Phantom Instinct (9780698157132)

by Gardiner, Meg

  “He’s gone? Is that what you’re saying?” White said.

  “Long gone. Got there and his trailer was trashed.”

  “I do not accept that. Jesus, this is a disaster. How could you—”

  “It’s a good thing. It’s an opportunity. Shut up and listen.”

  And there was the rub. Ignore him, and he got nothing. He got more trouble. Catch-22. “I’m listening. Make it count.”

  “Oscar can’t tell the truth, and he can’t keep his mouth shut. He’s got a reputation, and it isn’t good. He’s out there like a loose cannon. We just need to use him the right way. And I’ve already got a head start on that.”

  White exhaled. “Explain.”

  He listened. And was surprised. It might just work.

  “Get on it, then,” he said.

  “Already am.”

  “This time, there’s no backing out.”

  “Not for any of us. Got that.” He hung up.

  31

  Harper was sitting behind the wheel of the MINI, parked around a corner from Aiden’s house, when his black pickup pulled into the driveway. The sun flashed off the windows. He eased it under the carport. She put her car in gear.

  She gunned around the corner into the driveway behind him as he climbed out of the truck. He paused, but only a second. He locked up and headed for the kitchen door.

  She turned off the engine and pulled the keys out. “Wait here,” she said to Oscar.

  Oscar squinted at Aiden. “What happened to him?”

  “Life.” She opened the door. “Trying to save mine, mostly.”

  She got out and followed him toward the door. He looked like he was trying hard not to favor his left leg. She had seen the black eye.

  “You might as well talk to me, because I’m not going away,” she said.

  He climbed the steps to the door. Painfully, it seemed. His hair was blown crazy by the wind. He was sunburned. He hadn’t shaved. She could tell he was already tired, had worked a long day despite being battered. He didn’t want to give in, and it was taking its toll.

  But she needed this. “Aiden.”

  “Or what?”

  She approached him. “I don’t understand.”

  “Talk, or what? You’ll keep stalking me?”

  “Hey.” She stopped behind him. “Cut it out.”

  He turned. “You’re awfully late turning around and coming back here.”

  She flushed. “Dish it out. I deserve it. But then listen to me.”

  He looked abashed. He glanced at her car. “Who’s that?”

  “The guy I told you about, or tried to, on the phone.”

  That, finally, piqued his curiosity. “Oscar Sierra?”

  “He needs to tell you what happened to him last night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Zero tried to do it to him.”

  He looked at the keys in his hand. She wondered if he had a gun stashed in the small of his back, tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

  He said, “Come on.”

  They settled at the picnic table on the patio, staring at each other warily, like well-armed poker players in a saloon. Birds sang darkly from the oak trees.

  Aiden said, “Don’t wait for me to ask questions. Explain what this is about.”

  “It’s about whatever Zero started last year coming back around again,” Harper said.

  Aiden looked at Oscar. “You know Eddie Azerov?”

  “Dude. Come on.” Oscar turned to Harper. “You didn’t brief him?”

  Aiden raised a hand. “Just give it to me in your own words.”

  Oscar nodded and looked at the trees and hunched forward. “Zero came to me last year with a project.”

  It took him ten minutes to run through it. Aiden didn’t interrupt. He listened, maybe trying to piece together a coherent narrative from Oscar’s fractal take on the world.

  Harper sat with her hands knit together. When Aiden finally looked at her, his face was inscrutable. She waited, hoping. Wondering. Please say something. Please believe me.

  “And you told Erika about this?” he said to her.

  Thank you, Universe. “I told her everything I could. Oscar doesn’t want to talk to the cops. But we need to do something.”

  A gust lifted her hair from her shoulders. The wind was rising, a dry rattle through the trees. The birds squealed and shook their wings and rose into the sky.

  “Last year, Zero wanted to pin the blame for the attack at Xenon on me,” she said. “I don’t know how he would have arranged it, exactly. He didn’t need to do too much, it seems—get Oscar to clone the card, use it on the back door once they reached the club, then the authorities would have checked it out and connected it to me. Except all the evidence was destroyed.”

  Aiden nodded. “You two say Zero—‘he’ did it. But he didn’t act alone. He isn’t the alpha dog, is he?”

  Oscar rubbed his thumb along the grain of the wood in the table. “No. You have a point.”

  “He was the muscle. The sharp end of the spear,” Aiden said.

  “Except things escalated and he threw a Molotov cocktail with a magnesium flare chaser,” Harper said. “I can’t believe that was part of his orders.”

  “Orders?” Aiden said. “You think it was that strict?”

  She was thinking of other things. Of Zero’s standing in the pack, and of her fleeting suspicion that Drew had been involved. She felt a lump in her throat.

  “So why did they wait a year?” Aiden said.

  She looked up, breaking the spell. “Because of the fire. It got out of control. It became felony murder. Citizens died—innocent bystanders. Zero walked into Xenon with a gun in his hand. But whoever sent him there wanted to remain in the background. And that means it’s somebody out there with something to lose.”

  “Travis Maddox?” Aiden said.

  She felt oddly off balance. “Somebody who . . .” She ran a hand through her hair. “Somebody who was biding his time. Travis—yeah, of course. Who else would wait for a year?”

  He reached across the table and set a hand on her forearm. “Hey.”

  She felt the heat in his hand. She felt startled by the gesture, thrown off guard. Didn’t know if it was meant to hold her still or offer her comfort. Or more. His eyes were alight.

  The off-balance sensation intensified. “I think I set in motion a chain reaction.”

  “How?”

  “When I went to Sorenstam with you. When I gave her my employee swipe card. I thought . . . I thought that card had been used to give the shooters access to the club. But if it was cloned, that’s even worse.”

  “You didn’t start anything,” he said.

  “Sure I did. When I was sixteen.” She got up from the table and paced to the back fence, arms crossed, then back. “Going to Sorenstam seems to have poked a hornet’s nest. Otherwise, Zero wouldn’t have gone after Oscar.”

  “That seems a given,” Aiden said.

  “And now Zero’s after me and Oscar both. I have to presume he’s coming after you, too.”

  Aiden looked at Oscar. “What do you make of all this?”

  “I don’t know, man. I’m dying for a glass of water, though. I ran about two miles through a mall in Camarillo with Zannah here on my tail.” He pointed his thumb at Harper. “I’m thirstier than hell.”

  Aiden said, “Zannah?”

  “Don’t even,” she said.

  In the kitchen, he got her a soda and turned on the television, a news channel. He got Oscar a cold glass of water. He poured another for the dog. Oscar drank his greedily and said, “Can I use the john?”

  Aiden pointed down the hall and watched hawk-eyed as Oscar headed into the bathroom. When he shut the door, Aiden continued watching.

  “Do you trust him?” he said.<
br />
  “No,” she said. “Do you trust my answer on that?”

  He glanced at her. “The jury’s still out.”

  In the background, a reporter said, “Police are hunting this afternoon for a murderer who attacked an Ojai woman with a sledgehammer. Jasmine Hay was found bludgeoned to death in an alley behind the restaurant where she worked as a waitress. We go now to Rosalita’s, where . . .”

  The Pepsi bottle slid from Harper’s hand and shattered on the floor.

  The sun had sunk behind the trees in the west, glaring gold, a firefly sunset through the leaves. Harper stood at Aiden’s living room window, fist pressed to her mouth. On the driveway, he paced, phone to his ear. She heard snatches of his conversation with Erika Sorenstam. She felt as though electric worms were crawling beneath her skin.

  Aiden ended his call and came inside. He closed the door softly. “I told her you’d phoned me. That you heard the news report, that you knew the victim back in China Lake and were afraid there’s a connection to Azerov. I said I hadn’t seen you.”

  “Did she believe you?”

  “At this point, I don’t know. But I don’t think she’s sending SWAT here to arrest you.”

  Harper pressed her fingers against her eyes. “Jasmine. Oh, my God.”

  She hadn’t seen Jasmine Hay since before going down for the jewelry store robbery. She remembered a thin thirteen-year-old with intimidating physical bravado, who kept a Beanie Baby bear in her school backpack.

  Aiden said, “How’s Oscar?”

  She looked out the back door. He was sitting at the picnic table, head in his hands. He knew Jasmine better than she did.

  “Are you kidding? He’s devastated. And scared. So am I.” She ran her hands over her face. She was close to shivering. “A sledgehammer. Aiden, that’s Zero. It’s the robbery all over again, but a hundred times worse. It’s . . .”

  Her stomach coiled. “Excuse me.”

  She hurried to the bathroom, hot and nauseated, pressing her hand to the wall to steady herself. Inside, she grabbed the toilet, but nothing came up. She leaned on the sink and splashed water on her face. Her hands were shaking.

  In the mirror, she saw Aiden appear in the doorway. He took a towel from the rack and held it out. She accepted it and buried her face in it, hiding hot tears that welled out of abject fear.

  “Hey.”

  His arm went around her shoulder. She hupped a breath into the towel. He gently took it from her, tossed it aside, and wrapped both arms around her. When he pulled her in, she pressed her face to his chest. She felt completely clenched. Don’t cry. Cry and you’ll weaken. Weaken and you won’t be ready for whatever’s coming.

  He held her close. “I gotcha.”

  She nodded tightly. She couldn’t even breathe. His arms seemed all that were keeping her from screaming. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt his chest rise and fall. He rocked her, just rocked her.

  “You’re not alone,” he said. “You’re not.”

  She raised her face. His eyes, weary and bruised, had a look in them like iron. Want, and gratitude, and overwhelming need poured through her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  He put his cheek against hers and murmured in her ear. “You. Are not. Alone.”

  He kissed her neck. She nodded and tightened her arms around him. For a second, she felt safe. She knew that he had her back. He believed her. He was in, all the way.

  The wind had risen, black and hissing, and was bearing down on her. But she knew now: She couldn’t let it blow her away. She had to hold on.

  She put a hand to his face. “You aren’t alone either.”

  She raised up on her toes and kissed him, hard and with a ragged edge. Then she shut her eyes again and clutched him, finally managing to breathe.

  They stood in the doorway for a good minute, until Oscar appeared at the end of the hallway.

  “Dude. Harper, your phone’s ringing.”

  She went outside and took her phone from her backpack. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

  “Flynn.”

  But she recognized the voice.

  She stood beneath the oaks, the wind sweeping around her, her tongue abruptly thick and useless. Her fingers tingled. Her face felt numb.

  The man breathed, almost a laugh. Though she couldn’t see him, she sensed his leer. Sensed his eyes running down her body, felt the electric crackle of his presence beside her in a getaway car just before he pulled on a ski mask and got out and ran with Eddie Azerov into a jewelry store, sledgehammer in hand.

  “Good to hear your voice, too,” he said. “Bitch.”

  32

  Harper stared at oaks that were bent against the wind. They seemed vague, seemed to be dissolving into gray mist. On the phone, Travis Maddox spoke to her, live and in thundering black and white.

  “I’m sending you a link,” he said. “Open it.”

  She couldn’t move. The noise in her ears was no longer the wind but the pounding of blood through her veins.

  Her phone beeped. A URL appeared on the screen. She got out her tablet and copied the link into its browser.

  A video feed loaded. It looked like a live view from a camera located outdoors somewhere in urban Southern California. A busy street, traffic flashing in the sunshine. Across the road, a flag waved on a flagpole.

  “Are you watching?” Travis said.

  “What do you want?”

  The camera slowly panned. Foothills in the distance, green, threaded with curving streets and houses. Los Angeles. Harper’s stomach tightened. She didn’t look up from the screen but waved at Aiden. Get out here.

  The camera continued to pan past apartment buildings and cozy retail stores, to a parking lot and neatly mown lawns. School buildings. It stopped.

  North Hills High School.

  Travis said, “I can hear you breathing, Zannah. You’re getting worked up.”

  Harper’s temples pounded. It was Piper Westerman’s school.

  Aiden appeared at her side. She put her index finger to her lips. A second later, Oscar walked over. Aiden gave him a zip it motion.

  Harper set the tablet on the picnic table and put her phone on speaker. She foraged a notebook and pen from her backpack, scribbled, and held up the message so Aiden could read it.

  Travis Maddox on phone. Piper’s high school on video. Call Sorenstam.

  On the video feed, the main doors of the high school building opened. The sound was poor—wind and traffic and distant voices.

  “What are you doing?” she said.

  “Just watch.”

  Aiden took out his phone and strode into the house, punching numbers. He shut the door behind him.

  On-screen, Piper pushed through the door into the sunshine and practically skipped down the steps. She headed for the parking lot.

  Oscar chewed his thumbnail. Abruptly, he pointed at the screen.

  Harper saw it: the dog. It was standing in the middle of the parking lot. “God.”

  “That’s more like it,” Travis said. “You should—”

  She hung up on him.

  Vision pulsing, she scrolled through her contacts, found Piper’s number, and dialed. It began to ring.

  On-screen, Piper crossed the school lawn and neared the parking lot. The dog stood facing her. From her angle, she couldn’t see it.

  Piper’s number rang in Harper’s ear. But on the video feed, Piper kept walking. She didn’t seem to hear the phone.

  “Dammit, her phone’s on silent,” Harper said.

  She spun toward the house. Inside, Aiden had his phone to his ear. He chopped the air with his hand as he spoke. He saw her and shook his head. He was getting nowhere.

  Harper pointed at Oscar. “Call 9-1-1.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  She
turned a death gaze on him. He backed up, hands in the air, and fished out his phone. “What do I say?”

  “Tell them there’s an emergency at North Hills High School on Wilshire in L.A. You got a report that an armed man is stalking the parking lot. Tell them you saw it online. Social freakin’ media, he’s bragging about it. Just goddamned call them.”

  “From my phone? I’ll have to dump it.”

  “Do it, Oscar.”

  On the video feed, a city bus passed in front of the view. It cleared. Piper was drawing closer to the dog, still seemingly unaware of its presence.

  She paused and looked at her book bag.

  “Yeah, your phone’s ringing. Answer it, Piper,” Harper said.

  A cement truck crossed in front of the camera. When it passed, Piper was fishing in the book bag.

  “Answer, come on, come on,” Harper said.

  Oscar punched 911 and said, “My emergency is a weird one and you need to get firepower on it ASAP.”

  On the screen, Piper pulled out her phone and looked at the display.

  “Pick up pick up pick up,” Harper whispered.

  The camera zoomed on Piper. Somebody was manning it. Travis, probably.

  Travis Goddamned Maddox. Always breathing in the depths of her life, speaking for his father, curling around her fears and squeezing her heart and lungs like smoke. It was always going to be Travis.

  On-screen, Piper finally answered the call. “Hey, Harper.”

  “Piper, turn around and run,” she shouted.

  On the phone, Piper said, “What’s—hang on, Harper.”

  “No. No. Piper, get out of there. Run. Run back to the school building. Don’t stop, don’t—dammit.”

  On-screen, Piper lowered her phone. She had stopped at the sight confronting her twenty yards ahead: the dog. She backed up a step.

  “Piper, run,” Harper shouted.

  Piper spun, aimed herself back at the high school, and took off. The dog did the same, tearing after her.

  Ahead of her, a car pulled into the parking lot. A nondescript sedan, American, beige, old but with plenty of horses under the hood. The kind of car Harper would have boosted when she was fifteen and told to steal something for a hot getaway.