Overture (North Security, #1)(27)

Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to understand the severity of the situation. His lip twitches as if he’s holding back a laugh. “Seriously grumpy man?”

“You’re like a bear who’s been woken up from hibernation.”

“Maybe,” he allows. “But I have a reason to be concerned about you.”

“That’s why you freaked out about us going to the club?”

“Well, that and the fact that you’re not eighteen yet. Where did you get fake IDs?”

“Look… I have to tell you something about the club.” Nighttime is made for confidences, and I have the irrepressible urge to confide in him. Maybe it will become my downfall, trusting Liam. I have to try. “That man—”

“Criminal,” Liam corrects gently.

“It wasn’t random that I met him there. I went there to find him, so that I could—”

“I know exactly why you went there.”

My mouth snaps shut. “Excuse me?”

“You obviously were looking to lose your virginity.”

Shock steals my breath, so I can only stare at him in bewildered horror. After a moment I’m suffused with outrage. “And what makes you so sure about that?”

“I understand,” he says, with what appears to be sympathy. “You’re clearly experiencing a spike in hormones. Maybe even still suffering from some late stage puberty.”

I stare at him in undiluted horror. I’m over here thinking about love and sex, about protecting my friend, about a new beginning. And he thinks I’m having hormones.

“Samantha,” he says gently.

“No, you’re probably right. Hormones. Puberty.”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

I’m embarrassed and horrified and most of all, so sad I could cry. Tears prick my eyes. Anger rushes through my veins in a heavy beat. Maybe I actually am experiencing hormones, but that doesn’t mean what I feel for him isn’t real. “Good night.”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN





The violin was considered the leader of the orchestra before conductors became common.


SAMANTHA

In some ways Liam North was an indulgent guardian. He would spend two hundred thousand dollars on a violin. He persuaded an infamous violin teacher to move to Kingston so that I could visit him once a week. There were an endless supply of books and music. I always had the latest model phone, some before they were released to the public due to his connections at the major tech companies.

In other ways Liam was the strictest guardian.

My transient existence as a diplomat’s daughter had given me its own education. I knew how to barter for fish in an Indonesian market and how to counter the early signs of frostbite, but I couldn’t name most of the states. School, he decided. Not private tutors. Not correspondence courses. I should attend an ordinary school with ordinary classes. I’m not sure how ordinary it is to be driven every day by an armed guard in a limo, but St. Agnes did give me a normal experience.

As normal as you can be when the tuition costs thirty thousand a year.

“You ready?” Laney murmurs.

I’m fiddling with the Bunsen burner, nudging the beaker with my tongs. According to Mr. Washington there should be precipitate once the molecules get hot enough to release the sodium. “I’m ready to be done with this experiment.”

“Forget about the experiment.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re going into finals with a ninety-nine.” Laney is freakishly smart, which means she can get straight As without even paying attention. Meanwhile I can’t figure out whether I missed something crucial not going to elementary school or whether I’m just naturally terrible at chemistry. If these were sheep intestines that needed to be stretched, if I needed to figure out the precise frequency of a note, I could muster up some interest.

Impatient, Laney taps the beaker. A small pile of white powder appears at the bottom. “We should be grateful he agreed to meet us here.”

“Seriously?” I mutter, writing down my findings in the lab notebook. “I know that, but I still don’t know how we’re going to get past the hall monitors.”

St. Agnes could pass for a high-security prison. Every school shooting that happens somewhere in the country is another excuse for them to add metal detectors and cameras—all of it expensive. It makes doing something as simple as skipping class a tactical maneuver worthy of North Security. Luckily I have the daughter of one of the greatest strategists for a partner.

She pulls a key card from her pocket, letting me see it for only a brief moment before slipping it back into her navy blue sweater. “Simple.”

I stare at her, incredulous. “You stole Mr. Washington’s security pass?”

“Don’t freak out. He’s always losing his pass, so much that the secretary at the front office keeps an extra one for him in her desk.”

“What happens when she sees that it’s gone?”

“That won’t be for days. We’re going to graduate next week.”

I’m simultaneously impressed and horrified at how casually my friend has broken the rules. “You realize we’re upgrading from breaking school rules to illegal activity, right?”