“Lemme talk to her.” The man glances up, frowning when our eyes meet.
My gaze flits away.
“Hey, pumpkin, how you doing?”
Five little words, yet filled with so much meaning. Caring. Concern. Whoever this pumpkin is, he or she is loved.
“I know. Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll be home soon, and I promise to come—” He pauses to listen. “I’m at work, why?” Another pause. “Because I stepped outside to call you. The kitchen was too loud.”
The word kitchen rings like a gong through my head, and I look up. Our eyes meet again, and he holds a finger to his lips. Shh.
“Good. Now get your booty back to the couch, and put your auntie back on the phone, will you?”
The compress has started to drip icy rivers down my neck, and I pull it away from my face. The skin underneath is on fire, part smashed cheekbone, part freezer burn.
“Make sure she takes a nap,” he says, his voice going hard again, “but before that do another check of her levels. If they’ve dipped even the slightest bit then call our cousin, get her to come over. She’ll know what to do. In the meantime, watch her like a hawk, and keep me posted. I don’t like the sound of this.”
Another long pause as I wonder who this cousin is, what problem she’s coming over to solve. Surely it can’t be worse than the problem currently brewing in this house.
He frowns at the floor, and a shivery finger of dread runs down my spine. Whoever’s on the other end of that phone call, their message is not good. I rewind the conversation in my mind, stitching together the parts of it I’ve heard. Levels of something undefined. A cousin who better come over in a hurry. It’s like putting together a puzzle with only half the pieces…unless the other half is Cam. What if this cousin is the one tagging Cam?
Still, it doesn’t make sense. Why would she need to come over—and come over where? Here?
The questions flip through my mind in time with the throbbing in my cheek. I sit like a statue, watching and listening for clues.
The man reaches up as if to run a hand through the hair at his temple, then remembers the mask. His arm falls back to his side. “No. Absolutely not. That will shoot us right back to the bottom, maybe even erase us entirely. Best thing to do is just sit tight and wait this out. And keep an eye on the numbers.”
First levels, now numbers—but of what? A bank account? I can’t put the pieces together in a way that makes any sort of sense.
I think of Baxter across the street, and I wonder what’s taking so long. It’s been what—a half hour since I watched him walk down the driveway? Plenty of time for him to ring the warning bell. So what’s the holdup, then? Did Tanya not believe him? Or maybe she did and they’re coming in silent.
I wince in frustration, and my cheek throbs in response. It aches like there’s a knife stuck through it. Every movement is agony.
“Yes, I’m sure. The alarm is armed, and we checked all the doors. Every window but the upstairs ones have sensors. She could have gotten out there maybe, but she’d break her neck trying.”
If I didn’t know before, I’m certain now. Whoever is on the other end of that phone call knows why this man is here. They know about the ransom plot. They are a coconspirator. I make a mental note, add it to my growing list of clues, along with the one I just saw—that almost-swipe through his hair just now? It means he has some.
“Jade.”
I look up, but I take my time.
“Does Beatrix know how to work the panic button?”
It’s a possibility I haven’t thought of, mostly because I’ve never once explained to her the workings of the alarm. For Beatrix, the alarm has always been an annoyance, one last delay before getting in or out the door. Even if she knew where the panic buttons were, she probably wouldn’t have known to hold it in for three full seconds.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so. What does that mean? Yes or no?”
“It means no.”
“You’re sure.” Not phrased as a question.
And even though I’m not sure—Beatrix is a smart kid, and she hears a lot more than Cam and I give her credit for—I nod. “Yes, I’m sure.”
He speaks into the phone. “I’ve jammed it, but monitor the scanners just in case. The second somebody’s headed this way, I need to know about it.”
He’s jammed our alarm—is that even possible?
He leans a hip against the counter and fingers his gun, watching me across the kitchen island.