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"About what?" My brother vocalizes my own question.
"I never worked with Lakatos. Tristen has. He might be aware of that reaction and if it is to be expected," George clarifies.
I want to laugh at the absurdity of his suggestion. Heather would lose it. No matter what happened between all of us, I’m her little girl. She’d drag me back to Westbridge and lock me in my room in order to watch me 24/7. The fact that I’m eighteen and can support myself would be of no consequence when it came to my health. I’m so not going to tell them.
Their reaction isn’t the only one that makes a pit form in my stomach. I refuse to even think about telling Rhys. I can’t do that to him. I can’t make him worry about anything else. I just can’t.
"Let's see what we can get out of the memory doctor. Maybe he can reverse what he did." Nate sounds hopeful.
"Yeah, let's see." I don’t expect anything to come from the meeting. I don’t want to be negative, but I also can’t bring myself to hope.
Later that afternoon,I work up the courage to call my best friend. I only type in her number three times before I finally hit the call button. Rhys talked to her, and Wes must’ve helped curb her best-friend-disappointment rage, because Denielle only chews me out for about fifteen minutes for packing up and running. She can take care of herself; let Turner try—her words, not mine. After that, she informs me that she has decided to book a flight and visit Charlie over spring break next week.
Spring break. I'm only excused from school for another nine days. What happens afterward, I have no idea. I haven’t thought that far ahead, but I also didn't plan on returning to Westbridge until Nate and I have our answers and the people I care about are no longer in the crossfire of the press or stalked by a dead ex-Army Ranger. Not that Turner has physically threatened anyone, but we still suspect him to be at least involved in some of the articles. Plus, he faked his death. Who does that? And why?
I shake my head. Francis Turner is on the other end of the country. Hopefully, once he realizes I’m no longer in Westbridge, he’ll leave my family alone.
You’re delusional, the voice in my head shouts at me through a bullhorn, and I flinch inwardly.
I’m on my way to the third floor when I pass Brooks’s home office and stop in my tracks. Curiosity to see the one room I haven’t entered yet is making my body tilt toward the door.
Taking a deep breath, I turn to walk away but then halt again. Nate did not specifically tell me that I can’t go in there. It’s just that he doesn’t enter his father’s personal space.
I watch my hand reach out and clasp the handle. The metal feels cool against my skin, and I tighten my fingers, ready to push down.
"Miss Lilly!"
Shit.
I jerk my arm back and face George, who’s jogging up the stairs.
"Yes?" My face is flushed. Did he see what I was about to do?
"Your brother wants you to call him on this number." He hands me a piece of paper.
I scowl. "Why a new number?"
"I believe he procured a second device to ensure there is no trace of you on his cell phone. It seems Miss Margot is beginning to question her fiancé's absence," he states.
I take the note and walk to the room Nate had turned into my mini NCC. Sitting behind the desk, I pull up the call function with the appropriate routine to mask the Caller ID and dial my brother’s new number. A grin spreads across my face as I wait.
He answers after three rings. "George?"
"It's me," I say smugly.
"How—" Confusion clouds Nate’s tone until understanding sets in. "You’re getting good, sis. I’m impressed."
I chuckle. "Well, if you already have to get a second phone to erase me from existence, I might as well help with that."
"You updated the program yourself to match the parameters?"
"Yep."
A whistle comes through the earpiece. "Remind me never to let you near my computer again."
"Too late. You gave me access," I taunt.
"Ha. I did, which is why I wanted you to call me."
