Scammed Page 11

  My words are automatic: “Really. We’re good here.”

  He steps closer.

  I hold a hand out, and it stops him in place.

  “We’re friends,” I say clearly.

  “That’s right,” says Mark. “If you don’t get out of here, I’m calling the cops.”

  Caleb’s stare tears from Mark to me, questions and anger in his eyes.

  “Can I walk you back to the restaurant?” Caleb reaches a hand toward me.

  I stare at it, jumping when Mark slaps it away.

  “You followed us over here. You a … a stalker or something?”

  I need to get him out of here before he does something stupid.

  “Let’s go back inside,” I say.

  “I’m not sure it’s safe with all these stalkers roaming around.” Mark looks back at his car slowly, his moves more exaggerated with each moment that passes. He probably pounded back the second drink just as fast as the first.

  “Let’s go.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket, still keeping his arm over my shoulders.

  “Mark, that’s not a good idea.”

  “Come on.” His voice is louder. More irritated.

  Caleb tilts his head. “You’re drunk.”

  “No one asked you, stalker,” spits Mark.

  He tries to turn me toward the car, and when I resist, he pushes me. It isn’t hard; I don’t even fall, but it’s the last straw for Caleb.

  He’s between us in a second, shoving Mark into the back of his car. Mark bounces off the trunk and hits the ground hard, but Caleb doesn’t wait for him to get up. He turns to me, one hand cradling my face.

  “You all right?”

  I nod quickly, but I’m not okay. Nothing about this is okay.

  Mark lunges from the ground, taking out Caleb’s legs. Caleb falls to his knees on the asphalt, then spins, kicking blindly to dislodge Mark’s hold on his calf. His foot connects with the side of Mark’s head, and with a howl, Mark flops back onto the ground.

  Reality slams into me, freeing me from the shock of the last few seconds.

  People are running toward us; I can see them cutting through the shadows as they cross the street from the restaurant.

  “Fight,” I hear someone say. “Hurry! Check this out!”

  I catch a glimpse of someone’s phone as they raise it to record the action.

  Scrambling to Mark’s side, I pull him up to a seated position by the now dirt-stained collar of his shirt. His lip is bleeding. He blinks at me, a little dazed, though I think more from the alcohol than Caleb’s kick.

  “Jaime? Jaime!” Myra’s voice cuts through the dark. She and Ben are pushing through the gathering crowd, running toward us.

  Caleb is frozen, perched on one knee, halfway to a stand. He’s fallen into a shadow, his face hidden in the dark.

  “Go,” I call desperately to him. He doesn’t move.

  “Go,” I beg him. “Please.”

  He lurches to his feet, teeth flashing in a stripe of white light from the overhead lamps as he grimaces. Then Myra and Ben are crouched beside me, asking what happened, and if we’re okay, and who did this.

  I look over Myra’s shoulder, but Caleb is gone.

  “I don’t know,” I tell them, the shaking in my voice one-hundred-percent real. “He came out of nowhere. I think he was going to mug us or something.”

  Myra’s face lifts, her dark eyes peering into mine in disbelief before her gaze flicks to Mark’s car, and his keys, now strewn on the ground between us.

  This looks bad, but even bad is better than reality.

  Ben helps Mark up, and I tell him he should go home. He can’t drive. He’s had too much to drink. Again, Myra’s gaze settles on me, seeking answers I’m not prepared to give.

  Ben agrees to take Mark home—he’s got a car in the garage down the street. Hooking Mark’s arm around his shoulders, they take off, while Myra and I cross the street to tell the others what happened.

  I’m so jumpy, I can hardly keep my steps even, but for once it’s all right. It’s okay to look like you almost got mugged if you’re sticking to a story that you almost got mugged.

  We’re across the street and outside the door to Risa’s when Myra pulls me to a stop. I’m shivering now; the cold has finally needled through my thin sweater, and my teeth are chattering.

  “What’d he do?” she asks flatly.

  “What?” I need that heater on me stat. Maybe that will stop me from trembling.

  “Mark.” She steps closer, arms on my forearms. “Why were you in his car?”

  “I wasn’t.” I bite the inside of my cheek hard, trying to focus on the story, but I can’t help looking around for Caleb. Is he still somewhere in the crowd? Did anyone else see him, or catch the fight on video?

  “Then what were you doing in the parking lot?” she asks.

  “Nothing.” My voice breaks. “Nothing, all right? I thought I saw someone I knew outside. I didn’t. Mark met me out here. He said he needed to get something in his car for the interns, and I could help him carry it in.”

  “And you believed him?”

  I shrug. “I’m trying to make a good impression. He’s still mad about the donation thing.”

  She folds her arms over her chest. “Did you hit him?”

  I can tell by the set look on her face that she’s not going for the mugging story, and any attempt to convince her is only going to make this worse.

  I nod.

  Her hands move to my biceps, squeezing tightly. “That lousy piece of trash. I knew he had the hots for you. We have to tell his boss.”

  “No!”

  Her eyes widen. “Jaime, if he attacked—”

  “He didn’t. He…” I need to get control of this. Think. “He tried to kiss me. I hit him. End of story. He won’t try it again.”

  “He needs to be fired.”

  He can’t be. Not until I figure out what he knows about Jimmy Balder. My rapport with him is already in jeopardy. If he thinks I’m the reason he’s losing his job, he’ll never tell me and any strides I make toward finishing this assignment for Dr. O and getting Grayson out of Vale Hall are ruined.

  “He’s not at work, and neither am I. This is a social thing.”

  “The senator’s staff needs to know they’ve hired a scumbag.”

  “Come on. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Are you serious?” Her hands drop. “Since when is sexual harassment not a big deal? Did he tell you not to say anything? Did he threaten you?”

  “No. Myra, no, it wasn’t like that. I overreacted.”

  She throws her head back and groans. “Do you even realize what you sound like right now? This is how guys like him become men like…” A strained breath hisses between her teeth. “They get away with one little thing, and then another, and then they’re trying to shove underage interns in their car, and…”

  She stops her rant, closing her eyes for one forced breath. Her face transforms to the same pained expression she had yesterday when I asked about interns not sticking around.

  “What do you mean, Myra? Men like who?’”

  “No one.”

  She’s pulling on the sleeves of her coat.

  “Like the senator?” It’s a guess, but the hard light in her eyes tells me I’m pressing a nerve. “Did he do something?”

  “He did nothing.” She sighs. “And when you do nothing, you’re complacent. People get hurt.”

  “How? How do people get hurt?”

  She stares at me, locks me in a standoff of secrets where neither of us are willing to give in. Slowly, her arm lifts, motioning to the lot across the street where Mark’s car will now sit overnight, tallying up an enormous bill.

  “Like this,” she says, then quietly adds, “The senator isn’t the problem. It’s those who let people like him get away with things that are the problem.”

  I shrug it off, but it hurts being called out like this, even if she doesn’t have the right story.

  “I’
m not letting anyone get away with anything.” If she only knew why I was really here. What I’ve gone through to keep my position at Vale Hall.

  “Then do the right thing,” she says. “Or I will.”

  At that, she goes inside. I follow a moment later, but the cold has soaked through my skin and left a lingering numbness even the heater can’t blast away.

  I am doing the right thing. I’m doing what’s best for me, and for Caleb, and for Dr. O and Grayson. I’m helping to put a man behind bars that’s hurt and frightened his son. Who is responsible for covering up one, maybe two, deaths.

  But by letting Mark off the hook, I’m telling him it’s okay to mess with seventeen-year-old girls. I’m showing him we won’t fight back. That we’re weak, and that he can do whatever he wants, without consequences.

  If I weren’t working tonight, I would have kicked his ass.

  Or maybe he would have kicked mine, and that makes me feel a million times worse.

  I will stay on until I know everything there is to know about Jimmy Balder, and then I will report Mark.

  But I need him first.

  Which means I need Myra to give me time before she turns him in.

  Emmett wants to hear details when we get inside, but I stick to the almost-mugging story and tell him I didn’t see the face of the attacker. Myra sits quietly in her chair, growing more sullen and furious as the hour progresses, until neither of us can sit any longer.

  I have to fix this with Mark.

  I have to find Caleb.

  As I say good night and make my way to the door, I’m stopped by the busgirl with the nose ring. She’s holding Mark’s leather wallet in her hand and trying her best to look like a hero.

  “Your friend leave?” she asks. “Someone found this by the door. Picture in the ID looks like him.”

  I grab it out of her hand and head toward the door.

  “Hey,” she says. “He didn’t pay his bill.”

  “I’m sure whatever purchases you charged to his cards after you picked his pocket should cover it.”

  Her mouth makes a small O.

  “We good?” I ask.

  She nods quickly, and I’m out.

  CHAPTER 14

  Just after curfew that night, I climb the attic stairs to meet Caleb on the roof.

  The wind has grown even more bitter than it was earlier, and it threatens to toss me over the side on my way to the spire. When I see him sitting on the ledge where we met last time, my steps slow, and I’m torn between wanting to punch him or to curl up in his arms.

  He stands when he sees my expression, his hands in his pockets.

  “Wasn’t sure you were coming,” he says.

  We didn’t have a chance to talk after I got back from the internship, and texting that I was going to be late might have alerted Moore or Belk, who have access to our phones.

  “Grayson wanted to play another game of Road Racers.”

  A muscle tics in Caleb’s neck, and he looks to the ground, hiding his expression.

  “Are you okay?” His question is steady, too practiced.

  “Yes. Are you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Fine. The word digs beneath my skin.

  I step closer. He does not.

  “Why did you follow me tonight?” I ask.

  A shocked sigh slips out of his lips, like he didn’t see this coming. It puts me even more on edge. He should have expected this question, and acting like he didn’t confirms he’s hiding something.

  He zips up his coat, putting a leather shield between us. “I thought you were working at a restaurant, not hanging out at one.”

  He isn’t even going to try to deny he was tailing me. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.

  “I am. At least, I was until you decided to show.” Mark’s going to be mad when he sobers up. Any chance I had of hearing what he knows about Jimmy is gone. For all I know, he could be planning on telling Jessica about the donation game and getting me fired.

  “Seriously?” Caleb stares at me. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you guys were having such a good time.”

  Now it’s my turn for the shield. I feel Devon Park Brynn slide over my skin, lifting my chin and straightening my spine.

  “I had it handled.”

  “Maybe you did,” he says. “But I see anyone getting dragged around a parking lot by a guy like that, I’m going to say something.”

  Myra’s words echo in my head: It’s those who let people like him get away with things that are the problem.

  Caleb wasn’t trying to mess things up on my job—aside from touching my face, he never even acknowledged that we knew each other. He was protecting me the way he’d protect anyone, and even if that makes me feel like the worst kind of scum, that still doesn’t explain why he was there tonight.

  “What were you doing with those people?” he asks before I can, and there’s a carefulness to his tone that sets me on edge. “Those older guys. That girl … Do you even know who they are?”

  The anger in his voice catches me off guard. “Do you?”

  He shoves at his glasses.

  Dread snakes through my veins.

  “Why were you following me?” I ask again. “Why do you know them? Shouldn’t you be on your own assign—”

  “I was.” He hesitates, and I see the truth in his struggle. He knows who the people I was with are because they are his assignment. He said he was following a new recruit, a girl.

  But he was following me.

  A sudden pressure pulses between my temples. It wouldn’t be the first time I was the focus of someone’s job—Geri’s whole purpose last year was to play me according to Dr. O’s bidding. Caleb himself tailed me before I was accepted to Vale Hall to make sure I was suitable for the program.

  But the recruitment angle is over. Dr. O said to keep my assignment a secret, to tell the others I was following a potential new student if anyone asked. He must have told Caleb the same.

  Caleb followed the rules, and I didn’t. And now Caleb’s asking questions he already knows the answers to, like this is some kind of test to see what I’ll give up.

  “They’re just interns,” I say. “Or coworkers. But I guess you knew that.”

  He’s quiet a moment, and then he closes in on me, fast enough that I step back. He’s different now, back to himself. He reaches for my hands, grasping them tightly. Worry is etched into every line on his face, and his frown pulls at my heart.

  “This is me,” he says. “I’m not some mark.”

  But I am.

  Caleb and I faced the Wolves of Hellsgate together. We sent Pete, the man who made my life a living nightmare, to prison. I’ve met his mom and his brother. I’ve seen his dad.

  We don’t have secrets.

  “Just tell me what’s going on,” he says.

  But he already knows. I told him about The Loft. About Sterling’s missing intern.

  And he lied.

  “I can’t talk about it,” I say.

  He releases my hands.

  “What can we talk about? Everything’s off-limits because Grayson’s always crawling all over you.”

  Irritation prickles between my shoulder blades. He gets to pull this after following me to work? After spying on me? “That’s kind of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”

  “He likes you.”

  “I’m making him like me. It’s part of the job.”

  “The job,” he repeats, and then laughs coldly. “Yeah, it’s more than the job. He looks at you like … I don’t know. Like he owns you or something.”

  “So kind of the way Geri’s been looking at you.”

  “That’s different,” he says. “She’s just—”

  “Being Geri, I know.” It irritates me that he thinks I let her get to me, even if I have a little. “Grayson doesn’t own me.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you?” A gust of wind howls through the pointed mountains of the roof, throwing me off balance. Caleb
grabs my elbow to steady me, but his gaze is flat, hiding secrets, and it makes me doubt myself yet again. Did he follow me tonight as part of his assignment? Or was it personal—he wanted to see for himself what I was really up to?

  His arm falls slowly to his side, and I feel my insides twist.

  “Do you?” he asks quietly, and I know he isn’t just talking about Grayson, but Dr. O as well.

  Do they own me?

  The fight drains out of me as the words from Othello ring in my head.

  I do perceive here a divided duty.

  On one side I have school—my assignment, my “education.” On the other, I have Caleb. I have Charlotte and Henry and Sam. SATs. College. My real life.

  Which is becoming more of a lie every day.

  It’s like jamming two wrong puzzle pieces together until they fit.

  Caleb takes a step back, brows drawn together. His frustration, his worry, is replaced by something heavier, something I can touch through the wall that’s just lifted between us.

  “This doesn’t work if you don’t trust me,” he says.

  It feels like my chest is caving in. “Do you trust me?”

  He flinches. “You need to be careful, Brynn.” He doesn’t say Margot’s name, but I feel her presence between us. He thinks I’m in too deep with my mark. That I’m going to betray him, like she did, or maybe that I already have.

  He really doesn’t trust me.

  “That’s not an answer,” I say quietly.

  “Yes, it is,” he says. “It’s just not the one either of us want to hear.”

  He won’t look at me.

  “So that’s it?” I say, seeing red. “We’re doing whatever Dr. O says now? We don’t get our own lives?”

  “We’re doing this so we can have our own lives.”

  “No,” I say. “You’re doing this because you’re afraid.”

  “Of course I’m afraid!” he shouts, and for one second, I’m relieved that this is hurting him as much as it is me. Then he says, “We should take a step back for a while.”

  A fist clenches around my heart.

  “You’re breaking up with me?”

  He looks like I’m the one who just hurt him. “Maybe for now … it’s for the best.”