Exposed (2 page)

It was bad enough that everyone in Advanced English class turned to stare at me when Mr. Nicholson dramatically announced the title of his poem of the day, “Caged Bird,” by Maya Angelou.

To have him recite the thing while standing in front of my desk was an unjustified punishment. Hadn’t I made it to class—on time—every day for the last month? Thankfully, the poem was on the shorter side of eternal torment.

As the last word of the poem echoed in the pin-drop silence, I had to admit, Nicholson could work a crowd. He bowed at the burst of applause. “Why, thank you,
students.” He started for the front of the class, shooting me a grin over his shoulder. “Forgive me, dear Raven, I couldn’t resist.”

Well, at least he hadn’t recited Poe.

Again.

I hunched over my desk, letting my hair slip over my shoulders and shield my face from view. Blocking out the world and everyone in it.

Except for the guy up one row to my left.

He’d shifted to sit sideways in his seat as soon as Nicholson started in with the poem, resting a muscular arm along the back of his chair. Black hoodie molded to his shoulders like form-fitting armor. Dark eyes steady on mine until the shrill bell rang and the girl in front of me stood to leave, severing our contact sharply, like a knife between the ribs.

I bolted from the room. Once in the hallway, I sucked in a deep breath. Give me a dangerous late-night solo climb in the rain, and I’d be solid as a rock. But one long
look from Emmett Daniels and I lost my nerve.

Stupid high-school-girl fantasies. Where was my head? I had more important things to stress about than getting the attention of some guy. With a bit of a rebel vibe. And strong hands.

“Raven, hold up.”

And a voice that could have melted the iceberg that sank the
Titanic
. Low and gravelly and warm all at once. I felt myself slipping under the waves.

This was tragic, all right.

Kids flooded the hallway, and I took advantage of the crush of bodies to weave through the crowd, leaving Emmett looking this way and that, trying to find me in the commotion.

Our paths didn’t cross again until History in last block. By then I had a plan. A surefire way to nix Emmett’s interest and save us both some heartache. Hanging out with guys, flirting and keeping it light,
was one thing. But with Emmett things felt different. Heavy. Intense.

I had no business getting involved with a guy like that.

One who mattered.

Emmett Daniels was everything I’d ever wanted.

But his father was a cop.

A freaking
cop
.

When Emmett strode into class, his gaze quickly finding me, eyes narrowing with frustration and maybe a bit of hurt, I thought I was prepared for the fallout.

Instead, my stomach twisted with regret.

Ian Hudson, golden boy of the lacrosse team, seemed to sense my unease as I perched on his knees. The arm he’d thrown across my narrow waist tightened, and he nuzzled my ear. “Where have you been all my life?” His stage whisper drew laughs from the other students who filed
into class, watching our antics with either amused or envious stares.

Except for Emmett. Jaw clenched, he turned away from us and made for the back of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Mrs. Sennway cleared her throat. “Let’s get started, shall we?” She noticed my unusual seating arrangement and raised a brow. “If everyone could take their seats, we’ll begin with some current events.”

The class groaned as Sennway held up a newspaper clipping.

As she read the article aloud, I tried to leave Ian’s lap gracefully, but he made a show of holding me in place. In case Emmett was watching, I struggled to keep a sultry smile on my lips, all the while mentally slapping Ian upside the head.

“Let me go, Ian.” I singsonged the words just loud enough for him to hear.

“Make me.” He chuckled under his breath.

Well, he’d asked for it.

I grabbed his middle finger and reefed it backward. His knuckle popped, and with a pained yelp he set me free.

I slipped into an empty desk, unable to resist a quick glance at Emmett. He seemed to find Sennway’s article fascinating. Wow. Maybe that had really done it. Emmett had finally gotten the hint I wasn’t interested. I focused on Sennway and ignored the weird tripping of my heart. What was she saying? Something about rituals. A sense of belonging. Perpetuating mystery. Ah…I got it. The article compared the origins of secret societies with youth gangs.

Both play on an individual’s desire to belong, to have a sense of power, and to benefit from the group’s protection.

I swallowed back a curse. They made it sound so romantic. I thought of Diesel and the constant threats he faced, the demands for more product, more money, more kids to work the ring. The ones before me who’d aged out. Where had they really ended up? In college,
like I hoped I would in a few months? Or in jail?

Or dead?

The rest of the class passed in a haze. When the bell rang, I gathered up my things. Emmett dropped a torn piece of paper on my desk, then stalked down the aisle and out the door.

I stared down at the note he’d written.

My heart triple-timed.

What’s YOUR secret?

I bolted from the school. I needed to get away from Emmett’s looming presence and the niggling urge to answer his question. To share my secrets. To be honest with a guy for once in my life and see what would happen.

Hopping a bus, I shuffled to the rear exit and leaned my back against the metal bar at the edge of the narrow stairway. Music screamed in my earbuds as downtown Vancouver slipped by.

Here’s the thing. I was attending Laurier Secondary under a false last name and a sob story about moving in with my nonexistent cousin after my parents “died.”
The only reason the school had let me in without many questions? My grades. Now, I’m no genius or anything. Let’s just say my marks were good enough to boost any school’s achievement rankings.

I had mad climbing, coordination and gymnastic skills but pretended to be allergic to my own sweat in gym class to avoid being asked to join any sports teams. And while other kids were working at the Cineplex, doling out popcorn and sodas, my part-time job was scaling buildings and stealing cars.

Then there was the big daddy of all secrets, which I’d kept from Diesel for over a year. I didn’t spend my share of our take on clothes like he thought I did—I just shopped at consignment stores, scooping up designer labels at bargain-bin prices so he’d think I frittered my money away. As if a stellar wardrobe was more important than sheer survival. No, I’d done the impossible. Put one over on Diesel and invested in my very own personal escape plan.

I don’t know how long I rode that bus, but I’d made it through my playlist several times. The afternoon sun had faded to dusk. Seeing a few familiar landmarks, I reached up and pulled the cord. Soon the bus eased to a stop, and then I was striding smoothly down the street, keen to reach my destination.

And there it was. My secret, my escape plan. A fully functional, if slightly weathered, forty-foot fishing trawler turned liveaboard, moored in a marina steps from downtown Vancouver.

So Emmett’s note about my secret simply had me asking, Which freaking one?

Still, none of this—the note, his attempts to get me to talk with him—would have happened if I had kept focused on my goal. My mission to blend, to be just another girl on the fringe of all things. Noticed, perhaps, but not sought out. Not needed by anyone. Or wanted.

Until Emmett and that weirdly addictive kiss in the school library. Right there in
the stacks between the automotive-repair manuals and the encyclopedias. Up to then, Emmett and I had been skirting around each other, testing boundaries. But in those few amazing seconds, the world had shifted under my feet.

No matter how hard I tried to get back to where I was before the kiss, Emmett was determined to keep me off-kilter. Not good. Especially when I needed my head in the game. Diesel was counting on me.

And so was Supersize.

All these conflicting emotions made my muscles twitch. I needed some distance, some perspective. I needed to move. To work off some tension. In seconds I was halfway up the brick facade of the nearest three-story building, a smile of exhilaration on my lips.

From here all my worries seemed smaller. So small they could be tucked away in my pocket and forgotten, like empty candy wrappers that would someday just slip away unnoticed. Clouds drifted
high above buildings, cars, and people scurrying down sidewalks. Ginormous cotton balls in a silent march to the sea. Boats moored along the marina swayed with the breeze and the waves kicked up by a passing ferry. Bonaparte’s gulls, gray-and-white bodies with dark masked faces, swooped low, buzzing and cawing into the wind. The bandits of the skies.

How I envied them their ability to soar above the world and all its madness. All the lies, fights and epic tragedies. The guys like Diesel, in over their heads and sinking fast. Kids like me, trapped in a life we didn’t ask for but were making the most of. We were the same, all of us, as the bird in the poem Nicholson had recited. Caged in the what-ifs and if-onlys of our lives, unable to do more than sing about freedom.

I made it to the roof and let out a breath. Huh, wouldn’t Nicholson be thrilled to know he had me getting all lofty and philosophical? Time to go before I lost complete touch with reality.

How to get down? Back the way I came or…no…the fire-escape ladder would do just fine. Faster and more fun.

I climbed over the wall and stepped down onto the second rung. I pulled the cuffs of my hoodie to cover my palms, cupped the outside of the railing with the inside arch of my cross trainers and let myself slide down the rest of the way. My descent—a blur of speed, but light and controlled. A foot from the ground, I pushed off the rail and landed. Feet planted firmly, bent knees absorbing the impact.

The shocked face of a guy about Supersize’s age filled my vision. Bony shoulders, thin frame. He’d been limping along, but my dramatic entrance on the sidewalk made him come to a full stop.

“Having fun?” he asked. His voice surprisingly high-pitched.

“Time of my life.” I paused, taking in the guy’s fine features, the flash of something in his dark eyes. Panic? Desperation? Charged from the climb but
craving more action, I spun on my heel and started down the sidewalk in a light jog. Whatever his trouble, I had enough of my own. Besides, he looked like he’d live to fight the good fight yet another day.

Not everyone was so lucky.

A few minutes later I hopped onto the deck of
Big Daddy
—
AKA
my secret hideaway that could someday be a lifesaving getaway—my own houseboat. I turned on the sink faucet and poured a steady stream of water into a small potted plant I’d named Charlie. I had a thing about that plant. Diesel was allergic to pets and plants alike. This little green mass with its bright yellow blooms was the only living thing I’d been able to care for and call my own. The boat was my ticket to freedom. If things got too hairy with Diesel, I’d simply untie the lines and go.

In theory.

But there were more than a few ropes holding me to Diesel. He’d taken me off the streets. Given me a roof over my head
and a job to do, and surrounded me with people I considered family. I wouldn’t leave him in the lurch. Not when there was a price on his head if he didn’t keep the suits happy. And if Supersize wasn’t ready to take on my usual duties, I’d have to stay.

Screw Sennway and her dinner-by-five, in-bed-by-nine high-school-teacher view of why kids stay in gangs. This wasn’t just looking for a place to belong. This was family. And family was everything—especially when you didn’t have one of your own.

Or you did.

But they chose drugs over you long ago.

Later that night I was in the thick of it with my “family,” but I wasn’t feeling the love. In fact, I was feeling a lot like a glorified evil-crime nanny. One whose charges were being troublesome because they were actually behaving properly.

We didn’t need proper. We needed more product. Diesel had sent two teams out, pitting us against each other in a “bit of friendly competition”—winners would have two nights of freedom. Kat was heading up the other team, and I had to admit Diesel’s plan was working.

I wanted to win. I could do a lot in two nights of no reporting back to the shop.
Make sure my boat was stocked with supplies. Wrap my head around what I was going to do about Emmett.

But winning meant bringing in the best haul. My crew had been scouting the dark streets of a run-down residential area on the edge of the city center, and so far we hadn’t bagged a single set of wheels.

“What is wrong with you guys?” I placed my hands on my hips. “You heard Diesel. Our average three cars a night isn’t enough. Not anymore. Anything with a decent engine is a target at this point. And you four”—I nodded to Supersize and the three guys standing around him—“will stick to the houses. Get in, grab what you can, get out.”

“This is bull.” Supersize hunched his shoulders. “I should be shadowing you, not back on break-ins.”

I sighed. We’d been over this already. “Look, you started with houses. It’s what you’re best at”—I spoke over Supersize’s mulish expression—“right
now
. You wanted
to take on some leadership roles, young man.” I grinned. “Here’s your chance to show your boys how it’s done.” Turning to face the others, I gave the order to move. “All right, let’s do this.”

Supersize grudgingly led his crew into the night, while the three kids I’d pegged for car duty slipped off in different directions. In seconds we’d fanned out over the entire sleepy neighborhood like a pack of hungry coyotes.

Around the corner, a cul-de-sac beckoned. I’d sidled up to a purple PT Cruiser when a flash of movement caught my eye. Which one of my crew was being that obvious? I crept closer to get a better look. The kid hovered under a floodlight beaming down from a garage door.

Deer in the headlights.

Wait a minute. That wasn’t anyone from the warehouse. It was the kid I’d almost flattened on the sidewalk earlier in the day. The one who looked like trouble was his only friend. I shook my head.
This wasn’t going to end well. He strode right up the sidewalk to the front door and pulled out…was that some kind of lockpick? Using my well-earned stealth, I moved across the lawn and was at his back in a heartbeat.

“Are you totally stupid?” I asked.

The guy whirled around. I squinted down at him—hard. No way. He wasn’t a he; he was a
she
. Long hair had come loose from under the girl’s baseball cap. I was surprised I’d fallen for such an obvious ploy, but then, simple was sometimes most effective.

“What the—how did you get here?”

“With my feet, newb.”

“An urban climber walking? Shouldn’t you be swinging from a web?”

“That’s Spider-Man.”

“This can’t be a coincidence.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Are you following me? What do you want?”

“Watching grass grow would be more interesting than following you. Anyway,
don’t be stupid. It’s a prime neighborhood. Why wouldn’t we both end up here? It’s got choice pickings.”

“Fine. Go away.”

“What are you doing?”

“Setting up for a game of checkers. What does it look like?”

“Looks like you’re getting ready to get arrested for attempted
B
and
E
.” I paused. “That’s breaking and entering.”

“Yeah, I managed to puzzle that one out.”

“So? What’s going on?”

“None of your business.”

“It is if you get us caught.” I came up the steps.

“Us?” The girl looked around. “You have a team looting the houses here?”

Well, she had a brain that worked part of the time at least. “Did you even check to see if the house is alarmed?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“You are if you’re breaking in through the front door.”

“Thanks for the tip, but you notice the trees cover me. Go away.” She pushed past me, stepped down the stairs and headed to the back door.

“You don’t have any bags. No car.”

“No wonder you’re a climber. Talk about eagle eyes.”

“Spotted your sorry attempt to play cat burglar from a hundred feet, didn’t I?”

She didn’t say anything.

I sighed. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Why?”

“’Cause if I don’t, you’ll ruin the neighborhood for the rest of us. I’ll give you a signal if anyone comes your way.”

“What’s the signal?”

“Me screaming, ‘Run!’”

That made her laugh. “Fair enough.”

We got to the back, and it took her ten seconds to open the door. “See?”

I shrugged. Yeah, she’d gotten in, but her technique was sloppy. “I’m beside myself, I’m so impressed.”

We stepped into the quiet house. The girl totally ignored the flat-screen, the surround sound. She just kept scanning. This wasn’t a random job. She knew what she was after.

“You’re lucky they don’t have an alarm system,” I said. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket. Members of my team were moving out. “Hey!” I prompted. “You sightseeing or shopping?”

“Stay here. Watch the door.” The girl pulled out a flashlight and strode into the kitchen. She waved the thing around enough to bring on a seizure. Why did I always take on the underdogs? Then she aimed the beam at the living room.

“Get what you need,” I said through my teeth, “and get out.”

She jumped at the sound of my voice. “I thought you were keeping watch.”

“You seem like you need supervision.” I moved to the fridge and opened the door. “Geez. There are enough meds in here to start a pharmacy.” I leaned in and
read the name on a prescription label. “Dollie Sharma.”

“Close the door—you’re letting out the light.”

“I’m hungry.” I pulled a soda from the door. “And thirsty.”

“Got it.” The girl stuffed a laptop into her bag as she bolted for the kitchen door.

“All that for a laptop?” I followed.

“It’s what’s inside that counts.”

“According to you and Big Bird.”

“Thanks for your help—if I can call it that…”

“Raven. My name’s Raven. And you can call it whatever you want,” I said as I closed the refrigerator door. “Just be smarter next time.” I stopped and glanced around the kitchen. Going to a pad of paper, I scribbled my number, then handed it to her.

She took the paper. “Yeah. Right.”

We walked to the front of the house. I took off, heading to Salter Street to meet up with the crew.