Everything I learned about being mysterious, I learned from my twin sister.
Everything I learned about hacking, the internet, and all the reasons cloud backup is a bad idea for things you don’t want people to know you know, though, I taught myself.
Mostly.
I ignore Vanessa’s question. “Did you bring it?”
“No. I told you. We’re staying out of this.”
“You’re publicly staying out of this. I publicly stay out of everything.”
“Davis.”
“Someone’s gonna get hurt.”
“That is not your responsibility.”
Not even 6:00 a.m., and she’s hitting me with the phrase she usually reserves for much further into our conversations.
“Patrick Dixon’s looking for the treasure,” I tell her.
I feel her shoulders tighten as if my own were tightening for her.
Feel her suck in a breath too. Engine’s not running, so yes, I hear it, but Ifeelit also.
She turns in her seat to face me more fully. “I’m still not helping you with this.”
“This is the smallest favor I’ve ever asked for.”
She stares at me.
“In the last decade,” I add.
“This is not a small favor.”
“Do you know what happens to this town if they find out what we know?”
“Once again, not your responsibility.”
Except this one is.
If I’d kept my nosy ass out of my own business, I wouldn’t know what I don’t want to know.
But I do know what I don’t want to know, and thanks to Cooper Rock’s wedding here, all of the national attention on Shipwreck and Thorny Rock and the fucking treasure means someone else could figure it out too.
Someone like Patrick Dixon, whowoulduse the information to hurt people.
People like the Rocks.
Vanessa.
Beck’s sister, Ellie.
And now Sloane, who I shouldn’t have any allegiance to whatsoever, but the same could be said about my lack of allegiance to any number of the other people that I’ve quietly helped in the past decade.
Often with my sister’s help, because she knows things.
Even things she denies knowing.
