Lies I Told (20 page)

“What the fuck were you thinking?” My dad was practically shouting, as close to losing it as I'd ever seen him.

I dropped my head into my hands, wishing I could disappear into the floor of the War Room. “I'm sorry.”

“Stop saying you're sorry,” my mom said, her voice soft. “Just tell us why you did it. Why on earth would you keep that ID card, let alone carry it around with you?”

I glanced at Parker, wondering if he was as pissed as everyone else. There was nothing but sympathy in his eyes.

I looked at my mom. “I don't know. I just . . . it's hard sometimes,” I finished softly.

“What's hard?” my dad demanded.

“All of it!” I shouted. “Making new friends every four months and lying and moving and keeping our stories straight and saying good-bye.”

“That's the job, Grace.” My dad's voice was firm.

“Well, she didn't exactly sign on for the job, did she?” Parker's voice was low and hard.

“She did,” my dad said, danger in his voice. “She signed on when she agreed.”

Parker folded his arms across his chest. “After you adopted her. Did you really think someone who'd been in the foster system, someone who'd waited years for a family, would walk away when she finally got one?” He shook his head with disgust. “She was just a kid. You knew exactly what you were doing. With both of us. We were your biggest con.”

For a minute the room seemed wired, ready to blow, a bottomless silence opening up between us. Then my dad got up, pacing to the window. He turned his back on us.

I looked over at my mom. She was chewing her lip. It was a small gesture, but it gave away her nervousness. I wondered if it was shame or anger that colored her cheeks.

“Well, it's too late now,” my dad said without turning around. “We're too close to abandon the job.”

“And it would only bring us unwanted attention,” my mom agreed. “Better to stay the course. Get it done and get out.”

My dad rubbed the five o'clock shadow at his jawline. “We'll have to leave right after we get the gold. With the Mercers on our tail and the link to Arizona, we can't afford to play dumb for a few weeks after the theft like we usually do.”

I swallowed hard. It was my fault we'd have to make
a quick getaway. My fault we were under the magnifying glass.

“What about Rachel?” I asked, trying to focus on the problem at hand.

My dad turned around. “What about her?”

“What if it's not enough? What if she's still suspicious?”

“Then she can be suspicious,” my dad said. “She's done all she can do.”

“For now,” Parker said. “But Grace is right; what if she pushes the issue?”

“She's only going to seem crazy if she does that now,” my mom said. “Something tells me she's smart enough to know that.”

“Right, which means she's smart enough to see through the explanation you gave Mr. Mercer,” Parker said.

My dad crossed the room and planted his hands on the table. His gaze was piercing, his eyes too bright.

“Well, then,” he said, “we better get back to work. The sooner we get the gold, the sooner we can be out of here. And I think we can all agree that sooner is better than later.”

I stared out the window as Parker sped to school the next day. He was driving too fast, inviting unwanted attention with a possible speeding ticket, but he didn't seem to care. The earth was rumbling under our feet, the veneer cracking on our carefully constructed facade.

He pulled into our usual parking spot and cut the engine. For a minute we just sat there, watching Logan and the others mingle around the BMW.

“You okay?” Parker asked softly.

“Fine,” I said. “Thanks for going to bat for me.”

“No thanks necessary. You reap what you sow. And Cormac and Renee are reaping big time.”

I shook my head. “It was my fault. I violated protocol.”

He exhaled in a rush of air. “Do you hear yourself? You ‘violated protocol'? Does that sound like something a normal
sixteen-year-old would say?”

I reached for the door handle. “Normal for us.”

I exited the car before he could say anything else and plastered a smile onto my face as Logan came toward me. I didn't know whether to be scared or relieved that Rachel wasn't standing with the others. I was torn between wanting to keep her in sight and wanting to pretend she didn't exist. Wanting to pretend none of it existed.

I moved through the day in a haze, trying not to feel guilty every time I looked at Logan. Every time he looked at me. I braced myself to see Rachel in AP Euro, but I still felt my cheeks flush when she entered the room. Now I was sure about her suspicions. And she knew I knew.

All the cards were finally on the table.

She dropped something in front of me on the way to her desk. “Here are my ideas for the project.” She slid into her chair and leaned over just as Mr. Stein walked to the front of the room. “Nice performance with my dad, by the way. But I don't buy it.”

I took a deep breath and shook my head, hoping the gesture passed for
you're crazy
instead of
why can't I shake you?
I spent the period rehearsing explanations and comebacks for what was probably an inevitable confrontation with Rachel. When the bell rang, she followed me out of the room.

“Whether we like it or not,” she said behind me, “we're going to have to finish this project together.”

I turned toward her, stepping aside so the flood of kids trying to get to class didn't mow us down. “Tell you what:
why don't you do the explanatory essay and I'll put together the board game. We can hand it in at the same time.”

She was silent for a minute. “It must be hard.”

I sighed. “What are you talking about, Rachel?”

She shrugged. “I just think it would be hard to be around someone who's onto you, that's all. Someone who doesn't buy your little story.”

I stepped closer to her, my earlier insecurity morphing into anger. True, I'd been off my game since the beginning in Playa Hermosa. I'd made mistakes. Violated the rules. All of that was on me. But I still couldn't help wanting to blame Rachel. She'd been all over me from the very beginning. It hadn't helped. And who was she? Nobody, that's who. A spoiled peninsula princess who had a hunch. That's all.

“You know what's hard?” I stood so close to her that she leaned back a little. “Dealing with someone who's so crazy that she clings to a delusional fantasy. Someone who's so miserable, so ashamed of Daddy's sexual forays, that focusing on her little fantasy world is preferable to real life.”

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in shock. I was surprised, too. I wasn't a mean person. I didn't hurt people intentionally. Not like this, anyway. But I had reached my limit. Everything that could go wrong had. I was on the defensive at a time when I couldn't afford to be anything but offensive. When I couldn't afford to be distracted by what Rachel Mercer believed. What she might tell someone else.

“I don't know what you're up to,” Rachel said, recovering, “but I promise you I'm going to find out.”

“Or maybe you're just going to realize that you were wrong all along.” I turned and walked away, waiting until I'd turned the corner to duck into a bathroom as the late bell rang for next period.

I rushed into the last stall and slammed the door, leaning my head against it. My pulse was racing, the blood rushing through my veins so fast that I felt light-headed. All the fear and uncertainty of the past couple of months—the past few years—welled up inside me, fighting to escape the confines of my skin.

I took a few deep breaths, concentrating on the sensation of the cold metal door against my forehead, the slow intake of breath, the measured exhale. I told myself it would be okay. Rachel had nothing but accusations. Accusations that had been addressed by the perfectly logical explanations my parents had given Rachel's father.

But deep down I knew it wasn't that simple. A light had been shone on us. All of us. There would be no easy end to the Playa Hermosa con. No quiet slinking away explained as another opportunity for my dad, another chance to back a promising new company. We would steal Warren Fairchild's gold and leave without a word. And when it was all said and done, Rachel would come forward.

Then everyone would know what we really were.

“Logan . . . stop.” I laced my fingers with his, moving his hand from its position on my stomach to a safer zone up by my shoulder.

We were on the beach, wrapped up in a blanket and each other the night before he and his parents were leaving for his cousin's wedding in Santa Barbara. Things had been heating up between us, our deepening emotional connection only adding to the physical fire that seemed to build every time we were alone. I wanted him. More than I'd ever wanted anyone. But the last thing I needed was another reason to feel connected to Logan Fairchild. Another reason to make it hard to say good-bye.

“I'm sorry,” he said, running his hands through my hair as he dropped gentle kisses on my forehead, my temples, my nose. “I don't want to rush you.”

I nodded, trying to swallow around the lump that had lodged itself in my throat. “I know. And it's not like I don't want to. I just . . . I want to be sure, that's all. I don't want to ruin what we have by moving too fast.”

“I understand, although I hope you know that nothing could change the way I feel about you.” He pulled me close so that my head rested on his shoulder.

The rush of waves on the beach was a match to the rush of blood through my veins, the desire that threatened to pull me into the too-deep waters of my feelings for Logan. I couldn't afford to go there. I'd drown for sure. Was already drowning.

And he was wrong. There were things that could—that would—change the way he felt about me.

We were packing up, folding the blankets and stuffing everything back into the bag we'd brought with us, when he said something that almost stopped my heart.

“I'm sorry about Rachel.”

I looked up at him, trying to mask the fear thumping through my body. “What about her?”

He shook his head. “She told me about her theory. Or her nontheory,” he added sarcastically.

I sighed. “Which theory is that? The one where I'm here to usher in the apocalypse or the one where I'm secretly working for the IRS, gathering data on the illegal tax loopholes used by the residents of Playa Hermosa?”

He laughed. “She can be a little . . .”

“Crazy?” I volunteered, rooting for the power of suggestion.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. And high-strung.”

“It's fine,” I said, brushing sand off my clothes. “I get it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. She still has a thing for you, I move in, she doesn't like it . . .” I shrugged. “And we're different. We move a lot because of my dad's job, I'm adopted . . .”

It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn't the whole truth either, and I hated myself for that.

He came over and wrapped his arms around me, looking down into my eyes. “You didn't tell me,” he said softly.

“Because it's no big deal. I was in foster care for a while. My parents adopted me. It took some time for the paperwork to come through. . . . It's not something I talk about.”

It was the closest I'd ever come to telling the truth about myself.

He brushed the back of his hand against my cheek. “Okay, but I'm here to listen if you change your mind.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

We grabbed our stuff and headed up the beach, taking the winding pathway back to the car. Logan talked about the beach in summer, about how nice it was, how warm. He talked about teaching me to surf and going to Catalina Island. He talked like this was just the beginning.

I smiled and nodded, but I knew the truth. This wasn't the beginning he imagined.

It was the beginning of the end.

It was after midnight when we headed on foot to Logan's house. There was only one road leading away from the Fairchild property, and we didn't want the Saab spotted if anything went wrong. Plus, we'd have more options without the burden of a car. We could even descend to the beach, although the thought of making our way down the craggy cliff face in the dark made me light-headed with dread.

There was an occasional flutter and rustle in the trees overhead, but otherwise the neighborhood was hushed. Christmas lights winked on porches, and the air had a sharp edge as the wind blew in off the water. Despite my gloves, I stuffed my hands in my pockets as we hurried through the neighborhood, trying to stay in the shadows.

I wasn't nervous. Not about getting in and out anyway. We'd broken into plenty of houses to gather information.
The Fairchilds' security system was a little more high-end, and they were a little more high-profile than some of our marks, but the plan wasn't complicated. We didn't even need to deal with the gate since we weren't taking anything this time. We'd hop the fence instead, sneak our way onto the property—avoiding the cameras along the driveway and at the corners of the house—and break in through one of the windows. Then it would be a race to disable the alarm. If we had the wrong code, we were screwed. Things would go south fast and we'd have to beat it out of there.

But if we had the right one, we would proceed to the carriage house, where we'd try to confirm the presence of the bunker and the location of the gold. If we could get into the bunker easily tonight, we would do it, just to make sure the gold was there. If we couldn't, we'd case the security protocol around it so we could plan a way in the night we made our move.

“You ready?” Parker said softly as we rounded the corner onto the Fairchilds' street.

“Yep.”

We walked in the shadows of the bougainvillea plants that lined the sidewalk. I was glad this part of the peninsula, the most expensive in Playa Hermosa, was so isolated. There were only two other properties, both set back from the road and both marked by security gates like the Fairchilds'.

We approached the gates warily, giving wide berth to the camera mounted at the top of one of the posts. Once we were past the gate, we continued to the curve of the cul-de-sac,
veering off the sidewalk and into the trees that surrounded the Fairchild property. I breathed a sigh of relief when we were off the street. In the trees, we'd be invisible to anyone making a late-night ice cream run or taking their dog for a walk.

“Let's go a little farther,” Parker whispered. “We want to hit the house in the center of the west wall, out of range of the corner cameras.”

I nodded and followed him farther into the trees. We walked for about three more minutes before cutting up toward the fence that surrounded the grounds. Once there, we had a clear view of the property and our position in relation to the cameras at the corners of the house.

“A little farther,” I said, using my hand to signal the direction. “We're too close to the southwest corner.”

“Agreed.”

We continued along the fence until we were halfway between the southwest and northwest corners of the house. It was as out of range of the cameras as we were going to get.

“Let's time,” Parker said softly.

I nodded, and we both watched the cameras as they scanned the property, moving slowly back and forth. After the cameras had made ten full cycles, I looked at Parker.

“I've got thirty seconds.”

“Me too.” He looked up at the iron fence. “It's going to be tight, especially with the fence. Can you do it?”

I thought about it, counting as I imagined pulling myself
up and over the top of it, sprinting across the lawn. “I think so.”

“You have to be sure.”

“I'm as sure as I can be,” I hissed.

“Fine,” he said between clenched teeth. “I'm just saying.”

He bent down, making a sling for my foot with his gloved hands. I stepped into it, wobbling a little as he lifted me up into the air. When the top of the fence was within reach, I grabbed on and pulled myself up. Parker's hand dropped from my foot, and I teetered on the fence for a second before gaining my balance. Once I felt steady, I hoisted one leg, followed by the other, over the top. After that it was a simple drop to the ground.

I stepped aside, looking at Parker through the fence.

He took a few steps back and ran at it, launching himself up high enough to grab onto the top rail. He made swinging over it look easy. He was on the ground in seconds.

“Let's do it,” he said.

Turning toward the house, I scanned for windows out of range of the cameras.

“That one,” I said, pointing to a window almost midway between the two corners of the house. “Should be the living room.”

He nodded, and we focused on the cameras, watching their slow rotation of the grounds, waiting for them to line up a gap we could run through. After a few cycles, I had it.

“After this next one,” I said quietly, watching. “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . go.”

We sprinted across the lawn side by side. I kept my eyes on the cameras the whole way, just in case we were off on the timing. But it was about right; the camera on the southwest corner was just swinging back toward us when we reached the house.

We plastered ourselves against the stucco, catching our breath, watching to be sure the living room window we were aiming for wouldn't have visibility on either of the cameras.

“Looks good,” Parker said. “Let's go.” He slid a few feet toward the window and pulled out the glass cutter from the holster-style pack on his chest. “Where are the locks?”

“Center.”

He flipped the glass cutter open and made a small circle at the top center of the glass. Pulling a cloth out of his pocket, he held it carefully up to the window, tapping gently. When the circle of glass began to dislodge from the rest of the window, he gave it a thunk with his index finger. It fell way with a tiny pop.

I held my breath. If it survived intact, we could glue it back in on our way out, and it would be a long while before the Fairchilds knew someone had broken in. If the glass fell and broke, the Fairchilds would know they'd had a break-in. We'd take some stuff to make it look like a garden-variety theft, but odds were good that the alarm code would be changed and we'd be back to square one.

I didn't hear it shatter, but that didn't mean it hadn't.

Parker reached a hand through the empty circle, feeling around for the window latch. There was a faint sucking
sound as the window released from the weather stripping.

Parker replaced the glass cutter and positioned his hands on the window frame. He looked over, raising his eyebrows. Once he opened the window, the clock would be ticking on the alarm.

I nodded, and he pushed up on the frame.