“Lizzie, isn’t it obvious that your mom… did something?” Sean says impatiently. “That she’s behind this? I mean, look at this place.” He gestures toward the walls. “She’s been watching you three, and now, on the day you were going to expose her secrets, suddenly, she, Ella, and Betsey are gone. There’s no way she isn’t involved.”
“Maybe,” I say, unable to picture Mom forcing Ella and Betsey to go somewhere with her… without me. I shake off the thought.
“The only thing I can think to do is follow the tracker,” I say, standing up from the desk with purpose. I start unplugging Mom’s laptop to take with me, so I’ll be able to see where they stop. If they’re already in Nevada, they have to be on a plane. I stuff the computer, a power cord, and the Internet cable into a bag I find leaning against Mom’s desk, then finally, I look up at Sean. He’s watching me with an expression so serious my heart jumps. He doesn’t have to say what he’s thinking.
“You’ll get in trouble,” I protest without fire.
“I don’t think I will,” Sean says. “Once I explain everything, my mom will be okay. And besides, you’re worth it.”
“I don’t know, Sean,” I say. “I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking,” he interrupts, then takes a step toward me. He looks so determined, so strong. “I’m going.”
Doing my best to think a few steps ahead, I take a couple of minutes to gather up some of the papers on Mom’s desk and pull down a few notes from the boards. Maybe I’ll need them as leverage; maybe I’m just wasting time. There’s no way to tell now.
Sean follows me back to the house in his car; we both park in the driveway. We go inside, and hastily, I toss some clothes and my toothbrush into an overnight bag—I don’t know how long this will take. When I’m ready to go, Sean convinces me to leave the sedan at home—his car is gassed up, and he’s in a better frame of mind for driving. We stop by his house and he runs in and grabs some clothes, too; I stay outside and keep an eye out for his mom. Soon enough, we’re on the freeway headed toward Los Angeles.
“This is definitely not how I thought this day would go,” I say quietly, looking out the window as the tan landscape breezes by. I have my arms wrapped around my stomach because the nervousness is there: mine, and theirs, too.
“We’ll find them,” Sean says, resolute. “I promise.”
I think that he shouldn’t make promises that might be too big to keep, but I don’t say anything. I appreciate the sentiment, at least.
“I’m just worried we’ll be too late,” I say. “They’re moving really fast; they’re obviously on a plane.”
“We’ll make it,” Mr. Confidence says again. I smile at him, then realize something.
“But how are they on a plane?” I say aloud, not really asking Sean. Asking myself.
“What do you mean?” He glances at me, then back at the road.
“They don’t have IDs,” I say. “I mean, there’s only one, and I have it. There’s no way they could get on a plane without IDs.”
“This guy my mom dated once was getting his pilot’s license, and we went up with him,” Sean says, blinkering to get around a pokey driver. “We just drove right out to the tarmac. It was a really small airport that did a lot of charter business. We didn’t need IDs.”
“They’re on a charter?” I ask, thinking how beyond strange that seems, like we’re in a James Bond movie or something. “Who charters airplanes anymore?”
Sean shrugs. “Rich people, I guess.”
I think of Mom’s mystery money and have to force myself to catch a breath. What if she really did take them somewhere?
“Can we listen to some music or something?” I ask, feeling like I might burst out of my skin I’m so anxious.
“Of course,” Sean says, fishing his iPod out of the center console and handing it to me. “You pick.”
I get us set with some road tunes, and eventually the music starts to make me feel better. Well, that, and Sean’s hand resting on top of mine, sending me “calm” by osmosis.
We pull over outside of L.A. to check the tracker at a coffee shop that offers WiFi. The website is one of those that’ll open only on the user’s assigned computer and phone; it’s frustrating that we have to stop every time I want to look—which happens to be frequently. Sean and I are jittery from all the coffees we’re buying in order to use the Internet.
“It stopped,” I say to Sean, pointing at the screen. He hands me a latte I don’t want or need; I take a sip and set it aside.
“Where?” he asks, sliding into a seat on my side of the table.
“Denver,” I say. “I wonder if that’s the final destination.” I stare at the blinking dot, willing it to give me the answer.
“Let’s hope so,” Sean says. He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket and starts tapping the screen; I lean over and see that he’s looking at the GPS. I notice that his right knee is bouncing up and down; I push his latte aside, too. “We can make it there by morning if we drive all night.”
“Sean,” I say, looking at him, “that’s crazy.”
He laughs it off. “I’m good,” he says. “I’m caffeinated, and running on ten hours of sleep and pure adrenaline. I’ll stop if I get tired, but really, it’s not a big deal.”
I consider how badly I want to find Ella and Betsey, how much I need to make sure they’re all right.
“Fine, but you have to let me drive part of the way.”
“You got it.”
twenty-six
I wake up the next morning in winter.
There’s snow on the mountains and frost on the windows, and the road and landscape are the muted color of cold.
“You said you were going to wake me up!” I say, sitting up quickly and wincing at my stiff neck, then smacking Sean lightly on the arm. “Where are we, anyway?”
“Near Grand Junction, Colorado,” Sean says before taking a sip of coffee from who knows where. “And I didn’t wake you up because you needed some rest. But it was all good. I had my tunes and my thoughts to keep me company.” He pauses, glances at me, then smiles. “You talk in your sleep.”
“Oh, no,” I groan, having heard it before. “What did I say?”
“Something that sounded straight from a Stephen King novel,” he says, laughing. “You talked in this low monotone, like you were possessed. Don’t worry, I couldn’t understand what you were saying. But I gotta admit, it was late and dark and I might have screamed like a little girl… which didn’t wake you, by the way.”
“Sorry,” I say, looking away, embarrassed but mostly amused. Then I remember that this road trip isn’t about fun and silliness. “Let’s pull over and check the tracker.”
“I already did when I got coffee,” Sean says. “They’re actually not in Denver; they’re in a town called Mystery. I Googled it; there’s a college there. It’s called Bramsford University.”
“What the hell?” I ask, groggy and confused.
