by J D Lasica
“Three more blocks,” she said. She needed a change of scenery. And she’d given her word.
As they walked along the lane, fall colors danced in the trees. They passed mansions with killer views of the bay—big estates with pools, tennis courts, sprawling lawns, and lights winking in the twilight. She was already working out what adjustments she’d need to make to Amelia’s social settings.
But first she’d have to make it through tonight.
She was still processing the fact she’d killed one of them—a member of the one percent.
Part of her wondered if they’d honor her tonight. Or arrest her.
2
Southampton, New York
Kaden and Gabriel reached the address, a two-story mansion with a long paved driveway, manicured garden, and more windows than she could count. The noise from the party spilled out to the front sidewalk.
“The last honoree is here,” a woman at the doorway announced to someone inside. Then to Kaden: “Welcome, dear. I like your outfit. So svelte and tribal.”
“Thanks.” She’d borrowed something feminine from Annika, figuring her usual anti-fashion uniform of ripped jeans and faded tees wouldn’t cut it tonight. She stepped into the marbled foyer beneath a crystal chandelier. So this is how the rich live.
A dark-haired young boy held up a silver tray containing smartglasses—she saw most of the guests were wearing them. “Smart parties” seemed to be the trendy new thing in the Hamptons.
Kaden declined—her smart contact lenses would do fine. Her AI had already tapped into the open network and paired with the gala’s cloud so she could see the same data as the other guests. And more. She suspected she was the only party-goer with an AI companion.
“Nice little soirée.” Gabriel eyed the main room, which could hold both of their apartments and then some. Rows of recessed lighting graced the lofted ceilings. Guests milled about as white-uniformed waiters served drinks and canapés. On the far wall, images of the honorees rotated on a digital display.
They moved into the buzzy maw. Kaden counted six leather sofas, one baby grand piano, five wall murals, and a single gleaming spiral staircase leading to a marble balustrade lining a second-floor walkway.
Where a large man with a thick dark mustache seemed to stare at her.
“Champagne, Miss?” a waiter offered. Kaden and Gabriel each grabbed a flute. She glanced up. The man was gone.
“Isn’t that the mayor?” Gabriel nodded toward a gaggle near the fireplace. “And what’s her name, the actress.”
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she turned to see a silver-haired woman in a blue designer outfit that probably cost more than Kaden made in a year.
“Kaden, so glad you could make it. I’m Marian Shorenstein.” They shook hands. “It was so brave what you did, saving all those poor girls.”
She still felt uneasy talking about how she’d freed all those young women held captive at the fertility center in Dallas. She became an instant cult hero online. But the D.A. was still deciding whether to bring charges against her.
“It happened so fast. I just reacted.”
“We need more warriors like you on the front lines.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be happy to disappear into the shadows after tonight. I need some humdrum in my life.”
The only reason she attended was that the award came with a stipend. She’d decided to turn the prize money over to Jamie, the sixteen-year-old call girl who made it through the Dallas ordeal. Kaden knew what it was like to grow up in a household without loving parents.
A member of the wait staff pulled Marian Shorenstein away, so Gabriel and Kaden chatted with two other couples before wandering out the rear door. The party extended into the sweeping back yard and around the swimming pool, lit up in a blue glow.
Gabriel leaned over and kissed her on the back of her neck. She felt a flush of warmth. “I don’t know what to say to these people,” she confessed.
“Just be yourself. They’ve probably never met a real-life action hero before.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. During the past six weeks with Gabriel, she’d been revisiting a lot of her assumptions. She’d always thought of herself as a lone wolf. No boyfriend or girlfriend, free of entanglements. Having a plus-one was changing the equation.
Gabriel took her empty Champagne flute. “Be right back with a refill.”
She turned and followed the pathway, illuminated with tiki torches. At the end of the pool, the path led to an open-air patio with a large fire pit aflame with orange embers. Wooden chaises were set back a safe distance from the fire flanked by an island stand topped with bottles of liqueurs and wines. She was away from the crowd now, and she fished the earpiece from her pocket to check in with Amelia.
A tall figure approached from the shadows. The man from the upstairs balustrade. He had a large build, with broad shoulders and an Eastern European look. His dark eyes danced like shimmering glasses of red wine in the reflection of the tiki torches. His name and occupation appeared in the bottom third of her field of vision. The gala’s attendee list identified him as Lazarus Wojcik, a cardiologist from Prague.
“Ms. Kaden Baker, it’s an honor to meet you.” He extended his immense palm and she shook it.
“Actually, I don’t use my last name. Or a courtesy title.” The gala people never asked her.
“Forgive me.” He moved closer. He had a half-moon scar on his forehead and a musty odor. “I am still getting used to this new reality. Using glasses to learn the name of a person across the room. Strange.”
“You were staring at me before. From the banister.”
“I was admiring your golden hair and purple highlights. And your … body decorations.” His gaze moved from her hair to her lip piercing and settled upon her left shoulder.
“An equality tattoo,” she said.
“These are rare in my social circles.”
Amelia appeared in the corner of her field of vision. “Kaden, something about this fellow doesn’t add up. No record of a cardiologist by that name in any hospital database in Europe.”
“What can I do for you, sir?” Kaden asked. She wondered why he’d be using an alias.
“I have an urgent private matter to discuss with you. Let’s walk toward the fire pit for some privacy.”
He grabbed her by the elbow and tried to steer her away from the other guests.
She resisted. “Wait. What’s this about?”
“Please. Come this way. Don’t make a scene.”
He wrapped his thick, bearlike fingers around her biceps and pulled her toward the darkness.
“Hey!” She jerked her arm free, more angry than frightened.
To her left, behind a row of chaise lounges, she saw a second man approach at seven o’clock. Bear Man grabbed her by the shoulders while the shorter one, lithe like a cat, came up from behind and pushed her head downward to expose her neck. He was holding a syringe.
Her special ops training kicked in. She yanked away, leveled a powerful kick to the second intruder’s groin, and snatched the syringe from his hand. She tried to plunge it into his neck, but he grabbed her wrist, so she used her free hand to grip the syringe and snap it in half. Their faces were inches apart. He had long, stringy blond hair and a ruddy, sunburnt face. He reminded her of the bad date she’d had with a surfer.
She grabbed Surfer Dude’s arm, used his weight to whip his body over her back, and crashed him to the ground. Two against one, not fair, Surfer Dude.
Guests around the fringes of the pool scattered. Someone called out, “Security!”
Kaden turned and saw Bear Man coming at her. She grabbed a hardwood lounge chair, hoisted it, and put her full weight behind it, smashing it into his upper torso. He fell, dazed but still conscious.
She reached down, grabbed the hem of her fancy dress, and ripped it straight up to her hip to get better lift and leverage. Annika’s gonna kill me for this.
From the ground, Surfer Dude grabbed her ankles and toppled her ba
ckward. He shot to his feet and dragged her by the ankles toward the fire pit. “I’ll teach you some manners.”
“Accent from a region of rural Belarus,” Amelia informed her through her earpiece.
Surfer Dude relaxed his grip for a second and reached for two metal roasting sticks from the stand next to the fire pit. He snagged a glowing orange rock and brought it toward Kaden’s face.
Just as she felt the heat on her cheek, she surprised him with a hook kick to his left kidney from her supine position, a move she learned at boot camp. The heated rock toppled to the side. Surfer Dude shrieked in pain. She regained her feet and followed with a foot jab to his solar plexus. Her kickboxing instincts took over, and she was glad she was wearing her black steel-toe flats.
She saw Bear Man reach for something inside his jacket. Before he could grab it, she spun and delivered three lightning-quick strikes. She started with a side kick to his rib cage. She planted, turned her body to generate more power, then delivered a left-handed blow to his liver. The coup de grace was a roundhouse strike to the left side of his head that sent him crumpling to the ground.
She heard a wheezing noise behind her and saw Surfer Dude coming at her again. She took three steps to her right, pulled a tiki torch out of the ground, and smashed it across his back.
Black oil from the torch splashed onto his jacket, setting him on fire. Surfer Dude shrieked—the howl of a wounded animal. He tried to shed his jacket as the blaze grew. He lunged into the pool, sending a surge of water onto the concrete pavement.
She turned to face Bear Man. He drew his gun, a Browning Hi Power by the look of it, and aimed it at her. “You’re coming with me.”
“You’ll have to kill me.” She started toward him.
“Kaden? What the hell!” Gabriel exploded out of the back entrance and ran toward them. The Champagne flutes in his hands smashed to the pavement. A pair of security guards followed on his heels.
As Gabriel came closer, Bear Man flashed her a smile, whirled, and took aim at the onrushing figure.
“No! Shoot me!” Kaden screamed. She charged him. I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!
She launched herself and delivered a compact uppercut to his right arm to throw off his aim. Her blow arrived a split second too late.
Bear Man shot Gabriel square in the forehead.
3
Annandale, Virginia, day of the Disappearance
Bo Finnerty began the day with his usual routine. He rose earlier than he would have liked. Shaved with military precision. Took a quick shower so the steam would dissipate on the mirror before his seventeen-year-old daughter awoke.
He checked the clock and began to cook her favorite breakfast. Waffles with fresh berries. Cottage cheese on the side. Orange juice from real oranges, not frozen concentrate.
“Hi Pop.”
He turned to see Bailey plunk into the wooden kitchen chair and check her phone. Misty, their spaniel-cocker mix, bounded in from the next room and sat at Bailey’s feet.
“I made your favorite breakfast,” he said.
“No time. Just cottage cheese.”
He checked the clock. She had only two minutes to wolf something down or she’d miss the bus. He brought over the cottage cheese and a glass of OJ. Just six more weeks of high school. In the fall, college life would change her perspective, smooth out the edges.
“I thought we could go out one night this week. Maybe see a movie.”
She escaped into her phone. Which in its way was her reply.
Weren’t fathers and daughters supposed to have a special bond? How in hell did I miss out on that?
He knew the answer. He couldn’t undo all those years.
“Or we could stay home. Play a game of chess. You used to like that.”
He studied her impassive expression. He could get reads on some of the most elusive terrorists around the globe. But he could never get a good read on his own daughter.
“You’re trying too hard to be superdad.” She shot up, headed toward the front door, looked back. “Busy studying for finals.”
And with that, she was gone.
Bailey caught the Fairfax County school bus at the usual corner with seconds to spare. She spotted her best friend, Ling, near the back and sat down next to her.
They picked up where they’d left off last night. They’d watched America’s Got Talent on TV while they hung out on a video chat and debated the merits of each contestant. Ling rose and gave an awkward little shimmy, imitating one of the finalists. They burst out laughing.
The bus screeched to a sudden halt. Bailey nearly fell into the aisle.
They were only halfway to school. Maybe there was an accident? Bailey thought.
Bailey heard men’s voices shouting from outside in front of the bus. The bus driver raised his hands then slowly lowered his right hand to open the doors. Two men dressed like commandos rushed into the bus and pointed submachine guns at everyone. The bus had about thirty students on board. The kids started to scream and panic.
“Shut up and nobody gets hurt!” one shouted.
A third attacker entered. He looked like the others, wearing a black ski mask and black coveralls—except for one difference. Atop his partial ski mask he was wearing a pair of glasses.
He moved down the row of seats, studying the faces of each passenger. He stopped two seats in front of her and looked at Piper Matthews, captain of the Annandale Atoms cheerleading squad. He raised his head, as if comparing Piper’s face with something he was seeing with his glasses.
“You. Out now!”
He pointed the weapon at her and signaled for one of his men to grab her. Piper disappeared down the steps of the bus, shaking and crying as she went.
He continued down the aisle. “Target one obtained,” he said. It looked like he was talking with someone, but she didn’t see any phone or device.
He moved slowly, pausing in front of the girls but not the guys. He stopped as he reached her and Ling. Bailey felt a chill pass through her as she avoided eye contact. No, please no.
He paused again, checking something reflected on his glasses as if to make sure he was taking the right hostages.
He pointed his gun at Ling. “You.”
And then at Bailey. “And you. Move.”
He jabbed the assault rifle into her back to move faster, and she exited the side of the bus. As she reached the bottom step, she saw the kidnappers string a white collar around Piper’s neck and push her into a van.
The lead attacker walked away from the bus and shielded his mouth with his palm. He was almost out of earshot, but it sounded like he said, “Lucid, you’re breaking up. Packages en route.”
One of the men grabbed and held Bailey’s arms from behind. The lead attacker returned and fished something from his pocket. He draped the white neckband over her head and clasped it from behind her neck. As he slipped it on, it began to glow and she realized what it was. An electric collar.
4
Brooklyn and Long Island
Kaden emerged from the Southampton Village Police Department still in shock. Detectives questioned her for hours, and she let them download her video footage of Bear Man. She slid into Nico’s car still wearing her torn dress, and they drove her back to Brooklyn with her friends Annika and Sayeed in the back seat.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Nico told her. He was her best friend and knew when to give her space.
Usually his car overflowed with nonstop chatter about their work together at B Collective. They still had a lot to figure out about their new consultancy, but today they all kept silent during the long drive back on Sunrise Highway.
Nico parked and the four made their way up the steep stairwell to Kaden’s third-floor flat. They found the door ajar. She pushed it open and stared at the shambles. Overturned furniture, desk drawers open, clothes and personal items strewn on the ground.
“Damn,” Nico said. “I thought this was a safe neighborhood.”
“It is,” sh
e said.
“We should call the police.” Annika stepped over a pile of smashed picture frames.
“No.” Kaden shook her head. “I can’t deal with any more police today.”
“All right,” Nico said. “We’ll help you clean up, then.”
They went to work, clearing the glass from the floor, righting the sofa and chairs, organizing the scattered clothes into little folded piles. Kaden kicked herself for spending every waking moment on Amelia rather than setting up a home security system for her apartment.
“Where’s your laptop?” Annika asked.
“At work.” She kept no sensitive files on her laptop, so no need to go rushing off to B Collective.
They sat on the sofa and chairs while she changed into jeans and a black Semper Femina T-shirt. She returned, sank to her knees, and found the research notebooks she’d been compiling about her late mother’s life with the goal of unearthing some clues about her own identity.
That was the plan. Until last night.
They checked the room for surveillance devices, but it came up clean. Nico pressed the play button on her stereo to see if it still worked. The Housemartins’ “Happy Hour” filled the irony gap in the room. It would also drown out any bugs.
Kaden plunked down on her Moroccan fringe rug. “I’m ready to talk.”
She recounted the Southampton gala step by step, from the moment she and Gabriel got out of their ride share. She told them about the two assailants who targeted her and their attempt to drug her and escape into the darkness.
“I should have let them take me. Gabriel would still be alive.”
“You did nothing wrong. You fought back.” Sayeed leaned forward in her ratty armchair. “They could have killed you.”
Kaden shook her head. “The big one with the Browning, he had me dead to rights. They must have had orders to capture, not kill me.”
She saw Amelia had a message for her. So she maximized her and Amelia appeared in the kitchen doorframe, though only Kaden could see her with her special contacts. She’d given Amelia standing directions to provide updates.
