Paranoid(88)

Cash.

Dylan looked at the bills, made a quick assessment, and nodded.

Drugs. Her brother was dealing drugs.

Shit! She’d seen more than one freshman or sophomore slide twenty-dollar bills into Dylan’s hand while they passed each other while changing classes. She had thought that he’d been loaning his friends money, but now she knew.

Stupid, stupid, stupid boy! There might be cameras taking all this in, recording him in the heat of the transaction. He was obviously in way over his head.

Dealing drugs on school property. What a moron! Everyone knew that would get you in big trouble. If he thought he could get away with something so dumb and blatant, he deserved to go to jail!

Except she couldn’t let him. The idiot didn’t have an iota of common sense. Brilliant and stupid, that was Dylan.

Someone had to save him from himself.

Turned out, she got the honors.

She pushed open Dylan’s door, with its stupid crime scene tape that discouraged no one, to find him propped on his bed, gaming controller in one hand, phone in front of him, a sack of Doritos open and spilling onto the bedding, a nearly finished plate of last night’s lasagna on the night table.

“Hey!” he said, his head snapping up. “Knock next time.”

“I know what you’re doing,” she said. “And it has to stop.”

“What I’m doing? I’m playing a game.”

“I’m not talking about that,” she said, motioning toward the controller.

He didn’t seem to get it.

“I’m sick of covering your sorry ass so that Mom doesn’t find out, but I’m not going to do it anymore. You have to get out of it right now.”

“Out of what?” But he blanched a little, confirming her worst suspicions.

“Oh, come off it. The drugs. I know you’ve been dealing.”

“What?” he said, shocked.

“Mom is going to kill you if she finds out,” Harper warned. “And Dad is going to kill you, and God, you know what? Maybe I’m going to kill you, too!”

“I’m not—”

“Stop it! Don’t lie. It’s over. I saw you yesterday,” she charged, stepping into the room, which reeked of cheese and tomato sauce and teenaged boy.

His mouth dropped open. “You saw what?”

“The deal go down. The two kids by the gym? The black sack.”

Dylan was shaking his head slowly, back and forth. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Do I? Then explain.”

He hesitated. Swallowed hard.

“I thought so,” she said as she felt Reno step past her and begin sniffing at the floor.

He leaned back on the bed, closed his eyes, and banged his head twice on the headboard. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

She didn’t argue.

Sighing, he said, “It’s not drugs.”

“Good.”

“No, not good.” He swallowed hard. “It’s worse.”

“How could it possibly be worse?” she asked, and he bit his lip, looked away. Obviously he didn’t want to say. For a second she thought of the two women who had been killed recently. Surely her brother wasn’t into anything like that. Her pulse started pounding in dread.

He found her gaze. Held it. His face was white as a sheet. “You can’t tell Mom.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. I promise.” She crossed her fingers.

“I hacked into the school computer system,” he admitted. “I’ve been selling tests and teacher’s notes and even . . . even fixing grades.”

“You’ve done what?”

“You heard me. I could be suspended or expelled or worse.... And you’re right, Mom and Dad would kill me.”

“Only if they found out.” The wheels were turning in her mind and her eyes narrowed as she considered all the options. “So then, what was in the bag yesterday?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Just a hard drive I fixed. I work on stuff and sell it. Refurbish it.”

“Like to who?”

“I dunno.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I just don’t want to get anyone in trouble!”

“I said I won’t tell. So who?” she demanded.

“Just some guys.”

She waited.

“Friends. Like the guys you saw me with. Ryan. And Brent, you know, he lives a couple of blocks over, and Xander.”

“You sold computer stuff to Xander?”

“Well, him and Lucas, but come on. You can’t let Mom and Dad know, Harper. It’s got to be on the down low. You promised.”

She took another step into his gross room. “Why is that a secret?” she asked. “Who would care?”

His gaze slid to the side and he let out a sigh. “Some kids don’t want their parents to know. It’s like spy equipment, or extra cameras with microphones. That sort of stuff. Not really a big deal.”

“So what about Schmidt?” she asked. “What are you doing for him?”

“Oh, geez.” He was about to clam up again but then rolled his eyes. “He needs his grades lifted in a couple of classes, before the end of the year. And he wants me to make them significant, like from a D or an F to an A. . . . I can’t do that. Someone might notice; teachers will know if they double-check. But he needs his GPA upped by too much. I told him I couldn’t do that much and he got mad. I paid him his money back, but he’s super pissed. Said it’s gonna affect him going to college or something, like he has a scholarship or his folks insisted he keep his grades up before they would pay for a four-year school or something.”