Chasing Truth by Julie Cross
“I can,” he says, like he hadn’t been dying for more time in that classroom or glued to me seconds ago. “Or I should. I will. We’ve got too much shit to deal with… Best not to add more.”
Right. But would it be so terrible if people thought we were dating? If Miles and I had to “pretend” to be together? I must have done a bad job of hiding my disappointment, because Miles stares at me.
“It was your idea,” he says quietly. “Five minutes of fun.”
“Yep, my idea. And yep, five minutes of fun. All over now.” This time I hit the right inflections in my voice, keeping it light, convincing him. I tug my dress back into place and plaster on the neutral look I’ve worked so hard to master. I don’t know how much more of his intense looks and kissing I can take before my head gets all messed up. “Are you done resisting me so we can make a plan in like the next ten minutes? Clock is ticking…”
I take my cell phone and tuck it down the front of my dress. I look up at Miles. “Now…tell me if you can see anything?”
His gaze locks on my boobs, and then he shakes his head, refocusing. “I…I think that’ll work.”
CHAPTER 29
Bret leans against the outside gym doors and looks me over. “So, you and Beckett, huh?”
“No, I mean…we’re not—”
“Save it,” he says, stealing Justice’s line. “I’ve known for a while now. Wanted to play along for Justice’s sake.”
“It was a onetime thing.” Or two. Maybe three-time thing if you count the girls’ bathroom separate from the classroom. “Moment of weakness.”
“I guessed it during the tuna casserole ordeal,” he says smoothly.
Apparently my classmates aren’t all complete idiots. Note to self: never underestimate the C student who carelessly hands his drugs to whomever.
I look at him. “You don’t seem too upset. Why is that, Bret?”
He laughs. “Justice and her big mouth and self-righteous—”
“What exactly did Simon Gilbert tell you?”
“He told me why he was friends with you,” Bret says. When he sees me standing there, arms folded over my chest, waiting to hear the rest, he continues with a sigh. “Because of your father. And your grandfather.”
“Right.” I nod. “He said that they’re…?”
“Yes, Eleanor, I know your secret.” He grins. “The Wilkenson family. As in the two men who gave five million dollars to the school to build that new wing. Harold Wilkenson, who is about to announce his desire to run in the next presidential election.”
“And you wanted that connection?”
“That’s what people think, isn’t it? That I slither around sucking up to important people for dozens of letters of recommendation?”
Isn’t that what he had said that day in the hall when I overheard him and Dominic arguing about inviting Simon to a party? “So if you’re dating me, then my father and grandfather will help you out with what? Internships? College acceptance?”
“Yeah, no.” Bret laughs. “I learned at a very young age that having dirt on someone is much more useful than a friendly relationship.”
Bingo. And he led me right there. “Dirt? Like compromising pictures?”
He doesn’t admit to anything. Folds his arms over his chest and cocks an eyebrow. I need to get something out of him before Miles turns back into the Hulk and storms out here demanding answers.
“So you have pictures of me,” I conclude from his nonanswer. “Doing what exactly?”
“Buying drugs, drinking,” he rattles off.
“Drugs that you gave me! For free!” I release a breath and remind myself of the goal and the fact that I don’t actually have rich, important family members for him to blackmail. Joke’s on you, Bret; you picked the wrong girl. “Forget it. Doesn’t matter. Because I was using you, too.”
“Oh really?” He looks skeptical. “What were you hoping to gain?”
“Answers,” I say, taking a step closer to him, making sure Miles hears every word. “The night my friend Simon died, you were in the parking lot when he dropped me off after the dance, and I want to know why.”
He stares me down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, I’ve already told the police and Feds everything I know. Like you did, like anyone who ever talked to Simon Gilbert has done.”
“There’s new evidence,” I tell him, knowing I’m making it sound like it’s a game changer when clearly it hasn’t been so far. “Video footage of your car in that parking lot. And I overheard Chantel talking about the spring dance and what happened to her after. Something about your backseat and a long-lens camera…”
Some of the color drains from his face. “And I take it you turned this drunk-girl story over to the police? Should I head home and wait for my arrest?”
“I don’t know, should you?” I challenge. “And no, I haven’t. Yet.”
Bret steps closer. “What do you want, Ellie? Money? That seemed to work with Jacob. What is it you two did together?”
“He paid me a thousand bucks to run a thirty-dollar background check for him. And I already told you what I want. Answers.” The cold air hits me and I suppress a shiver, running my hands up my arms. “Let’s make a deal, Bret. You have pictures of me, I have incriminating information on you. Now tell me why I shouldn’t assume the worst. Why were you following Simon? Did you follow him home?”
Bret’s face twists with anger. “I wasn’t fucking following Simon! I was tailing Dominic. Check your little video again and I guarantee there’s another car there. I thought he was messed up with that wack-job dealer, Davey. I was trying to help him! He’s my fucking best friend and he can’t fucking tell me he’s into dudes? Still hasn’t. Like I’m gonna hate him or something?”
“That’s why you’re tormenting him with pictures,” I conclude. “You want him to tell you the truth.”
The anger falls from his face. His forehead wrinkles. “What? I don’t have pictures of—” He shakes his head. “Okay, I do have pictures but I would never…maybe just for the senator’s eyes but I didn’t…”
My inner lie detector is sensing he’s telling the truth, but it’s hard to know for sure with Bret. He’s obviously got a conniving side. “So you aren’t sending Dominic weekly photos of him and Simon making out the night of the dance under an anonymous email?”
“Why the hell would I do that? You don’t know what I’ve been through with Dominic this summer. The holes I’ve had to drag him from. It’s been fucking hell.”
Truth.
“If you feel that way, why do you even have pictures of them together if you weren’t collecting items to blackmail him with?”
“The senator, not Dominic. I wouldn’t do that to him,” Bret insists. “And it’s kind of become a habit now. I meet people and immediately look for ways to ruin them.”
There’s really not much I can say to that. I mean, seriously? Am I supposed to hate him for playing me? I might be a lot of things, but I try to never be a hypocrite. Instead, I move on to a new question.
“So after Simon dropped me off, Dominic followed him and you followed Dominic?” I prompt. “To where?”
“Dominic’s house,” Bret says. “I saw them together…like together, and all my questions about Dominic were answered so I left. Took Chantel home and the rest is secured by the alibi I gave the police.”
“Simon went to Dominic’s house that night?” I press, my heart pounding, adrenaline rushing. This is a game changer. “You’re positive?”
“I didn’t see them actually go inside. Just outside the house.”
“And you didn’t tell any of this to the police or FBI? Including the fact that Chantel was passed out drunk in your car?” I don’t even need to hear his answer. Obviously he didn’t tell anyone.
And this means I wasn’t the last person to see Simon that night. I wasn’t even the second-to-last person.
CHAPTER 30
I burst into Miles’s secret room after a long wait for a
I yank my phone from between my boobs and toss it on the table. Miles looks up from his laptop, and the poker face he’s wearing stops me from bursting with words I’ve held in for over an hour.
“So…” I prompt, waiting for him to tell me I’m awesome and I should win a medal of honor for my interrogation tactics.
“I was sitting right there, Ellie,” he says, pushing away from the table and standing. He spins his laptop around so I can see the screen. “You’ve got balls, doing this right in front of me.”
“Sitting where?” I ask, and then, “Doing what in front of you?”
I lean down and barely read the top of the page: Miles Henry Beckett, before he hits delete and the picture on the screen vanishes.
Miles’s school file. Had I really—
“What did you want to know so badly?” he demands.
“I don’t…” My eyes widen, my mind drifting back to hours ago, remembering my fingers grazing the files in Geist’s drawer. I went from Thomas to Gilbert, and Gilbert sent my head up my ass and caused me to flee the dance in tears. And then suddenly it comes back to me. Miles stepping away, the phone to his ear. And me moving to the B section, tugging his file out and snapping pictures for later. On my phone. How did he even—
He synced my phone to his laptop before I pulled Bret aside to talk. God, I’m an idiot. All the making out must have turned my brain to mush. And man, I’m not much different from Bret Thomas. I couldn’t resist the temptation, either. I couldn’t leave his file untouched. But it was my subconscious that did the work for me. Old habits and all…
“I didn’t read anything,” I argue weakly.
“Yet,” he says, his voice rising.
“You don’t know that.”
“Did you see me reading your confidential school records? Do you see me digging into your life?” He snaps his laptop shut, and the sound vibrates through the silent room. “I trusted you. We were supposed to work together, to be a team. You don’t even know what that means, do you?”
I shake my head. “Are you hiding something in that file? More secrets?”
Okay, so maybe I’m a hypocrite, although to my credit, there’s barely anything in my file. It’s what isn’t there that I’m hiding.
“Yes! I’m hiding a lot of things in that file.” He looks at me like I’m a huge disappointment, and suddenly I feel like one. “My parents’ jobs for one. Emergency numbers telling where to reach them if something happens to me. That’s confidential information. People could die, Ellie. And you uploaded it through an unsecured network.”
“Unsecured by your Fort Knox standards or actually unsecured?” I feel like the world’s biggest asshole. Again. But of course I went into defensive mode instead of apologizing. Like Miles would, I can’t help thinking. He’s done that several times. Said or did something to me he regretted, and then he just looked right at me and told me he was sorry. I can’t do that. I always have to turn it around, point the blame back at my accuser.
He doesn’t respond to my sarcastic remark even though it wasn’t sent via texting. He proceeds to pack up his laptop and tuck things away, tidying up the secret room.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Don’t we have work to do?”
Miles finally looks at me and shakes his head. “No. Not together. Not like this.”
“Seriously?” My stomach drops, my heart picking up speed. I follow him out of the room. “Were you not listening in on me and Bret? How can you just walk away—”
He spins to face me. “I didn’t say I was walking away.”
“Oh.” I sink back on my heels. You’re just not working with me. “Guess we’re flying solo again.”
“Guess so.”
While I’m leaving and walking back to my apartment, I call him a dozen different names inside my head, but none of it helps. None of it makes me feel less alone. Or less guilty. I violated his trust. Didn’t even think twice about it. Something is wrong with me. Clearly. Or maybe my subconscious has reason to not trust Miles and is seeking out evidence. Hard to tell the difference anymore.
My apartment is dark and quiet but when I crawl into bed, preparing to drift off to sleep—hopefully minus the drowning nightmares—my door opens a crack and Harper creeps in, sliding under my covers.
“So,” she whispers. “Just getting in? Thought the dance ended at eleven…”
“And your point is?”
“Nothing,” she says. “I just want to gossip. It’s two in the morning. What have you been doing all this time? With Bret…”
I snuggle into my pillow and close my eyes. “How about we play that game where you guess?”
“Don’t be a brat,” Harp says. “Consider yourself lucky. Aidan is convinced you need a sex talk, and I didn’t come in here planning on giving you one.”
My eyes fly open. “God, seriously? He’s not going to attempt that, right?”
“He’d rather die a slow, painful death, his words, not mine,” Harper says, laughing. “But really, Ellie, do you want to talk about any of that? Or maybe just tell me you know what you’re doing and you’re being safe? Not that you even have to take things that far.”
I want to tell her right now that I’m not a virgin, but then she’s going to ask who and when. And then I’ll have to tell her that my story went something like hers. Slightly older hot guy who runs in our family’s circle charms innocent girl into sleeping with him, then stomps on her heart. I know it’s one of the reasons she left. And it’s not that I’m too ashamed to tell her. It’s that I know one big reason she came looking for me was to keep something like that from happening. I don’t want to take that away from her.
“Not sure I’m quite there yet,” I tell Harper, forcing the lie out smoothly. “And not sure about Bret, either.”
I’d hoped the last part would provide a distraction, and it does. She breaks into a grin. “Miles. I knew it! Aidan didn’t believe me, but I knew it!”
“Shhh…” I clap a hand over her mouth. “We made out. Twice. That’s it.” I think for a minute, digging for an excuse that doesn’t involve the investigation and my broken trust. “He’s a bit of a commitment-phobe.”
She frowns. “Really? I didn’t get that vibe from him. He seems like the disciplined, loyal type.”
That he is. Unfortunately. “Well, everyone’s got to have their wild side, right?”
“I guess.” She climbs out of my bed. “Well, that was pointless and boring. Thanks for nothing, little sis.”
“Be glad it’s boring.”
After she’s gone, I try to sleep. Try to forget about all the words Miles tossed at me tonight. Truthful words. But the part of my brain that acts without thinking—the part that copied Miles’s file—is on the move again. Soon I’m clutching a notebook to my chest while swinging a leg over the balcony. I pop the lock on the neighbor’s bicycle parked on their patio below ours and hop on, and by the time I’m riding off into the dark, I know exactly where I’m headed.
Simon Gilbert’s house.
Miles would have never agreed to surveillance of the senator’s place.
And thus begins my reentry onto Team Ellie. Flying solo.
CHAPTER 31
CONNIE: how’s the new gear working?
I turn up the volume on my receiver and hear Dominic’s voice loud and clear.
ME: perfect. And sorry again about smashing the other one
CONNIE: np. Check ur email. Sending you something
I’m eating my lunch outside despite the fact that late October is a little too cold for dining alfresco. But since homecoming, I seem to be lacking people to sit with in the cafeteria. Or people in general. You know, since I’m flying solo again. Which means I get to plant listening devices on him. Fair, right? Connie lent me a new one last week, didn’t even get mad that the other one had been destroyed
“How was your date last night?” Miles says to Dominic.
“Fine,” Dominic says in a way that is an ending rather than a beginning.
He still hasn’t opened up to Miles about being into guys or anything about Simon, though he has opened up a ton about his family drama—Dad’s pressure, Mom’s drinking and painkiller habit, and his poor little sister who seems caught in the middle all the time.
And apparently I’ve turned into a narrator for the All My Children. I yawn, fight to stay awake. Too many late nights outside the Gilberts’ place.
I guess solo investigating meant Miles became Dominic’s emotional support. But he has yet to ask Dominic about being the real last person to see Simon Gilbert alive.
I shift my focus to the link Connie emailed me. The link is to a three-hundred-page report written in tiny font, using very technical (aka boring) terms. I skim a page or two, and then go back to the email to read her explanation about the report.
During an investigation of a series of murders taking place in 1968, the U.S. government files a report that linked all victims to a powerful politician. The report focused on this connection, but an interesting note is made regarding items left behind at each murder scene baring an identical logo and name: St. Felicity’s Shelter. No shelter, church, or facility of any kind was ever identified on U.S. soil under this name. The investigation ended in 1974 when it was determined that all trails had turned cold.
I agree with Connie that conclusions drawn from the report are interesting, but how many pages of that document did she have to read? And where does uncovering this nonexistent shelter lead me? To some secret religious gathering? And what does any of this have to do with Dominic? Of course Connie doesn’t know of that connection. She doesn’t know where I go to school. If she did her head would be spinning with conspiracy theories considering Simon’s link to a powerful politician and then fact that he’s dead, possibly not by his own hands—