Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(31)

The only one of those country codes I knew for sure was Switzerland: CH. We’d learned about International Bank Account Numbers, or IBANs, in one of my international finance classes. All of the examples in our textbook had involved Swiss numbered accounts. I needed to get back to the library tomorrow, so I could do more research. I needed the other country codes. There was no telling what kind of encryption my father’s twisted mind might have deemed necessary, but at least I had a clue about some of the contents of the book. There were several paragraphs of letters and numbers that had way too many characters to be account numbers, but those could wait.

Hope blossomed within me. I might really be able to figure this out. And if I didn’t … well, the stakes just got higher, and the consequences of taking the book became severer. I was withholding real, vital evidence. I should have turned the damn thing over to the FBI as soon as I’d found it. But I couldn’t change that now. My year of silence would equate to a year of guilt in the eyes of the feds. So I had to be smart. I had to get the information where it needed to go without letting them figure out it was coming from me. Anything less, and I’d probably either find myself in prison or protective custody—neither of which worked for me.


But I wasn’t going to borrow trouble just yet. First, I needed to solve the cipher, and then I’d worry about how to deliver the information.

If I could pull this off—really pull this off—I might have a chance at a semi-normal life. And that life could possibly include Simon. Except, even if I were able to wash away the worst of my father’s sins, when the dust all settled, did we really have a shot at a future? One that was out in the open, in front of cameras and God and everyone? I didn’t see how that was possible. I’d still be a liability to his political ambitions.

But there had to be some middle ground.

And I would find it.

I just had to break the damn code first.





When my mother asked why Charlie hadn’t joined us for our family dinner on Friday night, I’d told her the truth: Charlie had to work. What I didn’t mention was I hadn’t invited her. I hadn’t wanted Charlie to be subjected to my parents’ interrogation tactics and spend the entire evening helping her awkwardly dodge every question. Because I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t give a straight answer to any of them.

It was starting to piss me off. How could I ever really get to know someone who wouldn’t share even the most basic information? I didn’t know how old Charlie was, where she was from, if she’d gone to college, why she was keeping a low profile, or any of the hundred other things I wanted to know about her. The discussion that had started in the parking lot of Jack’s clinic had never been finished.

I hadn’t pushed it for the same reason I hadn’t invited her to dinner.

The most screwed up part: I didn’t need to know any of those things to start to fall for her. The little I did know was enough. I’d kept our interactions over the last week fairly casual, but even with all of the unknowns, one thing had become very clear: I wanted her. I wanted whatever it was we were still figuring out. And I was done with casual.

I’d had six solid nights of sleep without nightmares. I was far from “cured,” but I was taking those six nights as a victory. I was being selfish, but I didn’t want to sleep alone tonight. Spending the night with Charlie would be taking a huge risk, and I hoped it didn’t burn me. Or her. I knew I should wait, but the urge to try was stronger. If she showed any hesitation though, I’d back off.

Forks clinked against china as I tuned back into the dinner conversation my parents were having. I was happy my active participation was not required.

“You absolutely will not be trying to climb on the boat until at least a month after your surgery! I forbid it.”

“Don’t be absurd, Maggie. I’ll be fine.”

I added my two cents to give the appearance of paying attention. “Why don’t you just wait and see how you’re feeling? I’m sure your body is going to tell you what you can and can’t do.”

“Nice of you to join the discussion, Simon. But you can stay out of it if you’re not on my side.” My mother shot me an annoyed glare as she reached for her wine.

My father chuckled. “Gotta love a woman with spirit. Speaking of which, your mother mentioned that she met a young lady in your kitchen the other morning. I understand she’s working this evening, but I’d like to know when I’ll have the pleasure of meeting her as well.”

I curbed the urge to shove a giant forkful of poached salmon into my mouth. “Probably not until after you’re back from Maine. She’s very busy.”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a receptionist and works as part of the sales staff at a boutique.” I cringed inwardly. I didn’t know why I’d felt the sudden need to pretty up what Charlie did. Because I didn’t give a shit. I cleared my throat and clarified. “At a tattoo parlor and a vintage clothing store in the Quarter.”

My father’s fork clanked loudly on his plate as it slid from his grip.

“I could have guessed the tattoo parlor part. She does have quite the collection. And her hair was quite fun as well. Black and red and purple, wasn’t it?” My mother kept eating as if this revelation was as mundane as the weather. I could’ve kissed her.