by Pat Esden
Sometimes the smallest deception bears the greatest weight.
—Scratched into a barrack wall
When I got back to the house, I went straight to Kate’s study to see if they’d learned anything new about the Slovenia situation.
Olya and the Professor sat in chairs beside the desk. Kate was on the phone, nodding and talking in a restrained voice. Olya lifted a finger to her lips, signaling for me to stay quiet.
“Yes, thank you. An e-mail confirmation would be nice.” Kate took the phone away from her ear and glowered at me. “We don’t have anything new to tell you. I suggest you go to your room and get a decent amount of sleep for a change.”
My hands clenched and it was all I could do to not punch the top of her desk. What gave her the right to dismiss me like a servant? Dad, Grandfather, and Uncle David were my family too. I deserved to hear everything as it came in. And who the hell was she to criticize my sleeping habits? She’d been up before dawn doing spells in the gallery.
I took a deep breath and counted to ten. To hell with them. They weren’t worth the effort.
I dismissed them with a wave and flounced out of the room.
It wasn’t that late, probably around ten thirty, but the library, dining room, and hallways were already quiet and dark as I scuffled toward my room. On the main staircase, Houdini and two Siamese cats zinged past me.
“Hey, kitty, kitty,” I called, hoping to catch his attention.
He kept chasing his new friends like I was invisible.
“Ungrateful brat,” I grumbled. Well, what did I expect? Cats weren’t known for their fidelity. I picked up my pace and swung my arms like everything was zip-a-dee-doo-dah wonderful. But it wasn’t—guilt and loneliness tossed inside me and I seriously considered going to Selena’s apartment and apologizing. Instead, I waited until I got to my room, then flopped onto the bed and sent her a text.
Sorry. Sorry. I was an ass. Forgive me.
She answered:
Newt really is a great guy. U just don’t know him. Talk tomorrow. K?
I texted right back:
K. See you at breakfast.
She had to think I was a total jerk. First freaking out about Chase and Lotli, though the jury was still out on that one. Then mouthing off about Newt. She was probably right. Newt might grow on me if I spent more time with him. Still . . .
Once again my thoughts went back to the first time I’d met him. Something about him had seemed—incongruent was the word imprinted on the back of my mind. But I couldn’t put a finger on the source of my apprehension. Maybe it was the tattoo inside his left wrist: the outline of a snake twisted up, like a pretzel. Perhaps. But there wasn’t really anything unusual about that. Was it the weird fraternal symbol on his bracelet? Maybe.
With a shake of my head, I shoved my apprehension aside. What was wrong with me? Newt was a normal guy. Preppy, rich, and Harvard, just like Selena had told me.
I noticed I had a voice mail. Dad.
Despite the static and breaks I could understand most of his message:
“Kiddo . . . really a mess here. Hang in there. See what you can get out of that Lotli girl about . . . Got to run . . . David wants me to go with him . . . Home soon. Love, hugs, and kisses.”
I started to listen to it a second time, his voice sending a warm feeling right to my heart. But when I got to the part about David wanting Dad to go with him, something struck me and my mind jolted back to Selena. Ever since I’d come to live at Moonhill, she’d always asked me to go with her on her late-night party runs, even when she was pissed at me. Most of the time, I said no. For one thing, after her underage drinking arrest her dad had all but locked her in her room. He’d quickly relented and quit watching her so closely, but I didn’t want to get caught in the middle and be accused of corrupting her again.
Tonight, however, for the first time ever, Selena had failed to ask me to go with her.
But she’d left the bonfire with Lotli, like they were best friends.
And if Selena was going to a party, then Chase would be there as well watching from the shadows in his furtive capacity as her bodyguard.
I flung myself off the bed and stomped to the closet. Rooting through my clothes, I snagged a dark-blue hoodie and yanked it on as I raced into the hallway. My flashlight was still in my jeans pocket, but I didn’t risk turning it on. I didn’t really need it at that moment either. Even my fear of the dark couldn’t eclipse my anger.
It took less than five minutes to get outside and check to see if all the ATVs were in the garage. Once I was certain they were, I jogged to the gazebo and knelt in the shadows. A moment later, I heard the soft scrape-crunch of footsteps and spotted Selena and Lotli sneaking in through the garage’s side door. They reappeared pushing a silent ATV toward the edge of the yard and the forest trail, exactly the same way Selena and I did it when we went out.
The ATV started up. As its hum faded into the distance, I dug my phone out and checked the time. I’d give them a fifteen- or twenty-minute lead, long enough to get through the woods, down the sand dunes, and to the party before I followed.
Shivering, I pulled my hood up. Fog drifted across the lawns, illuminated by the moonlight. The whoosh of the tide whispered almost beyond my hearing. A rustle came from the garden. I tucked my hands into my pockets, my head replaying the stories Dad had told me about things coming to life in the mist, especially as the Devil’s hour approached.
Cold sweat dampened my sides. I leapt to my feet. Enough waiting. It was time to put the ATV driving lesson Selena had given me through a real test.
I sprinted to the garage, punched in the security code. Once inside, I jogged to Tibbs’s office to get the keys from the pegboard. They’d taken my favorite ATV and left the faster but more temperamental one.
My hand recoiled from the keys. What was I thinking? I’d kill myself for sure. And, as much as I wanted to pretend I’d conquered my fear of the dark, even the thought of navigating the pitch-black woods on a potholed trail petrified me.
Screw it. I’d do this the smart way.
I snagged the keys to Dad’s Mercedes. A minute later, I was winging up the driveway.
When I neared the gate, the headlight beams swept the dark windows of Chase’s cottage and haloed the misty outline of his pickup. I would have liked to believe that the unlit windows meant he was home, catching up on his sleep. Unfortunately, it more likely meant he was shadowing Selena—and Lotli.
The memory of the first time I’d gone partying with Selena drifted into my mind. That night, Chase had been in the shadows, watching over us. Newt and Selena had fixed me up with Newt’s younger sleazebag brother, Myles. I slipped away from him and ended up sitting on the sand, away from the party, thinking about my dad, when Chase had found me. We’d sat on the beach and talked, and I’d wanted him to kiss me so badly. And when he bent over, his lips warm against mine, my body had gone crazy, craving, needing, wanting him.
I tapped on the Mercedes’s brakes, slowing to a stop in front of the gate. That night, if it had been up to me, I’d have had sex right there on the sand with Chase, no question about it. I was certain Lotli would feel the same way if she got the chance tonight.
Shoving the thought from my head, I snagged Dad’s tool bag from under the passenger seat and dug out his lock-picking stuff. As I opened the car door a part of me was terrified that someone would see me and ask where I was going and why I hadn’t requested the key. It whispered for me to turn around and go back to the mansion. But a less rational voice urged me forward. I trusted Chase, and I was almost sure there was nothing going on. But I had to be certain. Or I’d always wonder.
I took a step toward the gate, but stopped short when I noticed it was already ajar. Strange. Selena had told me it was always locked after sunset.
Just grateful for my luck, I opened the gate all the way, drove out, and closed it behind me. It wasn’t until I reached the main road that I realized there was another problem. I could have easily
found the beach where Selena and her friends partied by following the ATV trail, but I had no idea how to get there by car.
I headed north. I did know it was up the coast from Moonhill.
After a mile or so, I realized how stupid I was being and swerved into a pull-off. Getting out my phone, I brought up a satellite image of Port St. Claire and studied it. Most of its shoreline was rocky cliffs, but there was one sandy stretch a little north of Moonhill’s beach. Best of all, a side road that was only a dozen yards ahead of where I’d parked appeared to go right past that sandy stretch. Perfect.
I crumpled down in my seat. Chase. Not trusting him really did feel wrong and horrible. Last winter, me and my best friend Taj’s friendship had sizzled into something much hotter, and then nosedived into an arctic-chill, followed by heartache when I discovered he had another girl. Maybe it was me. Maybe I just didn’t get this casual-sex-vs.-relationship thing.
No, I told myself emphatically. This was different. Chase wasn’t Taj. And I did trust Chase. But I didn’t trust Lotli, no matter what anyone said. An image of her naked, stroking her flute and winding his yarn around it, slithered into my mind. If something was going on, it was her doing. Not his.
The boom of approaching music interrupted my thoughts.
An open-topped jeep packed with guys whizzed out of a low swirl of fog and squealed down the side road. A second later, a truck with chrome pipes did the same thing. I shifted the Mercedes into gear and followed them, down that road and onto a second narrower dirt road.
Summer camps sprung up on either side, decorated Maine-style with lobster traps and old nets. We went past what looked like a boat launch, then nothing but fields and glimpses of the ocean, the flash of a buoy, more mist and fingers of fog.
I gave the steering wheel a celebratory fist bump when I spotted bumper-to-bumper cars and trucks lining the road ahead and spilling onto the shoreline, not to mention the unmistakable thump of music, the glow of a bonfire, and people wandering through the haze with Solo cups and beers.
I scanned the roadside, looking for the perfect parking space. A little out of the way, but not too much. The last thing I wanted was for Selena or anyone I knew to spot the Mercedes, at least not until I had a chance to see what they were up to.
I drove past what looked like the path most people were taking to get to the shore and to where the road became less crowded with cars. On the left were an abandoned garage and a shed with the remains of an old fishing boat poking out of it. I turned the Mercedes around in the garage’s weed-covered driveway, then drove back the way I’d come and parked on the edge of the road. This way, when it came time to leave, the car would be pointed in the right direction. It definitely wasn’t a parking spot I would have normally chosen. In fact, it might as well have had a sign that read: Welcome muggers and rapists—get your stupid girl here.
With that in mind, I grabbed my flashlight and gripped it like a cop’s baton as I got out of the car. It wasn’t big, but it could inflict some serious damage if need be.
I hadn’t even made it past the Mercedes’s front bumper when the thud of a car door shutting came from near the abandoned garage. That was odd. I hadn’t noticed a car when I turned around.
I glanced toward the sound. At first I didn’t see anything, then a chunky guy swaggered drunkenly out from the darkness of the garage and into the eerie brightness of the fog and moonlight. He was messing with the front of his jeans. Most likely, he’d wandered in there to take a piss in private.
As he turned my way, I dove for the edge of the road and ducked down next to the Mercedes. The last thing I wanted was to deal with a drunk.
The sound of his shambling footsteps came closer as he made his way along the dirt road toward me. I crouched down even farther, listening to his footfall and the more distant thump of music. My mouth dried. I didn’t dare breath. The guy’s outline came into view, even with the car’s hood. He stopped and let out a loud belch. I wrinkled my nose, my disgust deepening as he began scratching his nuts.
The grumble of an approaching car reached my ears. Its headlights fanned the road, growing brighter, and illuminated the guy as it passed.
Holy freak show!
I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from making a barfing sound. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t see the guy’s face, but I’d have recognized his blubbery ass anywhere. Myles, also known in my book as numero uno horndog and slime mold. At least, it looked like him.
Scowling, I watched him ramble across the road and off into the fog. That night at the beach, when Selena and Newt had fixed me up with him, the asshole had groped me like a blow-up doll while we were dancing, then none too subtly suggested we do the horizontal mambo. Total douche. How could I have forgotten that he’d be at this party? I blew out a breath and stayed crouched. At least kissing Chase later that night had made up for Myles.
Once I was positive Myles was too far away to hear or notice my movements, I got up. The music stopped for a moment. The air stilled. The moonlit fog chimed with crickets all around. And my ears picked up on another sound, a faint rhythmic thumping and a muffled moan coming from nearby.
I rolled my eyes. Nice, I thought sarcastically. Not only had I parked in the mugging zone and the local piss hole, but it was also the favorite screwing spot.
The sound started again, louder. Thump. Thump. Thump. Groan. Moan. Thump.
Then it vanished under the even more amplified return of the music and louder sounds of cheering from the crowd. Fireworks hissed upward through the haze, exploding overhead.
“Okay, enough stalling,” I said, shoving my hair back from my face. Like it or not, it was time to find Selena and Lotli, especially Lotli.
I took two steps in the direction of the party, but the thumping started again. This time more insistent. I stopped and cocked my head, listening. What the hell was it?
Thump. Thump. Damn. I wanted to ignore it and get back to business. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Whimper. Moan. The sound was coming from the garage.
I glanced toward the party, another cheer rising as the red spray of fireworks crackled across the sky. My gaze fled back to the abandoned garage and a heavy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Damn it. I’d never have peace of mind until I checked it out. It sounded like someone might be hurt? Or maybe stuck in a situation they couldn’t get out of.
I charged up the road toward the garage. Switching on my flashlight, I scanned up the weed-covered driveway, searching for the source of the noise. I fanned the beam across the front of the garage to where I’d spotted Myles coming out, and it sparked off glass. A car, pulled inside the garage’s open bay.
I careened up the driveway, damp grass and brambles clawing at my legs. The car’s rear bumper glistened under the flashlight beam. A black car. Medium size. Sedan.
Holding my breath, I whipped the flashlight’s beam in through a side window.
Black seats. A car blanket. No trash or bottles. The car’s interior was empty.
Thump. I jumped a mile into the air and swung the flashlight toward the noise. Oh God. It had come from the trunk.
Goose bumps peppered my skin as a wave of fog washed against the garage. Dad’s lock-picking kit was in the Mercedes. I could run and get it or try or find a stiff wire to use.
I winged the flashlight beam around the inside of the garage. A bunch of old receipts lay on a workbench, held together with an oversize paper clip. Clips were made of stiff wire. It might work.
Grabbing it, I careened to the rear of the car. And stopped. Fuck. There wasn’t an exterior lock on the trunk. Damn it.
A lever. There had to be a lever or a button inside the car that opened the trunk. But what if the car had an alarm? What if the owner came back?
A nauseated feeling twisted in my chest. Was . . . Myles the owner of the car? I always knew he was an asshole and suspected he’d happily rape a passed-out girl. But a psychopath who’d kidnapped people?
It
only took me a second to find a broken chunk of concrete on the garage’s junk-strewn floor. Clamping my flashlight between my teeth, I slammed the concrete against the driver’s window. Once. Twice. Three times.
Crunch! The window shattered, glass crackled and fell inward. I covered my hand with the hoodie’s sleeve to keep from getting cut, reached inside, and opened the car door. Right by the steering wheel was a button. I pushed it and heard the trunk latch open. Thank God.
Barely able to breathe, I sprinted back to the trunk, hoisted the lid, and pointed the flashlight beam inside.
The dark shape of a person—a small girl—lay curled up, unmoving.
Lotli. It was freaking Lotli.
For a heartbeat all I could do was stare. Then adrenaline kicked in and I shoved my flashlight in my hip pocket, reached in, and shook her. “You all right?”
She didn’t move. She just lay there limp. Crap. Crap. Crap.
“Lotli. Wake up!” I shouted. Mist chilled my arms and settled over her, gray and cold. Overhead, fireworks banged and hissed. Myles had to have done this. It had to be him.
I shook her again and she moaned.
“Lotli. Come on.” We needed to get to the Mercedes. I’d lock us inside and call 911 or Selena.
My brain registered something else. Duct tape on her mouth, wrists, and ankles.
I ripped it off her mouth. I whipped the Mercedes’s key ring out of my pocket and began using its rough edge to saw away at the tape that encircled her ankles.
She whimpered and kicked, trying to escape my grip.
I pinned her legs down with one hand and kept hacking away at the tape with my other. The freaking tape didn’t want to give. Damn it. Damn it to hell.
Finally I got through the tape, peeled it off, and moved on to her bound wrists.
She’d stopped fighting and lay still again. But I wasn’t sure her stillness was a good thing. Her mouth fell open, spittle foaming along her lips. Shit.
I hurried even more, not worrying if I raked her. Once I finished pulling off the tape, I grabbed her by the armpits and hauled her out of the trunk like a rag doll. Her knees buckled. I threw her arm over my shoulder and snagged her by the waist. She wasn’t that heavy, but I wasn’t that strong.
