Wired

  “What if there isn’t one?”

  “There’s always a weakness,” she insisted. “I just need to find it.”

  “When are you going to start?”

  “I have to drive to Emerson tomorrow, and I won’t get back until late. Then Sunday I have to finish a paper on algorithms. We don’t have class Monday, so that’s when I’ll start.”

  He parked in front of her house and handed her his card. It just had his name and a cell phone number. “You can get hold of me anytime, night or day. I’ll pick you up Monday morning at eight.”

  “Why?”

  “To drive you to the cyber unit. Phillips is insisting that you work there.”

  “But that’s crazy. All I need is my laptop.”

  “You’re going to be testing CSA security. He wants you in his unit.”

  “What does he think I’ll do at home? Invite people over to watch me?”

  He didn’t argue the point. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “Meaning, we’re through discussing this.”

  “That’s right.”

  He walked her to her door and patiently waited by her side while she dug through her purse, looking for her house key. She kept handing him things to hold while she searched, and by the time she finally found the key, he held her billfold, her sunglasses, a striped zipper bag, three pens, and a cell phone. She stuffed them all back in her purse.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “How long do you think it will take?” he asked.

  “No time at all. Once I insert the key and turn it, the door will open.” She saw his expression and began to laugh. He looked as though he wanted to shake her. “You don’t have a sense of humor, do you?”

  “Sure, I do. Now answer the question. How long do you think it will take to get into the CSA?”

  “I can work pretty fast,” she answered with a wry smile as she walked inside and closed the door.

  Liam walked back to the car with the image of her smile still on his mind. Letting out a low whistle, he shook his head. “She’s gonna be trouble.”

  NINE

  Emerson was a charming little town with rolling hills, double-wide streets, and weathered clapboard houses that didn’t sit on top of one another. Allison’s aunt and uncle lived on Baltimore Street. The two-story house sat on a corner lot with a spectacular view of Summer Park. The huge red elm in the front yard was in desperate need of a good trim. One of the thick branches draped over part of the roof. A disaster waiting to happen, Allison thought as she pulled into the driveway.

  The couple had moved into the house right after they were married thirty-some years ago and, except for some repairs now and then, hadn’t changed a thing in all that while. The hardwood floors were dull and worn, and the variegated gold shag carpet in the den was threadbare. The kitchen still had the same dark oak cabinets and Formica countertops, and the old linoleum tiles still made a checkerboard on the floor.

  Allison could feel her stomach twisting into knots. After she took a couple of deep breaths, she got up the courage to open the car door.

  Will must have spotted her from the window. He stepped out onto the porch and waved to her. Okay, he was in what he must consider his charming mood. Better than angry, she thought. Then she noticed he had a beer in his hand. It wasn’t even noon yet, and he was already drinking. She didn’t think he was drunk, though, because he wasn’t staggering around. Usually when he was drunk he was belligerent, and he didn’t appear to be scowling . . . at least not yet. Women found him attractive, but Allison couldn’t understand why. Those same women had certainly never seen him go into one of his fits. He wasn’t so handsome when he was sneering and screaming and throwing punches because he wasn’t getting his way.

  Why was he at his parents’ house? Had he also been summoned? Or had he been kicked out of the apartment they had rented for him? She walked up the steps to face him. He looked haggard. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles under his eyes. If he kept up his twisted lifestyle, she expected him to be dead before he turned thirty-five. The thought saddened her. There was still time to turn his life around, if he was willing . . . and if he could get away from his smothering parents.

  Up close she could see he’d been drinking for a while. He wasn’t tanked, but he was getting there. She wondered when he’d started or if this was just a continuation from partying the night before.

  He wasn’t much for proper greetings. He took a drink of his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, “My mother snaps her fingers and you come running.”

  Allison wasn’t offended, and she wasn’t going to let him bait her into an argument. “No, Will. She calls and calls and calls until I give in and do what she wants.”

  “She makes you feel guilty.” He laughed after stating the obvious.

  “Yes, she does,” she admitted. “Why are you here?”

  “I want a new lawyer.”

  “Then get a new one.”

  “My lazy-ass lawyer says it won’t matter how many lawyers I hire. None of them can get the charges reduced. You know what happened, don’t you?”

  She shook her head. She knew what he was going to tell her, though. None of what happened was his fault.

  “I really got screwed,” he said. “I’m the one who was attacked at the bar. I didn’t start the fight. I just protected myself. I mean, I should, right? I should be able to protect myself.”

  He looked at her expectantly, waiting for sympathy. She wouldn’t give him any. “Were there witnesses?”

  “Yes, but they aren’t on my side. If it goes to trial, they’ll lie under oath. Just you watch and see.”

  While Allison didn’t know any of the particulars, she guessed this time Will wasn’t going to be able to find a way out. “Do you want it to go to trial?”

  “My lawyer says it would be a mistake to take it to trial. He wants me to take the deal they’re offering.”

  His face was turning red, and she could see the anger washing over him. She wasn’t sure if she should continue asking him questions for fear of adding fuel to the fire.

  “Don’t you want to know what was offered?” he asked. Antagonistic now, he glared at her.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Five to seven years, Allison. I’d get seven years, but with good behavior, I could get out as early as five years.”

  Good behavior? Then it was going to be seven long years, she thought, because there was no way Will could keep his temper controlled that long. He didn’t know how.

  “What happens if you decide to go to trial?”

  “According to my useless lawyer, I could get twice as long. Now do you understand why I need a new lawyer? One of those high-priced big shots who knows how to manipulate the law. That’s what I need.”

  “Do you think a new lawyer could keep you out of prison?”

  “Yes, of course I do, if he knows what he’s doing. Don’t you agree?”

  She nodded. She was determined to placate him, no matter what. Debating him would only incite his anger.

  “Are you on my side or not?” he asked.

  “I don’t want you to go to prison,” she said, giving him an evasive answer.

  Allison wondered if he would ever face reality. She knew there had to be more to the story than he was telling. A bar fight didn’t usually bring such harsh charges, did it? Unless someone was seriously injured, or unless the prosecutor could prove that there was an established pattern of behavior. How many fights had Will started? Probably more than he could remember.

  “I guess I’d better go inside and find out why I was summoned,” she said as she climbed the steps.

  She already knew the reason her aunt had called her, of course. If Will wanted a new, more expensive lawyer, then, by God, he was getting one, which meant his parents needed help coming up with the mo
ney.

  On the drive to Emerson, Allison had played out the impending scene with her aunt and uncle in her head. She had witnessed it so many times in the past she could practically recite the dialogue by heart. In the end, her aunt would play the gratitude card and expect her to cave. Something was different this time, though. Maybe it was seeing Will at the end of his rope. Maybe Allison had reached the end of hers. Regardless of the reason, she knew what she had to do.

  Her hand on the doorknob, she paused, then turned back to Will. “This is the last time I’ll be coming back here.”

  He acted as though he hadn’t heard her. “I’m scared,” he blurted. “This could be bad. I swear, if I get out of this, I’m going to change. I know I’ve said that before, but I mean it this time. I want to go back to college and finish. I can’t go to prison.” A look of panic crossed his face, and there was a pathetic whine in his voice when he said, “I just can’t. I wouldn’t last a week.”

  Will looked so tormented, she almost felt pity for him. Was this finally the wake-up call he needed? Or was she being naive once more? Charlotte had told her again and again not to believe anything Will said. He was a habitual liar and would do or say anything to get what he wanted. Allison had fought against becoming that cynical. She wanted to believe that people were basically good even though life’s lessons wore them down. She also wanted to believe in second chances, but how many chances had Will already had to turn his life around?

  Despite her determination to turn away, she heard herself say, “Will, you know I’ll help you if I can.”

  “I know.”

  “You might want to stay out here while I talk to your parents. It’s not going to be pleasant.” She didn’t explain further. She guessed he’d hear his parents bellowing soon enough and get the gist of the conversation. Bracing herself for the inevitable fight ahead of her, she opened the door and went inside.

  Her aunt and uncle were sitting across from each other at the dining room table.

  They hadn’t heard her come in, and as she stood there in the entry hall looking at them, her mind flashed back to that day all those years ago when she and Charlotte sat next to each other, holding hands, at this very table.

  It was the week after the worst week of their young lives. They had been at home with a babysitter when the knock on the door came and they were told their mother and father had been in a terrible accident. Allison didn’t remember much about the rest of that week. It was all a blur of people coming and going, neighbors stepping forward to make sure she and Charlotte were not left alone, a huge church full of people wearing black, she and her sister sitting in a big black car in a line of black cars, the whispers What about the girls? Where will they go? and Charlotte crying. The clearest memory she had was of Charlotte. No matter how Allison had tried, she couldn’t get Charlotte to stop crying. Allison felt sad, but she was too young to comprehend death. She kept waiting for her mother and father to come home.

  Reality began to sink in when Aunt Jane and Uncle Russell came to take the girls to their house. Allison knew her aunt and uncle, but not well. She had seen them only a few times. Charlotte later told her it was because her father and her uncle had not gotten along. Allison could understand. Her father was a gregarious and kind man. Uncle Russell seemed sour and detached, and he had married a woman who was domineering and never satisfied. Their son, Will, was a brat.

  Allison and Charlotte hadn’t even taken off their coats before Aunt Jane told them to sit down at the dining room table. There were a few things she and Uncle Russell needed to make clear. The first was how lucky the girls were to have an aunt and uncle willing to take them in. If they hadn’t stepped up, she said, the girls would have been placed in foster care. Allison didn’t know what foster care was, but the way her aunt said the words made her imagine some sort of dark and scary dungeon where they would be chained up and fed scraps of rancid food. The second thing her aunt told them was how much of a burden this was going to be, not only for her and Uncle Russell, but also for Will. They were not a wealthy family, after all, but they were willing to make a sacrifice for the girls out of love and respect for their dear dead parents. In return, the girls were expected to be well behaved and hardworking.

  Uncle Russell then showed them to the small room she and Charlotte were to share. The walls were painted a drab tan, and there were no curtains, just aluminum blinds covering the windows. The furnishings were sparse: two twin beds with a nightstand between them and a tall dresser on the opposite wall. This was nothing like her pink-and-white bedroom at home with the matching polka-dot curtains and bedspread. Charlotte sat down on her bed and began to weep, but Allison was too relieved to cry. Anything was better than going to that “foster” place. If Uncle Russell and Aunt Jane were willing to let them stay here, she would do her very best to make them happy. She never wanted them to regret giving her a place to live.

  She had been on that mission ever since. Until today. She had had enough.

  Her uncle sat hunched over the table with a notepad in front of him, and next to it was a tall glass filled with an amber-colored liquid she knew was his favorite whiskey. He was using a small calculator to add numbers Aunt Jane was reading to him. Uncle Russell was much younger than he looked. Years of alcohol abuse and stress had taken a toll on him. These days, it seemed to Allison he was angry all the time. He was mean drunk and mean sober, but as long as she agreed with whatever he told her to do, there weren’t any arguments or threats. In the past she had always tried to humor him. It was so much easier to get along and do what he demanded than to argue. Her aunt had told her that her uncle lost his job when the company he worked for decided to downsize, but a couple of years ago she had overheard an argument and known then she’d been told a lie. Her aunt had been screaming at Allison’s uncle, dredging up all his past sins, and in the litany was the reminder that he wouldn’t have been fired if he hadn’t been drinking on the job. The fight had been a real blowout. Even Allison’s headphones couldn’t block the noise. She heard her aunt say he was lucky there hadn’t been sufficient documentation for firing him so the union could force the company to give him a pension. Allison guessed it was easier to pay him off than to take the matter to court. Easier and cheaper.

  Her aunt Jane wasn’t a shrinking violet by any means. She drank, but not nearly as much as Uncle Russell, and over the years she had perfected the art of looking trod upon. At home she wore her long-suffering weariness like a wrap around her shoulders; however, when there was a fight, she was the far more aggressive and caustic of the two.

  They were a complete contradiction when they were out. If a couple could have a split personality, they were the perfect specimens. It was almost as though they were channeling Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. In public Uncle Russell was funny and sociable; at home he was belligerent and sullen, the degree depending on the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. To strangers, Aunt Jane was outgoing, even friendly. It was almost incomprehensible how these two could present such a different portrayal of themselves—locked in a horribly dysfunctional marriage and seemingly miserable at home, and yet the life of the party everywhere else.

  Had they always been this awful? Allison couldn’t remember. Her sister protected her from most of the ugliness until Allison was old enough to fend for herself. She didn’t know what she would have done without her. Charlotte had held things together, but several years earlier she finally reached her limit and severed all ties with their relatives. It was Oliver who convinced her to do it.

  Charlotte met Oliver on her first day of college. She had been awarded a music scholarship because of her talent with the flute, which she had taken up in high school. She had a natural gift for the instrument, but it had also become her escape. When things became too stressful in the house, Charlotte would retreat to the bedroom she shared with Allison and play her flute. The lilting sound took her to a peaceful and calm place, away from the turmoil outside her doo
r. The flute also gave her a future.

  Oliver was working on his law degree and happened on one particular afternoon in September to be passing through the music department building, taking a shortcut to the library, when he heard a beautiful melody coming from a small auditorium. Intrigued, he stopped to look through the open door and saw Charlotte standing on the stage playing the flute in front of a small gathering of students. He was so mesmerized he took a seat in the back row and listened, and when the session was over, he followed her into the hall and introduced himself.

  Oliver and Charlotte had been dating only six months when they announced they were getting married. Allison feared she’d said yes to the first man who had asked her just to get away from the constant fighting. She understood her sister’s need to break free, but she worried that Charlotte was too young and was behaving rashly. In hindsight, Allison could see that it was the best decision her sister ever made. Oliver was perfect for her. He loved the same things Charlotte did, and more important, he was a good and caring man. After graduation he worked in Boston, and then when Charlotte finished her degree, the two of them moved to Seattle, Oliver’s hometown. He took a well-paying job with a prestigious law firm, and Charlotte became a member of the philharmonic. They now lived in a beautiful home in a suburb by the bay and were very happy.

  While they were still living in Boston, Charlotte and Oliver had tried to maintain a cordial relationship with her aunt and uncle for Allison’s sake, but it was difficult. Each time they visited them, Oliver saw how it affected his wife. They would be in the house for less than a minute and the criticisms would begin. Charlotte would try to be respectful and accommodating, but by the time they were on their way home, she would be so beaten down Oliver barely recognized her.

  The breaking point came the day they stopped by to deliver a birthday gift to Aunt Jane. Birthdays were never grand celebrations, at least not for Allison and Charlotte. Will, on the other hand, was treated like a crown prince on his birthday. And when it came to their aunt and uncle, Charlotte and Allison were expected to show a due amount of appreciation. The only reason Charlotte continued to remember her aunt’s and uncle’s birthdays after she had moved away was to keep the peace. Allison was still in high school at this point, and Charlotte didn’t want to cause any dissension that would make things worse for her sister.