To Have and to Heist(108)

“But what about the necklace?” He dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve. “What about Chloe?”

“Do you have surveillance at your house?” Gage was still holding Chloe’s hand. Why did he need to hold her hand all the time? What if she needed to use it?

“My parents are paranoid. We have cameras everywhere.” Anil slapped his forehead with his hand. “I can’t believe I didn’t even think to look at the recording. I can access it from my phone.”

“We can start there,” I said. “Let’s see where Jack went and then we can make a plan.”

Anil pulled up the surveillance video. We watched him and Jack go into the house. A few minutes later a black SUV parked across the street. Ginger and Mr. Mustache got out.

“I know them!” I looked over at Rose. “They’re the guys who broke into my apartment. They were after Jack, and they knew about the necklace.”

Ginger stood watch while Mr. Mustache broke into our van. A few minutes later he got out, shaking his head. Mr. Mustache pulled out a gun and motioned toward the SUV. Two other men got out, one thick and sturdy, the other skinny, tatted, and wearing a string vest. They walked across the lawn to the house.

“My parents.” Anil stared at the screen in horror. “Jack was right. They were in danger.”

Moments later, Jack came barreling out the door. He was fast, but not fast enough. The big dude caught him and knocked him to the ground. Jack fought hard but it was four against one. They dragged him to the SUV. Moments later, they were gone.

“He didn’t abandon us,” Chloe said. “He was taken.”

Something niggled at the back of my mind. “Can you go back to the moment Jack came out of the house?”

Anil scrolled back and I stared at the screen. “Enlarge it frame by frame until they catch him.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The book.”

“He doesn’t have it.” Anil sucked in a sharp breath. “That means . . .”

“The necklace is still at your house.”

* * *

◆ ◆ ◆

?“Anil!” Anil’s mother greeted us at the door of his family’s modest townhome in Naperville. “You’ve brought friends. You’ll need food.” She ran down the hall. “Salim! Salim! Anil has friends. He brought friends to the house. Get them drinks. Quickly before they run away.”

“Mom.” Anil coughed, choked. “We’re just here to pick something up.”

“Nonsense. Into the kitchen. All of you. We had a big family dinner last night and there are lots of leftovers.”

“I do like Indian food,” Emma said. “What have you got?”

Everyone followed Emma into the kitchen. Anil and I ran to the living room.

“What book is it?” I asked. “What does it look like?”

“The Exorcist. It’s black and red.” He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “My mother doesn’t like horror. I knew she’d never open it.”

We checked the entire room. No book on the couch. No book on the tables, floor, or bookshelf. Anil pulled all the cushions off the furniture and tossed them on the floor.

“He wouldn’t have had much time,” I said. “It has to be here.”

“Anil! What are you doing to the couch? Where will your friends sit?” His mother stared in shock at the mess.

“I left a book here the other day,” he said. “Did you see it?”

“Horrible book.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t even touch it when I saw the cover. I told your father to put it downstairs.”

Anil raced out of the room and I followed him into the basement. His bedroom was filled with drones, robots, models, and computer equipment. He grabbed a book from the shelf and flipped it open. It was, as he’d said, a miniature safe complete with a combination dial. He turned the knob and the door clicked open.

“It’s here.” He held up the necklace, his face creased in delight. “We’ve got it.”

My knees gave out and I sank down on his bed. “Now we just need to find Jack.”

Thirty-One

Jack

They say your life flashes before your eyes in your last moments. There are actual scientific reasons for this. Something to do with a secret trapdoor in the memory center of the brain that is triggered when the body shuts down. For some people, this venture into the past is a gift—all puppies and rainbows, hugs and kisses, and piles of presents at Christmas. But imagine if the idea of reliving your childhood all over again is something to be avoided at all costs. You’ve already experienced the pain of watching your parents die in a house fire, and then the loss of your grandmother to a developer’s greed. You suffered abuse and neglect in foster care followed by a hard life on the streets under the thumb of a cruel and brutal man. You don’t dwell on these things, of course, because you’ve learned to move on, but when Mr. X’s hench people grab you and throw you into their SUV, you are resolved to survive simply so you don’t have to relive the nightmare again.

You hold to your resolution through a bumpy ride with a sports bag over your head. The smell of old sweat is nauseating but not as bad as the sharp scent of blood and offal that assails your nose when the sports bag comes off and you find yourself in a butcher shop, complete with chopping table, a full complement of cleavers and knives, and a giant walk-in freezer. Hog-tied and beaten on the floor, you realize you finally might have run out of lives.