by Lucy Score
She followed the pavement to a skinny thruway between the stadiums.
With every step, she felt her senses sharpen. She was a doe approaching an open meadow during hunting season. The pulse of blood in her head was loud, and she wondered if her carotid artery was up to the task. One thing was certain—there was no way she was making it out of this day alive.
“Mom, Dad, I’m really sorry it came to this,” she said under her breath as her feet moved of their own volition toward the meeting point. “And, Nick, I had to do this. I hope you understand. Also, last night was beyond amazing. No regrets. Please take care of Burt and Gabe for me. And I’m going to shut up now.”
The morning air was thick and humid. She was sweating profusely and shivering at the same time. Maybe she had the flu.
To her right, the tall metal supports of the baseball stadium’s first baseline bleachers gleamed in the sunlight. She heard something up ahead, just on the other side of a small, squat building. This was it.
“Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up,” she chanted.
A figure stepped onto the asphalt a few paces in front of her. Half blinded by sweat, Riley swiped a hand over her eyes. Mayor Nolan Flemming flashed her his trademark political smile. The hairs on her arms stood straight up. The man may have been dressed in shorts, running shoes, and a t-shirt that proclaimed his love of recycling, but she knew without a doubt that she was in the presence of evil.
“Well, well, well,” he purred, a sleek cat eyeing a dish of tuna juice. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Riley Thorn.”
“Where’s Jasmine?” she demanded, not willing to waste banter on a murdery villain.
Mayor McEvil gave a signal.
A second figure holding a gun with a silencer stepped out from behind the building. The muscly henchman, Duncan Gulliver, was a protein-powder-fueled beast. His shaved head seemed to attach directly to his shoulders. Both he and the mayor had several small round bruises on their faces and arms.
They must have made the mistake of coming at Jasmine while she still had her stilettos on.
Duncan reached behind the building and produced her very angry, barefoot best friend. Jasmine’s hands were secured behind her back. She was still in last night’s slinky cocktail dress, and her makeup was smeared, those bastards. But her beautiful, silky hair hung in its perpetual reality-rejecting curtain of perfection. Above the duct tape on her mouth, her eyes flashed a nuclear warning. Riley knew if Jasmine saw an opening, the henchman was going to lose his balls.
“Duncan, I swear to my spirit guides, if you laid one hand on her—” Riley growled.
“Nothing personal,” he said. His sneer was cold, careless. A flicker of something caught at her mind. Duncan. A pole. A woman. Wild, not-found-in-nature hair. Whispers.
“Oh, it’s very personal,” she promised.
“Excuse me,” Nolan announced grandly as if he didn’t like his audience’s attention off of himself for too long.
“So how does this work?” she asked, hoping to buy a little time. She needed a diversion. Come on, spirit guides. Send in the big guns or little guns, she telegraphed. She wasn’t picky. She was desperate.
“Tell me, Jasmine,” Mayor McDouche said, strolling over to cup her by the chin. “Just how stupid is your friend?”
Riley could feel the moment rising like a physical, palpable thing.
It was hard to tell through duct tape, but it sounded like Jasmine enunciated “Fuck you.” If humans could murder with their eyes alone, Nolan Flemming would be nothing more than pink mist.
He grinned in Riley’s direction, and she could see something, feel something, she’d never noticed in interviews. A black, oozy murk. A dirty film to his soul that made her feel lightheaded.
Keep him talking. At this point, she didn’t know who the voice in her head belonged to, and it didn’t matter.
“I’m here to make a trade. So let’s trade,” she said stubbornly. “The blackmail evidence you had on Representative Bowers for Jasmine.”
Flemming produced a small handgun from behind his back and scratched his temple with the barrel. “You know, Ms. Thorn. I think I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to take you, your friend, and the evidence.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Riley said.
“Why on earth would you think that I’m a man of my word?” He looked genuinely perplexed.
Duncan still had Jasmine in a death grip, but his gun was pointed at Riley.
Okay. Two bad guys with guns against two exhausted, pissed off ladies. Not great odds. But it could have been worse.
“I can’t let your pretty friend here just run off and tell everyone that the mayor of Harrisburg kidnapped her,” Nolan said. “And I’m certainly not going to let you wander off in the direction of the closest cop. Now, turn over the photos and whatever else you found.”
Riley kept her hands in the air, the weight in the balls of her feet. If she had to move suddenly, she wanted to be ready. “Like you said, the cops aren’t going to believe a word I say after you had them try to kill me and a pickup truck full of innocent people last night. Why are you doing this? Why did you have Dickie Frick and Rob Bowers killed? What could they possibly have done to you?”
“Please,” the mayor scoffed. “This isn’t the movies where the bad guy confesses his motives.”
“It’s not like I really care anyway.” She sniffed. “I’m sure it all stems from you having a micro penis.”
Jasmine snickered and mumbled something that sounded like “Haa! Good one.”
Nolan’s eyes went frigid, and Riley hoped she hadn’t gone too far too fast.
“My penis doesn’t need defending,” he announced haughtily.
She cocked her head and peered at his crotch. “I’m not really seeing any evidence. How about you, Jas?”
Jasmine made a point of squinting, then shrugged and shook her head.
Duncan’s face remained impassive and murder-happy, but Riley could feel a vague kind of amusement from him.
“Ladies!” Nolan snapped. His voice carried and echoed off the bleachers behind him. “Need I remind you that you’re both about to meet an untimely end. Now, hand over the photos, and I’ll turn you over to my associate so I can go to brunch.”
She could hear voices from the soccer field. The grounds crew was out. People meant witnesses.
“Need I remind you that City Island is not a deserted island. What are you going to do? Shoot us and leave us for the soccer players to find?” Riley asked.
He rolled his eyes. “Ms. Thorn, you and your friend are not my first murder. We are by no means rookies at this.”
“And who would ever look at the mayor and his communications director for motive?” she said. “Do you even have a motive, or is this just the way you two spend your Sunday mornings?”
“Your neighbor Dickie was an example for people who don’t do as they’re told,” he said smugly.
“What was that weasel even capable of doing to you?” she scoffed.
“Frick took advantage of my generosity,” he said coldly. “He tried to cut me out of one of my own enterprises.”
“You don’t mean Nature Girls,” Riley prompted.
“I have a nice side hustle that involves collecting information and using that information as leverage.”
“Blackmail,” she said helpfully.
“You call it blackmail. I call it data storage.”
“I went through the ‘data’. You had evidence of campaign finance fraud on Bowers,” Riley said.
“I wouldn’t have asked for much,” Nolan said with an exaggerated wave of his gun wielding hand. Everything this guy did was for an audience. Just like Griffin. “Just his seat in the legislature, but my stupid partner got greedy and squeezed him for cash on another matter. Short-sighted moron.”
She blinked. “You did all of this to move up the food chain? Why didn’t you just, oh, I don’t know, run against him?”
He laughed like she was an adorable, stupid
toddler. “Rules are for sheep like you. I bet you’ve always been the good girl, haven’t you? Always played by the rules. Always done the right thing. And where has that gotten you?”
Her blood was starting a slow, roiling simmer. “At least I haven’t killed anyone.”
“And you won’t get your chance to, either. Because your time is up,” Flemming said with a sneer.
“Too bad I didn’t bring the files with me,” she said quickly.
“I beg your pardon?” He looked appalled.
“The photos and the files I found at Nature Girls. I didn’t bring them here,” Riley said.
Flemming brought the barrel of the gun to the spot between his eyebrows and closed his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. That was the deal. You were going to bring the blackmail material to swap for your best friend, and I was going to kill you both,” he said, walking through it step by step.
“Well, I had a feeling that was your plan, so I stashed everything before I came here. It’s safe. I’ll tell you where it is if you let Jasmine go.”
“No,” he said.
“Fine. Then, in just a few hours, someone is going to find the envelope I left with your blackmail material and my note explaining it all, and you’ll be arrested. I can wait,” she said feigning patience.
“No, no, no. You’ll tell me where you squirreled away my property, or I’ll shoot your best friend in the head.”
Dear God, she hoped this bluff would pay off.
“If you shoot my beautiful friend in her beautiful head, I’m not going to tell you where I hid the stuff.”
“Then I’ll shoot you,” he decided, pointing his gun at Riley.
She rolled her eyes. “Think, man! If you shoot me, and I’m the only person who knows where the only evidence tying you to the murders of Dickie Frick and Rob Bowers are, how are you going to find it and destroy it?”
“Well, this is a pickle,” Flemming said, pacing back and forth between Riley and Jasmine and her captor. Jasmine tried to lash out with a long leg to kick him but missed.
“I’ve decided,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I’ll risk it. If someone tries to come forward with the information, I’ll just have one of my cops pay them a visit.”
“Aren’t you running out of friendly cops? The two from last night are probably in the hospital after that mess. And Weber got himself suspended.”
Flemming frowned at her thoughtfully as if considering her point. Then he shook his head. “No. Nope. I’m bored with this. Kill them both, and I’ll take my chances with the evidence.”
Duncan leveled the gun at Riley again. “Say goodbye, ladies,” he said.
Nolan swiveled around to face his henchman. “Dun, what have I told you before?”
The henchman winced. “You get the cool last line,” he said as if by rote. “Sorry, boss.”
Flemming gave him a stiff nod. “Ladies, I’m afraid your time as loose ends has come to an end.” He gave Duncan a carry-on gesture.
Riley’s heart was pounding in her head now. “Stepping into your spotlight, isn’t he, Nolan? Here and there. Trying it on for size. Speaking of loose ends, you’re probably going to have to have a talk with Duncan’s girl. He told her all about the leverage he’s got on his greedy boss.”
Nolan scoffed. But Riley caught the whiff of doubt.
“Nice try. But me and the boss are always bros before hoes,” Duncan snarled.
“That’s not what you told—” Debbie. The name floated to her on the ether. “Debbie.”
A direct hit. Duncan turtled his neckless head back, recoiling from her words.
“You told your stripper girlfriend about this?” Nolan’s voice was shrill.
“She only dances part-time,” Duncan argued.
“She also works part-time in a craft store,” Riley added helpfully. “She’s really into scrapbooking. And glitter.”
“What the fuck, Duncan?” Nolan demanded. “Where is your head at?”
“I’m actually wondering where his neck is,” Riley said.
Duncan stretched his gun hand toward her, ready to do the deed. “Don’t listen to her, boss. She’s lying.”
Jasmine shook her head violently. “Naaa ee naw!”
“What?” Nolan asked.
“Naa. Ee. Naw!”
“She said, ‘no she’s not,’” Riley translated.
“Fy kig!” Jasmine enunciated. “Fy kig!”
Impatient, Nolan stormed over and ripped the tape off of Jasmine’s mouth.
“OUCH! YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Jasmine snarled.
“What were you saying?” Nolan demanded.
“She’s psychic,” Jasmine said. “And you’re really going to regret waxing my face, dumbass.”
“Psychic? Ha,” Duncan snorted. But that curl of worry was wrapping its way around his body.
“Her entire family is,” Jasmine insisted. “Her grandmother’s a famous medium. But Riley here is seriously powerful. She knows everything.”
Nolan turned to study Riley. “Is that true?”
She took a breath. Then nodded. “Yeah. It’s true.”
“What number am I thinking of?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Seriously? Every time. Except Nick.
“Your first thought was, sixty-nine but you dismissed that as too easy, so you changed it to thirty-three point three.”
“That’s exactly right,” Nolan said, eyeing her with a nauseating combination of surprise and interest.
“Lucky guess,” Duncan said, nerves in his voice.
Riley blew out a breath and dropped her shields, inviting everything in. It hollowed her out and then refilled her. The rush of power, of knowledge, was heady and disorienting. She felt drunk.
“You named your teddy bear Steven, but you couldn’t pronounce T’s, so you called him Seeven until you ripped his head off during a temper tantrum when you were six. Your Aunt Phinola is not happy with how you swiped the mantel clock from the den during her funeral. It was supposed to go to your mother, who by the way, is secretly afraid she raised a monster. She sees a therapist in Mechanicsburg about you. Oh, and it’s definitely not normal to piss the bed every time you drink too much.”
“Damn, girl,” Jasmine said, nodding with approval. Then she turned back to Flemming. “Ha! Bed pisser with a micropenis!”
“And you,” Riley said, pointing at Duncan, who paled noticeably. “Your plan to steal the mayor’s cash stash and then kill him by lacing his smoothie with ground-up peanuts is actually pretty good. Might actually work.”
“I’m allergic to peanuts,” Flemming shouted in disbelief.
“Uh, yeah. That’s kinda the point, dumbass,” Jasmine said.
Both men were staring at Riley in shock and horror.
Just then, her spirit guides really went to bat for her.
She locked eyes with Jasmine and blinked three times. Their girl bar code for Time To Go.
55
7:01 a.m., Sunday, July 5
Duncan hid his gun behind his back and tried to maintain his grip on Jasmine. Nolan surprised Riley with his speed when he moved to her side and wrapped a hand around her arm in a vicious hold.
“Not. One. Word,” he hissed, tucking his own gun into the waistband of his shorts as nine women in oversized fluorescent green t-shirts proclaiming their love of Jesus and the Enola Brethren Church power-walked into their midst.
“Drive those elbows back, ladies,” the leader of the pack ordered. “Keep those abdominals tight. The bus should be here any minute.”
The tension was so palpable Riley wondered how the walkers didn’t bounce off of it.
“Riley?” the second-in-command squawked, coming to a halt in front of them. It was Donna, the front desk troll. She was glaring judgmental daggers in Riley’s direction.
Nolan tightened his grip on her, and Riley had to smother her desire to scream.
“Oh, hi, Donna. You know Mayor Flemming and his communications director, Duncan Gulliver, don’t you?” Sh
e put a lot of emphasis on her hostage takers’ names.
A woman with her pearlescent glasses on a chain made of tiny crucifixes elbowed her way to the front. “Mayor Flemming, you spoke at our ladies’ bazaar last winter and said that my ham and bean soup was the best you ever had.”
Mayor McMurder had two choices—either order his henchman to kill a whole pack of church ladies or let Riley go and shake the woman’s hand. But she already knew what choice he’d make. Image was everything, after all.
He pasted a phony smile on his gruesomely handsome face. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, releasing Riley’s arm.
“She has a fiancée and a boyfriend, and now the mayor’s her workout buddy?” Donna complained none too quietly to her walking partner.
“NOW!” Riley shouted. She thumbed the cap of the pepper spray open and gave the mayor a spritz. The church ladies—more accustomed to name calling over Bingo cards—were slow to react as she pushed her way through them toward Duncan. Jasmine bent at the waist, raised her arms off her back in a show of flexibility that would have made Wander proud, and brought them down sharply. The zip-tie securing her hands broke just as Riley hit Duncan at half-speed in the chest, knocking him off balance.
His gun hand came up and over, knocking the pepper spray out of her grasp. The church ladies started screaming like a flock of startled chickens.
“You idiot,” Nolan howled.
“That’s the last time you call me an idiot,” Duncan said.
“You’re right, it is,” the mayor drew his gun and pointed it at his poison-planning pal.
Uh-oh.
“Everybody run!” Riley yelled. She and Jasmine took off at a sprint while the church ladies bounced off of each other like panicked pinballs. “This way!” The authority in her voice and a gunshot broke through the panic.
They followed her like ducklings toward Championship Way, an optimistically monikered road that led to the front of the baseball stadium and the parking lot.
“Run in a zigzag, people,” she ordered. “It makes it harder for a shooter to hit you!” Everyone obliged.
