Betrayal Codes

Chapter 8: Cole

She remembered.

She saw the note. She remembered what he'd written. Speech at Conaway-Brown Gala. Parker Crane presents at seven PM sharp. She fell for his tricks. Although, I guess we all did.

The afternoon had gone as planned: searching for Peter, lunch, and more searching before returning to the hotel. There was no searching around the hotel, though. Had they done so, they would have seen a poster attached to the streetlamp outside. Yet no one looked — or at least I thought no one looked. Since I was the one who hung it, I knew it was there. I knew what it said. I knew it was a decoy meant to lure the girls away from Peter's true location. And, man, it was working well.

Although, I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised. I'm more shocked that the girls didn't even question if this was the right gala. For one, why would Peter, a criminal, choose to attend a charity gala? For cancer research? I don't even think Peter knows there are over two hundred types of cancer. Also, we had the invitations needed for entry, acquired from "our moms' jobs". Lies, lies, lies, yet they believed us without batting an eyelash. Not to mention the fact that a fancy gala dripping in money was hosted in the same town that held the most secure jail within a hundred-mile radius.

Honestly, do they have any common sense? Whatever, it doesn't matter, I guess, since we came out on top and they came out lost, confused, and, most importantly, Peter-less.

"Why wasn't he there? I promise you, he was supposed to be there." Libby was whining as the van we hopped into after we snuck out clambered down the street. "I saw the flyer. It said seven o'clock sharp."

"Maybe he canceled," Tucker suggested, trying to hide his smile. All of us boys were.

"Libby, it's not your fault. We would have stayed at the gala anyways," I tried calming her. I see her bob her head side to side, considering the odds, which were pretty high. If she hadn't remembered the note, we would have stayed until they kicked us out, searching for the man who would never show.

"It just feels strange," she mumbles.

"Let it go, Lib. We'll find him eventually," Taylor says, exasperated. "We may have missed him, but we still had fun."

"And we got to dress up," Shay chirps.

"True," Libby replies, turning to look at me, as if I was the reason she had fun.

"What?" I whisper, suddenly self-conscious. "Why are you looking at me?"

"Nothing, nothing," she smiles.

A passing streetlight causes the space to glow, landing on Libby like a spotlight. She's staring at me as if I was a butterfly, looking with curiosity and awe. The light passes quickly, though I still feel her gaze. Without knowingly doing so, my hand finds hers in the dark, smothering her dainty fingers with my huge palm. Surprisingly, she doesn't pull away, instead intertwining her fingers with mine.

I've felt a different way toward Libby since the beginning. My heart a beat off. She made me feel some way no other girl had. She's my rival, I feel competitive, I'd rationalize. Except, seeing her at the gala, I felt that feeling, deeper this time. I knew it couldn't have been work-related — we were free of Peter at the moment, attending this gala just for fun, and I had given up on fake-dating her the second I signed up. And I knew it wasn't related to her exposed cleavage that had previously been obscured by sweatshirts.

Right now, with our hands bound, invisible to the other's eyes, I felt it again, deeper yet. It feels like a spark in my heart, soon to set a wildfire. How can a thing so simple as holding someone's hand cause such a feeling? How can I feel safe and in danger at the same time?

As the van is slowing, Libby closes the space between us, keeping our hands locked the whole time. "Come with me," she murmurs before unclasping our hands and rolling back to her spot before the van comes to a full stop in front of the hotel. I don't know where she's going or where she wants me to follow her, but, for once, I'm willing to put my trust in someone new.

- - -

"I'm going for a walk," Libby states immediately after the van drives off. "Anyone want to join?" She knows everyone else is tired, counting the seconds until they can climb under their sheets and drift off. Smart girl.

"No way," Tucker grumbles. The others' responses echo his.

"I'll go," I announce to the group. "I'll be up soon."

Libby begins walking down the road, knowing I will follow. It takes a few steps before we're walking side by side. She doesn't say a word or reach for me, so I follow her lead and do the same, wondering if I overstepped in the van.

Once we enter the woods not far from the hotel, she slows, ready to talk. I'm prepared to apologize and make up excuses, except she has a different topic on her mind. "Did you see the flyer? It said seven sharp. Sharp, for goodness sake!"

"Libby, I'm sorry he wasn't there," I began carefully. She wanted to talk about the stupid poster. She brought me out here — to the middle of the woods late at night — to talk about a freaking poster. "If you brought me out here to vent about that little thing, I'm heading back. I'm pretty tired too, it's been a long night."

She grabs my wrist as though to prevent me from fleeing. "No, Cole, I'm kidding," she laughs. "I wanted to talk about what happened in the van. You know, I'm not allowed to get attached to locals. You're kind of interfering with that rule."

Ugh, I forgot. I'm supposed to be playing the part of a local boy. I've always been good at keeping my cover, I've never let it slip. Recently, I've been more of myself than I ever have been. I've barely been acting like a local, so I'm stunned she still believes I am one. No local can crack the codes of the world's best criminal. It's impossible.

"Well, what if I wasn't a local?" I test the waters, see what she knows, how she reacts. "Then would you be able to get 'attached' to me?" I added some air quotes to lighten the topic.

Her face quickly morphs from confused to scared to amused. "Ugh, you make that word sound gross. I didn't mean it in that way!"

I chuckle, playing along, but noting that she avoided the question. "Although, I may never see you again, so..." she trails off, confused when my face falters.

Those words.

I need to get out, this is going too far, too deep, too fast. She doesn't know what that means, of course, yet I do. And it scares me. I hate thinking about it.

"I– uh, I have to go," I stutter before sprinting back to the hotel. I hear my name being called, growing fainter and fainter with each step. I felt bad leaving her there, but I just couldn't stay. I would have said one too many things and caused problems. I would have revealed Peter's secret, the reason they were here in the first place. I would have told her why she was taken from her mother all those years ago. And if he found out, I would have died.