No worries, Reed. Cheers!” Upton said as Josh walked into my room. Josh took one look at the screen and stopped in his tracks. My face burned brighter than the winter sun outside my window.
“Bye!” I replied as I slapped the laptop closed.
I turned around in my chair, my heart pounding in my temples and my palms slick with sweat. Josh looked at me quizzically. How much of Upton’s half-naked body had he actually seen?
“Who was that?” he asked.
“No one. Just an old friend,” I replied. “He lives in England and he knows the Langes, so he’s going to help us get the excuse note.”
“Oh,” Josh said, his voice flat. “That’s good, then.”
“Good? It’s incredible. Now I don’t have to find a way to get to Paris and back today. Not to mention a way to pay for it.” I got up and tried to go about getting my things together as if everything was normal, but Josh was still staring at me.
“Yeah. I’d say that’s definitely a plus,” he said eventually. “So, ready for breakfast?”
“Yeah,” I replied, avoiding eye contact as I grabbed my coat and slipped by him out the door. I glanced back at my computer, as if Upton was going to be sitting there, shirtless and waving at me. “Let’s get out of here.”
I sat on the stone bench outside the Easton student post office on Saturday morning. I kicked at the snow, waiting for the FedEx truck to arrive. Upton had texted me to let me know my package would be here, but it couldn’t come fast enough. Noelle had already missed two days of school with no explanation. What if Headmaster Hathaway had called her parents? What if he was calling them right this very moment? I imagined a helicopter blowing all the snow off the trees as it landed in the center of the quad, and Noelle’s handsome father stepping out, the picture of concern and determination, ready to consult with the FBI task force, ready to do anything and spare no expense to find his daughter.
Which would, of course, make it look like I’d broken the whole “don’t tell her parents” rule. Yeah. If this didn’t work, I was screwed.
A frigid breeze stung my face and I tugged my scarf up over my nose. I should have gone inside the post office and warmed up,
but I wanted to see the truck arrive. I needed to be there when it pulled up.
After what seemed like an Antarctic eternity, I heard the rumble of an engine. A white truck came around the bend, its sides caked with muddy snow splatters. It ground to a stop behind the post office and the driver yanked on the emergency brake, leaving the engine idling. After he’d gathered his deliveries from the back, I ran for the door of the post office and held it open for him.
Please just don’t let there have been any mix-ups,
I thought silently as I pressed my lips into a tight smile.
Please, please, please let it be there.
“Thanks,” the delivery guy said, eyeing me with surprise. I guess not a lot of private school girls had held doors open for him in the past.
“No problem.”
I stood on my toes, trying to see the names on his armful of packages. He held them tighter to his chest and shot me an admonishing glance.