by Kieran Scott
“Kaia! Calm down!”
“I am calm! I’m perfectly calm!” Kaia shouted, adding a deluge of socks and tights to the pile of clothing. “Why wouldn’t I be calm? My mother, who is back from the dead, has also cloaked her position so that her GPS signal is pinging off of satellites all over the damned universe! My mother, who supposedly loved me, is so intent on hiding from me that she’s involved the fucking Russians!”
She yanked out another drawer and it banged to the floor. She tore out neatly folded sweaters and shirts, chucking them over her shoulders.
“She’s involved the entire freaking planet! But I’ll play along! I’ll keep searching for clues! I’m enough of a pathetic loser that I can’t take a hint!”
She yanked out another drawer and it fell with a thud, crushing her fingers between it and the one on the floor.
“Ow! Sonofabitch!”
I dropped to my knees next to Kaia as she burst into tears. She stuck her injured fingers in her mouth as her chest heaved. I put an arm around her and gently tugged the fingers from her lips. She turned her cheek to my shoulder and sobbed.
I held onto her for all I was worth and clenched my teeth, wishing I could absorb her pain. I wished I could find her mother and kill her for making Kaia hurt like this. But I couldn’t do either of those things, so I let her cry until her tears finally slowed and she took in one snotty, shaky breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice broke.
“Are you kidding? I’m surprised you didn’t crack before this.”
I kissed her forehead and ran my hand over her hair. As I shifted position, something over Kaia’s shoulder caught my eye. When she’d yanked out the drawers, she’d exposed the floor under the dresser, and tucked under it, against the wall, was a brown shirt box.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Kaia turned to look. “I don’t know.”
She tugged out the box. It was covered in dust. A pink ribbon was tied around it, worn and faded, as if it had been tied and untied a million times.
“Open it,” I prodded.
Kaia tugged at the ribbon and it came undone. She tipped the lid, then let it fall back onto the carpet. Inside was a pile of old and yellowed birthday cards; a tiny, clear box full of what looked like sand; a battered rag doll; and a black and white photograph of a little girl on her mother’s lap. The mom was laughing at something or someone off screen. The girl was staring up at her mother like she’d never seen anyone so captivating in her life.
Her fingers shaking, Kaia reached for the birthday card on the top of the pile. The message was in Spanish, but I’d studied it long enough to know what it said.
Feliz cumpleaños a mi niña.
Happy Birthday to my little girl.
Kaia opened the card and read, translating for me. “Dearest Marissa. I can’t believe you’re fourteen years old! Where has the time gone? It seems like yesterday you were strapped to my back in the yard, laughing whenever I bent to pull at a weed. No matter how tall and beautiful you get, Marissa, you will always be my baby girl. I love you forever. Love, Mom.”
“Who’s Marissa?” I asked.
Kaia slowly put the card down, placed the top back on the box, pushed herself up, and walked out of the room without a word.
18 MONTHS AGO
I carried my mother as far as my room, but when we were through the door, my muscles gave out. With a cry of desperate frustration, I sank to the floor, bringing her with me. We managed to crawl to the corner, both of us covered in sweat and tears. I reached over and slammed the adjoining door with my foot. At the exact same moment, the outer door to her room—the one the people after us had been pounding on—shattered.
My mother writhed, pulling her gun from the waistband of her jeans. She pressed it into my hand.
“Mom…what?”
“Whoever comes through that door, shoot him,” she said, looking me dead in the eye.
“No way! I can’t shoot someone. I’ve only shot at soda bottles. I don’t think I can—”
Someone kicked at the adjoining door, and it shuddered at the force.
“You can and you will.” Her eyes seemed to tremble in their sockets. “Never stop fighting, right mija?”
Her head slumped toward my shoulder. “Mom? Mom!?”
There was another kick followed by a splintering sound. The door was about to give. I lifted the gun, holding it with both hands. My arms were shaking so hard they hurt. I could no longer hear my mother breathing.
“Mom?” I whispered. “Mom…please.”
The door burst open, and the gun went off.
chapter 20
KAIA
I woke up to pitch-blackness with an awful feeling of dread in the pit between my heart and my stomach. I’d heard a sound, but I didn’t know what. Lying on my stomach, I pushed myself up on my hands. Oliver lay next to me, sleeping like a baby on top of my pink comforter in my dad’s striped pajama pants and a clean, white T-shirt. After a few breaths, I decided I was being paranoid. The house was silent. I was about to lie down again, when the floorboards on the stairs creaked.
I silently slipped out of bed and fumbled for my gun before I remembered I’d left it in the Batcave. There was no time to get it. Desperate, I grabbed Sophia off the floor and pressed my back against the wall next to the door.
Another creak. Oliver didn’t move. Damn, this kid was a heavy sleeper. The sight of him dozing so peacefully made me feel guilty for the way I’d treated him when I’d stalked out of my parents’ bedroom. I’d barely said another word the rest of the night.
Marissa…Marissa…Marissa…
The name burned inside my chest and behind my eyelids every time I closed my eyes. But how could I explain that to Oliver? I couldn’t, so I’d basically shut down.
Another creak. I said a silent prayer, my fingers gripping my skateboard for dear life. Half a second later, and I could hear the intruder breathing. He paused at the open doorway to my room, looking in at Oliver. I could see only a hand, the toe of one black boot, the front of a black jacket pulled taut over a sizable belly. Not Scarface, thank God. But could it be his partner? The guy Oliver leveled back in South Carolina? The man took a step toward the bed. I gritted my teeth and brought my skateboard down over his head as hard as I could.
“Oof!”
Oliver startled in bed, bleary-eyed and confused. “What? What?”
The man went down. I lifted my arms to try to hit him again, but his foot darted out and swept both of mine, sending me sprawling onto my ass. Sophia rolled into the hall as my already-bruised back exploded in pain. The man pushed himself to his knees, then his feet, and trained a gun on Oliver.
“No!” I shouted, and side tackled the intruder into my desk, which crumbled on impact.
Oliver dove behind the bed as the gun clattered to the floor and skidded across the hardwood. I dragged the man to his feet by the back of his jacket and flung him across the room. He teetered, spun, arms akimbo, until Oliver laid him out with a right hook to his jaw. The intruder slammed into the bookshelf, knocking ceramic unicorns onto the floor where they bounced and shattered. He slid down, groaning, and came to rest half-propped against the shelving, his legs crooked beneath him.
I hit the switch, turning on the overhead lights. Oliver and I blinked against the sudden brightness. The man groaned again, holding his side, pushing his feet out weakly. My breath caught in my throat. It couldn’t be.
“Uncle Marco?”
The man’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared at me, looking as if he’d seen a ghost. “Kaia?” He shook his head. “You went blond.”
“Yeah, I did.” I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe he was actually here. “And you got fat.”
He chuckled, and licked a speck of blood off his lip. “Good to see you, too, kid.”
chapter 21
OLIVER
“What’re you doing here?” Kaia asked. “I thought you were living in Reno.”
I came out of the bomb-shelter-style pantry with three cans of chicken noodle soup and a box of saltines and placed them on the kitchen counter. It was after midnight, and outside the kitchen windows it was dark except for the occasional security light over a neighbor’s garage door. Kaia was sitting at the kitchen table with her uncle Marco, who I already didn’t like. There wasn’t any concrete reason. I knew that Kaia had been hoping to find him, but his presence felt like an intrusion. We’d been alone, a team, for the last few days. Me and Kaia against whatever unnameable forces were hunting us. We didn’t need anyone else.
Call it childish, but I didn’t want him here. And honestly? I wasn’t entirely sure Kaia wanted him here either.
She’d seemed happy to see him at first—happier and more at ease than she’d been since we found that memory box in her parents’ room—but once he’d been checked over for bruises and breaks, she’d kept her distance. Like now. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her leg bounced under the table. She’d picked the seat furthest from his and could barely manage to hold eye contact with the guy for more than two seconds.
“Your mom and I had a system. If she didn’t call me within a week of when a job was scheduled to be completed, I was supposed to fly here to check on you guys,” Marco said. He had a gruff voice. Gravelly. Like he’d swallowed pebbles. His speech had a trace of a Mexican accent that faded in and out. “But you never came back.”
I found a pot, dumped in the soup, and put it on the stove on high. Something he’d said was niggling at the back of my brain, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I was both too tired and too wired to concentrate. Part of me wanted to join them at the table to show Marco he didn’t intimidate me. But he did. He was Kaia’s family. An authority figure. They had a history together. Plus, he’d barely acknowledged my existence when Kaia had introduced me and hadn’t said a word to me since. I couldn’t make myself bridge the gap and assert my presence, so I hung out at the counter, feeling awkward.
“I been taking care a’ the outside a’ the house like I promised. Your parents always said if something went sideways, I needed to keep mowing the lawn, fixing up what was broke, all that kinda stuff. Keep up appearances, ya know?”
“Makes sense,” Kaia said, reaching up to touch her locket.
Marco sat forward in his seat. His glass eye stared slightly to the left of whatever his good eye was looking at, and it made me feel like he was trying to keep an eye on me.
“I still can’t believe it,” he said. “I thought you were dead, kid. I thought all three a’ ya were gone for good.”
He reached across the table for her hand, his leather jacket creaking. She reluctantly gave it to him, but only for a second before refolding her arms.
“I thought we were too,” Kaia said.
That’s when it hit me. Kaia had told me that she hadn’t been with her parents in Oaxaca. She’d told me she’d stayed here with her uncle Marco. But clearly…
I found myself staring at Kaia, my heart in my throat. She avoided my gaze.
Marco sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, then grunted a sigh. The soup started to bubble, so I started opening cabinets and drawers to find bowls and spoons and napkins. Honestly, I was grateful I had something to do with my hands. Kaia had lied. Again. She’d been there when her parents went missing. But why? Why would she lie about that?
“So what happened? Where’re Elena and David? And what’re you doing here with surfer boy?” Marco jabbed a thumb over in my direction. He still didn’t bother to look at me.
I gritted my teeth.
“I’ve never been surfing in my life,” I said, and dropped a bowl of soup in front of him with a clatter.
“It’s a look, kid.” He didn’t even turn his head in my direction. “You got the look.”
“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me where my parents are,” Kaia said flatly as I walked around behind her.
Marco’s good eye flashed, alarmed. “Tell you what?”
“Where my mother is.”
He was almost too still. His leather jacket, which had been squeaking and cracking the whole time they’d been talking, fell silent. “If you don’t know how the hell’m I supposed to know?”
Kaia pulled out her phone and slid it across the table to him, face up. I sat down next to her with our bowls of soup but kept my distance. I felt like if I got too close to her, I’d start spouting questions at her, and now was not the time.
“I got this text a couple of days ago. The computer in the Batcave is trying to trace the GPS,” she said.
“You have the code to the Batcave?” Marco asked.
Kaia blinked. “You don’t?”
Marco huffed and tugged on the front of his jacket. There was some kind of power play happening between the two of them that I couldn’t quite follow.
“Come on, Marco. Are you really going to tell me you don’t know where your sister is?”
Marco picked up the phone between thumb and forefinger. It was like he didn’t want to touch it. He tilted his head back and held the screen at arm’s length to read it.
“Tell me everything that happened.”
He leaned over his bowl and started to shovel chicken and noodles past his lips like he hadn’t eaten in days. I stared at the side of Kaia’s face, wondering if I was finally going to hear the truth.
“Everything?” She glanced at me, and I knew that she knew what I was thinking.
“I can’t help ya if I don’t know what happened,” Marco said.
Kaia took a deep breath. “We were in Oaxaca,” she began.
Marco paused. Broth dripped from his spoon. “Oaxaca?”
“So you were there,” I said.
Kaia nodded. “I was there.”
I dropped my spoon into my bowl, appetite quashed.
“We were in Oaxaca, and Dad was out scouting a job,” she continued. “They’d been hired to take out some politician.”
“Which one?” Marco asked.
“You know they never gave me specifics.”
“I also know how good you are at eavesdropping.”
Kaia paused. “Fine. Miguel Feliciano.” She eyed Marco up and down. “Why?”
“No reason.”
Yeah, right. This guy had the worst poker face ever. My gut was telling me something was going on here, something bigger than Kaia’s lies, but I had no idea what.
Kaia shifted in her seat. Something had gotten under her skin too.
“Miguel Feliciano’s still alive,” Marco said, staring at Kaia.
“That would be because my parents never got to finish the job.”
Marco cursed under his breath. “Why not? What happened?”
“We were waiting for my dad to get back when Mom got this text from him telling us to run. Two seconds later, the hotel room was shot to high hell.”
“You were shot at? Were you hurt?” I asked.
Kaia voice was quiet. “No, but my mom was. She was shot in the leg and the shoulder.”
Marco took a breath and rubbed a hand up and down his face. His eyes went watery and he sat back, staring in Kaia’s direction but not focusing on her. His mind was obviously somewhere else.
“Marco, since when do you follow Mexican politics?” Kaia asked. “Since when do you follow any politics?”
“Finish the story kid,” he snapped, which made me want to punch him. “What happened next?”
Kaia pressed her lips together, composing herself before continuing.
“I tried to get Mom out of there, but she was losing a lot of blood, and she was too heavy to carry, so she gave me her gun.” Her gaze darted to me again. “She said to shoot whoever walked through the door.”
I couldn’t breathe. Kaia clenched and unclenched her hands. I leaned both arms on the table, spent. I think every ounce of my energy was going into my pounding heart.
“Kaia,” I whispered.
“I told her I couldn’t,” Kaia said, her voice faltering. “I told her I didn’t want to shoot anyone…that I couldn’t…but then she stopped answering me. I thought she’d passed out. Then the door shattered and the gun just…it just went off.”
She pressed her lips together, her gaze trained down at the tabletop. I had a feeling that if I touched her, she might crack into a million pieces.
“What happened, mija?” Marco asked gently.
“This guy…this boy, really. I mean, he was one of the guys who was after us, but he was only my age… He…he fell into the room. His eyes went wide and then he fell and he…he never got up again.”
A tear spilled down her cheek, and she swiped it aside. She looked up at Marco.
“I killed him.”
“You had to, kid,” Marco said fiercely. “You were protecting your family.”
Kaia let out a strained laugh. “Yeah. I did a great job of that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked quietly.
“I didn’t want you to know,” she said, not looking at me. “I didn’t want you to see me that way…as a…a murderer.”
“But you aren’t a murderer,” I told her. “It’s like Marco said, you were defending yourself. Protecting your mom.”
“It’s easy to say that when you weren’t there,” she told me, closing her eyes. “Sometimes all I can see is that guy’s face…”
My throat closed. She was crumbling. I wanted to reach out and take her hand, but her fingertips were digging into her thighs now, the tips curled like claws.
“I used to search the Internet for him,” she said, turning to me. “I tried to find boys reported missing in the area. But there were dozens. Dozens of parents trying to find their sons—but none of them were a match.”
