Why?

Because we need privacy.

Why???

Why don’t u trust me?

Trust you? You and Cole both lied to us, and now Luke knows and he’s pissed.

Luke’s always pissed. Tell him, he’s pissed. Don’t tell him, he’s pissed. Someday Luke will have to admit no one asked him to run the world but I’m not counting days till then. Tell. Marty. To. Leave.

Point is, trust isn’t your selling point right now, Little B.

We can think up dumb nicknames later. Now I have someone who wants to talk to you. If something’s up in Altamira, he might be able to help.

“Who are you texting?” Marty asks from the yard.

“Luke.” Her breath catches when she notes how easily she spoke this lie.

Who? she writes.

Tell Marty 2 leave x 1000

I have someone who wants to talk to you. The words bring gooseflesh to the back of her neck and a tight feeling to her throat.

One sec.

Marty’s standing when she steps out into the yard.

“Everything OK?” he asks.

“How about a break?”

“A break? Girl, we’re not dating.”

“Weird! That’s not what I meant. I just need some time to clear my head. You know, without a man having feelings about how another man doesn’t have feelings or . . . whatever this has been.”

“When’s Luke coming home?”

“Not too late. It’s not the graveyard shift and it’s Sunday anyway, so it’s not going to be that busy.”

“Are you kidding? They have wet T-shirt contests at the Gold Mine now on Sundays.”

“Those are illegal?”

“They’re festive. Fine. I’ll leave. Just as long as you’re not alone all night.”

“None of us are, remember?” she says, then she remembers that Bailey just knocked the monitoring system offline. Still, he’s listening in now, so she’s not technically alone.

She walks Marty to the sliding kitchen door; then, when he steps across the threshold, he stops and turns. “You know I’m just trying to help, right? With Luke, I mean. The last thing I want is him throwing himself in the middle of something that’s already complicated and making it even more complicated.”

A brush-off will only trigger another round, she’s sure, so she tries the opposite approach: total candor. “And honestly, I don’t want my boyfriend seeing what I have to do out there. So you and I are closer on this than you might think.”

“He saw what you did with Pemberton.”

“This is different.”

“Because this guy died.” When he sees the look on her face, he says, “Sorry. That was a little direct. I’ll go. Just remember, I used to give your grandmother foot rubs before she took a shower, so there’s no getting me out of your life. You owe me.”

Marty pulls her in for a quick hug that flushes her with guilt given how easily she lied to him about Bailey’s texts.

She waits until he completes a wide U-turn that puts him in the direction of the state road, then she closes the door, steps back inside, and looks to her phone.

He’s gone, she types.

I saw.

Shock. I figured you’d have eyes everywhere by now.

Yes, and no. Mostly no. Like I said, trying to be respectful.

What changed?

When he bypassed me I got suspicious. Made me think it might involve Luke.

Would it comfort Luke to hear about Bailey’s concern, as detached as it is? Or would he just point out what she’s thinking now: Bailey’s doing this because he’s pissed Cole cut him out of whatever cyberstalking he’s doing of Jordy Clements.

Alright, she types, who wants to talk to me?

A second later, the phone rings. She doesn’t recognize the number. It doesn’t even look like a phone number.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Charley,” the man she once called Dylan Thorpe says.

34

She knew this moment would come at some point, but she didn’t expect it to feel quite like this. The last time the sound of someone’s voice filled her with this many memories in a single instant, the voice was Marty’s, and there were years of shared experiences between them waiting to be stirred up by a reunion.

With Dylan, with Noah, only three months had passed between their first meeting and the revelation of his betrayal. But in that short time she had experienced a type of intimacy different from any other in her life.

In a daze, she walks to the kitchen counter, powers on her earpiece, and waits for the Bluetooth to connect. Once it’s linked, she puts it in her ear and says the most innocuous words she can think of. “Where are you?”

“He’s keeping me prisoner at some ranch in Colorado. I think his father built the place. I guess you could say I’m on probation.”

“I don’t assume they allowed this phone call?”

They didn’t, Bailey texts, so tell him not to take forever.

“I don’t think so, no,” Noah answers.

“How’s he doing this?” Charley asks.

“Well, first he made contact through these little lenses they make me wear . . .”

“TruGlass,” she says.

“Excuse me?”