Remember Me (19 page)

And get on with my life. The thought makes me smile even though cold sweat rolls down my spine.

“Here.” Griff passes me an earbud with an embedded mic so we can communicate even though he's staying near the entrance, watching in case anyone arrives.

“Thanks. You ready?”

Griff nods and we stash his motorcycle in the shadows, make our way across the deserted courthouse parking lot. My stomach is queasy with excitement . . . and something else I refuse to name, but I know I'm remembering an unlit church parking lot when Griff and I walked into the dark to save my sister.

If we can do this, we can do anything. I squeeze Griff's hand, smile at him.

He doesn't smile back. “Let's make this fast. You know where you're going, right?”

“You asked me that already.” I focus on the double doors, check my pocket again. The jump drive is still there, still loaded with the virus. “Second floor, fifth door,” I repeat.

But only after I hit the second floor, third door, and upload my virus onto Bay's computer. Ideally, no one will ever know I was there, but it'll look like Carson made himself right at home in the judge's computer.

“Right. Okay.” Griff turns the lock and both of us hold our breath as he nudges open the door.

Nothing. No alarm. Griff exhales hard like he really can't believe it. He starts to motion me forward, but I'm already through. I run the length of the hallway without looking back.

 

Ed Price's office
is a total waste. There's nothing.

Less than nothing, actually, unless you count a metric ton of paperwork and a collection of those perpetual motion machines. There must be five or six of them and they wiggle as I mess with Price's CPU.

Corey was right. The computer is off. I hook my laptop into the CPU, bypassing the operating system and turning the attorney's computer into a slave drive. After that, it's just a few more minutes of searching his image files and finding . . .

Nothing. No pictures—unless you count an
awful
lot of Ed Price head shots.

Unease squeezes my lungs and I spend a second glaring at the silver motion machines, thinking. If the pictures aren't on the computer then where are they?

I close the search program, check my phone. I need to get going. I spent my first few minutes loading the virus onto Bay's computer, which wasn't too bad, but I spent longer than I should have going through Bay's files. Pointless really. I wasn't going to find anything on my mom—not after this many years. I couldn't help it though, and, going through his things, I couldn't stop thinking about how many other people he might have used the same way.

I wasted time, and now I'm running behind and still empty-handed. If the pictures weren't emailed then that leaves . . . the in-box?

It's piled pretty high. From the looks of it, Price's secretary has tried to organize everything. Top stuff is faxes. There are some memos mixed in with some UGA alumni stuff. Mail's at the bottom. Nothing good though.

Okay. Moving on. I open the desk drawers, flip through the file names. Case paperwork. I switch to the desk's other side, shutting the top drawer, opening the lower. It's more of the same. File. File. File. Some of them thick as my wrist. Ridiculous. There's no way I'm going to find the pictures. Even if they are here, it would take days to filter through everything.

I shove the file folder into its slot, start to close the drawer, and realize there's a gap behind the folders. I must not have extended the drawer all the way.

Rolling my chair to the side, I pull the drawer forward, lengthening it another foot. The file folders stop and behind them is a clutter of law magazines, the edges of a manila envelope poking out from underneath like it had been forgotten . . . or shoved away hastily as if someone was coming.

I tug out the envelope, peek inside. Something's at the bottom. I stick my hand in, fish around. Huh. Piece of folded paper and something that feels like a jump drive.

I squint at the small white rectangle. Yep, it's a jump drive. Why would you need to hide something like this?

I flip open the paper.

 

There are more where these came from. I'll be in touch soon.

 

Even more interesting. I plug the drive into the USB port of my computer and check the time. Crap. I need to wrap this up. When the file listing appears, I click the first item.

My heart double-thumps.

It's a dead body. Are these crime scene photos?

I scroll through, squinting in the dark. It's a dead woman. Blondish. Youngish.
Lots
of blood.

Why would Chelsea have these? Is it related to a case she was helping Bay with? And why would Corey's client have wanted them?

I copy the files from the jump drive to my laptop. Most of the shots are close-ups of the wounds. Looks like the girl was stabbed to death. I select another photo and pause, enlarge the picture and stare. The girl's face is turned up, eyes and mouth pulled wide.

It's Lell.

“Griff,” I murmur, touching two fingers to my earbud. “I think we have a problem.”

“Yes, you do.”

I jerk to attention.
Milo?
What the hell is he doing on our channel?

“Surprised?” Milo continues in a
come on down and tell her what she's won
tone. “I would suggest you get your ass moving. You have company.”

Company?
I open my mouth to tell Milo to screw off and hear footsteps.
Oh. God.

I step away from the desk, listening. The footsteps are heavy, rubber soles thumping against the linoleum. They're not moving quickly, but they are headed this way.

I unhook my laptop and drop it in my bag with the jump drive and envelope. I push the CPU back to where it was and hesitate. Now what? If I run for it, whoever's outside will see me.

“Yep,” Milo says, sounding thrilled. “That is definitely an Officer Friendly moving your way, Wick. I would find somewhere to hide. Fast. Looks like he noticed the door you left open.”

I cut my eyes to the office door. Shit. Sure enough, I left it cracked. I spin around, looking for a hiding spot. Desk. Two chairs. Bookshelves. Nothing. Double shit.

I rocket around, fling myself behind the door so, if he opens it, I'll be hidden. With any luck, he'll just close the door as he goes by.

Only he doesn't.

He opens it.

The wooden door swings wide, arcing in front of me as I suck suck suck myself in. The officer steps inside, snaps his flashlight on, twirls the beam over the office, and snaps it off.

Almost there. I hold my breath.

He comes inside.

With the door in my face, I can't see where he is, but I can hear him. He's opening drawers, moving things around. Papers flutter.

This isn't a security cop. Can't be.

Holding my bag tight against my chest, I step to my left and peek around the door's edge. The guy's finished with the desk and gone on to the filing cabinets on the other side. He's moving things around with force, not caring about the mess. He straightens and I jerk back. Something slams. A drawer?

Footsteps cross the office, heading for the door. He pulls it shut behind him, and through the space between the jamb and door, I get a glimpse of the guy's profile.

It's Judge Bay.

24

Milo clears his throat. “Uh, if I were you, I'd get moving right about now.”

I'm still pressed against the wall. Moving would be awesome. Too bad my joints have turned to puddles.

“What the fuck are you doing, Milo?” Griff's voice crackles in my ear.

Milo ignores him. “Seriously, Wick. Get going.”

“Is Bay gone?” I hiss.

“For the moment.”

A wave of nausea rushes over me. Somehow, Milo must have gotten on the security feed. The thought does not make me warm and fuzzy. I force myself forward, peek into the hallway. It's clear.

“He took your exit,” Milo continues. “You'll need another way out. Go left.”

I can't. If Bay took my exit then he's headed straight for Griff. I can't just leave him. “Not without Griff.”

“I'm fine, Wick. Promise.” Griff's voice is hushed. Is he hiding? “Go left. The asshole's right. You can get out through the lower wing. I'll meet you by the rear stairwell.”

I pivot left, hugging the wall and struggling not to take off running.

And screaming.

My sneakers thud against the linoleum tile and I pray Bay can't hear me coming like I heard him.

“Take the stairs down to the bottom floor,” Milo says when I reach the hallway's end. “Use the fire exit.”

No way. The fire exits are on a different security system. “Are you crazy?” I'm taking the stairs two at a time now, knowing I'm being loud and not able to stop it. “It'll sound the alarm.”

“Not anymore it won't and FYI? You need to run.”

I open my mouth to respond when a door on the floor above me scrapes open. Bay. He heard me. He's coming.

I jerk to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, stare at the fire exit doors. Do I believe Milo?

More footsteps. They're coming down, pinning me.

Shit. I tighten my messenger bag's strap, grab the door handles with both hands, and prepare to run like hell.

The doors open with a whoosh, but no alarm, and I take off across the lawn, running hard for a line of trees at the edge of the grass. Have to get into the dark before Bay comes through that door and sees me. If I can get out of the range of the security lights, I can hide. He won't be able to tell which way I went.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I see something move.

Griff.

He hooks his hand around mine and we run even harder, tumbling into the shadows.

“Are you okay?” Griff pulls me into him.

I nod. “Look.”

The fire exit door opens and Bay lingers under the light, his head slowly turning as he pans the lawns and sidewalks. He can't see us, but Griff still edges in front of me, one arm tucking me so close I can feel his heartbeat: too fast, too hard.

Exactly like mine.

Bay shuts the door and Griff relaxes. I wrap both arms around him, tugging him against me.

“Well, isn't that touching?” Milo appears on our left, walking along the tree line and careful to stay just outside of the security lights' illumination. He adjusts a backpack over one shoulder and stares down at us. “Now tell the truth: How awesome was I? Even for me, I think that was pretty badass.”

Griff lunges for him. “The
hell
are you doing here?”

“Saving your girlfriend's ass.” Milo inspects Griff's grip on his T-shirt like it's some sort of interesting bug. “No extra charge, by the way.”

Griff shakes him. “You had no right barging in like that—”

“Hey, genius, I designed the earbuds.” Milo's talking to Griff and staring at me, grinning. “I'll get in whenever I like. Just never felt like it until I realized you were with her. Ballsy move, Wick. All that breaking and entering. I liked it.”

Cold curls around me. “How could you see what we were doing?”

Even in the dark, I can see Milo's eyes light up with satisfaction. “Clever girl. Always asking the right questions. I could see what you were doing because your detective friend restarted the security cameras. He was recording everything: you, your little guest,
everything
.”

25

I hold myself very still. “Carson wasn't supposed to be recording anything.” The words are coming out sticky, like they refuse to leave my mouth. “That was the deal. If I did this, he said he would make sure the system went down.”

“And yet he didn't.” Illuminated by the security lights, Milo's smile turns yellow. “Good thing I did.”

Griff straightens. “You took down the feed?”

“Neat, huh? Don't you wish you'd thought of it?”

Griff growls, grabbing Milo by the throat.

“Stop it!” I wedge myself between them, willing Griff to look at me. After a moment, he does.

Griff's hands loosen . . . and he strikes Milo squarely in the chest, flinging him back. Milo staggers, and when he looks up, he laughs.

“Give me a minute. I'm going to get the bike.” Griff stalks into the dark and I have to struggle not to follow. A few seconds pass and I realize Milo's still watching me.

“So.” Milo shoves both hands into his pockets. “Carson, is it? What's his deal?”

Have to say something. Need a lie. Need a really good lie.

Only I'm too flattened to think of anything. I look at Milo and feel like I'm draining straight through my feet. “Carson knows about my . . . extracurricular activities. He says he'll destroy my family and make sure I go to jail if I don't work for him.”

“Shit . . . he's the guy you called after we found Corey?”

“Yeah.” I pass one hand over my aching neck, watching him. “You're taking this pretty well.”

He shrugs. “I understand better than you know. This is survival. We all do things we aren't proud of.”

“Thanks for cutting the feed.”

Another slow smile. “You're welcome.”

The pause is stretching out into a seriously awkward moment. I should just leave it alone. Let it be awkward. I'm no good at that though. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

“Because it's not your style.” I almost said because you're not a good guy. It doesn't matter though. Milo catches my meaning anyway.

“I'm more like you than you think.” He jerks his chin toward Griff. “I'm more like you than he'll ever be.”

I shake my head. “No, he understands where I came from. He's been where I've been.”

“But does he know where you're destined to go?”

Ugh. It annoys the crap out of me that Milo thinks he does. “I love him.”