As Morgan drove their stolen Subaru Forester—Adam lived with his foster mother up in the mountains in a little town called Orbisonia, and for some reason even in the summer, Morgan always felt like the trip deserved an all-wheel drive vehicle—Micah used Morgan’s phone and her database apps to search for a phone number. He didn’t find one for Adam, but he did track down a landline and a cell phone listed to Adam’s foster mother.
“He’s my age, right?” he said, after dialing and getting no answer on either. “What kind of kid doesn’t have a cell phone?”
“The kind who doesn’t want to connect with the outside world.”
“That’s you, and you have a cell phone.”
“Ahh, but I’m not interested in connection. I’m interested in manipulation.”
He fiddled with his own phone, scanning the security feeds monitoring his home. Then switched back to hers and dialed again. “Still no answer. Should I leave a message?”
“No. It’ll only spook him. If he runs, I can’t protect him.”
“Why would your own brother run from you?”
“Well, the last time I saw him, I killed a man in front of him, framed Adam for the murder, and then tried to kill him.” She thought about it and decided to be honest. “More than a few times.” She shrugged, not to make light of it, but to shift some of the weight of her past to where it should rest: on her father’s shoulders. “Adam ran away from Clinton and left me alone with him, and I was angry. I couldn’t forgive him.”
“This was back when the FBI caught your father. You were just a little girl, totally in his power.”
“I was young, but I’m not sure I was ever just a girl.” She wasn’t sure even now, but she didn’t have to say that; Micah knew her doubts and fears. “Adam spent some time in juvie—he was trying to do the right thing, protect some kids from Clint, but still, it was against the law. They went easy on him and he ended up with a good foster family. I think he’s happy.”
“You’ve been keeping tabs on him?”
“A little. At first to make sure he hadn’t changed and become more like me and Clint. But I should’ve known better. Adam was never anything like us. He has a sweet heart, the kind of guy who’d give a friend his last nickel without even asking why if you said you needed it.”
She didn’t tell him the other reason she’d kept going back to watch Adam with his foster family—she’d wanted to see what made Adam so different from her, see if there was some trigger or ritual or missing ingredient she could find to fix the hole Clinton Caine had drilled into her own heart.
She’d come away tearful and angry, jealous of Adam’s happiness. Back then, before she met Micah, when she’d been wandering all alone, Clint safely behind bars leaving no one to control and manipulate her, she’d thought of destroying Adam’s perfect new family. She’d reveled in the idea of making him watch as she killed everyone he loved.
It was those sick, twisted feelings that had made her hate herself—and had driven her to insinuate herself into Jenna’s life. In many ways, Jenna was more like Morgan than Adam ever could be, and thus a better role model. If Jenna could find happiness, even if it wasn’t the fairytale-come-true idyllic life Morgan imagined Adam having, then Morgan had a chance at happiness herself.
At least she hoped so.
“You don’t have surveillance on Adam and his family?” Micah asked, startling her from her reverie.
“No.” She couldn’t bear the temptation of watching Adam and his wonderful life. She wasn’t sure if it would inspire her to be better or burn away at her like acid, leaving nothing good behind. “I hadn’t taught myself all that back then. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”
“Not even when your father escaped prison?”
“Definitely not. The last thing I wanted was to risk leading Clint to Adam.”
“So instead you took on your father and his gang all by yourself.”
She liked the hint of pride that colored his voice, and she slid her hand across the seat to take his. “Not all by myself. I had you.”
When they reached the tiny town that boasted a population under five hundred, Morgan drove past Adam’s house so that Micah could take a look. This was the main residential street, but only half the homes were occupied, giving it a lonely feeling of despair. At least until they reached Adam’s house: a small wood-framed ranch painted bright yellow and featuring an array of garden gnomes clustered throughout the front yard and lining the drive.
“Guess they’re better than pink flamingos or fake deer,” Micah said, as he stared out the window. Adam and his foster mother were in the driveway washing the family cars: a Nissan Pathfinder that had seen better days and a vintage yellow VW bug. Even with the car windows up, Morgan could hear their laughter. They were bonded by something even more powerful than blood: love.
She circled the block and finally parked behind a detached garage at the far end of the alley that ran behind Adam’s house. The alley sloped uphill, so they had a direct view of Adam’s backyard plus the east side of his house and most of the front. He and his mother were still in the driveway, the cars forgotten as they threw soapy sponges and sprayed hoses at each other.
An unfamiliar ache stirred inside Morgan. Could that have ever have been her? Micah sensed her pain and held her free hand as she stared through her monocular. “Once I’m in position, call the landline. Let it ring. If the machine answers, call back. We need one of them to go inside—text me and let me know which one.”
“Are you sure you want to confront Adam on your own? Maybe I should go? He’s never seen me.”
Morgan hesitated. She was reluctant to let Micah out of her sight. Not because she didn’t trust him; not because she didn’t trust Adam or his new family.
Because she did trust her gut. It had kept her alive all these years, helped her escape Clint and evade arrest, and right now it was warning her. Something was wrong here. She couldn’t see it. But she felt it like a flame against the back of her neck. She could feel it in the way her scalp felt too tight against her skull and in the urge to hold her breath and focus out of the far corner of her eye.
Someone was watching.
Watching her.