Page 153 of Paranoid

“What’s going on?” Rachel asked.

“Just wait. You’ll find out,” Lila snapped.

Within two minutes both boys had returned to the living room, where Lila was pacing and Rachel waited near the side chair. Harper, hearing the commotion, had emerged from her own room.

“Sit!” Lila ordered, pointing to the couch. “You too.” She wagged a finger at Harper, who did as she was told and took a position between the two boys.

“Mom—don’t,” Lucas pleaded, but beneath his worried tone there was something else, a simmering anger that, Rachel suspected, could match his mother’s. Once all three kids were settled onto the couch, Lila reached into her purse and pulled out some computer wires attached to what appeared to be a recorder or something.

“Maybe you can explain this?” she said to Dylan.

Dylan swallowed hard and looked down at his hands, clasped between his knees.

“Okay, since the cat’s apparently got your tongue,” she said, “maybe Lucas would like to take over.”

“Mom, please—” Lucas looked miserable, and if looks could kill, Lila would be six feet under at this very moment.

“No, no. I will.” Dylan caught his mother’s eye. “I’ve been selling computer equipment.”

“Spy equipment, you mean,” Lila clarified. “Don’t whitewash this.” To Rachel, she added, “Did you get that? Your son has been selling tiny cameras and microphones and recorders and God knows what else!”

Dylan let his head fall into his hands.

“And then what have they been doing?” Lila raved on, her color high, her anger visible in a vein throbbing near a neatly plucked brow. “They’ve been listening in. That’s what! Watching. Recording. I found a damned video of the last reunion meeting! Can you believe it? Like, why? Your son had threaded a tiny camera through the vents between the floors of our house. You know what I mean? Our house has a few areas where the floor above is connected to the one below, with grates in between. So our boys thought it would be a good idea to play James Bond or whatever.” She stalked dramatically across the room, past the coffee table, heels clicking on the hardwood, then handed the cords to Rachel, who recognized the devices for what they were.

“Is this true?” Rachel asked Dylan, but she could tell by his body language that Lila had hit the nail on its head and suddenly she realized where all the small cardboard boxes in the recycling pile in the basement had come from. None had shown any mailing labels, all scratched off. She hadn’t really thought about it. Now she understood. “Dylan?”

“Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Oh, crap. “Why?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Just to make some money.”

There it was again: the money thing. “And who do you sell this stuff to?”

Another shrug. “Whoever wants it.”

“Can you believe this?” Lila demanded, her voice high. “I mean, what’s it for? What high school kid wants to spy on their parents?”

“Not their parents,” Rachel said quietly.

“What’re you talking about? Lucas was keeping track of . . . Wait a sec,” Lila said, the wheels in her head obviously spinning. “You mean, like spying on other kids? Girlfriends or boyfriends . . . or, oh my God! Like hidden little cameras for taking private, nude pictures or videos or . . .” She visibly stiffened and stared up at the ceiling as if she could personally talk to God. “This is worse than I imagined!”

“No!” Dylan’s head snapped up and he shook it vigorously. “Not for that! Nuh-uh. No way.”

“Then for what?” Rachel asked, and she saw that he was thinking about what to say, probably forming quick lies to cover up, or possibly that he was actually considering, for the first time, all the damage that could be wrought from the stuff he’d sold. “You know, Dylan, if your friends or clients or whatever you call them wanted this kind of stuff”—she held up the cords Lila had thrust upon her—“and they were on the up-and-up, why didn’t they just buy it online?” She didn’t wait for a response, just said, “Oh, Dylan, this is not good.”

He nodded.

She thought about the bullies who had threatened to beat him up. Schmidt and his friend Parker.

“It’s not illegal,” Dylan said. “To sell the stuff.”

“No, but what about ethics?” she asked. “I’m going to need a list of the people you sold to.”

“Uh-uh. No, Mom. My clients deserve their privacy.”

“What?” Lila said and Rachel sent her a warning look telling her silently to back off. Lila didn’t. Instead she threw out, “We’re not talking about client-attorney or client-doctor privileges here! These kids you sold to? Underage? Their parents need to know.”