Page 16 of The Knight

"I'm not quite sure yet. The error message is definitely a smokescreen—a little bit of programming I think he cooked up himself. But underneath it there's more than just a folder with a password. I'm afraid that if I poke at it too hard, I'll fuck something up." Something about the bluntness of Lukas cursing makes me lean towards him, feeling like we're two people on the same wavelength, headed in the same direction. "I want to ask someone for advice about this before I move forward. I won't mention the details—just the big picture. If that's okay with you."

"If you trust them, I do," I tell him, which seems impossible after everything, but is somehow true. "The sooner I figure out what he had on this laptop, the better. It's the key to everything."

"Of course." Reaching out, Lukas squeezes my hand, and my heart does embarrassing, unwise things. He pauses as he takes his hand away, pressing his palm down on the edge of the hospital bed like something is worrying at the edges of his mind. "I just want you to know, Brenna, that I never meant to hurt you. At least that wasn't the plan. What we wanted... whatColewanted was for you to leave Coleridge. He was obsessed with it. But I just wanted you to stay away. Your brother, he dug into things that he should've stayed out of. That's probably why they killed him."

Leaning forward, I sense that there's something he wants to tell me. A secret that's been brimming under the surface of every interaction I've ever had with the Elites. Something that's the key to everything. "What did he dig into? And who is they?"

Lukas shakes his head, and I wait for him to say that these are Cole's secrets, not his. That's usually what causes him to clam up. But instead he murmurs, "I can't tell you without endangering your life. All I ask is that when you find what's on this laptop, you tell me about it first before you go to anyone with it. There are people who can be trusted, and people who can't."

"What people? Why can't they be trusted?"

"Let's just say that not everyone in a position of authority at Coleridge, or in Great Falls, deserves to be there." His smile is humorless, his expression bleak. "That includes a lot of the big donors who gets buildings named after them and sweeten up the administration. Publicly elected officials who are supposed to serve the city but instead serve the rich who bribe them to keep their mouths shut. And even people further down the ladder, who follow orders from up top without knowing why."

Glancing out into the hallway, I ask him, "Are you telling me not to trust the officers on this case?"

"Maybe you shouldn'tmistrust them, but... just don't go to them with one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable evidence until you've come to me. Just in case they're... not who they should be."

I study him. "Okay. I'll be suspicious." Pausing, I find my mouth dry as I ask, "Is all of this really that dangerous?"

"Maybe. Yes. I hope not."

"And you won't tell me what I'm up against."

He looks down at his hands, fingers curling and uncurling into half-fists. "With any luck, you'll never need to know."

So I'm in the dark, and there's nothing I can do to change that without someone's help. That feeling of helplessness is new to me—and I don't like the way it settles inside my chest. It reminds me too much of being prone in the trunk of the kidnapper's car, unable to even scream for help. And I refuse to let myself feel that way again.

I have to find a way to get to the bottom of all of this, no matter what Lukas says. After all, it can't bethatdangerous if four teenage boys who've never had a callous on their palms are involved in it.

* * *

I'm released sometime in the afternoon, Mom and Wally at my side. He's taken care of everything, as usual: he picked up a change of clothes for me from the local general store, got me a coat that doesn't have holes in the pockets or worn seams, and he runs out to his truck as Mom and I are leaving the hospital so he can sit in the cab with the heater on before we get there.

"If that boy weren't gay, I'd say you should marry him," Mom remarks as we walk up to his car, making me sputter with indignation and embarrassment. "What? He takes care of you."

"He's just a friend."

"I know that." She pats my hand. "I'm just suggesting that when youdofind a boyfriend you want to bring home, make sure he lives up to the standard Wally has set."

That's hard to imagine. Not many teenage boys are the gentlemanly sort, getting out of the car to run around and open your door first. They don't walk to the drug store to get a replacement toothbrush for you when your brother uses yours to clean the toilet bowl, or get you the perfect birthday present just because. Wally is one of a kind, and I'm glad that he's my friend—and nothing more.

Mom and I climb into the truck, her in the middle, me on the passenger side. Wally helps us stuff our bags into the back. Then he puts the truck in reverse and looks over his shoulder, frowning.

"There's someone there."

"Just wait for them to pass."

"I don't think he's going to. He's walking up to your window, Brenna." He shoots me a worried look. "Does he look familiar?"

The officers said that I should be safe for now, as long as I didn't go anywhere alone at night and stayed firmly on Coleridge's campus, inside the circle of safety the security guards bring, but now I find myself wondering how true that could be. My heart skips a beat, and I look into the sideview mirror expecting to see an intimidating, strange face.

Instead I meet the eyes of the detective on my case. He flashes his badge and knocks on the window.

"Don't worry, I know him. It's an officer—the detective, in fact." Reaching over, I roll down the window, which takes a while given that Wally's truck is all manual, from the transmission to everything else. "What can I do for you, Detective Lyons?"

"I just have a few more questions for you, if that's okay."

Mom looks at me worriedly. "Do you need that lawyer of yours?"

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