Olivia Twisted (Entangled Teen) (21 page)

He grins and dives into his salad. It’s not that hard after all, making him happy. Maybe eventually I’ll be able to figure out how to make myself happy.

After lunch, he walks with me out of the café. “You sure you don’t need James to drive you around?”

“Definitely. I’m good.”

“Okay, well…” He stands there, looking awkward. I wonder if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should give me a hug. I back away, waving slightly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“This afternoon,” he corrects. “But if you want to get together with Lisbeth or someone, just call and let me know.”

“Okay. I’ll see you later.”

I turn to walk down the street and into a store a few doors down, just to show that I’m interested in shopping in case he’s still watching me. A large gold sign on the wall has one letter: M. Crap. I shouldn’t be in here—I still feel so guilty about stealing that shirt from the other M—but maybe I should make up for it by buying a bunch of clothes now.

I’m randomly pulling out tops to decide if I want to try something on when I feel a light tap on my shoulder. “Liv?”

I turn, shocked to find one of the last people I’d expect to see. “Nancy! What are you doing here?”

She seems nervous, wringing her hands and looking around. For a split second, I wonder if she’s shoplifting, but I push that thought from my mind. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes. Sure. But…can you come outside with me for a few? I need to talk to you,” she says.

“Um, yeah, sure.” I slide the shirts I’m holding back onto the rack and follow her out the door. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it up that way before.

She turns back to me, and in the sunlight, I notice a red mark around one side of her neck. “Nancy, what happened to you?”
Let me guess—Bill.

She pulls her ponytail around to cover it. “Oh, it’s nothing. But I’m so glad I ran into you, Liv. I need your help.”

“What’s going on?”

Her eyes fill as she stares at me, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Nancy!” My heart is suddenly lead. “Is Z okay?”

She shakes her head. “He’s in trouble, Liv. Bad trouble. He needs you.”

All the motion around me slows to a crawl. Nancy is a mile away from me, and I can’t move.
Jack is in trouble?
“Why? What happened?” I grab her arm when she doesn’t respond. “Nancy! What happened?”

She’s trembling now, her eyes wide. “His depression after you left got so bad that he wouldn’t eat. Now he’s sick. Really sick. You can come with me, right?”

I nod. Jack is sick—I don’t care what happened before, all I know is that I need to be with him.

Her smile is a little unsteady as the tears slip from her eyes. “You’re such a good kid, Liv.”

“It’s okay. I’ll come with you. He’ll get better.” She doesn’t move until I start forward. She walks alongside of me, staring at the sidewalk. She is so distracted, so different from the Nancy I knew before. But then, Jack is like a son to her.

“Where are you parked?” I ask.

“A couple of blocks down.”

I walk faster and she keeps pace with me, though her speed seems dependent on mine. I glance at her. “Everything else okay?”

She nods but doesn’t say anything. And that horrible Bill probably tried to choke her. I hope she figures out a way to be done with him once and for all.

We reach a cross street and she points to the right. We walk into a deserted alley, but halfway to the next street she grabs my arm, pulling me around to face her. “I’m so sorry, Liv.”

“It’s okay.” She looks so upset now that it’s starting to freak me out. “Where’s the car?”

“It’s right here, hon,” a man’s deep voice rumbles from behind me. A hand is clasped around my mouth and I’m pulled backward, unable to get my footing. I try to open my mouth, to bite his hand, but something is shoved over my nose, something sweet, and my arms and legs start tingling. My body goes slack as the world melts around me.

The last thing I see is Nancy’s sorrowful face as she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“‘Well,’ said the robber, grasping Oliver’s wrist, and putting the barrel so close to his temple that they touched; at which moment the boy could not repress a start; ‘if you speak a word when you’re out o’doors with me, except when I speak to you, that loading will be in your head without notice. So, if you do make up your mind to speak without leave, say your prayers first.’”

—Charles Dickens,
Oliver Twist

Jack

I sit on my bike, trying to make sense of why the long black car is in the driveway. It’s not Bill’s day to be here, so why is he? It’s not a good sign. I consider for a moment riding away as fast as I can. I have a sickening feeling he’s here to see me, though, so it’s best to give him whatever it is he wants and get him out rather than having him wait around for me to show up. He causes trouble if made to wait for long.

In the house, Micah, Jen, Dutch, and the rest of the kids are standing together, talking in low voices. The conversation breaks off immediately when they see me. Dutch’s wide eyes tell me what I feared: Bill’s waiting for me. I make eye contact with Sam, who looks more serious than I’ve ever seen her. Even scared. She shakes her head, but I turn away from her. Might as well get this over with. I square my shoulders and march to the office. The only thing I can hope is that he doesn’t know where I sent Liv. I open the door and freeze, my heart almost stopping when I see the unexpected guest seated on the sofa. What the…
Shit!

Liv’s terrified eyes twitch from me to Bill and back again. I stare at her for a moment, unmoving, my body stiff with fear. My fingernails bite into my palms.

Bill is calmly seated across from her, holding a handgun in his lap, and Nancy is in the corner, holding her side with one hand, one of her eyes puffy and purplish red. Her lip is cut, and a mottled yellow-and-gray mark the size of a fist is forming on her cheek. Liv doesn’t seem harmed—yet.
Shit. Shit. Shit.

My stomach flips, but I keep my face as smooth as I can, breathing deeply and slowly so I don’t look as panicked as I feel.

“Come on in, Z, and look who we found wandering around the streets with her newfound family.” Bill’s voice is quiet, a warning sign in itself. I step inside and pull the door shut. He stands to face me, his icy eyes burning into mine. I have never been more scared shitless than I am right now.

“So, aren’t you glad to have your girlfriend back? I figured you would be, seeing as how she ran away. Or, wait, what was the real story, Nancy?” A sob escapes her but he doesn’t turn. “He helped her find her dear grandpa, right? And you covered for them.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.

He laughs darkly. “Do? Well, you’re the genius here. What do you think? Come on, Z, tell me. She’s got a rich grandpa who just happens to be a big-time investment fund manager. Who just
happens
to be the target you were supposed to be handling for me.”

Bill stands and walks toward me, casual and relaxed. I force myself not to step back. “I wondered why you dropped that case so fast. This
uncrackable
account, right? Maybe you should’ve covered your tracks on your research instead of letting me find out exactly what you were up to.” He tsks, waving a finger at me. “You’re slipping, Z. Shows me that you’ve lost your focus. I’ll help you find it again.”

The back of his hand smashes against my jaw like fire exploding across my face. I fall against the door, the pain reverberating through my body. Liv cries out and starts to run to my side, but I shake my head. Bill wraps his hand around my throat and holds me against the door, his fingers pressing in to cut off my air. I grab at his arm but he’s too strong.

“Bill, please,” Nancy pleads.

“Shut up. Now, here’s what we’re going to do, Z. You and this pretty young lady are going to help me crack the old man’s account. According to your girlfriend here, he checks his account every night. She’s going to be
very
helpful to us in installing some special software on his computer. If not…” Bill’s hand squeezes tighter. My arms and legs tremble as my vision blurs and little specks of black float in front of me.

“Bill, stop it!” Nancy yells, running over to yank on his arm. He shoves her away but releases me. I fall to my knees, my head pressing against the floor as I struggle to pull air into my lungs. Bill is saying something, I think, but my head is swimming and I can’t focus on anything but oxygen and the blood pounding in my head.

There’s the sound of a phone ringing, then Bill’s voice answering it. The pressure of Liv’s arms around my shoulders. I finally sit back on my heels. Liv touches my tender jaw with a gentle finger. “Are you okay?”

I nod but don’t say anything.

Bill finishes his call. “Let’s go.” He gestures to the door with his gun.

I put an arm around Liv’s waist and walk with her toward the front of the house. The area is pin-drop still, everyone focused on us. I avoid looking at Dutch—I don’t want to see the panic I’m sure is on his face. My gaze instead falls on Sam, whose angry eyes and bunched fists are clear indications that she wants to jump Bill. I narrow my gaze and shake my head slightly at her. This is not the time to lose control.

Bill’s car is waiting for us. As we climb in and the driver pulls away, Bill keeps his eyes and barrel of the gun trained on us. My arm is fixed around Liv, my hand over hers. She’s no longer shaking, but her body’s tense. I want to talk to her, to reassure her and beg her forgiveness, but Bill’s too close, watching us. Instead, I spend the time running through several scenarios in my head, trying to figure the best way out of this. Bill’s smart, though. He’ll catch us if we run, and then we’re good as dead. I’ve never heard of him actually killing a kid but wouldn’t put it past him at all.

“Give me your phone,” he says to me when we get close to Liv’s grandfather’s house.

I reach into my pocket to hand over the cell, and he slips it into the interior of his jacket. I raise an eyebrow at Liv but she shakes her head. He took her phone, too. Of course.

When we arrive, Bill pulls a silver flash drive out of his jacket and hands it to Liv as the car slows. She takes it with her fingertips at the corner as if it’s a germ-infested tissue. “Now listen to me very carefully. Install the keylogger. Then back out, fast. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t leave any notes, don’t make any calls. I have someone monitoring the lines. If there’s even the slightest hint of a problem, the sound of a siren or anything, your boyfriend dies. Followed by you and your loving grandpa.” He leans close to her. “And if this doesn’t work, if I don’t see the data tonight, or if there are any problems whatsoever, you’re both dead.”

He waves his revolver and she steps out of the car, her eyes catching mine before closing the door. There’s no trace of fear there, only calm reserve. I know she’s not the type to go down without a fight, but Bill isn’t kidding around, and I know he’ll kill me if there’s any chance she calls the cops or runs away. I draw in a shaky breath and close my eyes to wait.

…

Liv

My legs are so wobbly that I can’t believe I actually made it inside the house. Mrs. Bedwin is walking from the kitchen, envelopes in her hand. She looks surprised to see me.

“Oh, Olivia. Your grandfather said you were going shopping. Do you need money to pay a cabbie?”

I force the corners of my mouth upward. “No, I caught a ride home with a friend instead.”

Her quizzical eyes flick toward the window, as if trying to catch a view of my “friend.” Of course, I don’t have any friends, but I pray she believes I called one of the kids he’s been trying to match me with.

“Um, he just dropped me off.” Mrs. Bedwin’s mouth puckers as she considers this. Damn it, I shouldn’t have said “he.”

“Okay,” she says. “You might want to call your grandfather, though, just to let him know you made it home.”

I exhale softly. “I will.” I move past her quickly and up the stairs. When I look back over my shoulder, I’m relieved to see her flipping through the mail in her hands. Mrs. Bedwin has been nothing but kind since I’ve been here. There’s no way I’m getting her involved with this.

In my grandfather’s office, I boot up his personal computer and enter the password. It’s easy enough—Aggie0225. My mother’s nickname and birthday. It’s strange how so many people choose family members or pets as passwords, though those can be the easiest to figure out. He’s so weepy when he talks about my mother. It took me less than a minute to guess the password one day when I was bored and screwing around with it.

And he never knew she was pregnant with me. I wonder how different my life would’ve been if he’d known. I have no doubts that he wouldn’t have stopped until he found us. His obvious love for my mother and his regret at her running away made me start thinking of him as my grandfather instead of just some old man I was related to.

But I never really let him get close to me. I wish I had now. I wish I hadn’t pushed him away.

While the computer churns, I stare at the flash drive in my hands. I can’t do this. I can’t ruin my grandfather’s life, let Bill have access to everything. I didn’t want to do it when I hadn’t even met him. How can I do it now?

I can just pretend to go along with this. Bill will never know. I can act like I installed the malware, and maybe it didn’t run right or something. Maybe he never logs on and the passwords remain safe. Or maybe I can leave a note telling my grandfather not to use the computer.

There’s no way. Bill will be expecting that. He won’t let us go until he knows for sure that the spyware works. If my grandfather doesn’t log on, he’ll know I told. Then there’s the question of whether he’ll let us go at all, even if everything does work.

I place my palm on the handset of an antique-style phone. One call could alert the police.

One call and Jack will die.

His face flashes in my mind, and I swallow hard. I can’t let that happen.

I shove the computer keyboard and fight the tears. There’s no time for crying.
Damn it!
We’re screwed either way, I know it. Why would Bill let us go, even if this works?

Think, Liv.

I stare at the welcome screen for Brownlow Inc. Bill will be able to see every page my grandfather goes to, every keystroke. But then, Bill doesn’t know what his home screen is. I tap my cheek for a moment. I could have the landing page be a warning against hackers, or maybe information about keyloggers, but that would clue Bill in immediately. It’d have to be something that would alert my grandfather and not Bill. Something simple and clever, like when I redirected Jack’s hits on that YouTube video.

I sit up.
So simple
, Jack had said. Now to come up with something that will get my grandfather’s attention.

A couple days ago, I overheard a conversation between my grandfather and one of his associates about how the owner of a company called Keating Financial used to work for Brownlow Inc., and how they’re planning to sue for using trade secrets. My grandfather was so mad about it—I hadn’t ever seen him that agitated.

I do a search for Keating Financial and assign it as my grandfather’s home page. Then I redirect Brownlow Inc. to the same Keating Financial page. This should raise a red flag to him but not Bill.

I stick the flash drive in the USB port of the computer. As the file loads, I fiddle with the stack of Post-it notes on the desk. Writing a message—even a cryptic one—won’t do any good; no one will know where I am. I don’t even know where Bill’s headed after this. Back to the home? To his place? Jack once told me that no one knew where he lived.

My eyes move to the phone again. If only I had my cell, then maybe I could generate a call at some point. It could be traced. But I gave my cell to Bill…

My cell! Bill has the phone that my grandfather gave me, but I have another—from when I first moved in to Monroe Street.
Please, oh please let it have a charge still on it.

The software finishes loading and I remove the drive and shut down the computer. As fast as I can, I run down the hall to my room and yank open the top dresser drawer. The cell is sitting on top of my old school folders. I grab it and power it on. The battery indicator shows a low level, but at least it’s yellow and not red. I breathe out. It’s enough to get help. It’s tempting to call the police right now, but I can’t risk it—not with Jack on the other side of Bill’s gun.

I slip the cell into the waistband of my shorts, where the outline is hidden under my shirt. I tiptoe down the stairs to avoid Mrs. Bedwin and quietly let myself out the front door, headed toward the black car and my uncertain fate.