Pretty Wanted (7 page)

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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FIVE

THE AFTERNOON SUN
was hanging low, a pale imitation of itself, and the air was frigid. I hadn’t lived in Arizona too long, but I’d already forgotten how cold winter could be anywhere else. I thanked the thrifting gods for my parka and hat, which were doing double duty as disguises and necessary layers.

We ducked out of the stinging air and into a CVS to get some antiseptic cream and a bandage for Aidan’s hand. We were halfway down the first aid aisle when our temporary phone rang.

It was Tre. “Willz.” He’d picked up Cherise’s nickname for me. Ergo, they were probably doing it. Or something along the lines of “it.” “Where are you?”

“St. Louis. Home of the Arch and the World’s Fair and 7UP.” I tried to keep the mood light. “How are you?”

“Me? I’m all right. So what’s going on?”

I took a breath and decided to tell him the truth. I’d left out a few key details the last time we talked, which was at the Bend bus station. “Look, things are a tiny bit more urgent than I let on. Those guys Chet and Bailey? They found us in the Painted Hills, and they kind of tried to kill us. We managed to escape and we found Leslie and she told us that she was my sister. Then we had our FBI contact Corbin help us fake her death so she could go underground. On the condition we’d go into custody. Only we sort of dodged him and came here.”

The words flew out in one long, breathless string. Maybe I was hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the scarier parts.

No such luck. “They tried to kill you? Jesus.” His familiar voice took on more than an edge of concern. “And then you escaped? From the
FBI
?”

“It sounds worse than it is,” I countered. Aidan gave me a look.

“It sounds pretty damn bad,” Tre said. “Why didn’t you tell me?

I saw an opportunity to deflect attention. “Well, why didn’t you tell me how you got away that day in the truck? I heard something about impersonating FBI, from Facebook?”

“Don’t be ridiculous and don’t change the subject. Go on, tell me the rest. Just tell me everything now.”

“We got some other information.” I stepped away, leaving Aidan to pick out his goods, and moved to the dental hygiene aisle, lowering my voice. “You know how we thought it was my grandmother that was murdered? It turns out that was my real mom. We think those guys who were after Leslie did it. But we don’t know all of the specifics.”

“So what are you doing in St. Louis? Playing Sherlock? You should leave this to the cops.”

A woman with a plastic shopping basket stuffed with makeup and maxi pads pushed past me to look at the floss selection. I moved away, turning my back to her and lowering my voice to a whisper. “No no no. I’m not trying to solve the case.”

“What then?”

Somehow, it was getting harder to explain this when it should have been easier. “I just want to know who she was. And I can only find that out here.”

He was silent for a beat. “Either way. I wish you’d give it up. You’re putting yourself in serious danger, you know that?”

“I know. But this is something I have to do.”

“Look, all I’m saying is there are people who care about you, who don’t want to see you hurt.” His voice wavered a bit. “Don’t forget about those people.”

I was taken aback by this sudden display of emotion from him. He’d always been the strong, silent type. “I appreciate that, and I won’t, but—”

“—but you need money.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling guilty suddenly that this was what our relationship was reduced to.

“Okay. I’ll talk to Cherise. We’ll get back with you about the details.” He sighed. “Listen, I want to support you, I really do.”

“But?”

“But it’s gotten out of hand. I think—I’ll get you the money, but then I might need to take a break.”

“I get it.” I stared down at the floor. “I know you’re putting yourself on the line and I understand if you need to keep your nose clean.”

“It’s not just that, Willa. I have other reasons, too. It’s . . . harder than I thought. Worse than I thought.”

On that point I agreed with him. “Okay,” I said uncertainly. “If that’s what you want.”

“Stay safe, all right? I’ll text you.”

I hung up, powering off the phone, and with it, my fragile connection to Paradise Valley.

“What’d he say? He sending more cash?” Aidan asked when we were back outside. A gauze bandage was now wrapped around his hand.

“He said—he said he needs a break.” I don’t know why I felt the need to use his euphemism. Maybe it was easier than saying the truth, which was that Tre was probably abandoning us—like almost everyone else in my life. “He said they’ll text us about wiring more money.”

“A break.” He nodded. “Well, that sucks. But I guess he can’t be the Sly Fox fan club president forever.”

Like that was all I cared about. Didn’t he see it went far beyond that? Didn’t he see how much of a loss this was? Without Tre behind us, our mission suddenly seemed that much more daunting. Tre had always given me solid advice from the first time he showed me the thieving techniques he’d picked up from the other guys at his boot camp to just a few days ago, when he’d helped Aidan and me formulate a plan to get to Oregon with the stolen truck (even if I still didn’t know exactly how he pulled it off). More than that, he was someone I could truly depend on. He’d always kept me on track and held me accountable.

But he had his own freedom to protect. And that was his choice.

“No,” I said finally. “I suppose he can’t. How’s your hand?”

“It’s bumpy but I think I’ll live. Look, don’t be upset. So we’ve had a few setbacks. We’re still going to do this thing.”

“Yeah?” I looked into his face.

His eyes were bright and serious, and I felt my anxieties ebbing. He was unpredictable and rough around the edges but there was no fighting against the Aidan Murphy dreaminess. He could sell a fire extinguisher to a pyromaniac. The guy had serious moves.

“
I’m
not giving up, Colorado. But we can’t work on an empty stomach. Let’s go get some lunch. I’m starving. My treat.”

“So you’re treating me with
our
Facebook money?” I nudged him in the side.

“Order anything you want.” He waved his bandaged hand. “I’m feeling generous.”

“So what next?” Aidan asked me, licking barbecue sauce off the back of his thumb. We were sitting in Bubba’s Smokehouse restaurant, back in downtown St. Louis. Aidan had insisted that since we’d skipped breakfast we could afford to splurge on this slab of ribs for our late lunch, that in fact we actually needed the calories if we were going to survive. I thought that was a little bit dramatic.

“We talk to Toni Patterson slash Cumberland.” That was the plan, at least. I took a bite of the smoky meat with sweet, spicy sauce. “These are pretty good, I have to admit.”

“Best in the city,” he said, pointing to a ribbon on the wall. “Don’t say I never take you anywhere, Colorado.”

A couple of college-aged guys and their girlfriends were watching highlights from last night’s football game on the mounted TV over the bar. My eye traveled upward and saw that the show had broken for an SUV commercial. The group was sparring about their predictions for the rest of the season.

“Football,” Aidan said, looking over that way. “Never my favorite sport.”

“I always took you for more of a rugby guy,” I said. “Or is it lacrosse?”

“Neither. Soccer all the way, man. My dad’s supposed to fly me to the World Cup in Brazil.” He paused over his rib. “Well, I guess I blew that one, didn’t I?”

The game ended and another political ad came on. David Granger again.

“Enough of this guy,” someone at the bar said. “I’m so sick of this election already.”

He changed the channel to a cable news show, where two girls were being interviewed. I squinted. Was that . . .?

“Kellie and Nikki,” Aidan said, taking a sip of his soda. “This has gotta be about us. It’s a bad scene when the Glitterati are on TV. That’s all they need, more reasons to act like divas.”

“Shhh,” I said, trying to listen.

They were sitting in two armchairs in what looked like someone’s living room. Probably Kellie’s, but if so, it would have been only one of the three separate living rooms in her gigantic mansion. A caption flashed underneath their made-up-for-TV faces:
FORMER CLASSMATES OF TEEN OUTLAWS
“
SLY FOX
”
AND AIDAN MURPHY

“I wish they’d give me a nickname already,” Aidan said. “It’s completely unfair that you get such a cool one and I’m stuck with what’s on my birth certificate.”

Kellie was staring into the camera, the tears in her big blue eyes threatening to drip mascara down her cheeks. “She’s my friend. Or she used to be.”

“And you’re still hurt about it?” the interviewer asked gently. She was softballing them. Of course. Their parents probably had lawyers write up some agreement about what questions they could and could not ask ahead of time.

Kellie pulled on her diamond-studded earlobe. “Yes. One minute she’s here, and the next she’s gone. I feel . . . I don’t know. Violated, I guess. It’s really a trust thing.”

“Oh, come on,” I muttered. Those were the most obviously fake tears I’d ever seen. Now she was acting like her feelings were hurt? The girl had viciously bullied Mary, Sierra, and Alicia. She had threatened me and Cherise on numerous occasions. She maintained a rotating stable of hookups that she picked up and put down at her convenience. She didn’t know the first thing about trust or real relationships.

“This whole thing has gotten way out of control,” Nikki was saying. “I mean, this girl has stolen from us. Doesn’t anyone
care
about that? It’s, like, she’s become this hero or something, when we’re the real victims here. I’m still traumatized. I can’t sleep at night. My parents have had to get me therapy to deal with my anxiety.”

“That rich chick needs a reality check,” one of the guys near us said. “Victim? Give me a break. Next thing you know, she’s going to sue someone for damages.”

“I don’t blame her for being mad,” his girlfriend piped up. “The criminal kids are celebrities, crisscrossing the country. These girls are stuck in their boring little hometown, baking brownies on Friday night. Hell, I’d sue, too.”

Baking brownies. If only. They had no idea what the Glitterati were capable of, or why I’d stolen from them to try to help the scholarship kids. In a way I felt nostalgic, looking at their perfectly dewy eyes. They reminded me of a simpler time, when stealing from rich jerks was the biggest challenge in my life. Now things were much more complex.

“What I want to know is how come they haven’t caught those kids yet? Seems like they’re on the news every day,” the other guy said.

I gulped for air. Did they even know that we were sitting right behind them? Aidan tugged his hat lower.

The camera flashed back to the announcer who was standing at the gate of Valley Prep, the little white sign framed to his left. “For days now, members of the media have been camped out at this elite school, trying to make sense of the story, and how the actions of its two lawbreaking students have impacted an ordinarily sleepy and affluent community. Most of the teachers and staff at the school refused comment, but we did manage to speak to Latin instructor Sheila Clemons, who offered her thoughts.”

The camera flashed to an attractive thirtysomething woman with satiny black hair and long legs emerging from a slim gray skirt. I vaguely recognized her from the halls of VP, but I’d never taken Latin.

“Did you know these students?” the interviewer asked, frowning with faux concern.

“I knew Aidan Murphy, yes. He was my student.”

I looked over at Aidan. His face was slack.

“How does it feel to see kids you’ve nurtured and trained on the run like criminals?”

Ugh. Could the question be any more leading? I was starting to really hate the media.

She paused and tossed her mane of hair. “For most of us here, it’s very strange. We’re trying to do the best we can to we keep the school running as usual so that those students who are following the rules and doing what they’re supposed to be doing don’t get shortchanged. But it’s a distraction, I’ll say that much.”

The interviewer nodded sympathetically. “What would you like to see happen to them? Do you think they should be put in jail?”

“I just hope their immature behavior isn’t rewarded with a reality show or something. They’re already getting way more attention than they deserve. No, I hope the cops find them and justice is served.”

“What a bitch,” Aidan said.

I looked at him, surprised at how strong his reaction was. I’d never heard him use that word before.

Then it hit me:
Sheila.

Sheila was the name of the woman who had been sending him text messages. I’d caught them on his Droid and tried to confront him back in California, but he’d told me that it was a long story, that he couldn’t explain it because he was trying to protect me.

Miss you, baby.
That was what one of them had said. My stomach roiled, all the greasy food we’d eaten minutes before threatening to revolt. Did he have some kind of fling with
his teacher
?

His secret—all this time I’d been trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I realized with sinking dread that it was something much bigger than I’d ever guessed. He promised me he never lied. Secrets or lies, what was the difference? Aidan had been dishonest with me all along. Just like everyone else.

I’d thought I could deal with whatever he was hiding, that true love was stronger than anything, but now I was starting to think differently. In the situation we were in, with so many people against us, I needed complete trust. And, bottom line, Aidan still hadn’t proved that he deserved mine.

I looked up again. Cops were standing in front of the dorm at the university.

This time, I only needed to see the infographic: Fox and Murphy Sighting in St. Louis. The screen flashed to footage—it had to have been cell phone footage—of us racing across the campus on stolen bikes.