Lies I Told(23)

Logan turned to me. “You’re not one of those girls who never eats, are you?”

I laughed. “Definitely not.”

“Great. Let’s eat, then.”

He held out his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and when I took it, it kind of was.

We got plates of food, and I slipped off my shoes as we sat on one of the ledges built into the patio. The grass was cool and moist under my bare feet, the breeze soft and scented with jasmine. Looking around, watching everyone laughing and talking, I felt strangely content. I was surprised by how low-key it was: Logan’s father working the grill, his mother perfectly at ease hosting fifty people with no catering help at all.

“I get the feeling your brother doesn’t like me much,” Logan said, setting aside his plate.

I shook my head. “Parker’s just . . . moody.”

Logan seemed to think about it. “I can see that. He seemed so laid-back when we went surfing, but today . . .”

“He had a great time surfing with you guys,” I said. “He told me so.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s just protective.”

“Why does he feel like he has to be protective around me?”

Because he doesn’t like the idea of our parents using me to steal your dad’s gold. Because he is one of very few people in the whole world who care if I live or die. Because he’s the only one—other than my parents—who knows how hurt I’ve been, and he wants to protect me from ever being hurt like that again.

But I couldn’t say any of it, so I spoke the other truth instead. The one I’d only barely begun admitting to myself. “I think he knows how much I like you.”

“You do?”

I immediately regretted the confession. “Well, I guess I don’t know you that well. But I’d like to know more.” I laughed. “If that makes any sense.”

His smile was slow, reaching his eyes bit by bit. He reached for my hand. “It makes perfect sense.”

His fingers fit just right around mine, like they were meant to go together. Like I’d been crisscrossing the country, trying out different states and different schools and different last names, just to make my way to him.

“Logan!”

We turned around, following the sound of his mother’s voice from the patio.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Can you bring some more soda in from the garage?”

“Yep!” He turned to look at me. “You’ll be okay?”

“Of course,” I said. “Is it cool if I take a look around while you’re gone? It’s so beautiful here.”

“Definitely. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

He took our empty plates and made his way up the terrace.

I scanned the property. Investigating the house was out. No one was inside, and I’d only just met the Fairchilds today. It would be too suspicious.

The grounds, however, were fair game, and I crossed the lawn and stepped onto the gravel pathway, following it toward the roofline I’d seen through the trees. I passed the grass where we’d played badminton and continued to the side of the property until I came to a narrow drive that seemed to run from the front of the house all the way to the end of the yard.

The trees and bushes were less pruned as I got farther away from the main house, and I reached out a hand, running it over the trailing shrubs and vines that lined the drive, feeling the silky petals of the bougainvillea under my palms. The air grew cooler, the sun blocked out by the trees overhead. I made note of the cameras spaced every twenty feet in the trees and of the gravel, noisy under my feet.

All things we needed to know.

The thought of it made me feel sick. I didn’t want to think about conning Logan and his family, stealing from them, disappearing without an explanation. But wishing things were different didn’t change anything.

I knew that better than most people.

An aging outbuilding rose through the trees at the end of the path. It looked like an old carriage house, with sliding doors and peeling white paint.

I glanced up at the roofline, scanning it for cameras. There was one in the eaves, aimed at the entrance of the carriage house. I made a point to look around, wanting to seem casually curious to anyone who might be monitoring the camera feed.

From the outside, it didn’t look promising as a potential hiding spot for Warren Fairchild’s gold. Situated by itself in the middle of the trees, there was no space between walls or other structures for a panic room or safe.

I looked at the sliding doors. The camera made me nervous about going inside, but Logan had given me permission to take a look around. It might be the only chance I’d have to see it without raising suspicion. Besides, this was why Parker and I were so integral to the cons. People might suspect a teenager of sneaking off to make out, of stealing lip gloss from a department store or vandalizing something just for the fun of it. But no one ever suspected us of pulling the kind of jobs that were our specialty. Parker and I made it possible for our parents to blend in with other families. To join school fund-raisers and committees, to snoop around sprawling mansions during barbecues and birthday parties.

Or have us do the snooping for them.

The smell of dirt, old wood, and mildew assaulted my nose as I stepped inside. I looked around: the far reaches of the building were shrouded in darkness, dust motes shimmering in a single beam of sunlight working its way through the open door. Old windows were stacked against the uninsulated walls, sunlight leaking in through cracks in the wood siding. It was both serene and a little spooky. I was standing there, giving my eyes time to adjust to the dimness, when I heard footsteps behind me.