Hush Money (17 page)

“I know, okay?”

Oh, I was such a bitch. Whose crazy family
was the reason Dylan was becoming a bank robber? Yep. Mine. And I
was giving him a hard time about it. But why shouldn’t I? This was
the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.

“You cannot do that. You just can’t. And not
for me. That’s just stupid.”

“Joss…”

“I said no.”

He laughed a little. “You are so not the boss
of me.”

“Dylan, seriously. Please. Don’t do that.
I’ll talk to Marco again and we can—” He stiffened next to me and I
remembered the way he’d looked when he’d come in swinging at Marco.
Maybe best not to stay on that subject. “I’ll figure something
out.”

“It’s practically done already. It’s not a
crazy plan, either. There are some other Talents involved, besides
Marco. I actually think it’s going to work. And it’s not like I’ve
never committed a crime before, so there’s no reason for you to
worry about my immortal soul or anything. Just…let it go.”

I went over what he said in my head a few
times, and kept hearing the same thing.

“Did you just say Marco is a Talent?”

“Yeah, has that not been covered yet?”

“Um, no.”

“That’s pretty much the only reason I had a
hard time believing what you said about him blackmailing Talents.
It’s just too many kinds of messed up, you know? Even for him.”

“Yeah.” Yeah, it was messed up. But too
messed up for Marco? No, not really. “So…what can he do?”

“He’s strong. Like pick up a truck and hold
it over his head strong.”

“Oh.” I thought about Dylan growing up with a
best friend who could easily kill him if he ever got ticked off. It
kind of explained a lot about how Dylan was always trying to be
charming and likable, and smoothing things over. And I thought
about how I had held him back from throwing the first punch today.
Idiot.

“You know, there’s a lot of stuff I’m not
proud of. Seems like the more I think about stuff I’ve done, how
I’ve acted, the more there is.”

I wasn’t sure I was up to hearing any more of
Dylan’s true confessions. Part of me wanted him to keep talking,
was eager to hear any scrap he wanted to reveal about himself, good
or bad. But a voice in the back of my mind was freaking out about
what it seemed Dylan was willing to do for me.
Me.
And I was
also scared about the sense of connection I was feeling, the urge
to reach out and take his hand. I needed to bring us back to the
subject at hand.

“So the grocery store thing, that’s it,
right? You and Marco are done, even, it’s all over?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he’d hesitated.

I punched him in the arm, pretty hard. “You.
Are a lousy liar, do you know that?”

“Ow, and volume, and I know now, okay? Geez.”
He rubbed his arm.

“Don’t be a baby.” Part of me couldn’t
believe I was feeling this comfortable with him right now. “What
else?”

“One more thing.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I just had to agree that when
he needed me again, I would do one more thing for him.”

“And if it’s Murder One?”

“It’s not going to be Murder One.”

I ignored him. “And then that’s not going to
be enough, you still won’t be even. Then it’s going to be just one
more thing, and one more after that, and you are never going to get
away from him.” Just like Dobbs was never going to stop, just like
Jill was never going to be trustworthy, especially when she had
people like Dylan to pay the price for her mistakes, just like Dad
was never going to be stable. Someday, something was going to get
back to him and send him back to the hospital—or worse. None of it
was ever going to stop, ever.

To my horror, a sob rose up in my throat, and
I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep it in. But then there was
another one right behind it. My mind was in that same loop it had
been in before Dylan showed up, only now with more information.

“Hey,” he said gently, his arm wrapping
around my shoulders. “You don’t have to cry about it.”

Somehow, though, that just made it worse, and
I really did have to cry about it. It was horrible, and trying not
to only seemed to make it worse. My shoulders started to shake as I
tried to just be quiet about it. What if Dad heard me? I should get
Dylan back out the window right now.

He turned toward me, pulling me in so my head
rested on his shoulder. And instead of pushing him away, I latched
onto his jacket and cried harder. Which was stupid because he was
so warm and he felt
really
good. I never cried; I never even
let anyone know I was upset, and this was just so wrong. But in a
rational world, Dylan shouldn’t even be talking to me, let alone
sneaking into my room or promising to commit grand larceny on my
behalf. And it was partly that overwhelming sense of unreality that
was making me crazy. How was I ever going to get all this
impossible stuff worked out if the Laws of the Universe kept
changing all the time?

I was never going to get anything worked out.
Ever.

When I pushed away from Dylan, he didn’t try
to hold on to me. I retreated to the table beside my bed for a
handful of tissues to mop my face. I felt more than heard him come
up behind me, and then he put his hands on my shoulders.

“It’s ok, you know.”

“Sure.”

“If it makes you feel any better, your dad
almost made me cry earlier.”

I snorted. “It really doesn’t.”

“Sorry.”

I could easily have leaned back against him.
I wondered what he’d think of that, or what he’d do. I wondered
what was going on between us.

“Is there something else you’re not telling
me?”

“Mr. Dobbs drove me home today.” Now why did
I say that?

“Mr. Dobbs the guidance counselor?”

And then I was pouring out another story to
him, with background details and everything, about how Dobbs was
always harassing me, like he was trying to get me to slip up and
say something.

“About your sister.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I lied automatically.

“And these pictures…”

“He thinks that because I was there for both
incidents, that I must have had something to do with it. And even
if he can’t prove it, I can’t have that kind of attention directed
towards me. Not with my family stuff.”

“Yeah, I see what you’re saying. So what are
you going to do?”

“I don’t know what I
can
do. Just keep
doing what I’ve been doing, denying, deflecting. I guess it’s not
such a big deal. I just hate that guy and it’s just one more
thing.”

“I’ll get the pictures.”

“What?”

“I’ll get the pictures.”

“How?”

“I’ll go to his house, get the pictures.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“I steal stuff. It’s one of my
specialties.”

I dropped my head into my hands.

“It’s stupid, Dylan. He’s probably got copies
on his computer—”

“That’s ok. I know a guy.”

“So you propose to involve more people in
crime on my account?” I turned to face him, but he was already
backing away toward the window.

“I’m not proposing anything. I’m just
doing.”

“No.”

“Did I mention how you’re not the boss of
me?” he grinned.

* * *

Dylan

“Just put your foot here, then when you can
reach that limb, grab it. Didn’t you ever climb a tree before?”

“Unlike you and your friends, this life of
crime is new to me. And not my choice, I’ll remind you.” Rob pushed
his glasses up and put his foot in my hands. “Why am I doing this
again?”

“Because I asked you to and I’m the guy who’s
covering your bacon on Thursday. So you’re happy to do me this
favor.”

Rob grunted as he pulled himself up onto the
branch. A few well-placed steps and he was over the fence and
wrapped around the tree trunk looking down. I vaulted up, using the
fence, swung into the tree, and dropped down into Dobbs’ yard.

“And I thought you were the cool one.”

“I am the cool one.” And then I just felt
bad. “Look, if this is such a big problem for you, then just tell
me how to find what I’m looking for and go home.”

“Yeah, ’cause it’s that simple.” He dropped
down next to me. “Lead on.”

I started across the yard toward the house,
but I had only taken a few steps when he grabbed the back of jacket
and hauled me back. “Vanish,” he hissed.

I did, and Rob moved me around like a picket
sign until he was satisfied.

“Look up there. At the edge of the house. See
that red light? That’s a camera. Who’s got camera surveillance for
their front yard?”

“Mr. Dobbs, apparently.”

“Who’s Mr.—Mr. Dobbs, the guidance counselor?
What the hell are we doing here?”

“I heard they caught you chewing gum in the
library, so we’re here to erase it from your permanent record so
you can still get into Harvard.”

Rob punched me. “MIT, you moron. Let’s just
get it over with, whatever it is.”

Mr. Dobbs had a big, older house with a
basement, and I had decided that one of the basement windows was
the way to go. Just as I’d hoped, it wasn’t hard to force one
enough to squeeze through and drop down into the house.

We found Dobb’s computer in a home-office
type area he’d set up in what was supposed to be the dining room. I
started rummaging in the desk while Rob went at the computer. I
hadn’t seen him do his thing before, and I’ll admit I kind of
forgot what I was doing while I watched. He didn’t fumble for the
power switch and wait for it to boot up. He just put his hand on
the box and lights came on, stuff started whirring inside, and
stuff started flashing across the screen.

“How can you read that?” I whispered.

“Not. Reading.”

It sounded like talking was difficult for
him, so I shrugged and went back to the drawers. I found the
pictures Joss was talking about, and I could see the similarities
in the two scenes. I had wondered who had been doing the heavy
lifting at Kat’s house. Since Sunday, I’d had it fixed in my mind
that Jill having a Talent explained a lot about Joss. But if Joss
had a Talent…

That was some serious power. Was it seriously
wrong how completely hot I thought that was?

Rob snapped his fingers in front of my face.
“Maxwell, wake up! Check this out.” He was holding his hand out
flat, about an inch over the computer, and there was this faint,
pale light in the space between. “On the screen, moron.”

To be honest, there were just a lot of words
on the screen, and some graphics, and I had a lot in my head right
then. “Could you just…sum it up?”

Rob looked at me like he was concerned I
couldn’t read. “Fine. It basically indicates that Mr. Dobbs, the
mild-mannered guidance counselor we all know and love, is…a NIAC
agent. The two paychecks kind of explains the size of this house,
come to think of it.”

“Wait, wait, what now?”

“It would be
quieter
if you could read
it
yourself?
These are emails,” there was some slight
movement of his hand, and the words began to scroll, “weekly
reports from Dobbs to NIAC with interviews he’s conducted,
observations, and basically anything he finds suspicious with his
intentions to follow up on it.”

I started cussing.

“Is that really necessary right now? I think
he’s making some of this stuff up, just to show he’s doing stuff
and make himself seem more important, to be honest.” For some
reason, Rob didn’t seem very concerned. He must not have found his
name in an email yet.

“Ok, so Dobbs is NIAC. What else is there?”
Because sneaking into an annoying guidance counselor’s house was
one thing, but this was something else, and I was getting nervous.
Rob seemed to be fine as long as he was communing with the
machine.

“There are some files here.” He read off some
names, a bunch of which were kids I knew, but no one from our crew.
They could be Talents, or it could be bullshit. Curiosity was
getting the better of me. I wondered if Rob could copy the
files.

“Open Joss’s but don’t look at it.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I can’t show it to you without looking at
it. All this stuff we’re looking at’s encrypted. I’m translating it
as we go.”

“How do you do that?” He looked at me like
how the hell should I know? How do you disappear? Touché.
“Ok, fine, but ponder your slow and painful death if I think you’ve
talked about any of this.”

“Is
this
why we’re here? Because Dobbs
has dirt on your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my—never mind.”

“I think that’s nice.”

“What’s in the damned file?”

“Not much. Mostly speculation about some
fire…Oh yeah, I remember that. Huh.”

I read it over his shoulder. He was right.
There wasn’t much there. Still, he’d documented a ton of meetings
with Joss and details about how he’d grilled her and what her
responses were. I would have loved to have choked him with one of
his ridiculous Looney Tunes neckties just then.

“Get rid of it. All of it. You can do that,
right? Get rid of all the Talent files?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Then do it!”

“Look, I can’t just go in and excise the
Talent files and not touch anything else. It would be too obvious
that someone came in and did something.”

“It’s going to be just as obvious if I have
to throw the thing out the window. Only louder.”

“Hang on, hang on. I didn’t know you were so
hot-headed. I can take care of this, make it look like a
malfunction or a virus caused massive and irretrievable data
loss.”

“Fine. Do that.”

“But we don’t know if there are copies. We
don’t know if this stuff has already gone to NIAC.”

“And if we did know that, what would we do
about it? We’ve been here too long already, but we’ve found out
more than we came for. So let’s just take what we have and get
lost. ’K?”