8

I’m staring at my phone, willing Miles to text or call, when Dominic taps on the passenger window and gestures for me to hop out. I step carefully onto the ice-covered parking lot of the Roadside Inn and follow him up the steps to the balcony level. Once inside the economy room, he hands me a key card.

“So you do have a fake ID?” When we arrived, I had been worried about how we would book this room without either of us being eighteen. I’d asked him if he had a fake ID, and he just said not to worry, he’d take care of the room.

Dominic plops down onto the double bed nearest to the door. “I slipped the guy a fifty. He didn’t ask any questions.”

Guess conning is kind of obsolete when you have a near-endless supply of cash and Mom and Dad’s credit cards. But where’s the creativity in that?

Dominic stretches out on the bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles. His designer jeans still hold their perfect fit even while lounging. His sandy-colored hair is a bit disheveled, adding to his cool-kid persona. But unlike the other cool kids I know, like Chantel’s boyfriend, Jacob, or Bret, Dominic doesn’t have any of that boyish charm. He’s all sharp angles and serious looks. I can’t think of any time I’ve seen him smile or heard him laugh. Even now, from the neck down he’s the picture of lazy teen, but his face is the complete opposite—tense jaw, pinched forehead, vacant eyes like he’s deep in thought. I’m not sure who the bigger mystery is anymore, him or me.

I watch him for a few more seconds, allowing myself to process the events of tonight. After forcing calm at the diner with Oscar, panic begins to roll over me in waves. I shake my arms out and pace the hotel room. In a few hours, Dominic and I are supposed to be in school. Oscar probably followed us here, will probably follow us to school if we let him. Harper is going to freak if she wakes up and I’m not home. I’m stuck here for a while. With Dominic DeLuca as my sidekick.

I can’t do anything about Dominic right now, can’t undo what he’s already heard and seen. But we are hiding out in a cheap motel. I haven’t let Oscar follow me home. And my original mission tonight was successful. Miles is gone from Holden records. Maybe everything isn’t ruined. Yet.

So Harper. She’s my first order of business.

I yank my phone from my pocket and call my sister. She answers on the third ring. “Ellie? I swear to God, if you’re in jail—”

“Not jail,” I say quickly. “A hotel room. With a boy.”

Dominic looks over at me and shakes his head. I roll my eyes. Don’t worry, I get it. I’m not your type.

“But I thought Miles had to cancel,” Harper says.

Practicing those need-to-know skills, I hadn’t told her about the assignment the Becketts gave me, but I had told her I wouldn’t be at the warehouse tonight. “He did cancel. I’m not with Miles. I kind of ran into Oscar tonight and—”

“Oscar? Who is—” The grogginess drops from my sister’s voice, and I can tell she’s now upright in bed, probably fumbling to turn on the light. She ran away from our family five years before the FBI reunited us, and Oscar was much younger then, but I’m sure she remembers him. “Oh shit. Are you with him now? Did he—”

“I’m not with Oscar anymore. I don’t think he knows where we live. Or that we live together.” I glance at Dominic, who is listening intently. I give Harper the details of what happened at the diner in as few and as vague words as possible. But I can’t explain why I broke into Holden Prep tonight, so I lie and say I met up with Dominic as a favor to Miles.

“Just stay where you are,” Harper says when I’m finished with the rundown. “I need to call Aidan.”

I consider protesting. Aidan’s had so much shit to deal with lately, and he’s far away in Georgia and believes we can take care of ourselves. Clearly I can’t.

“Promise me you’ll stay put? You won’t do anything yet?” Harper insists.

What exactly would I do? “I promise.”

When I hang up, Dominic swings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting upright. He stares at me, his eyebrows raised. “Time for you to answer some questions.”

“Fine,” I agree.

It is fine. Completely fine. This isn’t an inquisition from Miles Beckett Jr., CIA operative in the making. This is Dominic DeLuca, just one of many spoiled, privileged kids at Holden Prep. Whatever he thinks he knows about my family or me can be undone with a little persuasion. I unzip my coat, kick off my shoes, and take a seat on the empty bed.

Dominic rests his elbows on his knees and tangles his fingers together. “When was the last time you heard from Miles?”

Wait…what? “Miles?”

“Yes, Miles,” he says, annoyed. “Your boyfriend? The one kidnapped from my house last November and nearly murdered?”

“We were both kidnapped and nearly murdered,” I remind him.

“When was the last time you heard from him?” Dominic repeats, more slowly, deliberately.

My stomach twists. Is this what he came to ask me tonight? You talked to the Becketts less than twelve hours ago, I remind myself. If anything had happened, they would have told me. And what could happen? He was on vacation in Europe with his family and is now likely back at his very secure military school. It’s not like he’s still out chasing drug dealers like he’d done during his semester at Holden. Dominic’s dealer, Davey. Maybe I should tread carefully with this question. Maybe Oscar isn’t the only one I should be worried about.

“Why do you ask?”

Dominic scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Can you just cut the act for, like, five seconds?”

“What act?” I say. I can’t help it. Old habits and all. He glares at me for the first time tonight, and I’m reminded how that look is like ice in my veins. He spent months glaring at me. During most of which I had no idea why.

I retrieve my phone again and scroll through text messages as if I don’t know exactly how many days it’s been. “He called me six days ago—seven now actually—then he texted me a picture of a turkey leg that said, ‘Eating turkey in Turkey, cool huh?’”

A hint of a smile appears on Dominic’s face, but it’s gone in a heartbeat. “Is he in the picture?”

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. “Didn’t know you were a conspiracy theorist.”

The glare is back.

“Okay, okay.” I examine the photo closely. There’s a hand attached to the turkey leg. “That’s his hand. I recognize the scar by his thumb.”

The relief that washes over Dominic is so obvious I make a note to hustle him into a poker game in the near future. God knows he’s got plenty of money to lose. I might as well be on the receiving end.

“So a week ago.” He stands and strides across the room toward the door then pivots and heads toward the bathroom. “If that’s what we have to work with, then.”

Despite the caution I’d planned to exhibit moments ago, sympathy bubbles over in me. I know exactly how Dominic feels.

“I talked to his parents earlier today, or yesterday technically,” I admit with a sigh. “I think he’s fine. They would have told me if he wasn’t.”

As fine as anyone can be who suddenly needs to be erased from school records. My phone is still clutched in my hand when a text comes through from Harper. Both Dominic and I jump at the sound.

HARPER: Sheldon is on her way.

ME: Wtf???? Why??

HARPER: She has questions

ME: Oh, I’m sure she does. Wtf???

HARPER: Sry. Srsly. I had to call her

I refrain from tossing the phone at the hotel wall. “Great, just great.”

“What?” Dominic says, alarmed.

I force a smile. “Help is on the way.”

“Who?”

“The FBI.” I flop back on the bed and wait for Dominic to look panicked. He’s been in the interrogation room more times than I have. His eyes widen, and I feel a sense of accomplishment having at least been able to predict his reaction. “Bet you’re wishing you’d picked another night to follow me, huh?”