by Ellery Kane
“See you in a bit,” I called to Elana, as we jogged down the hill toward the water.
“Have you ever heard Eddie that quiet?” Quin asked, still giggling. He slapped String on the back. “I like this guy,” Quin said to me, beaming. As strange as it sounds, Quin’s sudden smile, genuine and warm, was a bellwether, a gentle reminder. String had a knack for people, for making the calculated, the purposeful, seem effortless. He was a con artist. A good one.
CHAPTER FIFTY - NINE
BLACK ROSE
“IT’S 2 P.M.,” I whispered to Quin. We were sitting on a bench facing the water, Artos resting on his haunches between our legs. Quin’s arm was draped, mere inches behind me, leaving my shoulders barely untouched. I tried not to notice. Max and String were stationed near the fort, pretending to workout. Two fishermen standing at the beach’s edge, poles in the water, were the only other signs of life. As I watched Max alternate between sets of jumping jacks and push-ups, I laughed.
“Somehow, I think we got the better end of the deal, Artos.” He turned his head at the sound of his name, his tail wagging fiercely.
“He already misses you,” Quin said. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you say good-bye this morning. I just figured you might not get to walk him as much with Augustus lurking around.”
“I understand.” I didn’t sound that convincing. “Did you know I was coming here today?”
“Not until Elana told me she invited you, but I’m glad you did. You and Max.” I felt Quin’s arm graze my shoulders. “I’m really proud of you, Lex—what you did with Augustus.”
“String helped too.”
“Maybe. But you were really brave.” He grinned. “Are you sure you weren’t still using Emovere?” We both laughed, the corners of Quin’s eyes crinkling in my favorite way.
“Quin … I…” I couldn’t finish. It was 2:01 p.m., and there was too much to say, too much already said, too much still unsaid between us. That was the moment—right then—when I knew. Like I told Elana, there was no going back. “ … I … think I see someone coming.”
Lumbering toward us, his features still indiscernible, was a man in a dark suit. “Are those flowers?” Quin asked. Not answering, I shook off a chill. He was close enough now to see his face. It was stern and unmoving, as if chiseled from stone. A sinister bridegroom, he carried black roses in his hands. I followed his gaze past us to the main building, then watched his coal-colored shoes approach step by measured step. Artos made a low, throaty growl.
I spoke to him. I can’t tell you what possessed me—and when his blue marble eyes trained on me—I regretted it instantly. “Black roses?” I asked. “I’ve never seen those before.”
“Would you like one?” A French accent made his voice cold. He selected one of the flowers and handed it to me. There was a shiny black stone on his right ring finger. Onyx. The word wisped through my mind the way a cloud obscures the sun, fleeting but not unnoticed. As I reached to accept his gift, his lips curled in amusement. “Careful now,” he warned. “Thorns.”
Artos let out a surly bark, and the man jumped back. “Tais-toi, chien stupide!” he hissed. Quin pulled on his leash, but Artos strained forward, chomping at the man’s heels, as he walked away. “I only asked your dog to be quiet,” he explained over his shoulder, his voice suddenly polite. I held tight to the smooth part of stem until he was too far away to see me drop it. I pushed it to the edge of the bench as if it was poisoned.
“That was strange,” Quin said, still watching the man. “I can’t believe you talked to him.”
“Me either.” I exhaled. “Did you see his ring?”
Quin nodded. “Do you think he’s the one meeting with Xander?”
I opened my mouth to speak—to say yes—when the man’s stride quickened. Suddenly, he was jogging, then running past String and Max. Just as he disappeared inside the fort, Artos bolted, jerking the leash from Quin’s hand. “Artos! Stay!”
We sprinted after him, my still-aching body protesting against the effort. As Artos zipped past them, Max and String joined in pursuit. But it was hopeless. He was too fast. In just a few seconds, Artos vanished inside the fort.
Ahead of me, Quin slowed his pace to a brisk walk, allowing me to catch up. “Artos! Artos, come!” Quin’s call was nearly lost in the cold wind off the water. We both stopped to listen. Our labored breathing was the only sound in my ears.
“What just happened?” Max asked. “Who was that weirdo with the flowers? And why was he running?”
I shrugged. “Did you see which way he went?”
Unmoving, String pointed to the fort. “Both of them. In there.” Past the brick archway, the space opened wide into what seemed an endless series of rooms and passageways. “Good luck.” He leaned against the wall, relaxing. “I’ll be waiting right here.”
I wandered inside, Quin and Max behind me. “Artos!” The echoes of our collective voices seemed to extend forever. Surely Artos could hear us, the strange man too. I shivered thinking of him, secreted in a dark corner, holding those black roses. After searching all the downstairs rooms, Max put a hand to Quin’s shoulder. “I think we should go back to the van. He’ll probably be there.” Dejected, Quin didn’t answer but followed us outside. Before we continued up the path to the parking lot, he cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted Artos’ name one more time.
“If he’s not there, I’ll come back and look with you,” I assured him. “I promise we’ll find him.” Even as I spoke the words, I felt uneasy. Artos had never run away before, and he always obeyed Quin. What if he didn’t come back?
As I watched Quin jog back up the path, my cell phone buzzed with a text from Elana: On our way back. Wait for us.
When Max, String, and I finally reached Quin at the top of the hill, my heart sunk. As I feared—no Artos. Aside from our van, the parking lot was empty.
“We lost him,” Elana groaned, as she emerged from the van. “I got—” Our long faces gave her pause. “What happened?”
Somber, Quin only said, “Artos.”
“He just took off,” I explained. “We can’t find him.”
Elana and I exchanged a worried look. “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” she said. “Did you see where that creep left the flowers?”
“He left them?”
“He must have. When he came back to his car, he was empty-handed and running, like he saw a ghost. His arm was bleeding.” Artos bit him. His face stricken with worry, I knew Quin was thinking the same.
Edison took over the story. “We followed him into the city, but someone got a speeding ticket.” He shook his finger at Elana.
“Of course I was speeding. We were chasing someone, remember? That cop just came out of nowhere. If you ask me, it all seems a little too coincidental.”
“Did you see anybody else?” I asked Elana.
“His car was the only one that came in and out. I’m guessing he tipped off Xander, since he never showed.”
Noticeably silent, String tapped a long finger against his chin. “What are you thinking?” I wondered.
He smirked. “Before you super sleuths break out your decoder rings, I have to ask. How do you even know this guy was meeting anybody? Maybe he’s just an anthophilous out for a stroll.”
“An antho-what?” Max asked.
“Flower lover,” Elana said, rolling her eyes.
String considered her with reverence. “Impressive. Not just a pretty face.” Elana blushed, as Edison glared at String. Maybe he hadn’t won everybody over just yet.
“He may be an anthophilous.” Edison mocked String. “But he also has a noteworthy occupation at a very unsavory place.” He produced his computer tablet from the back seat of the van and held it up for us. “He was driving a government vehicle, plates issued to Larkhill Federal Penitentiary in Sacramento. I’m pretty certain this is him.” On the screen, the suited man—minus the black roses—posed in front of an American flag. His face was blank, his lips a thin dash, his dark hair molded in place like
a helmet. Under him, in bold face type: Pierce Baudin, Associate Warden.
“Larkhill,” I said aloud, feeling the word on my tongue. “Larkhill.” It was familiar—where had I heard it before?—but not placeable, until I met Quin’s eyes. Then, I remembered. “Ryker. Ryker’s in Larkhill.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
THORNS
“QUIN, WAIT UP!” I hurried after him, back toward the fort to look for Artos, while the others searched for Baudin’s black roses.
“Do you really think Xander Steele’s in business with Ryker?” I asked, trying to distract him. Head hung, he gave a half-hearted nod. “We’ll find him,” I repeated.
“Yeah, you keep saying that, but if he bit that guy…” The urge to touch Quin was nearly unbearable. I crossed my arms tight in front of me, securing my strong-willed hands under them. “I never told you, but Artos ran away before,” he said.
Skeptical, I frowned at him. “When?”
“A long time ago. Before I knew you. It was right after I changed my mind about having him around. I was feeding him every day in the park, and he got into it with another dog, a wild dog. Artos just kept fighting and fighting, even though he was bloody. I couldn’t pull him off, and I got so mad because I just knew he was going to die. When I yelled at him, he ran off.”
“So what happened?” I kept my hands safely tethered beneath my jacket sleeves, as we approached the archway marking the entrance.
“This is going to sound crazy,” Quin warned. “But I refused to look for him. I thought we were both better off that way.” He paused, sighing. “I told myself the last thing I needed was something else to love … to lose.” I understood exactly what he meant. If love was a lucky penny, shiny and unspoiled, secreted in a most unlikely place, then its tarnished flip side was loss.
“Let me guess? He found you anyway.”
Quin smiled a little. “Mmhmm. The next day, there he was, practically grinning at me.” He stopped short at the entrance to the fort. “I’ve been afraid to lose you too,” he said. “Since the first time I kissed you.”
I let one hand break free; it found Quin’s cheek. He covered my palm with his. When I finally looked up at him, the softness in his eyes both wrenched and soothed my heart. There’s the kind of love that holds you together, stitches you at all the broken places, and the kind of love that rips you apart seam by seam. Then, there’s the kind—like the way I loved Quin—that does both. He laced his fingers into mine, and I let him. I wasn’t sure what it meant, but our joined hands seemed the exact way, the only way, to say how I felt.
Inside, the fort was colder than before. The sun had just started its slow descent, but in here, it was already twilight. “Artos!” I yelled as loud as I could, Quin’s voice joining with mine, as we walked up the staircase to the first floor. That’s when I heard it. A muffled whimper, softer than a child’s crying.
“Do you hear that?” Quin asked. I put my finger to my lips, trying to locate the sound.
“Over here.” He motioned toward the first door. It was ajar, allowing a sliver of light to pass through. Quin pushed it open with his foot, and it swung wide, revealing its only occupant.
Artos sat in the corner, licking his front paw. It was limp and dotted with blood … next to him, the black roses.
Secured to a rose with a ribbon, the note was simple.
roSes, are in Bloom oncE again, saMe as bEfore—don’t forget to share.
“Any brilliant ideas?” Quin asked Edison, after he recited the lines aloud again. We had been here, huddled in the backseat, for almost an hour. Artos was sleeping, his head atop his injured front paw, resting gingerly on Quin’s lap.
“Usually,” Edison joked. “But not this time. I’ve got nothin’.”
“Maybe Mr. Van Sant will know what it means,” Elana suggested. Edison nodded eagerly. “I hope so. We should probably head back there.”
“We have to get home too,” I said, gesturing to Max and String. “My dad may be gullible, but he’s not stupid. He’s going to start wondering where we are.” I gave Artos’ nose a rub, and he licked my hand. “You’ll be good as new in no time.” I spoke quickly, afraid to meet Quin’s eyes again. I could only wave good-bye, as I walked back to our van, Elana a step behind me.
“So I’ll see you at the courthouse on Monday, right?” she asked.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Monday. Opening statements. It had come so fast. “I don’t know,” I replied. “Quin hasn’t really asked me to be there. I’m not sure he wants me to come.”
Elana sighed loudly. “Alexandra Knightley.” Her voice was distinctly maternal. “I’m going to pretend those words didn’t come out of your mouth. Quin may not have said it, but he definitely wants you there.”
“Okay, then. Monday.”
CHAPTER SIXTY - ONE
ALL RISE
It was one of those moments that feels like somebody else’s, like I lost my way and wandered into another life. When Van Sant’s men dropped me and Max off in front of the courthouse, we walked straight into a different world. Outside, the biting cold air was practically buzzing. I pulled my sweater tight against me and locked arms with Max.
“Whoa.” Max described it perfectly. Held back by a barricade, a substantial crowd—a black sea of Free Inmate 243 T-shirts—had formed. They moved as one, their singsong chanting was so loud, so forceful, it reverberated through me, striking my heart like a drum. “Free Inmate 243, victim of con-spir-acy!” Opposite them, with just as much vigor, was another group. They volleyed back, “Justice for Shelly! The real victim!” On their white T-shirts was a grainy picture of Shelly’s face. A third group—smaller and less vocal—flanked the stairs, holding the American flag. Their signs read, “We remember Chicago. 10/27/37.” Right then, I realized the totality of this whirlwind, the overwhelming swirl and roil of it. “I totally forgot,” I whispered to Max, as I accepted a small flag pin from a woman in the crowd.
Barbara Blake and her SFTV crew were positioned just outside the door, capturing it all. They were joined by a string of Internet reporters dotting the sidewalk, typing furious notes on their cell phones and computer tablets. We walked unnoticed through the commotion, up the stairs and inside. Just past the body scanner, the courthouse opened wide into a crowded maze of passageways.
“Lex! Max!” Elana’s voice cut through the steady stream of black-suited bodies. “Over here!” Just outside one of the courtrooms, she was adjusting Edison’s tie.
“This is intense,” Max said to me, as we approached them. I nodded.
Edison ran his hand through his slicked-back hair. “Do I look like a lawyer yet?” he asked, turning to us.
“Pretty close,” I answered. “Minus the law degree, of course.”
“A mere technicality,” Edison retorted.
“But I thought you hated the suit?”
“It’s starting to grow on me a little.” He preened for Elana. “Besides, I look so darn good in it.”
“Can’t argue that,” Elana bantered back. Edison opened the heavy wooden door, ushering us inside.
“Well, I’m sure your dad is proud of you,” I said.
He shrugged, half-smiling. “If he is, he’d never admit it.”
“Quin is here already,” Elana warned, grabbing my hand and squeezing it hard. “I saved us a seat.”
I thought I was ready to see Quin, but I was wrong. So wrong. The sight of him—hands in his pockets, freshly shaven, leaning casually against the railing talking to Edison’s father—stirred my heart in places that belonged only to him. It was strange seeing him dressed like a Van Sant in dark slacks and a navy sports coat, a flag pin on his lapel. I half expected him not to notice me, not to care. But when he finally looked at me, his smile was the same.
He adjusted his jacket, his movement deliberate, almost flirtatious. “What do you think?” Obviously a rhetorical question. He looked amazing.
I shrugged. “Eh. Okay, I guess.” His laughter was thin, superficial. I suspected as
much of his self-assurance.
“I’m nervous,” he admitted.
“Me too.”
Quin stepped toward me, closing the distance between us. “Lex, it means a lot to me that you came. I didn’t know if you would.”
“You didn’t?”
He shook his head. “I know it’s hard for you. I know you have your doubts.” I tried to think of what to say, but Quin was right. Doubt was sneaky, underhanded. It wormed its way in, always insisting, reminding—George McAllister is a murderer. Before Quin sensed my hesitation, I changed the subject. “Any luck deciphering the clue on the roses?”
“None. But Mr. Van Sant was able to identify one of those account numbers on that wire transfer.” He leaned toward me—so close, I felt the warmth from his body. It only made me want to come closer. “Zephyr Corp,” he whispered. “One of Xander’s companies.”
I wasn’t surprised. “And the others?”
“Untraceable Swiss accounts. Mr. Van Sant is—” Quin stopped speaking, as his father was escorted in through a side door by the bailiff. It was hard to look. His thinning brown hair had grown shaggy and hung like a curtain around his face. His eyes were pools of oil—flat and dark, but when they connected with Quin’s, he smiled nervously. Unbuttoning his suit jacket, he sat next to Mr. Van Sant and Edison.
“Good luck,” I said to Quin. I took my seat between Elana and Max, directly behind Quin, the space next to him unoccupied until 7:59 a.m. The click of Emma’s shiny black heels announced her arrival. She leaned down to embrace Quin, her eyes piercing mine. I watched as her hand caressed the back of Quin’s head, her fingers in his hair. It was all for me. Or was it? I looked away, then back again. I forced myself. The more it hurt, the longer I looked, until the longer I looked, the less it hurt.
“I can’t stand her,” Elana groaned, loud enough for Emma to hear. “Could she be any more obvious?”
