Didn’t I? I was a little preoccupied thinking over my evening with Miles.
I try it again and this time the knob does stick before it’s off all the way. There are footsteps heading to the kitchen. I shut off the knob all the way and take two large strides toward the door, almost running into Marcus.
He looks around the kitchen—his eyes going to the stove.
“Don’t worry, I double-checked,” I say. “They’re all off.”
“And I’m sure going forward you’re going to triple-check them.”
“Correct.” I’m a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I really thought I turned it all the way off, but it must have stuck a little bit.”
“No worries. We’re all fine.” He motions for me to leave the kitchen and shuts off the light behind me.
I say good night to everyone, apologizing again. But once I’m back in bed, I can’t sleep. I can’t believe I was so distracted by Miles, I forgot to turn off the stove all the way. Or maybe it was something Easton said to me.
I get up in the dark and walk over to the window that faces the front yard. I glance down the street.
The sedan is back. It’s not the same one Grant was in, so maybe someone else has taken over. But it’s there. Which means they’re suspicious of me. If Agent Grant is out to prove I’m not Nate, they must have an idea of what really happened to him.
Miles wants me to help him get something he can turn into a podcast, then he’ll help me escape. But what if Marcus or Valenciaisresponsible for Nate’s death? If I can find some kind of evidence and present it to Agent Grant, he might let me go. He might even agree to give me a head start so he doesn’t have to send me to my parents. Miles could use the same information to jump-start his podcast, and I escape into the night. Everyone is happy.
Except for Easton, who is left to find out his parents are murderers.
The idea keeps me up well into the early morning.
Nineteen
I don’t care if Agent Grant has people watching the Beaumonts’ street. I’m going to find my own way out of here before Miles has a chance to rat me out.
Because—despite the hug and the genuine way he seemed to care about me—I don’t think I believe him. I don’t believe he didn’t have a recording device somewhere in that room last night, and I don’t believe he’s going to keep my secret despite what he said about solidarity. Not outing someone is queer solidarity; committing a crime to let a stranger continue to steal a missing-and-probably-dead-kid’s identity isnot.
So when Valencia says she’s running out to pick up dry cleaning and check in on her dental practice, after setting the alarm and double-checking every door is locked, I search for a backpack. There’s one—probably Easton’s—in the front hall closet, but right beside it is a slightly larger duffel bag with ratty gym shoes in it—also probably Easton’s.
I put the shoes in the backpack and take the duffel instead, then go straight to the pantry. There’s plenty of canned goods, beans and tomatoes mainly, but I only take two cans of garbanzo beans and put them in the bag. I don’t want to be too weighed down if I need to run.There’s also a box of protein bars, but there are only eight left, so I take three, hoping they won’t be missed.
Before closing the pantry, I snatch a packet from the open Pop-Tarts box. It’s an okay start. If it all goes at once, they might notice. I’ll take a couple things every few days until I think I’m ready.
After that, I head up to my room and look at the clothes the Beaumonts bought me. It sucks that I don’t have any of my own—my stashed backpack under the Starbucks dumpster is probably long gone by now—but I take two shirts, two pairs of underwear, three pairs of socks, and a pair of jeans, and put it all in the duffel bag, nestling the food between folded clothes to protect it.
Then I slide the bag under my bed, toward the headboard. I walk over to the door, imagining what the Beaumonts might notice if they peeked in. So far Valencia and Marcus haven’t been snooping around, but a random bag under the bed might be suspicious. I can’t see it from here, but being so exposed makes me nervous, so I grab it and put it in the closet on the top shelf. I push it back against the wall so it looks like any old bag.
“Where’s Mom?”
I startle as I close the closet door, and there’s Easton. I didn’t even hear him come in.
“Running errands, and then she said she had to check on the office.” I go over to the bed and lie down as casually as I can and take out my phone. I shouldn’t have silenced it, because there’s notifications that the alarm had been turned off and the front door opened and closed. When I look up at Easton, I have to force myself not to glance over at the closet.
He grins. “And she left you alone! I can’t believe it.”
“She said she knew you’d be home soon.”
“Probably tracking my location, as usual.” He seems bored by all this, but he makes a good point. Is she checkingmylocation at all times? I knew I’d be leaving this phone here when I left, but didn’t realize she’d be tracking my every outing until then.
“She watches our phones?”
Easton shrugs. “You were kidnapped. She’s paranoid. I’ve found it’s best to leave your phone behind sometimes if you want privacy.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and puts it on Nate’s old dresser. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
I get up, looking at his phone, and he nods.
