Page 166 of Not Quite Dead Yet

Jet hadn’t thought about that, not much space left around the ache in her head and that feeling in her gut, the one with wings. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘First, we’ve got towork outwho.Then we can ask himwhy, when Luke leads us to him.’

‘And what do we do, once Luke has led us to him?’

He glanced at his front door again, and Jet missed his eyes. All four of them.

‘I don’t know. We tie him up, make him tell us how and why. We have the gun, in the truck. We make him confess.’

Billy looked back at her, eyes hooked on. Hazel and blue, earth and water, fire hidden somewhere behind.

‘And then do what?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jet said, and she really didn’t. ‘I haven’t thought that far ahead. I wasn’t sure we’d get here. I don’t know what to do. He killed me. Do I have to kill him?’ she asked.

Billy didn’t answer, couldn’t, the silence ticking on, ticking up. But Jet liked their silences, different with Billy than with anyone else. Not an absence of sound, its own thing. Didn’t want to break it. Had to.

‘Has Luke moved?’ She pointed to his phone.

Billy refreshed the app. ‘Not yet, still there.’

‘We should get ready.’ She sniffed. ‘Be ready, for when he does move.’ She pushed off the counter, her feet clumsy beneath her, too heavy, the world pulling at her heels. ‘Where’s that duct tape we took for the security cameras?’

‘Why?’

‘In case we have to tie someone up.’

Jet winked, shot him a half-smile, like that was a normal thing to say, watched Billy fill in the other half, because he liked when she did that. When should Jet tell him? After they were done here, after they found her killer?Shouldshe even tell him? Was it fair to tell him, so close to the end? What was best for Billy? He was the one who had to live after this.

‘I put the tape back,’ Billy said. ‘Closet. Next to the tool kit.’

‘OK.’

Jet stumbled over to it, pulled one door open, then the other, Billy’s mom staring down at her.

‘Do you have gloves too?’ she asked, throwing the question over her shoulder.

‘Not even going to ask why,’ Billy said, abandoning his phone on the counter. ‘Think I have some in the bedroom. I’ll get them.’

‘Thanks.’

He wandered out of the living room, and Jet watched him go, smiled to herself, just for herself, not to share.

She turned back to the closet, reached for the shelf. Patted around. Couldn’t feel the duct tape. Where was it? Maybe Billy had put it back inside the tool kit.

Jet wrapped her fingers around the fabric handle, shunted the tool kit toward her, off the shelf. Took its weight in one arm, too heavy, crashing against her chest to keep ahold of it. She bent down and dropped it to the floor with a thump.

Fuck, that was heavy, should have asked for help.

‘Jet?’ Billy called from the bedroom.

‘I’m OK.’

She got to her knees beside it and pulled the zipper, undoing the black fabric case.

No duct tape on top.

Jet dug her hand through, moving tools aside, searching for the tape.

It must be in here.