“Why not do your homework on the bus if you’re that bored?” Mom asked.
What was this? Stick-It-to-Danni Day? But I bit that back too and gave her a withering look. “Because I get carsick when I try to read on the bus. Oh, that would boost my popularity with my friends. Upchuck all over them.”
“If it’s on the bus, wouldn’t it be bus sick?”
I whirled around. “Just shut up, Cody! Mom wasn’t talking to you.”
He grinned and pumped his fist. “YES! Danni’s got the dishes, Danni’s got the dishes.”
“And without the dishwasher,” Dad said quietly. “I think you need some time to think.”
When Mom came in about halfway through me doing the dishes, I didn’t turn around. That didn’t stop her. I heard a chair scrape, and a moment later she sat down. “Wanna talk?”
“No.”
“Good. What would you like to talk about?”
I turned, wanting to be mad, but I wasn’t able to. That was my mom, always knowing exactly what to do to tease me out of my bad moods. She patted the table beside her and motioned with her head. I dried my hands on the dish towel and sat down.
We were quiet for a moment, then Mom reached out and took my hand. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the homecoming dance, would it?”
This time I laughed softly. That was my Mom too. Unerring instincts about what was going on in my head. For a moment I considered denying it, but decided that would be pretty stupid since I really did want to talk to someone about it. So I finally pulled a face and bobbed my head.
“It’s still three weeks away. Remember, boys are real slow about asking girls to dances.”
“Nu-uh. I’ll bet half the girls have been asked.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Half?”
“Well, a bunch.”
“And nothing from Rick?”
“No, Mom. We talked about it. If he starts asking me to every dance, then everyone will think we’re dating. Since I’m a junior this year, I really want to go to the Junior Prom with him. So we agreed, no dances until then.” I sighed. “So he asked Cherie Averill.”
“Oh, she’s a nice girl.”
“Thanks, Mom. Way to cheer me up.”
“Don’t give up quite yet. Three weeks is an eternity in the male mind. There’s still time.”
“I doubt it.” My shoulders slumped. “I’m the town outcast.”
She said nothing to that, and we sat quietly for a time. “Well,” she said, getting up, “I wouldn’t give up hope quite yet. You never know.”
Something in the way she said that made me whip around. “What?”
She feigned surprise. “What what?”
“Do you know something?”
“Moi?” she cried, pointing at herself and sounding very much like Grandpère. Then she hurried out before I could press her further.
It was exactly thirty-three minutes later when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” I shouted as I leaped off the bed. Cody was still downstairs, and I heard him race for the door, but Mom’s yell pulled him up short. “Let Danni get it.”
What I found was quite stunning. Whoever had rung the bell had gone, but they had left a large, chocolate cake on the doorstep. It was covered in swirls of dark brown frosting. What was weird, though, was that brightly colored plastic letters, like from a child’s game, were stuck randomly all over the cake.
By the time I got it onto the kitchen table, I had the whole family around me. It took me about a minute to remove the letters, lick off the frosting—and no, I didn’t share them with Cody—and lay them on the table. In five minutes more, with the family helping me, we had rearranged them into a short but clear message. Homecoming? Yes or no? Jason Horne.
I just stared at them. Mom was much more sedate about it. She clapped her hands, squealed in delight, and said, “Oh! My! Word!” It was an almost perfect imitation of me.
Cody looked at them for a moment, then said, “Jason Horne? Who’s that?”
I fought back the urge to clap my hands in delight. “He’s a senior from Loa. And he just happens to be the best-looking dude in Wayne County High School. Next to Rick, of course.”
As soon as the others drifted away, I cornered Mom. “Are you responsible for this?”
“I will say only this much. I received a call two days ago inquiring whether or not you had been asked to Homecoming. I said no.”
“Was it Jason?”
“No, and no more questions.” She made the motion of zipping her lips. “My lips are sealed,” she said and left.
I wasn’t sure I believed her, but then had another thought. I shut the door and called Rick.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Rick.”
“What’s up?”
“I got a question for you.”
“Okay.”
“Did you tell Jason Horne to ask me to Homecoming?”
“Uh ... no.”
“Don’t you lie to me, Rick,” I cried. “Tell me.”
“I don’t lie,” he said calmly.
“Do you swear you had nothing to do with it?”
“Uh ... that’s not what you asked me.”
My heart fell. I felt stupid.
“Danni, it’s not what you think.”
“Oh, yeah. I know you’re good friends. How much did you pay him?” When he didn’t answer, I added, “And here I thought someone had actually wanted to go to the dance with me.”
“Danni.”
“Good-bye, Rick.”
“Will you put a sock in it? Geez, Danni. It’s like having a conversation with a hornets’ nest. Just listen a minute. Jason asked me if you had been asked yet. I told him I didn’t think so, but I would find out. So I called your mom.”
“And you didn’t put him up to it?”
“Don’t insult me by making me say everything twice. Oh, and there is one other thing.”
I was instantly wary again. “What?”
“He asked if you two could double-date with me and Cherie Averill.”
“Really?” I squealed.
“Really, and don’t you dare tell him I said anything. He wants to tell you himself.”
It was fascinating how quickly the word of my good fortune spread. By the time I got off the bus the next morning at the high school, the word was out. Danni McAllister had a date to Homecoming with Jason Horne. It was on my Facebook page by the end of first period. Rick stopped me after second period to “officially” congratulate me. By lunch I was receiving Tweets every few minutes. Best of all, Lisa Cole sat with me at lunch, literally dripping with envy, even though she had been asked to the dance by the quarterback of the football team.
By the time school was out, things had died down somewhat, and after recounting the details for the umpteenth time, I finally got up and went to the back of the bus, saying that I had to study. Cody snorted as I passed him. “Not!” he mouthed, then laughed.
It was true in a way. But it wasn’t schoolwork I was thinking about. Today was September 13. That meant that it was exactly three months ago today that I had celebrated my sixteenth birthday by going up to the mine with Rick, Dad, and Grandpère. And three months tomorrow since we had come home to find El Cobra holding Mom and Cody hostage.
Could it possibly have been only three months ago? In some ways, it was still so vivid in my mind that it seemed like yesterday. In other ways, it felt like a lifetime ago. Part of me felt years older than I had been back then. Another part of me felt more like a little girl. Most of this weirdness, I knew, flowed from my being keeper of the pouch.
What an incredible ride that had been. Wonder after wonder. Surprise after surprise. Lesson after lesson. I had been sorely tempted to ask Le Gardien for help in getting a date, but then I tried to picture what I would say if Grandpère ever asked me
about it straight out.
I jumped as I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I quickly fished it out, swiped the screen, and saw, to my surprise, that it was a text message from Grandpère. It was only four words, but they sent a chill shooting through me.
The horses are coming.
I tried for the next seven or eight minutes to get him back. Nothing. I tried to call Dad. Nothing. Then Mom. Nothing. Cody must have seen my growing concern, because he came back and sat down beside me. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Dunno. I got a text from Grandpère, but now I can’t get my phone to work. I’ve tried texting and calling but it’s not working.”
“Maybe you’re out of the coverage area.”
I shot him a withering look. “These are satellite phones, remember? They’re supposed to work anywhere.”
The bus suddenly started to slow, and I looked up. We were just coming into the western outskirts of Hanksville, and the driver was slowing for our first stop. Kids were already getting to their feet and filing down the aisle toward the door. Including Kaylynn, Rick’s sister. She was twelve now and in the seventh grade, so this was her first year riding the bus. She turned around, smiled, and waved. “’Bye, Cody. ’Bye, Danni.”
We both waved back. Automatically, I turned to the window and looked for Rick. I always did this, even though I knew he would be working with Dad by this time of the day.
As the bus started again, I turned my phone off, waited about thirty seconds, then turned it on again. Everything came up just as normal, but when I tried to call Grandpère, nothing happened. It didn’t go through. I went to Favorites and touched Dad’s phone number. Again, nothing. This was crazy. Was Grandpère doing this? Was this his way of rebuking me for last night? Whatever it was, it wasn’t funny, and I was starting to get worried. Then came another thought. I went back to favorites and chose Rick’s number. But just as I was about to punch his number, Cody’s hand shot out and grabbed my arm.
“Look, Danni!”
He was pointing toward the front of the bus. I lowered my phone and looked forward. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but then I jerked upright. Out the front window I could see we were approaching our second stop, which was in the center of town. Up ahead, near the Shell station, there was a dark mass of people milling around.
“What’s happening?” Cody asked.
I stood up. “Dunno. Come on.”
“But this isn’t our stop.”
“I’m not getting off. I just want to see.” I reached out and yanked him to his feet and started up the aisle. The driver was slowing quickly and pulled off the highway, which turned the bus at enough of an angle that we could see out the side windows. What happened next stunned us both. Hearing the bus, the people all turned to see. Though we were midway into September, down in this country that was still summer, so a lot of the windows on the bus were open. So we clearly heard the cries go up as the bus stopped in a cloud of dust and hiss of air brakes. “There she is now.” “Danni McAllister’s on that bus.” “She’s the one you’re looking for.”
I stopped dead. Then I saw something that really knocked me reeling. Beyond the crowd, parked in the open field behind the Shell station, was a helicopter. Alongside it was a Wayne County Sheriff’s car, with Deputy Carlson beside it. I instantly knew what the chopper was because we saw it all the time when we watched the news on TV. Near the rear was a large blue circle with KSL in white letters. Below the door it said, “Chopper 5.”
I was stunned. Chopper 5 in Hanksville? What in the heck was going on? Then the cries began to register. They were waiting for me?
The bus emptied quickly, leaving me and Cody to be last ones off. As we stepped down, instantly the crowd closed in around us. Leading the charge was a woman with a microphone in her hand; a guy with a video camera on his shoulder was right behind her. I recognized her immediately. It was Kirstin Powers, one of the reporters on Channel 5’s Eyewitness Evening News.
“Are you Danni McAllister?” she said, thrusting the microphone at me. The cameraman stepped to one side, and I saw the red light on his camera come on.
“Uh ...” I was too shocked. I couldn’t get anything out.
“Yes. That’s her.” I wasn’t sure who shouted it. One of my fellow classmates.
“Um ... yeah.”
Cody pushed in beside me. “Hi. I’m Cody McAllister. I’m her brother.” He was grinning like he had just won a lifetime pass to Disneyland.
“Wonderful.” She turned to make sure her cameraman was rolling. He gave her a thumbs-up. “My name is Kirstin Powers. I’m part of the Channel Five news team, and—”
“We know who you are,” Cody blurted. “We watch you all the time.”
The crowd laughed, and Kirstin was obviously pleased. “Thank you, Cody.” Her smile was bright and pleasant, just like on TV. I guessed she was about thirty. Her hair was blonde and hung to her shoulders. Her eyes were dark brown, her teeth perfect. She was even more beautiful in person than on screen.
“May I call you Danni?” she said, moving a step closer and holding out the microphone in front of my face.
“Uh ... sure.”
“Go, Danni!” someone cried from off to one side. It was another one of my classmates. The crowd laughed, and a few clapped.
Kirstin was immediately very serious. “Danni, about three hours ago, we received an anonymous phone call at our studio in Salt Lake City.” She glanced down at a small notebook she had in her hand. “Are you familiar with the supposed drug bust that took place not far from here earlier this summer down at Lake Powell?”
My heart seized up. “Uh ... yeah. We heard about it.”
“Well, according to our caller, it was not a drug bust at all. It was a home invasion and kidnapping of a local family by an international gang of thieves.”
A ripple of amazement spread through the crowd. This was news to them. Me? I was too shocked to do anything but stare at her.
“According to our source, it was your family who was kidnapped and held for ransom. And this because your father was selling a mine to someone in Canada. Is that true?”
If she had meant to stun the crowd, it worked. A collective gasp drowned out all sound for a second or two. Over the heads of the crowd I saw Deputy Carlson jerk to attention and start moving forward to hear better.
“Is that true, Danni? Was it your family who was involved?”
“I ...” I couldn’t get my breath.
“Yep,” Cody sang out. “That was us.”
The crowd exploded, crying out, shouting questions, looking dazed.
Kirstin turned and held up both hands. “People! Please. We are on camera right now.” She turned back to me. “We stopped at your house to speak with your parents, but no one was home. Can you confirm if this story is true?”
There was clearly no point in denying it at this point. Thanks, Code. “Yes, it’s true.”
More noise. Another glare. Then back to me. “Danni, can you tell us what happened?”
And so I did. I told her briefly about me and Dad and Grandpère coming back from a trip to the mountains to find Mom and Cody held at gunpoint. I told them about the planned sale of the mine and how we were to be held prisoners until the mine sale went through. A voice in my head kept reminding me about what Joel and Clay had both emphasized. This is an ongoing investigation. If this all gets out it will greatly hamper our efforts to find these people and bring them to justice. So I finished quickly. “Cody and I managed to escape. We went to the FBI, and eventually the gang was caught and we were freed.”
“Thanks to Danni and Rick,” Cody said. “They were awesome.”
I poked him hard as I leaned down and whispered, “No more, Code.”
After quickly consulting her notes, Kirstin turned back to me. “Rick? Is that Ricardo Ramirez, your boyfriend?”
“Yes,” someone behind her called out. “That’s him.”
She didn’t turn. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said. “We’re just good friends.”
“Whatever. Was he kidnapped too?”
“No. After we escaped, Cody and I went to him, and he and his father helped us.”
“This is the boy that was shot in the leg, right?”
“Yes.”
“The people here tell me that you accidentally shot him. Is that true?”
I hesitated.
She bored in. “We called the clinic in Page, Arizona. They confirmed that Rick was a patient there in June but they wouldn’t give us any information on the shooter.”
“It wasn’t Danni,” Cody exclaimed. “El Cobra shot him.”
“El Cobra?”
“Yes. The gang leader. That’s what he called himself. The Snake. On the houseboat, El Cobra slapped Danni’s face. Rick went after him like a torpedo and El Cobra shot him.”
This time it was the cameraman who swung around on the crowd. They had erupted into a low roar. “Please, people. Quiet down.”
Well, at least there’ll be no more of this Danni Oakley stuff.
“And then El Cobra tried to kiss her, but Danni knocked him on—ow!”
The last came when I stomped on his foot. Hard. “That’s enough, Code,” I hissed.
For a moment, Kirstin looked like she might turn to Cody as her primary source, but then she changed her mind. “Danni, our source said that it was you and Rick who singlehandedly captured four members of the gang and turned them over to the FBI. Is that true?”
I was reeling. This anonymous source seemed to know everything. Gratefully, at that moment, the roar of a truck’s engine interrupted us. There was a squeal of brakes and the crunch of tires on gravel. I swung around and gave a cry of relief. It was Dad’s truck, and even as I watched, Dad, Grandpère, and Rick tumbled out and started toward us.
To Run With the Swift Page 22