I have the hardest time getting up in the morning. It’s not like the blankets weigh that much, but it feels like I’ve been buried.
—Page 3 of Tessa Waye’s diary
“He’s here for you.”
I blink, force myself to turn around and face Griff, even though it makes the hair on my neck stand up. I hate having Carson behind me. “Oh yeah? How do you know he’s not here for you, Griffin? You’re the one who jumped into the car with him.”
“You saw that, huh?” Griff’s lips curl up in a phony smile. It makes me nervous. Faking it is never a good sign. I want to keep my attention trained on Carson, but now . . . now I’m afraid to have Griff at my back.
“And I thought I was supposed to be the stalker, Wicked.”
“You’re avoiding my question.”
“Not really. I guess I’m just surprised you knew about that.” His eyes flick over me, and I’m struck again by the color. Traffic-light green really is the best—the only way—to describe his eyes. Except, right now, they don’t just flash “go.” They flash “run.”
I push my feet into the ground.
“Considering it’s you,” Griff continues, passing one ink-stained hand through his hair, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Yeah, I guess you shouldn’t.”
Unexpectedly, this makes him grin. Griff drops onto the first chaise lounge and pats the cushion next to him. “You look miserable. Stop drawing attention and just sit with me.”
I jerk my head side to side. “I’d rather stand.”
“I’d rather you sit with me.” Griff’s hand snakes up, seizes my wrist. This should be the part where he yanks me down, and I have to fight to get away. But he holds my wrist like I’m fragile as glass and sharper than needles. “He can’t touch you here. He can’t touch either of us here. Just relax. Please.”
No one ever says that to me. And maybe it’s the “please,” or maybe it’s him. Or maybe it’s just that, deep down, I really want to be next to him, but I cave. My knees bend, and I fit myself against his side.
And even though I’m panicking, it feels like coming home.
“So what’s the deal?” I ask.
“They wanted me to come in for questioning.”
“About what?”
“My father. He didn’t take off to California just for the weather or whatever. He left to get away from his dealer.”
Next to me, Griff fidgets. He’s usually so still, like he’s always holding his breath.
“It’s really no big deal, Wicked.” Griff turns his attention to my palm. He’s rubbing his thumb in circles across my lifeline now. “I thought it would be better to go with Detective Carson than do the interview in the principal’s office.”
True, but now he’s a liability. It won’t matter if the cops were asking Griff about his dad. Joe will think they were questioning Griff about the scam. Oh God, if Joe finds out . . .
I shudder.
As if he can read my mind, Griff slowly shakes his head. “We did the interview in private. No one else knows. I’m seventeen. I’m protected. Carson doesn’t know anything about Joe. What happened . . . It doesn’t change anything.”
“If Joe hears about it,” I say, “he’ll come after you. It’s not safe for you to be involved anymore.”
I start to pull away, and this time, Griff grips me.
“He won’t know if you don’t tell, and I don’t think you would do that to me.”
My eyes jerk to his. He trusts me? Why?
“I’m safe,” Griff says. “But you aren’t.”
He says Carson spent most of the time asking about me. He thinks because we’re from the same neighborhood, Griff will know all about me: what I do in my free time, what kind of computer setup I have. Turns out I’m not paranoid; Carson does suspect me of hacking.
It makes my anxiety grow large enough to split my skin.
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him anything.” Griff leans back, pulling me with him. He pushes into the cushions until I’m draped across his chest, pressing my breasts and abdomen into him. I usually think of myself as a prickly person, but Griff makes me feel like I’m melting. “You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t tell him anything.”
Carson wouldn’t have accepted that. There’s no way. I start to tell Griff exactly that when I realize he isn’t watching me anymore. His eyes are trained beyond my shoulder, watching Carson’s car idle.
“Everything I know about you, Wicked, is useless to him.”
I snort. Joe and the scam and Tessa are not useless. Jesus. Tessa. I need to ask him about Marcus Starling’s real name, but I can’t stop thinking about everything Griff knows that could bury me. “Oh yeah? How so?”
“I know your laugh sounds rough, rusted. I know you look hungry even after you’ve eaten. I know you get pitched into Dumpsters. Everything else is just details.”
His eyes slant toward me, darken. “Should I go on?”
“The only thing I’m hungry for is coffee.” I sound pissy, but I’m grinning like an idiot, like Lily with a new dress, like my mom when she was still in love with my dad.
My insides twist.
I know better than to look like this. I know better than to feel like this.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Griff. You know more than enough about the scam and Joe and me to interest Carson. How do I know you didn’t tell him?”
“Because you’re still here.” Griff curls his hands into my hair. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
I don’t know what to say. I try to get my balance, to find the girl I’m supposed to be, the one all of Griff’s attention and Bren’s nagging and Lily’s reassurances are threatening to erase. And I come up with nothing.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I say, and push myself up. I’m sitting now, and there’s still not enough space between us. I get up and Griff’s fingers brush down my hand, disappear from my skin. Good. I think better when we’re not touching. “I’m fine.”
Griff watches me, and so I don’t have to look, I watch Carson.
“Why do you do it?” he asks.
Funny how I don’t have to ask for clarification. “Hacking is what I’m good at.”
“You’re good at math. I don’t see you doing people’s homework for pay.”
“Probably because it doesn’t pay enough.” Bitchy. I sound bitchy and I don’t want to. It’s the truth and yet not how I meant for it to sound. “Sorry, it’s . . . Why don’t you do something else?”
“You have better options than I do.”
True, I have Bren and Todd . . . but why does it feel like Griff’s leaving something out? He doesn’t say anything and neither do I. The silence blooms. I can feel how much he wants me to break it, but I won’t. I know better. You can’t con a con.
“Are you planning to run?”
I have to smother the laugh. Or maybe it was a sob. Maybe he knows what I’m playing at too. “Yes . . . if I have to.”
“But in the meantime, you’re catching bad guys.”
Another almost laugh. He makes the whole thing sound so heroic, like I’m not freaking terrified. I look at Griff, catch him looking at me like he gets the joke too. His smile is suspended by strings.
I turn to focus on Carson, but the street is empty. He’s gone.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Griff. I made it worse.”
“I’m not sorry.” Behind me, the cushions whisper as Griff gets up. He comes close, so close his lips hover just over my ear. “You need my help, Wicked. Kiss me and I’ll do it.”