Page 67

“That was a really stupid trick you pulled. Really reckless. You almost got your mother killed. You know that, right? She almost got a bullet in her brain because ofyou. Now say you’re sorry.”
I wait for some kind of reaction, a flicker of regret or a mumbled apology, but the kid gives me nothing. She doesn’t even blink.
A fire sparks in my chest, and I clamp on to her shoulders and give her a mighty shake. A bone-rattling, skin-quaking, teeth-jangling shake. I’m still fisting the gun, and the weapon presses hard into her shoulder, against bone, and it’s got to hurt. She flops around like a bobblehead, but I can’t pick up the slightest trace of regret in her eyes. No pain, either, not even a twitch.
Only hatred.
Yeah, kid. Sure as shit is the feeling mutual.
“STOP,”Jade screams, springing off her chair, and she’s fast, I’ll give her that. She’s lunged around the bar and into the kitchen before I can let go of her kid, planting herself directly behind me. “Stop! Take your hands off her!”
I let the kid go because one more shake and Jade would have jumped on my back, and beyond the fact that it’s still on fire from the screwdriver, I need to defuse the situation. I need to get everybody back upstairs and into the theater. Today is too important. I don’t have time for this.
I shove Beatrix in her mama’s direction, and now, finally, she makes a sound, a long, high squeal of relief. Jade sweeps Beatrix into her arms, murmuring words I can’t quite hear, squeezing her against her chest and patting down her hair. I give them five seconds. This little reunion would almost be touching if we weren’t running so short on time.
“Okay. So here’s how it’s gonna go. The three of us are going to march our asses back upstairs, whereyou—” I flick the gun at the girl’s head “—get yours strapped to a chair. And don’t expect any softballs from me this time. No cartoons. No reclining the seats until they’re the perfect angle. And no lightening up on the tape because it smelled weird or it yanked on your skin. Do you understand what I’m telling you here? There’ll be no getting loose this time. Now let’sgo.”
I round them up with the Beretta, and order them to walk up the stairs.
Jade clutches her daughter by her shoulders, and she keeps her head high as she leads her across the living room. I don’t miss the look of longing she casts as she passes the front door, searching for someone—maybe Baxter—out on the street, praying for a happy accident or kismet, a person down there, a savior, who will look up at just the right moment. I keep the gun trained on her back and watch her for a reaction. But either there’s nobody out there or she’s a damn fine actress.
And I already know that she’s not.
“Stop,” I say when she reaches the stairs, then peer around the corner. I catch the tail end of a car whizzing by, but otherwise the street is empty. I jog across the living room floor.
Upstairs in the playroom, I flip off the TV, dumping the remote in a bowl on the table. “Back on the chair, missy.”
Four attached recliners in a curved row, covered in a buttery brown leather I mangled when I ripped the tape off Baxter. Beatrix’s getup is still intact, long lengths of tape a little looser in the middle, where she somehow managed to wriggle out.
This time, they’re going tighter. This time, I’ll make sure she’s good and anchored down.
Beatrix doesn’t move.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said, back on a chair.”
She sinks into the one behind her, one of the middle ones.
“Not that one.” I gesture with the Beretta to the opposite end of the couch. “I want you down there on the other end. As far away as possible from the door.”
She looks to her mother for confirmation, for help.
“But why?” Jade’s gaze flits between me and her daughter. “This is the one she usually sits in. What does it matter?”
“It matters because I said so. Nowmove.”
Still Beatrix doesn’t budge. And Jade just stands there clutching her daughter’s hand, watching me with bloodshot eyes above a shattered cheekbone. “Why are you doing this?”
“You know why. You’re the one who gave Cam his marching orders, remember? Though I will say, it’s taking him longer than I expected. If he doesn’t get that money over here in, oh—” I glance at my wrist, where an ancient Timex ticks away the seconds under two layers of black fabric “—exactly thirty-seven minutes, none of you are going to like what happens next.”
She blanches, brown hair floating around her face, and even with that cheek, she really is beautiful. And that stunt with the screwdriver downstairs, the way she’s constantly throwing herself in front of her kids. She’s a real daredevil, this one. I can see why Cam chose her.
I imagine him racing around town in that stupid truck of his, those ridiculous rims spinning on jacked-up, oversize tires. I hope he’s losing his mind with worry and desperation. I hope each second that ticks by pierces him like a bullet in the gut, that he’s realizing, this very second, the hopelessness of his mission. I wish I could be there for when the realization hits him—he can’t save the people he loves most in this world—when the guilt and desperation and helplessness sit on his chest with the weight of an elephant. I sure would enjoy seeing that.
“What I mean is, whyus? Out of all the houses on the street, why ours? And why do you need such a specific amount? Why by seven? I don’t understand.”
Finally. Three hours into this train wreck, and Jade is finally asking all the right questions. I wonder what took her so long. Did she just now work up the gumption? Did she finally piece together that nothing about today is random? I’m guessing a lot came from the clues she overheard in the kitchen, but still. I was expecting these questions hours ago.
“What do you think?”