Twist Page 3

  “Are you watching me?” My heart fell to my toes, and a splatter of bright red mortification lit up my body. “You’re putting yourself in jeopardy because I like a boy?”

  “No, I did what I did to save your mother, and that’s all I can tell you right now.” He put his face in his hands and mumbled. “I need to keep you safe.”

  “Dad, I don’t understand a word you’re saying. I want to go with you.”

  “I’m a patriot . . . I was a patriot,” he said.

  “You’re talking in circles.”

  “Stay away from Lucas Drake . . . and all boys, for a while.”

  “What if I like Luke?”

  “One more reason to stay away from him.” Dad opened the door just as a helicopter landed in the field adjacent to the road. I pulled him back into the car.

  “What is all this? Dad, who are you?”

  “Bea, I promise you’re better off with George and Charlotte, and you’ll hear from me real soon. Just keep a distance from this boy, until I can fix this.” He kissed me on the cheek and then ran toward the helicopter.

  The window between the seats opened all the way and the man in the passenger seat handed me an old-fashioned tape recorder. “Give this to the FBI when they arrive. It’s a recording of this conversation—for proof that you were taken against your will and not complicit. Also, your Uncle George called the police and told them you were kidnapped. Follow that story and you’ll be fine. Be smart.”

  The driver and the guy in the front passenger seat followed Dad to the helicopter. A big gust of wind swirled around and blew dirt into the SUV as they flew off.

  I shuddered.

  What in the hell was going on? Wasn’t it enough that Mom was dead?

  I walked toward the highway, sobbing. Within a few minutes, a black SUV that looked exactly like the one Dad and his friends were driving and several police cars surrounded me.

  Chapter 6

  Two of the vehicles slowed and some men in suits and FBI vests jumped out, followed by a woman. Tires screeched as the line of cars sped off in the direction I’d just come from, leaving those three agents with me.

  “Beatrice Malcolm?” a man asked.

  I wiped the tears off of my cheeks and nodded.

  “Are you hurt?” the woman said as she approached.

  The two men moved to the side, scanning the area, just like the men who protect the president do.

  Snot ran down my face and my lips blubbered when I inhaled. The woman handed me a tissue. She put her hand on my shoulder. “Did they touch you?”

  “No,” I said.

  My joints ached. I was hanging on to that tape recorder so tightly that when she pried it from my hands, I felt my shoulders relax.

  One of the men said something into his sleeve and suddenly the SUV was by our side. The female agent led me to the backseat and we were whisked away.

  “My name is Special Agent Carter,” she said.

  I dabbed at my nose and snickered.

  “What’s so funny, Bea?”

  “‘Special.’ It’s a weird first name.”

  She scowled and then said, “Sherilynn.”

  I looked out the window and tried to ignore her.

  “How old are you, Bea?”

  “If you know I go by Bea, than I’m sure you know how old I am.” I couldn’t help myself—the words flew out of my mouth. I didn’t like this woman. At the moment, I didn’t like anyone or anything.

  She didn’t respond. We drove back past the diner and eventually got into a part of town that looked familiar to me, and stopped. Above the post office in Wavecrest Beach was a series of suites that I never knew existed. I was escorted up the stairs.

  I was put in a room with two chairs and a table, but no window. The agents asked me the same types of questions over and over, but in a different way.

  Agent Carter: “What were you doing in the diner? How many times have you seen your dad in the last year?”

  Agent Ramsey: “Where was your uncle when the men came in the back door? Prior to today, when was the last time you saw your dad?”

  Agent Carter: “Why were you at the diner? Who was driving the stolen car? What did your uncle order? When the men kidnapped you, where was your uncle?”

  I told them the same story more than a hundred times. Well over two hours passed. I was exhausted. My head was spinning so badly, my thoughts were mush—but not the kind of mush I had with Luke.

  Agent Carter tried to be nice to me, but she lost her patience. “I’d like to release you to your aunt,” she snapped. “But we don’t know your exact involvement in the stolen FBI vehicle.”

  I bit my lower lip and told her again. “Like I said, I was kidnapped from the diner. The two guys who took me also held my dad. We talked for a few minutes—it’s all on the tape—and they left in a helicopter.”

  The woman tapped a pen on a note pad, and then she stood up and walked toward the door. “I don’t believe you’re sharing everything,” she said.

  “Why don’t you tell me something that I don’t know? Like what exactly did my dad do that is causing the FBI to be so fired up about him?” I said.

  Agent Carter froze; then, with a slanted grin across her face, she said, “Your father’s a traitor. He’s wanted for treason.”

  “Sherilynn, you still haven’t told me what he did. My dad was a man with a sick wife. Maybe your bosses aren’t telling you everything. Did you listen to the tape?”

  Agent Carter’s smirk tilted even further as she said, “If we had a cure for CJD, don’t you think your mother would be alive today?”

  I nearly crumbled at the mention of my mom. I believed Agent Carter had planned for the meeting to wind up this way, because she hadn’t mentioned my mother once up until that moment—and certainly, she had to have known that she’d just slashed my Achilles tendon.

  “Oh yes.” Her grin widened. “Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. Were you there when your mother went mad?”

  I swallowed and told myself to stay calm. I had to wait a few seconds before I spoke so that she wouldn’t hear how she had affected me. But I detected a slight ripple in my voice when I said, “Agent—” I looked away and used my anger to help me speak. “I’m only sixteen, but I’m smart enough to know that you’re still not answering my question. What does my mother’s illness have to do with my father?”

  A knock on the door interrupted our conversation. A man wearing an expensive suit and carrying my favorite soda, Diet Mountain Dew, entered. “Don’t say anything else, Beatrice. I’m Oliver Campbell, your attorney.” He handed me the soda and then handed the agent his card.

  She swiped the card from his hand and said, “I know who you are, Oliver.” Agent Carter looked at me. “We’re not done, Beatrice,” she warned, and then to Campbell: “Expect grand larceny, conspiracy, abetting a fugitive, and a few more charges to be filed.”

  My chest burned. I was going to jail, and I didn’t even do anything wrong, except have sex with a boy. But they didn’t know about that, and that wasn’t illegal. Or was it? I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

  Mr. Campbell, who looked a lot like Bruce Willis, placed his attaché case on the table and spoke in the most matter-of-fact tone. “You’re not filing charges against this girl, who is simply a victim. The public is sympathetic to Beatrice’s cause since her kidnapping and her aunt’s televised plea.

  “Her mother died, her father was only trying to see her—and he may also be a victim. We don’t know yet.” He waved his hands in a dramatic way as he approached Agent Carter. “Sherri, I believe you need to charge or release my client. You’ve interrogated a minor without parental consent, and you’ve violated a number of human rights laws. Quite frankly, your tactics are . . . going to be a publicity nightmare when I issue my press release.”

  He handed her a piece of paper and shooed her out the door, then turned to me and said, “I give them twenty seconds.”

  The door opened and an agent poked his head in. “You’r
e free to go.” And then he looked at Mr. Campbell. “Agent Carter wants to make sure your client stays in the country and is available for further questioning.” He then stepped closer to my attorney. “She asks that you refrain from releasing a statement—and no charges will be filed at this time.”

  I followed Mr. Campbell through the building and into a parking garage and passed a throng of reporters. He pushed me through while cameras flashed and people asked questions.

  Aunt Charlotte was waiting for us.

  Mr. Campbell opened the car door for me and as I got in, she said, “We got here as soon as we found out where you were.” She leaned around me and said to Mr. Campbell, “You were right, I’m glad I waited with the car.”

  “Yes, she was released immediately.”

  My body melted into the seat. I wanted my mom so badly.

  “Don’t speak to anyone about today’s events,” Campbell said. “Keep my phone number with you at all times and contact me if they try and question you again.”

  I stared straight ahead.

  “Did you hear me?” he demanded.

  “Yes.” I turned my head toward him and said, “I’m tired.”

  “You did good today. We’ll talk soon.”

  My head drooped, and Aunt Charlotte kept her hand on my back as we sped home. Some of the reporters followed us. I was more surprised that a small group of media had congregated on our street. She maneuvered around them and pulled the car into the garage. Once the metal door shut behind us I felt like I could breathe again.

  “They’ll lose interest after a day or so, when the next story breaks,” she said. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”

  Chapter 7

  Aunt Charlotte made me a cup of hot cocoa that I sipped while we watched the evening news. I must have been the only story that night because they kept showing the highlights. First, Aunt Charlotte’s amazing performance at the press conference that she gave the moment Uncle George sent me with Dad, then me and Mr. Campbell dodging reporters, and his constant response of No comment! to their questions. The cameras zeroed in on me and lingered on my face. My skin was a grayish color. Dark circles filled in the area around my bloodshot eyes and I was so thin I looked like I was about to blow away.

  I turned the volume down. “What are you not telling me about Mom and Dad? Uncle George seemed so . . . different today. Is he really your husband?”

  Aunt Charlotte laughed. “Yes, he is. He thinks he’s in the marines still. George is a good soldier.”

  “Did you know about Dad coming?” I asked.

  Aunt Charlotte nodded, but then she made a gesture with her finger, shushing me. She said, “No, and I can’t believe your father put you in such danger.”

  What happened next really scared me. She wrote on a piece of paper and gestured for me to look at what she’d written. She’d scrawled four words: We are probably tapped.

  Tapped? Who were these people and what happened to my real family?

  I scrawled across the paper, WTF. And then, I let her have it. “This is way too much for me. I’m just a sophomore. I’m only sixteen! You do know that, right?”

  Aunt Charlotte put her hand on my arm. “Of course I do. God doesn’t give us—”

  “Bullshit!” I yelled, as I slammed my cup down on the table. “I need to know what’s really going on. And if you won’t tell me, I’ll find out on my own.” I ran up the stairs.

  Aunt Charlotte followed me so close that her shoe hit my heel. She pushed into the bathroom behind me, slammed the door, and swiftly moved me aside and turned the shower on. “I’ll tell you what I know,” she whispered.

  I sat down on top of the toilet and put my head in my hands, waiting for her to speak. Pure agitation filled my insides, but within seconds the sheer exhaustion of the day took over and every organ in my body was sluggish—including my brain.

  Aunt Charlotte brushed my hair off of my forehead and knelt down next to me. She spoke in a low voice, under the drumming of the water. “After your mom got sick I found out that your father had connections inside some secret branch of the government because of his work at Kramer.”

  “So he really did work at the pharmaceutical company?”

  She nodded. “Remember the drug trial, the one that gave your mom more time?”

  “Her two years of bliss,” I mumbled.

  “That was because of your dad. I don’t know how he did it, or even what he did, but she was able to have a couple of good years.”

  “I know, he told me,” I said.

  “This afternoon George found a cell phone in his pocket, ringing. Teddy—I mean, your dad—was calling. Real upset.” She took a big breath. “He told your uncle that we are being watched, and the house is bugged. He went on and on about how we needed to be real careful until he fixes everything.

  “And he wanted to know how we knew Lucas Drake.” The edges of her mouth turned down as she continued. “Apparently the FBI has surveillance footage of you and this boy in a car by the beach. Your dad wasn’t sure if Luke was a part of this . . . conspiracy.”

  I instantly sat up. “What?”

  “Shush!” Aunt Charlotte grabbed my arm and pointed toward the water. “Quiet.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “Bea, we’re being watched, all of us. Whoever this is—they’ve gone to great lengths to flush out your father.”

  A thumping inside my head heightened to a crescendo. I hoped Dad hadn’t seen what I’d done with that boy. I hoped Uncle George and Aunt Charlotte didn’t know.

  “Is Luke a part of this? Did the FBI plant him? Is that it? Do you know about Luke and me?” I asked.

  Aunt Charlotte waved her hands. “We’ve known Luke since he was born. He’s a good kid. But I thought you just met him.”

  I nodded—and I knew my cheeks were bright magenta. “We were at the beach today,” I said. “I don’t normally . . . I’m not like this . . .” I put my face in my hands.

  Aunt Charlotte hugged me. “Today?”

  “Yes.” I wanted to kick her out and hide in that bathroom forever. “At about one o’clock, right after lunch, we drove to the pier. By three Uncle George was picking me up in front of the school.” Tears streamed down my face, and between sobs I asked, “How could Dad know about him . . . we were only just together . . .”

  “He told George they put a video clip in a place they knew he’d see it.” Aunt Charlotte’s face tightened. She rubbed her eyes. “Your uncle was pissed.”

  “About what? Did he see the surveillance footage, too?”

  “He didn’t say. He went to Kyle’s house a little while ago to confront Luke.”

  “No!” I stood up and shoved Aunt Charlotte out of the way. “You’re all crazy. This is a nightmare.” I ran down the hall to my bedroom and slammed the door.

  A few minutes later Aunt Charlotte rapped on my door and entered. I was sprawled on my bed, with my face buried in the pillow.

  “Let’s stay home tomorrow,” she said.

  She put her hand on my shoulder and turned me toward her. Her makeup was smeared and her eyes were bright red—she looked traumatized. I’d never seen her in such disarray.

  “Okay.”

  “Do you want to talk about Luke?” she asked.

  “No,” I said softly.

  “We will keep you safe,” she said. “We love you.” And then she rubbed my back. “Good-night.”

  Chapter 8

  I wasn’t like most kids with my cell phone—I rarely used it. So Amilee was probably surprised when I sent her a text. And even though it was close to midnight, within seconds my phone rang.

  “What’s going on? I’m so jealous of that beach-happening, sunshine-loving California thing you’ve got going on.” Amilee’s voice was filled with pure excitement, but she calmed down when I didn’t respond. “Why haven’t you called sooner? Everything okay?”

  “Not exactly. Did you see the news?”

  “No,” she said.

  I swear, sometimes
she was clueless. I sniffled and then cried. “My dad came and”—I couldn’t catch my breath and my sobbing became uncontrollable.

  “Bea?” she said.

  “Yes.” I blew my nose. “I don’t know what to believe.” And then through the sobs I told her about Luke, and then about dad’s visit. I hesitated when I came to the part about Aunt Charlotte, and I said nothing about the house being bugged.

  “Don’t stop now, what else?” she said.

  “And then I called you,” I said.

  “Oh. Well, have you got a picture of the cute boy? I want to see him.”

  “Is that all you have to say?” I stood up from my bed and dropped the shredded piece of tissue in the trashcan.

  “Why don’t you come to Seattle for the weekend? Get away from that clandestine place you call Wavecrest.” I heard her saying something to someone there and then she said, “Mom says you can sleep with Rio.”

  Rio was the blind cat that Mrs. Gray had saved from being run over, and then took home. The stupid thing never left me alone when I was at their house. I halfheartedly laughed. But then I was mortified: did Amilee have me on speakerphone, for her mother and the world to hear? Everyone seemed to know about the day I lost my virginity! “Was your mom sitting right there the whole time?”

  “Not exactly. I just walked into the kitchen and she’s sitting here with her usual glass of wine.”

  I leaned against my bedroom wall and shut my eyes, clutching the phone in my hand. “Please tell me she didn’t hear what I told you.”

  “Oh, no. Really, she’s happy as a snow cone on a cloudy day.”

  That meant she was drunk. “Oh, okay.” I breathed easier. “Well, not okay. But I understand.”

  “So you really aren’t a lesbian?” Amilee blurted out.

  “Amilee Marie, stop it! Your mom can hear you.”

  Then I heard her tell her mother. “Bea has a boyfriend. Luke.”

  “Stop it,” I said.

  “Mom says it’s okay if you’re gay.” Amilee chuckled and then said, “Going back to my room, Mom. It’s bedtime.”

  “I can’t believe you—”