Trust Me by Romily Bernard

Author:Romily Bernard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-01-14T05:00:00+00:00

21

The smart thing to do would be to go to bed, but even if I did, it’s not like I’m going to sleep. I push to my feet, and once I’m standing, all I can feel is how my legs are shaking.

I clear the phone’s history and unlock the bathroom door, grab my Chucks from the floor, and toss the cell onto Alex’s bed.

She catches it. “Where are you going?”

“To work. You want to follow me there too?”

“Nah.” Alex settles deeper into bed. She’s just a shadow now. “If you’re going to work for them, I don’t need to see it.”

She pitches the cell at me and I have to put up both hands to avoid being clipped in the face.

“Keep it,” Alex says. “You know you want to.”

“Not enough to risk getting caught.”

“Who’s going to tell?”

I can’t bring myself to say she would, but my silence does it for me.

Alex’s laugh is smoke in the dark. “Call your sister. It’ll only prove me right. I dare you.”

I jam the cell into the waistband of my jeans and pad down the hall, stuff my feet into my shoes as I wait for the elevator. Upstairs, the workstations are under low lights, but Kent’s still working away, one hand on his keyboard and the other wrapped around a plastic Big Gulp. A gift from Hart? I would’ve thought Kent’s standards would be higher.

“What’re you doing?” he asks around a mouthful of crushed ice.

I shrug. “What’re you doing?”

“I have important things going on.”

“Yeah. Clearly.” I drop into my seat, rub the back of my neck as I wait for my computer to boot. As promised, the video file is in my email, and at first I’m slightly confused because there should be more files—different angles from different cameras—and then I realize everything’s been edited into one clip.

There’s my dad emerging from some holding cell . . . another few seconds of him coming down one hallway . . . and then another hallway . . . and then to a processing area. There’s a desk and some guy manning the desk.

Michael waits as they go through his paperwork. From this angle, I can really see him. He’s dropped weight and there’s a smudge of darkness near his collar. A new tattoo?

Clipboards pass between two guards, and ever so briefly, my dad’s eyes lift to the camera and hold. His gaze flicks left then right, counting the cams probably. I squirm. It’s another habit we share.

Whatever was on the clipboard apparently made the second guard happy because he waves Michael through. The video jumps to my dad going down another hallway . . . through another secured door . . . and into an open receiving area. A blond guy is waiting for him and they walk out. There’s maybe another forty-five seconds of the two of them leaving the parking lot. Walking.

Whoever this guy is, he was smart enough not to leave his car where the plate would be picked up by the security cams.

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