Lies I Told (12 page)

“Now we've got something to work with,” my dad said, a familiar gleam in his eye.

It was Sunday morning, and we were sitting at the table in the War Room, catching up on the progress each of us had made during the previous week.

“What did you find out about the security system?” Parker asked.

My dad unrolled a blueprint of the Fairchild house. “The gate's intercom system is monitored by live security. There are cameras in the driveway and at all four exterior corners of the house, also monitored by Allied. The keypads at the front, back, and side doors have to be disarmed within thirty seconds of a breach. The ground-floor windows are also wired, but a breach from one of those gives us two minutes to disarm.”

“Two minutes?” I asked. “Why so long?”

“If someone who lives in the house forgets their key, they can get through one of the windows if it's unlocked, but they'd need longer to get to the keypad to disarm the system,” he explained.

“Can't we just clip the line on the alarm?” Parker asked.

He shook his head. “It automatically goes off if the line is cut.”

Parker drummed his fingers on the table. “Is anything else in the house wired? Any sign of a safe or panic room?”

“I told the installation consultants from Allied that we had a large safe we'd like protected. Told them whatever Warren had was fine. They said as far as they knew, nothing but the doors and windows were wired at the Fairchild estate.”

My mom's forehead wrinkled a little like it did when she was thinking hard about something. “But if nothing else is wired, where is the gold?”

“It's there. Warren probably just wants it off the grid,” my dad said.

Parker laughed. “Can't say that I blame him. If I had twenty million in gold sitting around, I wouldn't want the dog to know about it, let alone a bunch of experienced security guys.”

My dad nodded. “On the plus side, getting onto the grounds and into the house shouldn't be too difficult, and if Warren has kept the location of the gold a secret from Allied and everyone else, once we find it, taking it shouldn't be a problem.”

Parker stared down at the map. “Where are the cameras in the driveway?”

“Not sure,” my dad said. “Since we don't have a long drive here, I wasn't able to use my keeping-up-with-the-Joneses act to pinpoint the locations, although we have a few of them from Grace's recon at the party. The rest should be easy enough to figure out, especially with Grace visiting Logan. Until then, we should assume they're evenly spaced from the gate to the house.”

My mom turned to me. “Speaking of visiting Logan, how did it go last night, honey?”

I steadied my voice, calling up the explanation I'd been rehearsing all day in my mind. “Fine. I mean, we went straight to the kitchen, made popcorn, and watched a movie. I didn't get a chance to see much, and I didn't want to be too suspicious my first time there.”

She smiled. “I trust that you know how to handle Logan.”

Her words made me feel sick, but I just nodded, hoping the false calm on my face was believable.

“What about the keypad?” my dad asked. “Did Logan disarm the system after he let you in?”

“He did, but I couldn't make out the code over his shoulder.”

A lie. I had been too preoccupied with the prospect of spending time with Logan to even try.

My dad nodded. “How did it go with Logan? Is he interested?”

“I'd say so,” I said, bracing myself to tell the one truth I
had no choice but to tell. “He asked me to be exclusive.”

I caught Parker's clenched jaw in the moment before my mom's eyes lit up.

“You worked him fast,” she said.

There was admiration in her voice, and I couldn't help wishing we were some other mother and daughter. One where her excitement over Logan's asking me to be his girlfriend was about being happy for me, not gaining access to information that would help us steal from him.

“That's excellent news.” My dad beamed. “Now you'll have plenty of access to the house and grounds.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything.

“How's it coming with the night guard at Allied?” my dad asked Parker.

Parker shrugged. “I can only assume he's pissed, which is just how we want it.”

I wondered what they were talking about, but if my dad wanted it to be common knowledge, he would have explained. Until then, it was none of my business.

“And Rachel Mercer?” my dad asked him. “Your mother said you saw her last night?”

“Yeah, we went to eat at Mike's in town,” Parker said.

“And?” my dad prompted.

Parker shrugged. “She seems interested—interested enough to text me to hang out—but she's cagey, too.”

“Cagey how?” my mom asked.

“Just . . . difficult to pin down. She asks more questions than most girls. Doesn't want to talk about herself much.”

My mom laughed. “Not all women are self-centered, Parker.”

If she expected him to protest, she was disappointed. He just leveled his gaze at her without a word. Her eyes turned flinty in the awkward silence that followed.

“We don't really need Rachel anyway,” my dad finally said. “Grace is in with Logan. That's what we wanted. Just play it cool with Rachel and we should be fine.” He looked at each of us. “Anything else? Any concerns?”

No one said anything.

My dad stood. “Good. Keep doing what you're doing.” He looked at me, his gaze steady. “We need that key code, Grace—and we need the location of the gold.”

“How are things really going with Logan?”

My mom's voice was muffled from inside the dressing room. It was later that day, and I was helping her choose some new things to wear around Leslie Fairchild. My mom didn't really need me—her taste was impeccable—but shopping was one of the ways we spent what she called “quality time” together. I didn't mind. It made me feel normal, and I was always reminded that she was smart and fun to be with. I could have done worse.

“They're fine, just like I said.” I used my fingertip to trace circles on the upholstered bench outside the dressing room. I didn't want to talk about Logan. Not like this. Not right now.

“Come on, Gracie. It's no fun without details.” She stepped out of the dressing room wearing a turquoise wrap blouse. “Yes/no?”

“There are no details,” I said. “We've only kissed.” I studied the blouse. “The color might be a little too South Beach.”

She nodded. “Agreed.” She headed back into the dressing room. “Is he a good kisser?”

I groaned. “Seriously, Mom?”

She laughed. “Don't be a prude. I'm just curious.”

“Yes, he's a good kisser,” I sighed. “Now can we drop it?”

“Fine.” She emerged from the dressing room again, this time wearing a navy blouse with a mandarin collar. “Better?”

I nodded my approval. “Much.”

We spent two more hours trolling stores in the mall before stopping for lunch at a faux Italian bistro. Logan texted me, telling me that he couldn't wait to see me on Monday, and I spent the rest of the day with my pulse running a little faster, caught up in a manic euphoria while I counted the hours until I could see him again.

But when I woke up Monday morning, all my optimism was gone. Dawn cast too bright a light on my excitement. I had work to do, especially now that I had a reason to be at the Fairchild house. I couldn't afford to be sidetracked. It was okay that it felt good to be with Logan. I couldn't help that. But I had to be disciplined, put it aside so that I could focus on my part of the job. It was easier to accept with some space between us, without the fresh memory of his mouth on mine, the way he seemed to see all my secrets and not care at all.

I was digging through my dresser, looking for a belt, when I saw the small wooden memento box at the back of
the drawer. Paranoia and guilt had gotten the better of me, and I'd returned the ID card from Chandler High to the box at the end of last week. Now I lifted the box out of the drawer and opened the lid, looking down at the card.

Carrying it was dangerous. Worse than dangerous; it was stupid. Because it didn't change anything. Didn't make real the life I'd led in Arizona, despite my feelings to the contrary. But now I wanted it for a different reason. Not to make real the life I'd led there, but to remind me why I'd been there in the first place. To remind me why we went anywhere. Not to make friends. Not to fall in love.

To con people out of their money. To sustain a lifestyle that, while strange, was all I had. All I knew.

I lifted the ID out of the box, slipped it into the pocket of the short floral dress I'd bought with Selena, and headed downstairs to meet up with Parker for school.

He greeted me with a tight “hey” and we headed to the Saab. I wasn't surprised by his attitude. I'd known it was coming ever since my revelation in the War Room that Logan and I were official. Parker wouldn't say anything about it in front of our parents—not after his last altercation with my dad. But we would be alone on the drive to school. I knew the questions were coming.

We'd barely pulled away from the curb when he started up. “Why didn't you tell me?” he asked. “About Logan?”

I sighed. “We were outside the War Room when I came home. I was just being careful.”

“You could have told me you were official. It's not a
breach in and of itself.”

I glanced over at him. “No, but this is,” I said softly.

“We're in the car.”

I shook my head. “It doesn't matter.” I couldn't even say it was against the rules. Not out loud.

“Whatever.”

“Why are you acting like this?” I asked.

He gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. “I just don't want you to feel . . . pressured.”

“Pressured?”

“To do anything you don't want to do.”

I turned my face to the window. How could I tell him that I'd felt pressured to do everything up until I'd met Logan? That getting to know Logan was the one thing I'd done because I wanted to?

“It's not like that,” I said, trying to be cryptic. “He's a perfect gentleman. It's not like he's going to pressure me into doing anything.”

Parker turned into the school parking lot. “It's not him I'm worried about.”

I knew he was talking about our parents, but there was only so much I could say outside the War Room. “No one's pressuring me. I'm just . . . getting to know him, that's all.”

“Whatever, Grace.”

He pulled into our regular spot next to Logan's BMW and got out of the car, walking past Rachel without a word. She watched him go, a mixture of surprise and annoyance on her face. He hadn't even acknowledged her.

I was still rattled when I slid into my desk in AP Euro. Parker was on the edge. More on the edge than I'd seen him since he was first adopted into the family. He was always volatile. But he was also smart. Everything he did was calculated, even the bad stuff, the scary stuff.

This was different.

I had the feeling even Parker didn't know what he would do next. That he was operating purely on impulse, his anger and resentment dictating everything he said and did. Dangerous for anyone on the grift, but most dangerous of all for Parker.

And for those of us in it with him.

I told myself he was just overworked. He needed a break, but he would hold it together until after the Playa Hermosa con. I was sure of it. I slipped a hand into my pocket,
fingering the ID card.
It's just a job
, I thought.
Just another job.

“Where was the fire this morning?” Rachel said, taking her seat.

I looked up, taking in the artfully messy braid, the barely there makeup, the casual-chic ankle pants.

“Fire?” I repeated.

“Someone was in a hurry,” she said. “Parker looked pissed.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to make light of Parker's attitude. “More like pissy. He's not exactly a morning person.”

She nodded, digging in her bag for her notebook and pen. “I heard about you and Logan.” She turned and flashed me a smile. It almost looked genuine. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I said. “He's a good guy.”

Her nod was thoughtful. “He is.”

Mr. Stein stepped to the front of the class. “Good morning,” he said, picking up a stack of papers from his desk. “Today I'll be announcing teams for the first semester project.”

I looked at Rachel in surprise. “Project? What project?”

“It's in the syllabus,” she said. “It's a third of our grade.”

I dug the syllabus out of my binder. AP Euro wasn't supposed to have projects. It was a lecture class, its sole purpose to prepare us for the AP test. That meant notes, not projects.

But there it was, right on the syllabus. One project each semester, worth a third of our grade, just like Rachel said.

Mr. Stein walked across the front of the classroom, handing out pieces of paper to the kids in the first row with
instructions for them to pass it back. He explained that we would be grouped into teams before choosing one of three possible projects from the sheet. Then he started naming pairs. By the time he got to me, I knew Rachel and I would be assigned to work together; everyone was teamed up with the person sitting next to them. Way to be original, Mr. Stein.

“Grace Fontaine and Rachel Mercer.”

I looked over at Rachel and gave her a wry smile. Now that I was in with Logan, I didn't need her. But she still made me nervous. She was nosy and way too curious. I'd planned to just avoid her, focus on Logan and the others during the times when Rachel and I were forced to be in each other's company. That was going to be a lot more difficult paired up on the AP Euro project.

“Want to exchange numbers?” I asked her on the way out of the classroom. “So we can talk about the project?”

“Sure,” she said.

She didn't seem happy about it. I wanted to tell her the feeling was mutual. Instead I recited my number and entered hers into my phone.

“Any idea what you want to do?” she asked as people shoved past us on their way to their next classes.

I glanced down at the sheet. “I don't know. Maybe the historical board game?”

She nodded. “Fine.”

“Great,” I said. “I'll text you so we can get together.”

I left her standing there as I headed down the hall. Letting someone—anyone—walk away first made you the
submissive party. And not being submissive to Rachel was a matter of principle.

I met up with Selena at lunch, watching with a smile as she took her position at the table next to David. It was nice to see her happy, to see the light in her eyes when David looked at her. I considered it a victory. Maybe after we left Playa Hermosa, Selena would stay friends with the group. Maybe she would be a little less alone than the girl I'd met reading
White Oleander
that first day.

I sat next to Logan, my pulse jumping a little when he took my hand under the table and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. I knew what I needed to do. Knew I should listen to the conversation going on around me for information we might use later. Who was going out of town, who'd been woken up by the security team outside their window, whose parents had had a fight about money. It could all come in handy, and it could all be casually revealed at any moment.

But I was too distracted by Logan's proximity, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his voice as he told me about a giant wave he'd caught before school. I reached into the pocket of my dress with my free hand, feeling for the ID, needing the reminder. The pocket was big, meant to be slouchy. At first, I thought the ID was hiding in a corner, that it had slipped into one of the folds of my dress. I fought a surge of panic as I fumbled around the pocket, trying to grasp the plastic edge of the card. Finally, I had to acknowledge the truth.

It was gone.