“Who?”
Michael shrugs.
Jenna stands, rubs her wrists, which are still indented from the zip ties. “Come on, Michael. You know all the contractors. All the jobs.”
“As Sabine would say,” Michael says in a mocking French accent, “I’m sorry, mon chéri, no clue.”
Her mind is spinning. Running through the whos and whys.
“The contractor is a woman,” Jenna says. “In her twenties, pretty. Cheekbones. She uses a strange weapon.” Jenna describes what happened. Being coerced to target Artemis, not taking the kill shot. The woman coming after her at Willow’s school. Killing the hipsters. Tracking her and Willow on the way to the cabin.
“I can ask around. I don’t know any professionals who’d be foolhardy enough to target Artemis Templeton, one of the richest men in the world. Much less be dumb enough to go after you.”
She walks up to him now. Looks him in the eyes. She’s going to say something about his family but decides against it. She realizes she doesn’t care. She has her own family.
“The Corporation isn’t after me.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Nope.”
She believes him. He could be lying. But he wouldn’t have freed her. Sabine wouldn’t have let her leave that party alive. Most important, The Corporation doesn’t screw up. And this hitter not only let Jenna and Artemis escape but also botched two other jobs.
“You can stay in the guesthouse tonight if you’d like.” He looks at her like he thinks she needs a good night’s sleep. “You’ll be safe here.”
She nods. “I need new papers in case mine are compromised.”
“And a better gun,” he says, dismissing her compact Remington on the aluminum table.
“That too.”
He nods.
“Thank you, Michael.”
“The pleasure is all mine.”
“I’m glad it’s not you,” Jenna says. This time it’s she who offers the sideways grin. “I would’ve hated having to kill you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
THE TWINS
Casey sits at the bar at the Philadelphia Airport Embassy Suites. The man wears a wedding ring, but the fact that he’s lingering at the bar speaks volumes. The bartender is a heavyset woman with seen-it-all eyes.
The guy wears a suit with no tie, like he ripped it off after a long day. Probably has an early flight tomorrow. Why else stay at this dump?
The bar is full. There’s a group of four at the far side, people of varying ages, but they don’t look like a family. The lone woman in the group stares at her phone. The guys are talking about sports. A business trip, forced friendships on the road.
The man keeps stealing looks at her. She decides to take the first step. She smiles back. It’s that simple.
She wants a gin on the rocks but orders another tonic water. She reaches into her handbag for the captive bolt and feels a sense of calm at the cool metal cylinder in her grip.
Soon enough, the guy is walking over. Asks if he can take the seat next to hers. He hasn’t bothered to remove the wedding ring. Just as well.
Twenty minutes later, she laughs at something stupid he says again. She says she’s from the Midwest, traffic here is terrible. Did he drive? He confirms that he has what she needs. A rental car.
Complains about the return desk being closed when he arrived tonight.
She downs her tonic water like it’s vodka, feigns the sloppy demeanor of one too many, and puts her mouth to his ear: “Your room?”
He pays the tab quickly. She tells him to meet her outside the restroom that’s off the lobby.
They walk out together and she goes into the restroom. Haley comes out of a stall. She’s wearing an outfit identical to Casey’s. “About time.”
“Meet me in the parking lot in fifteen,” Casey says. “Make sure everyone sees you at the bar.”
Casey takes the long jacket from her sister, puts it on. She then puts on the baseball cap. The guy has enough drinks in him that he won’t even notice. Casey leaves the restroom, puts her head down in case there are cameras, but she thinks they’re only in the main areas, and links her arm around the man’s as they head to his room.
Haley will go make an appearance at the bar so the cameras there—she saw two—capture her returning without the guy. Any police reviewing the footage will think she returned to the bar and the guy left on his own. In a few days, they’ll find the stolen Camaro in the lot but won’t connect it to this
dipshit.
She doesn’t need to kill him; she can slip something in his drink—like she did to that coal mine dude in West Virginia. Then she’ll take his rental car.
But maybe she’ll have a little fun first. Tie him up, scare him a little.
If he calls the police, the only thing he’ll likely remember will be the thing she often asks to elicit fear: “Did you know that studies show there are six distinct types of screams?”
CHAPTER FORTY
JENNA
It’s a gloomy morning. Jenna weaves the motorcycle through Beltway traffic, racing along the shoulder when vehicles come to a standstill.
Michael lent her the BMW M 1000 RR, and it takes all her restraint not to twist its throttle to the limit. But it’s been years since she jetted on two wheels, and she’s rusty. The last time was to evade the police on the lawless highways of Quezon City in the Philippines. Also, she’s a mom now, and she’s more mindful of safety.
All night, her thoughts were on her friends from Savior House. Ben, Donnie, Nico.
Marta. Annie.
In that moment, she’s balancing on the handlebars as Nico pedals the BMX bike on the bumpy sidewalk until they skid to a stop in front of the Chestertown Police station.
Ben pulls up next to them on another bike, Donnie holding on to Ben’s shoulder as he stands precariously on the bolts that stick out from the back axle. They’ve decided they need to do something, make some noise about the missing girls, lest they too disappear one by one from Savior House. They’re all angry, and Nico’s devastated over Annie’s disappearance.
The officer working the front desk seems skeptical and Nico loses his cool. Says if his missing friends worked at a donut shop the cops would find them. Ben smooths things over, and a half hour later the four are taken to an interview room.
The policewoman who takes the report is nice enough. She seems troubled, steps out to speak with someone. When she returns, she’s with a man. He doesn’t wear a uniform and must be a detective or something.
“Hi, kids. Thanks for coming in. I want you to know that I’m personally going to be looking into this. It was brave of you to come forward.”
Jenna feels a weight lifted from her. Someone is going to do something. Maybe they’re wrong and Marta and Annie and the others are safe and sound. At new foster homes or they found relatives to take them in.
“How about I give you a ride home?” the detective asks.
“We have our bikes,” Ben says.
“No problem, they’ll fit in the car.”
Ten minutes later, the four are jammed into the back of the Crown Vic, a metal grill separating them from the front seat. The detective says, “Sorry to put you in the back like criminals. But this will remind you to keep out of trouble.” He turns his head, offers a smile.