Twist Page 5

  I hurried to pick up the photos that were still on the floor. Somehow they’d gotten cameras inside Simon’s car and near that pier. Beads of perspiration broke out on my upper lip.

  Could I run? What should I do?

  “Who are you guys, really?” I pointed to the guy by the water fountain and the other one near the women’s room.

  “Observant, aren’t you, Bea?” she said, condescendingly.

  “No, you’re just so flipping obvious,” I snapped. “What do you want from me?”

  She cleared her throat. “Your cooperation.” She snatched the pictures out of my hand and put them in a briefcase on the floor near her feet. And then a woman walked by like she was lost and snatched it up!

  I wondered if everyone in the airport was watching me. My stomach turned, and I’m sure that it showed on my face because Agent Carter said, “Well you don’t want the photos to get out, do you?”

  “Are you threatening me? Because from what I know, the only people I don’t want to see those already have.”

  “Which is probably why the boy was beaten to within an inch of his life. He probably won’t even know you when he wakes up.”

  “Good, then you can show him your stupid pictures and remind him.” I crossed my arms.

  Agent Carter spoke real soft. “Bea, I know it’s hard for you to believe, but your father’s dangerous. We just want to make sure no one else gets hurt.”

  I swallowed. “Are you saying he did this to Luke?”

  She nodded.

  “And Uncle George’s crash?”

  She nodded.

  “How can you possibly know that? I want proof.”

  She held her arm up and snapped her fingers. A man wearing a Hawaiian shirt walked by and dropped a camera in her lap.

  “Really?” I said. Were these people everywhere?

  “Yes,” she answered.

  One thing Agent Carter probably didn’t know was that, like Luke, I used to be in the top percentile of my class, before Mom died and I became lackadaisical. Not only could I be smart, I was smart. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that was a message from my father. He used to sing to me, “Bea Smart, Beatrice Smart. She’s so smart it hurts.” Stupid, I know, but that was his little thing.

  Agent Carter flipped on the camera and said, “Here’s your proof.”

  The first picture was one of Dad’s people from the helicopter following Luke. In the next photo, a different man was talking to Luke.

  “So?” I said.

  “That’s Teddy, your dad,” she said.

  “And . . .”

  She clicked the camera to show Luke on the ground and the same man leaning over him.

  “Still,” I said. “That’s not proof of anything.”

  Then she showed me another picture—a close-up of my Dad. But Luke was not in the picture. “And you say this man beat Luke?” I didn’t know what to believe, but to me, that wasn’t proof. Then she flipped to pictures of the wreckage. My jaw almost hit the floor. Uncle George’s car was a mangled mess.

  “Standing just beyond that destroyed vehicle is a man,” she said. “Do you see him? That’s your dad.”

  I pushed the camera away. “No. You’ve shown me nothing. All assumptions.” I pulled out my cell phone and began to dial.

  Agent Carter put her hand on my phone. “Wait,” she said. “Just take my card and call me when you see him next.”

  I yanked my arm away from her and said, “How about this? I believe you had Luke beaten, knowing that my dad was nearby. And then you ran over Uncle George so that you could get me to help you find my dad.”

  “You’re so off base,” she said.

  “I’m calling my lawyer and telling him you’re harassing me. Aren’t you supposed to go through him to talk to me?” I turned my body away from her and dialed the phone. By the time Aunt Charlotte answered, Agent Carter had left. But I was still so angry my entire body shook. I did my best to explain what had happened. The words came out of my mouth all at once but some how she understood me.

  I gasped for air and Aunt Charlotte said, “Slow down.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I said.

  “I’ll call Mr. Campbell and he’ll get them to leave you alone. You still want to go?” she asked.

  “I think I should.” But yet I hesitated, until the line formed at the gate and the passengers began to board. Then, I realized leaving was my best option. “I’m going. I’ll call you when I get there, Auntie.”

  Chapter 13

  I boarded the plane and found my assigned seat—middle, back row. A kid about my age smiled at me and then kept staring. At first I thought it was my imagination, but then he asked the guy next to me if he could trade places with him. And the guy agreed!

  “Hi,” the boy said as he plopped down in the aisle seat.

  I grunted.

  He flipped through the stuff that was inside the seat pocket in front of him. And then he said, “You going home or away?”

  “Both,” I said.

  His forehead wrinkled. “Huh?”

  “It’s complicated,” I said with a half smile. “Seattle used to be home.”

  “Transplanted northwestern girl, that’s cool.” He bobbed his head up and down and then cracked his knuckles.

  I closed my eyes and thought about the copy of USA Today sitting under the seat in front of me. I’d look at it in a while. When I opened my eyes the boy was staring at me.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Nothing,” he said, and looked away.

  I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes again, trying to not think. I fell asleep. The flight attendant woke me up when she was taking orders, and the boy next to me tried to wait on me when I didn’t respond to her. After the plane landed and I was walking through the concourse, that kid followed me.

  “You need a ride?” he asked. “I live here.”

  “I’m good.” I stopped, and then went in the opposite direction, stepping into the women’s room. After waiting a few extra minutes, I left, duffel bag in hand, doing the exact same thing Aunt Charlotte and Uncle George had done the day before—scanning the area.

  I called Amilee. “I’m here.”

  “We’re at the curb,” she said, laughing. “Get out here before they make us pull around again!”

  “We?” I said.

  “Mom and I,” she said. “Who else?”

  “Oh.” I sighed. A tiny part of me had thought, or maybe just hoped, that Dad would be here.

  “Hey, don’t sound so disappointed. You’re home. We have surprises for you!” A clunking noise came over the phone. “I’m driving, Mom. Stop it.” And then she chuckled. “Get out here.”

  At the curb I searched the traffic for Amilee’s silver Honda. I jumped when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It reminded me of Luke’s tapping me a few days ago at school.

  “Hey,” the boy from the plane said. “Here’s my number if you want to get together while you visit . . .” He hung his head to the side and ran his toe across a crack in the curb. “Friends, nothing more.”

  I looked at his phone number and said, “I’m way too busy. Don’t take it personal.”

  He grabbed the note from my hand and scribbled on it before he put it in my hand again. “Here’s my e-mail, if you change your mind. Can I at least know your name?”

  “Bea,” I said, and just then Amilee honked as she rolled up to the curb and practically jumped out of the car while it was moving. She almost knocked the guy over when she launched at me for a hug.

  Amilee put my bag in the trunk and then looked at my stalker. “Him, too?” she said.

  I shrugged.

  She tapped his upper arm and said, “It’s okay, it happens to a lot of boys around Beatrice.” She put her arm around me and said, “We’re together.”

  We got in the car laughing. “You’re so bad,” I said, and turned toward the boy, who was still standing at the curb “I think guys like to think about that sort of thing, two girl
s. He’s still waving at me.”

  “He was cute, in a somber sort of way,” Amilee said.

  “How are you, Mrs. Gray?” I asked.

  “Call me Jessica, for goodness sake,” she said. “We miss you, kiddo.”

  Amilee’s foot was heavy on the gas pedal, which caused her mom to gasp.

  “What? Mom, it’s the speed limit.” As Amilee jerked the car in and out of traffic I felt queasy myself. Both Mrs. Gray and I held on to the sides of the car. So when Amilee slammed on her brakes a few miles from their house and we were rear-ended, she was the only one who was surprised.

  “I told you,” Mrs. Gray said.

  “Crap,” Amilee said, adjusting her mirror, trying to see the driver of the car behind us. “Well he hit me, so it’s his fault.”

  The man approached her window and said, “Do we really need to call the police? It’s a tiny ding. I’ll pay you cash.”

  Amilee stepped out of the car while her mother, who probably should have handled the conversation, stayed rooted in the front seat.

  “I’m sorry about your recent challenges, Bea.” She turned her body toward me. “Sometimes I think you kids want to believe us parents have super powers and are completely invincible.” She sighed. “We’re not.” She made a gesture toward Amilee. “I know I put a lot on her. She’s really grown up in the last year.”

  “Yeah, but look,” I said. “She’s still crazy.”

  Amilee waved her arms and argued with the man—it looked to me like she was going overboard. Then she walked around the vehicle and yanked my door open. “Can you come here for a second?” she said.

  I waited for Mrs. Gray to go, but then I felt Amilee tug on my sleeve. “Hey, Bea. Come on.” She pointed toward the other car.

  I got out and saw her trunk popped open. “Oh, it looks like it’s come undone in the accident.”

  “Not exactly,” she said in a quiet voice. Then she pulled my duffel out and handed it to someone behind me. “I’ll see you later.” She hugged me and said. “Go, now.”

  I hadn’t even looked at the man she was arguing with until that moment. “Dad?”

  He moved quickly back to his car and waved me to the passenger’s side. As he pulled away from the curb he waved good-bye to Amilee and we sped off.

  Chapter 14

  Dad’s eyes were sunken and he had a million little lines around his mouth, as if he’d been through a major aging spurt—or maybe he was wearing another disguise.

  “Can we talk?” I said.

  He put his hand up and said, “Hold on.” We then drove into a gas station. “I just need to get some gas.” He gestured for me to follow him. “Let’s get a soda.” Inside the store, Dad bumped into some guy and handed him the keys. Then guided me through the building and out the other side. He pointed toward a Mini Cooper, near a different gas pump, and said, “Get in.”

  “My stuff,” I said.

  “I know,” he said. “That wasn’t a kid on the airplane. You’ve got a GPS in your bag and probably a listening device. Hop in and let’s go.”

  Every muscle in my face fell. Here we go again.

  Dad looked at me. “You wanted to come with me. This is how it is right now.” In the car, a two-way radio and a few cell phones lay in the center console. “We’ll talk and then you’ll spend the rest of your time in Seattle with Amilee, as planned. I’m sure Agent Carter is already looking for you.”

  I took a deep breath and wished away my tears. He reached across the seat and grabbed my hand. But I didn’t know where to begin. “Is there anybody I can trust?” I said in a weak voice.

  “The ones who loved you before your mom got sick, Aunt Charlotte, Uncle George, Amilee, and maybe her family. Right now, you really need to be careful.”

  “Can you just tell me what you know, because I’m not sure who to ask about first—you, Luke, Uncle George, or Mom?”

  I missed Mom. I missed Dad.

  I wanted to believe in love at first sight with Luke. But then I thought about the humiliating photos and the surveillance video—I trembled.

  Dad took me to a state park near Gig Harbor. He parked the car in the corner of the lot and led me along a path of overgrown wild greenery. Part of the northwestern colors I missed—but the rain and wet that made the green possible? I hadn’t missed that so much.

  Once we were away from everyone, I finally had the privilege of being with my real dad, the one who’d been gone for almost a year. His mellow voice felt like a warm blanket and reminded of a time, not so long ago, when we were a family.

  “When I met Grace, there were some things about her I didn’t know.” He picked up a broken rock and showed me the colorful layers. “See that, it’s a geode.”

  I took the rock from him and put it in my pocket. “Keep talking, Dad.” I knew that a helicopter or “hikers” were going to invade our time together and that if I didn’t keep him focused, we’d be pulled apart again.

  “Your mom had epilepsy.” We stopped at a clearing and he led me to a bench.

  “You’ve been here before?” I said.

  “Yes.” He sat down and turned sideways on the bench so he could look at me. When I just stood there, he pointed. “Sit.”

  He waited for me to be seated, and then he continued. “The medicines seemed to work somewhat for her, but then one day she had a grand mal seizure, and then another. So the doctors at St. Mary’s convinced her to try a new procedure, an electrode brain implant.”

  I flinched. “That’s not what I expected to hear,” I said. “Sounds like science fiction.”

  “It’s really quite fascinating. The tab goes under the skull and the electrodes attach to the area of the brain that’s causing the seizures, an ingenious technology. But”—he stomped his feet on the ground and looked down—“there’s always some risk.”

  When he lifted his face, he blinked a few times to stop the water well from spilling over. “We met, fell in love, got married, and had you.”

  “Didn’t you meet at work?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. We worked on a new drug release together. But Kramer had nothing to do with the implant.”

  “So you really are a medical researcher?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I went to medical school, spent time in Germany and all those other places before the illness.” He crossed his arms and seemed to be deep in thought. “She fell and hit her head really hard—”

  “I remember when you made her go to the hospital.”

  “Well, she didn’t seem right. And to this day, I don’t know if she hit her head because she wasn’t quite right or if hitting her head caused her to go batty.”

  I didn’t like thinking about that time. My dark mood was hovering so I shook my head to clear it. “That was over two years ago, right?”

  “Yes, the beginning of the end.” Dad fidgeted on the bench. “The electrode wasn’t secure.”

  “Is epilepsy hereditary?” I asked.

  “It can be,” he said.

  “That’s another worry,” I said.

  “So is cancer and a dozen other things.” He sighed. “Epilepsy didn’t kill her. The infection is what caused the CJD. And it was right away. Remember—the hallucinations?”

  “Yes. Was it really mad cow disease?”

  “No, but that and CJD are similar. It’s an awful, awful disease.”

  I cringed. “The Internet says it burns holes in the brain. Was she in pain?”

  “No pain. She’s brave,” he said. “But the Germans had it all figured out.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “They developed the method for fighting the infection and reversing the damage. The medicine I got for your mother was illegal in this country.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” I lifted my shoulders. “How . . .”

  “I know.” He stabbed his finger in the air. “But I had a lot of contacts from all of my trips to Europe. I managed to arrange a few deals to obtain the medicine.”

  “Why did she d
ie, then?” My voice shook.

  “Eventually, her illness returned.” He gazed at me. “You remind me of her, you know.”

  I shrugged, trying not to let my mind dwell on Mom being gone forever.

  “I had a team of people working on an alternative designer drug because the medicine we’d used before wasn’t working. She’d built an immunity to it.”

  I said, “But she did have her two years—”

  “Of bliss.” He smiled. “Grace was my world. She had a way with people. Just like you do, Bea.”

  “What deal did you have to make, Dad?” I didn’t understand, because it sounded like he was only trying to help.

  “I promised the development of a biochemical weapon. But if, and only if, Grace was cured.” He stood and shuffled his feet.

  “Why didn’t you just fly Mom to Germany?”

  “It wasn’t that simple. By the time we’d figured this out, she was too ill to travel, and the drug wasn’t FDA approved to bring it here.”

  “Well she didn’t survive, so why don’t they leave you alone?”

  “They said two years was survival.”

  “Who? What government branch is it?”

  “A team embedded within the National Security Agency,” he said. “They call themselves Sanctity.”

  “That’s a terrible name,” I said. “Why are you on the FBI’s Most Wanted list?”

  “Because I refused to give them the drug, or what will soon become a form of a biochemical weapon.” He sighed. “For one thing, the drug’s not right, but they want to test it and use it any way.

  “The charges against me are completely made up. Designed to create a national manhunt, and almost nowhere for me to hide. The longer I’m a fugitive, the harsher my treason becomes to keep the attention on finding me. These men, from Sanctity, will stop at nothing.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they don’t want anyone else using this weapon.”

  “Weapon? I thought you were trying to cure Mom?”

  “Yes, this is one and the same.”

  “This doesn’t sound real.” I stood up and glared at him as if I could will the truth out of him. “And even now—how are you able to be on the run so long? Who were those men, and that helicopter?”