Thief: The Scarab Beetle Series: #1 (The Academy) (14 page)

The silence after my rant lasted for a solid couple of minutes. Glances were exchanged. I glued my lips together, waiting it out. I knew I had them pegged, I just didn’t know which part was true. And I wanted to believe they weren’t in it to simply steal drugs, but that had been the easiest answer to believe. The other part was just the next answer based on what I’d been given, but it still seemed so far-fetched. This crew? A private espionage team of some sort?

Raven leaned over, picking up the plate with my last piece of pizza on it and sniffed. “What the hell kind of pizza did you get?”

Marc grinned, his blue and green eyes lighting up and growing wide. He looked over at Axel. “I think that’s a record.”

“It’s your fault,” Axel said. “You brought her here. I told you not to bring her here.”

“I’m sorry,” Marc said. “I didn’t realize we were bringing Sherlock Holmes. My background check told me she was in the lower half of her grade all through high school.”

“You should know better than anyone that paperwork can be deceiving on intelligence.” Axel turned, directing his dark eyes at me. “We aren’t getting arrested for anything. And you aren’t going to tell anyone what you know about us. You’re bluffing.”

I twisted my lips, meeting his stare. “Fine. Just tell me who you work for and why I shouldn’t worry about getting arrested.”

Axel took a glance around at the other guys again and then sighed. “I can’t tell you all the details, but for a broad generalization, the Academy is a private group with their own interests. Part of our work, our team in particular, handles training, and sometimes we get called in to check out what’s going on in the neighborhood. That’s not everything, but as far as you’re concerned, that’s all you need to know about.”

“Who hires you?” I asked.

Axel sighed. “You ever hear on cop shows or movies where they say ‘an informant told us’? That’s part of what we do. Our team in particular deals in information.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “The cops let you do this? That’s who you’re keeping tabs on people for?”

“It depends on what it is,” he said. “To keep it simple, let’s talk about this case. A rumor came to us that our target suddenly started going out late at night into sketchy parts of town and talking with particular drug dealers. He’s rich, and doesn’t need the money, and his money sources are clean, but we don’t know why he’s suddenly interested in talking with these people. While the police are curious, there’s no evidence he’s doing anything wrong. He’s just in a position that he could do a lot wrong if he’s up to something.”

“How did you know he was going to those places?”

“We tracked his location via his cell phone.”

I glanced at Corey. “Was that you? Did you find that?”

Corey’s cheeks tinted and he shrugged, wordlessly answering my question.

Marc cut his hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter who did it. The point is, we keep our eyes and ears open for things like this. The guy we’re looking at happens to travel the globe. We’re wondering if he’s considering a drug import and lining up buyers.”

“And you have no proof he’s doing anything wrong,” I said.

“Exactly.” Marc picked up his plate, planting it on top of Brandon’s empty one. He started cleaning up the table. “But it would be wrong if people like us didn’t at least check it out. We’re not collecting pictures, or stealing his business, or trying to find evidence he’s doing anything wrong at all. We’re the opposite. We’ll clear his name and his reputation, if he’s a good guy, so someone like the CIA, or worse, doesn’t have to come in. We don’t care what he’s up to as long as it isn’t something that’s going to be illegal or kill a bunch of people. Either this guy is clean and we’ll clear his name off the list, or he’s a bad guy and we’ll start the ball rolling so someone with authority can take over. We don’t collect evidence. We just make sure there’s evidence enough to be collected if that needs to happen.”

“If you work with groups like the police, can’t they give you special tools to work with? Why ask me?”

“The police and the FBI don’t know, or care, about who we are. We’re informants. We leave anonymous notes and phone messages. We use our own talents, and tools we can get from any local hardware or electronics store, or anything we can make ourselves. Using anything too high tech draws attention. Using his own key card against him won’t leave much information about us. He won’t be able to track us.”

“So how do you get paid?” I asked. “If they don’t know you, the CIA doesn’t pay you anything for ratting out bad guys?”

“This isn’t everything we do,” he said.

“But you’ll do a job like this just out of the kindness of your heart?” I asked.

He huffed, glancing at Axel.

Axel shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

This whole thing felt crazy and I knew there was more to it. They couldn’t just follow everyone in town around. How did they pick up that this guy was acting odd? They were feeding me half-truths. “Un-complicate it,” I said.

“We can’t,” Brandon said.

“Why?”

They glanced at each other again.

Axel leaned forward, looking me dead in the eye. “I’ll answer that if you’ll tell us why there’s a scar on your ass.”

I leaned back on my heels, crossing my arms over my chest. I tried staring him down, threatening without saying anything that I’d walk out the door if he didn’t give in.

Axel’s brown eyes flashed with a power that had me trembling where I was sitting. He challenged me right back, and every inch of my skin felt what he was trying to relay to me in silence. He meant it. He was going to rip the past out of me if I wanted to get these details from him. He’d do it right in front of everyone.

I sighed, bringing my hands up to cover my face. I couldn’t, so I had no choice but to give up my desire for answers, and settle for at least some confidence. “Just tell me who I can pin the blame to, for Wil’s sake, if something goes wrong. Tell me even if I get caught, he’ll never know I did something stupid, and he’ll be okay.”

The silence now was heavier than before. I was a stranger amid a group of friends, people who worked together for some secret organization known as the Academy. I managed to unravel this much in a few hours. I wasn’t that smart, or at least I didn’t feel like it. I had basically dropped out of high school, even though I got my GED, it was just a cop out. Everyone knew it. It wasn’t enough to secure a job good so I could pay for a decent place to live. I couldn’t figure out how to survive. What was I doing with any type of informant division? Suddenly this whole plan felt so out of my league. I’d fail. What was I doing here?

I sensed someone getting up. Arms threaded around my body, squeezing. “God damn,” Raven said. “Are you crying? Stop crying.”

I ripped my palms from my face, finding Raven close. I punched at one of the tribal tattoos on his shoulder. “I’m not crying. I’m pissed off.”

Raven released me to grab my wrist and held firmly. “Marc, get her to stop hitting me.”

“And why is Axel the boss but Marc’s the one rattling off all the plans and telling everyone what to do?” I asked.

Marc broke out into laughter. Corey joined in. Axel and Brandon merely smirked, shaking their heads.

Raven grinned. He yanked me closer and held my wrists in one hand and then wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Will someone tell her so she’ll stop crying already?”

“I’m not crying!”

To my surprise, Brandon turned. His cerulean eyes took on a deeper shimmer, dulling a bit of the sadness that hovered in the back and focused on me. “Look at me, Kayli. You have no reason to believe me over anyone else in this room, but you’re sitting around in your underwear in an apartment with five guys with your rent paid for a month. You aren’t running out the door yet. I’m going to assume, despite what you’re saying, you feel at least somewhat comfortable with us.” He took one of my hands that Raven had trapped, drawing it toward him until his lips hovered over my knuckles. “Will you please just go on this one date with me and pull a wallet? You don’t even have to be successful. You just have to try.”

I blinked at him. “What? You mean if I fail, you’ll still—”

“Everything we’ve promised,” Brandon said. His jaw tightened in the corners, a determination washing over his features. “Just promise me you’ll do what you can to help. But if we don’t get this information we need, it’s not the end of the world. We’ll still help you get a job if you want.”

“Yeah,” Corey said. “And I’ll help Wil get into that college program. I was going to do that anyway.”

“And I promise,” Marc said, “you won’t go to jail. You won’t get into trouble. Wil will never know. We won’t tell him. And if you never want to see any of us again after this, we’ll just help you with your job hunt and get Wil into college and you can be on your own from there. If that’s what you want, we’ll leave you alone.”

“She’s not going to do that,” Axel said. The smirk on his face broadening. “Look at that face. She likes us.”

I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t been able to meet new friends since high school, so I was a little out of touch, but they were starting to grow on me. “I hate you guys.”

They all laughed.

♠♠♠♠♠

N
ow that I was more than committed to this, Marc wanted to start getting ready.

Brandon and Corey went to change clothes. Mine were finally dry and I slipped my shorts on but kept the button up shirt. With the shorts still being very short, the shirt hem brushed my thighs. I may as well have just worn the shirt by itself.

When the twins returned, they were wearing identical outfits, both in dark slacks, white button up shirts and loafers. They were both cleanly shaven, too.

“Well,” Brandon said, motioning to himself and then his brother but looking at me. “Here’s the test. Which one of us is which.”

“Huh?” I asked.

“Who is who?” he asked. “Here, let me make it harder.”

The twins switched places a few times and then stopped and didn't say anything.

They were dressed identically, and at first glance it was kind of hard to tell. The only difference was the eyes. I pointed at Brandon. “That’s Brandon.”

The twins’ jaws dropped in unison. “How’d you know?”

I shrugged.

“Wait, wait,” Raven said. “It’s got to be the hair or something. Like ruffle it up.”

“Turn around, Bambi,” Marc said.

“Stop calling me that,” I said, but turned around. I waited, hearing shuffling behind me.

“Okay,” Marc said.

I turned, and the twins had changed places. Their hair was combed back with fingers close to their heads. It didn’t matter. I could still tell.

“Corey,” I said, pointing and then shifted to the other “Brandon.”

There was a chorus of groans. “How the hell can you tell the difference?” Brandon asked.

“Yeah,” Raven said. “I’ve known these guys for years. How are you able to tell them apart when I can’t even do it?”

“Their eyes are different.”

Corey looked confused, but Brandon stared at me in a strange way that made my insides squirm.

“Okay,” Marc said. “Turn back around. This time, guys, close your eyes.”

I let them rearrange themselves and when Marc gave me the signal, I turned around. Brandon and Corey had their eyes closed and this time, I really couldn’t tell. “Identical,” I said.

“Great,” Brandon said, opening his eyes. “We’ll just keep our eyes closed the whole time.”

“Were you trying to fool me and switch places at the party?”

“Corey’s going to slip in and out of the party to give back the key card,” Marc said. “I went over this during lunch. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Kind of. There was pizza in the way. But unless someone’s really looking at their eyes, no one’s going to be able to notice.”

“What’s different about our eyes?” Corey asked. He glanced at his brother. “No one else told us that.”

I couldn’t think of a way to tell them without embarrassing Brandon. I motioned to Corey. “Your eyes are prettier.”

Corey’s cheeks tinted, but Marc huffed. “If you don’t want to tell us, you don’t have to lie.”

“His eyes are pretty!” That certainly wasn’t a lie.

Marc squinted at me but didn’t say anything.

Brandon held up his hands. “Whatever. It’s your turn.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got to get dressed. You can’t go looking like that.”

Marc went back to the kitchen counter, picking up a couple of plastic shopping bags. He opened one, pulling out a handful of material. “Do you like pink or purple?”

“Neither,” I said. I walked around the other guys to pull at the bag. “What the hell is this?”

“Dresses,” Marc said. “For the party.”

My mouth dropped open. “Nuh uh. No way. No one said anything about wearing a dress.”

“You have to fit in,” he said. He held up one of the dresses, showing me the pink ruffled skirt. “See? This is stuff that girls wear.”

“Maybe your girlfriends wear that.”

“Just try it on.”

“I’d rather light my hair on fire.”

––––––––

L
ater, I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom with my hair redone with a borrowed comb and my cheeks pinched to create a fake blush. The pink dress had spaghetti straps, and a ruffle around the breasts. It was modest, except for the skirt. I didn’t have any heels. This is what happens when you let boys shop for you. They never remember things like this.

I hated dresses and skirts. They were a luxury I usually couldn’t afford, and it was harder to blend into a crowd in ruffles, anyway. They were meant to draw attention and that wasn’t what I wanted most of the time.

Jeans were durable. Tank tops were about as sexy as I dared to get when I needed a distraction. Boobs were easier to spot for a target because they were closer to eye level, and when I was up close, I wanted to be sure they were looking at my breasts, not lower at my hips, where I’m trying to pull a wallet from a pocket.

I was going to leave my bra on, but the straps were tacky with the pink, so I took it off. The dress had built-in bra cups anyway, but was probably designed for a smaller boobed girl, as it felt tight. The fit at the waist, however, was a little big. I hung my bra over the towel rack. I smashed my boobs with my palms against my chest, trying to stop them from looking so restrained in the gauzy material. No matter how I positioned them, though, I still felt like I was almost spilling out of the top.