He paused, watching them, noting their body language, assessing their mental states, listening to her softly murmured singing voice. She had a lovely singing voice, and surprisingly, his wasn’t half bad either. At least not when it came to nursery rhymes. And the way they concentrated so intently as the other person sang . . .
His brow dipped, and he turned up the volume, leaning in closer to ascertain if he was right about what he thought he’d just heard.
“Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what fit bars.”
They sounded like two little kids in their playpen babbling. It reminded the Collector of the secret language of twins. He felt a small pang in his chest but ignored it, leaning forward and listening to a few more bars. No, they weren’t merely singing. He let out a small incredulous laugh. They were speaking in code, inserting words into the songs to form messages. She’d lowered the volume of the parts she’d changed, barely enunciating the words, and moved hurriedly through them, both to signal to Evan what to pay attention to and to make it more difficult for anyone listening to be able to note what she’d said. Even if they did hear it, it would be easy to assume she simply didn’t know all the words to that particular song and was throwing anything in there, as people often did with forgotten lyrics.
Yes, similar to twin language, indeed. No wonder he’d caught on.
He laughed again, delighted and intrigued. People rarely caught him off guard, but these two had. They’d been doing this for at least the entire time he’d been away, if not before. And even he, who considered himself a master at seeing things others did not, hadn’t noticed the subterfuge, simple as it was. But that’s why it worked. No one suspected it. Clever. “Well, color me impressed,” he murmured.
How much had they already conveyed in secret that none of the viewers had realized? What had they already said? How many had turned the volume down as they began singing so as not to get annoying preschool tunes stuck in their heads? Or because it was plain boring? He wished there were a way to rewind the video, but of course, there was not. Not for him, a mere player, anyway. It was a live feed, after all.
His gaze hooked on Noelle. She’d come up with it; he knew she had. He’d had this vague notion that she was mixing up the lyrics to whatever song she was singing the week before, not because he knew all the lyrics to that song but because of Evan’s bemused reaction as she sang. He wondered how long it had taken her to clue him in. Well, either way, they were clued in now. Secret languages moved quickly once both people understood the rules. Secret languages morphed and quickened and became more and more difficult for outsiders to understand. Smart. Very, very smart. Songs. A well-known language that could be easily and discreetly altered if the listener was paying attention.
His gaze stopped on Noelle once more, the outline of an idea unfolding. It was a long shot. A very long shot, indeed. But he knew now that her mind operated the same way his did. He knew now what a worthy contestant she actually was.
And the boy. Well, he didn’t think she would leave the boy unless she had to. Like secret languages, bonds formed extremely quickly, as well, if they were nurtured even the barest bit. He knew that personally. Regardless of his thoughts on the boy, however, it would require a team effort to make this work. And yet, even still, there was so much room for error, so much that might fail or go wrong.
And perhaps that was what made the choice for him.
Long shots were his specialty; he was here, after all. He logged on to another screen and spent an exorbitant amount of money for what he wanted. Then the Collector logged off, heading to his bedroom, where he opened his closet and began to pack another suitcase after he’d just unpacked the one he’d taken on his business trip. He packed a variety of items for different types of weather, since this time he had no idea where his destination would be.
CHAPTER TEN
They’d blindfolded her, and she didn’t know why. She’d been brought to the same room, told to undress and lie down on the same bed as the first two times she’d been here. The same beefy man holding a gun stood at the door, looking stoically ahead. The only difference so far was the silky blindfold the man in the black suit and red shoes had tied around her head.
“Why?” she had asked.
“Rental request,” he had said, right before she heard him exit the room.
Rental request. She was nothing more than a rental now. Like a car, or a bike, or a hotel room. A thing to use temporarily.
And so now Noelle lay on the bed, shivering, trying her best to prepare mentally for what she was about to endure, but distracted by every small sound, her vision gone, her other senses hyperaware.