Maybe Cole was pretty damn stupid—he fell for our trap, after all—or maybe . . .
“What about Bluetooth?” I say. “Or things you’re not even considering? I’m sorry, but what do you know about hacking? We’ve already proven that even though we’re smart, it doesn’t mean we can spot all our vulnerabilities.”
“Your vulnerabilities,” Holly reminds me.
Okay, fine. I deserve a little salt in my wounds. But picking on people doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out who’s exploiting my mistake.
“My mom writes all her important shit on paper,” Grayson says as he crouches down next to the refrigerator. “Goes right on a Post-it stuck to the fridge. No one’s gonna hack a Post-it.”
Holly moves closer to Grayson. She’s obviously playing defense, getting ready to swat his hand away if he reaches for something. It’s a tiny fridge, the type that college kids have in their dorm rooms, but it’s still big enough for magnets to hold up photos and mail, things posted as reminders. There’s a faded receipt from Best Buy, but I can’t read what it’s for. There’s a postcard from somewhere thick with palm trees. There’s a photo—I think it’s what you call a Polaroid—of a woman. It’s blurry, but it looks like Cole’s mom, Teri.
Teri’s half-cocked smile hits me harder than I’d expect. Like everyone, I was devastated when she died. Because she wasn’t a bad person. She was . . . damaged. The single good thing to come out of her death was that at least she didn’t live to see what became of her son. An awful thought, I know, but I can’t help it.
My lungs seize for a second. I can hold back the tears—and I will hold them back—but the tears might help. My body needs something to keep it going.
“We didn’t come here for a Post-it. We came here for that,” Meeka says, and she reaches a hand forward again and this time she snags that little red box. I almost cheer for her. Holding it and bending forward, she studies the tangle of cords behind it.
“Unplug that shit and let’s bounce,” Grayson says.
But Holly, as enraged as I’ve ever seen her, hip-checks Meeka, causing her to drop the Heart back onto the table. Frankly, it’s a bit shocking. Holly is not a violent person, and this is clearly violence. It’s basically assault.
“What the—?” Meeka says as she gains her balance.
“Don’t touch it!” Holly barks.
She doesn’t listen. Instead, Meeka moves back over and grabs the Heart again. She can wrap her fingers around one side of it. It’s bigger than a human heart, but not by much. Maybe horse heart size? It’s still plugged in, but the cords are long enough that she can present it to Holly without unplugging it.
“Take it,” she says.
Holly hesitates for a moment, and then peels it from Meeka’s gloved hands like it’s contaminated. “You shouldn’t have done that,” Holly tells her as she carefully examines all sides of the thing.
“There’s a lot that shouldn’t have been done,” Meeka replies. “But this is where we are. So unplug it. Bring it home. Find out what’s on it. Or destroy it. You started this. Now see it through. Or else things are only gonna get worse and worse.”
Let it be clear: We all started this. But Meeka has a point. Holly has been the lead decision-maker, which is a role she’s always been comfortable with. It’s something I’ve always been comfortable with too. Until now. Now Holly is freaking me out a little.
Her teeth clenched, Meeka pushes past me and Grayson, and sits down in a mesh camping chair near the door. I notice there’s a folded tarp beneath it, like the one we wrapped Cole in, and I don’t doubt she notices it too. Reminders of what we did, everywhere. She closes her eyes and lowers her head. She’s done with this, with us, with everything.
“What the fuck was that?” Grayson says to Holly.
“No kidding,” Holly answers. “She’s being so reckless, huh?”
“I’m talking about you,” Grayson says. “Meeka’s right, you know.”
“About what?” Holly asks. “That we should see what’s on that thing? What if it’s password-protected? What if it’s teeming with viruses that will infect whatever I plug it into, or leaves some sort of digital mark behind, something we can’t see but detectives can find?”
“Smash it to bits, then,” Grayson says. “Or bury it with Cole.”
“It stays here,” she says, and Holly places it back on its neat little corner of the table.
“But we haven’t figured anything out,” I protest. “Who the hell has been in my cloud? Who’s seen the video? We’ve got nothing.”
“Damn straight, because there’s still some guy out there somewhere,” Grayson adds. “And he still has us by the balls.”
“First, how do you know it’s a guy?” Holly says. “And second, we’re the ones who are holding the metaphorical balls in this situation.”
Meeka perks up. Her posture straightens and her eyes open. Her eyebrows are fully cocked.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Grayson says.
Holly nods confidently. “I will. Because let’s not forget an important fact. This person knows what we’re capable of. Which means they’re probably scared. In fact, I bet they’re terrified of us.”
I’m not sure if I should call it irony or coincidence, but the moment Holly speaks, an image appears on the scrolling feed of one of Cole’s laptops. It’s us, our four faces.
The meme.
It’s there for a few seconds and then scrolls up and off the screen. But that’s long enough for me read the caption.
SQUAD GOALS:
SNIFF SOME GLUE
GRAYSON
WE’RE AT THE OLD LUMBER MILL, standing in the muck next to my Jeep as Holly’s and Logan’s cars squeal and splatter their way out of here. Meeka puts a hand on my back. She rubs.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?” I say. “We didn’t find shit.”
“For being there. When I needed you. That was the last place I wanted to be.”
There’s a glow down the road. Cole’s trailer. “I can go back by myself and get that thing,” I tell her. “The Heart. You were right. And what Holly said was BS. It’s too important.”
“Maybe,” Meeka says. “But what was the other thing she said? About having this person by the balls?”