by Norah Wilson
“Sure,” Bryce said. “Plan on it.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“And your parents won’t mind?” Not that it would stop her. But better, of course, if they didn’t object.
“Not a bit.”
Maryanne looked down at her hematite again. She raised the stone to her slightly-parted lips, as if to kiss it. Instead she just felt the warmth of it as she breathed on it—and she could almost have sworn it was breathing back. And yes, she felt the strength too. Then she turned her attention to Bryce. Smiling Bryce.
He looked at his watch. “I’d better get you home. Wouldn’t want to be in trouble with Alex. Or Brooke.” He meant to say the latter easily, but Brooke’s name came out harshly, a reminder that there was no love lost between the two of them.
“And I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with the coach.”
Bryce seemed to hesitate the merest second, but then he answered. “For sure.”
The hockey tournament started tomorrow in Moncton, and the team was going down a night early to be well rested—ready to go. It was the talk of the town. If the Mansbridge High boys won against Leo Hayes tomorrow morning, they would go on to play one of the Saint John high school teams in the afternoon. Leo Hayes had a powerhouse team, and Saint John dwarfed even them. But the Mansbridge team was as strong as it had been in years—with big Huxley Burns having an amazing season in goal, a fact which made Dani ecstatic. Bryce was making a name for himself as a pretty good defenseman, too.
“What time are you supposed to be at the school?” she asked.
“Gathering at 6:00. Bus leaves at 6:30, sharp.”
Maryanne stood. “We’d better get going, then.”
Bryce didn’t argue. He stood and helped Maryanne with her coat before he shoved his sleeves into his own. She liked that—that little solicitous touch—and it wasn’t just reserved for the times they were alone. If only Brooke could see this in him.
But she only saw the Heller hunter. And yeah, the guy who hadn’t approved of Brooke for his brother.
It wasn’t just Brooke’s perception. Bryce really was like night and day. Hunter at night, and fast becoming the man of Maryanne’s dreams by day.
Then again, how different she and her friends were in the dark of night…
Which reminded Maryanne of what she had to do. And there was that flood of guilt again. Still, she hurried them both out before he noticed what she was leaving behind. When he paused to turn off and then unplug the small space heater, it was all she could do to contain herself. Finally, he strode to the door, holding it open for her as they both slipped out of the shed.
This was where the plan got a little more difficult.
Bryce aimed his keyless entry remote at the truck and its doors unlocked with an audible clunk. He opened Maryanne’s door for her and saw her settled in her seat before closing the door and walking around to the driver’s side. He started the truck and reached across to hold Maryanne’s hand as they began rolling down the driveway. Maryanne silently counted to three then said, “Oh crap! I forgot my backpack!”
Bryce stopped the truck, shifted into park. “I’ll get it.”
She reached deeply into her coat pockets—first one, then the other. “And I left my cell phone back there, too.”
“Where?”
“I’ll go,” Maryanne said, releasing her seatbelt. “I know exactly where I left it.” Expectantly, she held out her hand for the keys.
Come on, she silently coaxed.
Bryce stared at her through so many heartbeats, and Maryanne saw a flash of the hunter in those big brown eyes of his. He was protective of that shed. Those iron manacles and collars and especially, Ira Walker’s journals. The key to the journal cabinet hung securely around his neck, but did he trust Maryanne with the key to the door? She hoped. She was relying on it. Yet she felt sick to think she was manipulating that trust—counting on it—to betray him now.
Finally, Bryce pulled the keys from the ignition, and handed them to Maryanne. “This one’s for the shed,” he said, flipping through the keys on the ring, and indicating which one.
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
Maryanne ran up the driveway, her boots crunching in the snow. The late-afternoon fall sky was already darkening. And that sky was clear, thankfully, not a cloud overhead. It would be a backdrop of black tonight.
With a shaking hand, she inserted the key in the lock. Maryanne didn’t bother to snap on the light—she wouldn’t be long. She leaned over the cot and grabbed her cell phone with the first swipe of her hand along the wall. Then, she turned to her book bag, which she’d carefully tucked into a corner when she’d come in earlier with Bryce. Before they’d held each other, before he’d given her this loving gift. She swallowed down the lump in her throat, as she quickly opened the book bag.
Maryanne pulled out the copper tools—the bits that she, Brooke, and Alex had fashioned late last night. She slid them under the bed, where hopefully Bryce wouldn’t find them. But a trio of casters soon would.
She slung her book bag around one arm, tucked her cell phone back into her coat pocket. And left the shed door unlocked as she ran back to the truck and Bryce, who was waiting there.
Chapter 24
Break & Enter
Brooke
They were soaring over the forest now, following Route 560 toward the Walker Farm. The sky was inky black tonight. So long as they stayed high enough to avoid contrasting with a snowy background, they were relatively safe.
The now-familiar thrill of being one with the night, of being relieved of the burden of her day-to-day stresses rushed through Brooke. The failures, the hurts - they just receded. This was why the three of them lived to cast, why they would never stop, despite the risks. Whether or not the others would admit it was debatable, but Brooke knew the truth of it. Nothing else could provide this glorious escape. Not booze, not drugs, not sex.
But tonight wasn’t about glorying in their freedom. Tonight was about seizing Ira Walker’s journals. This mission was critical. Nothing could guarantee that they would always be safe on their soaring expeditions, but they could be a damned sight safer if they knew what knowledge Ira Walker had passed on to his grandsons. Not just what information he’d passed along, but potentially what misinformation he might have recorded. Anything to give them an edge…
And then, of course, there was the question—had Seth known about her? About the others? And what did Bryce know now?
The Walker place came into view, and the three of them paused for a moment.
“Bryce’s truck is gone,” Alex observed.
“Of course it is. He’s gone for the hockey game, remember?”
“Duh. Of course I remember,” Alex replied. “That’s why we picked tonight. But we can’t be too careful.”
“Right,” Brooke said. “If anything can go wrong with these damned Walkers, it will.”
“We should be good,” Maryanne said. “Just give me a minute to check the house, make sure Howard and Hannah are settled for the night. We don’t want to be surprised by them while Alex is picking the lock on that cabinet.”
“Howard and Hannah?” Brooke couldn’t help herself. “You really are getting cozy with the Walkers, aren’t you?”
“I am not cozy with them.” Maryanne turned her empty black face toward Brooke’s. “I’m polite. I’ve only talked to them a few times, and when I do, I call them Mr. and Mrs. Walker.”
Brooke shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me what you call them.”
Except it did. In all the months Brooke had gone out with Seth, he’d never once mentioned his parents by name. If Brooke hadn’t sleuthed their names out through other channels, she’d still be in the dark.
With an exasperated sound, Maryanne zoomed off toward the house while Alex and Brooke drifted closer to the shed. From the horse barn came a few snorts and whinnies as the casters passed, but nothing loud enough to bring anyone running.
“Sh
ould we go in and get started?” Brooke asked.
“No way,” Alex replied. “We wait for Maryanne. See what she reports from the house.”
Brooke thought about descending to peer in the window, but with no lights on inside and the dark sky, there’d be little to see. Even with their superior caster vision, they’d no doubt need to use the flashlight to give Alex enough illumination to work on the lock.
That in itself had been quite an exercise, figuring out how they could pick up and turn on a flashlight in caster form. It was Alex who’d come up with the solution. They’d wrapped the flashlight’s handle in copper wire so it could be gripped by a caster. Another piece of stiff wire was all that was required to turn it on. They’d used more of that wire to wrap around the handles of the lock-picking tools Alex had produced from God knew where. Lastly, they’d fashioned tongs to enable them to grasp the journal and pull it out of the cabinet. Brooke had been the one to solve that dilemma, using a technique she’d learned for making ‘cheater’ chopsticks. They’d taken two short lengths of copper pipe, placed a piece of rubber between them at one end, then bound the pipes together at that end with an extra strong elastic band, and presto—copper tongs that were easily manipulated. The plan was to pick the lock, grab the journal with the tongs and deposit it in the canvas bag Maryanne had smuggled in along with the tools. Of course, they’d had to make handles for the bag as well, which they’d also fashioned from copper pipes. All in all, pretty damned ingenious, Brooke thought.
Maryanne rejoined them. “All clear,” she said. “Mrs. Walker is in bed and Mr. Walker seems to be sleeping in the study.”
“Seems to be?” Alex said. “Is he sleeping or isn’t he?”
“He’s passed out with a bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table in front of him, okay?”
Maryanne’s voice was sharp. She was obviously worried about the guy. Or the effect his drinking might be having on Bryce. Or maybe she just identified too much with these parents who’d lost a child.
“Great,” Brooke said briskly. “Passed out is even better than asleep, as far as I’m concerned.” She dropped down in front of the door. Even in the dim light, she could easily see that it wasn’t pulled completely shut. Not properly latched. A simple push with the back of a copper bracelet would open it. Way to go, Maryanne. “So, are we ready to do this thing?”
“Absolutely.” Maryanne put her bracelet against the door and pushed. The door swung inward.
It was as dark as Brooke expected inside. “Better get that flashlight, Maryanne.”
“I’m all over it.” Maryanne swept into the room, followed by Alex and then Brooke.
That’s when a light flipped on. For a second, Brooke thought Maryanne must have hit a switch, but then the shit hit the fan.
Bryce Walker stepped out from behind the door, slamming it shut and turning the knob to lock it.
Brooke’s first thought was, Oh shit! We’re trapped! Then she realized they had worse problems when she saw the shotgun he held.
“Watch out!” she cried, but her warning came too late. He fired.
The first shot hit Maryanne and spun her away. She went down without even having a chance to scream. Horrified, Brooke saw she didn’t sink through the floor when she hit it, which meant the buckshot Bryce had hit her with had to be iron.
Brooke saw Alex turn, saw her take in Maryanne’s cast on the floor and knew she was about to let loose her rage in a primal scream.
“Don’t do it!” Brooke yelled. “Don’t scream! Whatever you do, don’t scream. He’ll recognize us.”
Of course he would! And if he suspected it was them, then the advantage of disbelief would be lost. He’d see their features clearly in the grey lines that visceral wailing made in their casts.
Bryce swung his shotgun toward Alex, but as he emptied the second barrel, Brooke dove at him, striking the arm that held the gun. The buckshot went wide, tearing a patch of ugliness in the wall just to Alex’s right. That had been close! Brooke’s ears rang from the explosive noise. And the muzzle flash! Even in the lighted room, the flare of fire had shocked her.
Bryce fumbled in his pocket for more shells to reload, but Alex swooped down on him furiously, striking him hard enough to spin him around. He brought up the shotgun barrel defensively, and Brooke took that opportunity to dart at him from the other side. He swung the shotgun and struck her as she shot past. Apparently there was iron in the barrel because it didn’t pass through her. The blow was a glancing one, but it was enough to send her sprawling to the floor. Dammit, into the floor. She felt every nail that ripped through her as she surged back up. Her agony was forgotten, though, when she saw the tools Maryanne had planted under the bed inches from where she surfaced. She grabbed the makeshift tongs she’d been so proud of and shot back into the fray.
Despite Alex’s continued assaults, Bryce had managed to break the shotgun open. He had a pair of shotgun shells in hand now, but his hands shook violently as he tried to reload. Cursing steadily—or praying, more likely—he backed away, fumbling to get the shells into the chambers.
At the sight, the need to scream rose up in Brooke like a freakin’ tidal wave. Oh, God, she was going to drown in it if she didn’t let it out! It was all there, pooled in her chest, that pain that lived so deep inside she was barely conscious of it. The pain of abandonment by a father who’d split when she was seven years old. By her mother when that jerk had come into their lives. By Seth, who’d turned his back on her because of what she’d done to try to negate that pain.
Somehow, she forced the need back down inside again and advanced on Bryce. Trembling hands and all, he’d managed to jam two shells into the shotgun and lever it closed. Before she could reach him, he raised the gun and pointed it at her. This time, it was Alex who struck his arm, knocking the barrel of the gun downward. Brooke didn’t miss her chance. With a mental thank you to her Israeli friend for the Krav Maga lessons, she followed with a vicious kick to the same arm. The shotgun hit the floor with a clatter, but thank God, it didn’t go off.
“Bitch!” Bryce grabbed her, and the sensation of his big hands digging so relentlessly into her arms almost unleashed the scream. Once again, she forced it back down.
Alex was behind them now, striking Bryce around the head. Her efforts were more like an angry bee than a serious assault, but it was enough of a distraction for Brooke to move closer and bring her knee up between his legs with all the force she could muster.
He released her instantly, folding down on himself with a cry of pure agony. Brooke raised her hand high and brought the copper pipes down on his head with all her might. That put him down on his hands and knees but failed to knock him out. Shit! The hollow copper pipes weren’t heavy enough for the job!
Glancing around frantically, she saw the sculptures on the shelf. There! The hideous one of the caster with its neck stretched—that would do. She darted over and closed her tongs around the sculpture’s thin neck. Gripping the copper pipes fiercely together, she swung back around and clocked the still stunned Bryce in the head with the full weight of the wooden sculpture. This time, he went down face first on the floor and stilled.
“Is he out?”
“For the moment.”
They both went to Maryanne’s side. She was alive but paralyzed. Brooke knew only too well what that felt like. What she didn’t know was whether or not her friend could survive this. How excruciating and draining it must be to have those iron pellets inside her! “It’s okay, Maryanne. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to get you out of here right now.”
“We do have to get out right now,” Alex said. “They had to have heard those shotgun blasts inside. Well, I guess the old man could still be passed out, but Mrs. Walker would have heard. She’ll have called the cops.”
“Yep.”
“Oh, hell, the door! He locked it, Brooke.”
“The door’s not the only way out.”
“But the nails in the walls—dammit, you saw what he did to
this place! We’re trapped! You and I might get through the walls and survive, but we can’t take Maryanne through there. Not in her condition. And we can’t go through the window.” She shuddered. “I promise you, nothing could be worse than what’s out there beyond that sheet of—”
Brooke handed Alex the copper pipe. “Knock the glass out,” she commanded.
“Oh God, of course!”
Brooke quickly gathered up their tools, glancing up only once when the window shattered. Alex was running the pipes around the window frame, knocking out the jagged edges. Good.
“Okay, let’s go!” Alex said.
“As soon as we’ve got everything. We can’t leave anything behind. Our prints will be all over them.”
“You think they can identify us by our caster prints?”
“No, by our actual fingerprints, which are all over this stuff from when we made them.”
“Crap.” Alex grabbed the canvas bag and used the copper handles to hold it open while Brooke dumped the tools in it. Then Alex took the bag to the window and tossed it out.
Brooke made a quick visual sweep to confirm they’d left nothing. “Great, let’s get Maryanne and go.”
They each slipped an arm under one of Maryanne’s arms and holy hell, she was heavy! Absolute dead weight. They got her to the window but realized she’d hit the ground with a thud if they just shoved her out of it.
“You go out first,” Brooke said. “Then we’ll pass her through.”
Alex obliged, but just as Brooke hefted Maryanne up, she heard a stirring behind her. She turned her head to see Bryce had come around again. He was reaching for his shotgun.
“Quick!” she cried. “He’s got the gun again!”
Alex hauled Maryanne through the window and Brooke shot out behind her. The shotgun erupted again, but he missed high. The upper pane of the window shattered, sending glass showering down on them. Through them.
