Her phone buzzed. Kelsie pulled it from a pocket. “That’s funny.”
Ethan gave her an anxious look. “What’s up?”
“The caller ID says ‘Anonymous,’ ” she said. “It usually says ‘Unknown.’ ”
“That’s Thibault. You put him in your phone; you just don’t remember. Nobody ever remembers him the first couple of . . .” Ethan’s face broke into a grin. “Hey, I remembered his name. Finally!”
“Right. At Nate’s,” Kelsie said quietly. There had been a guy there, tall and good-looking. He’d been kind of quiet, but how had she forgotten him?
“So what does Tee say?” Ethan asked.
Kelsie opened the text. “Damn. He and Flicker are going to be ten minutes late—and Nate might not even make it! Something about cops on their tail.”
Ethan slowed the car. “We have to stall.”
“No way,” Kelsie said. “Fig said if we keep these guys waiting even one minute, it’s all off!”
She gave Ethan a hard look until he accelerated again.
Great. She’d put her trust in these friends of Ethan’s, and the plan was already falling apart.
They had these amazing powers, but they hadn’t seemed like the most dependable bunch. Flicker had been enthusiastic, but she’d been distracted by something. Or someone? Right, that good-looking guy again. And then there was Nate, with his class-president smile. The sort of boy who always had to be in charge, and who never let a group think for itself. And Chizara had refused to take part at all, saying they should call the cops instead of pretending to be superheroes.
Which was almost starting to make sense.
“My dad’s screwed, isn’t he?”
Ethan shook his head. “Those guys will come through. They rescued me on Friday, and I don’t even deserve it. They’ll totally be there for you.”
“I hope so,” she said. Ethan was scared, she could tell. When he was nervous like this, his crew cut made him look less like a marine and more like a little kid.
She couldn’t afford for his voice to screw this up. Her dad’s life depended on it.
“Listen, Ethan? Thanks for having my back. I know you’re going to stay focused.”
Ethan looked embarrassed. “Least I could do. You know. After everything.”
Kelsie didn’t think walking into a warehouse full of mobsters was the least he could do. But she was glad he was doing it.
The Hurricane Hauling sign loomed at them on the right.
“I guess this is it,” Ethan said. “You sure you don’t want me to drive around the block, wait for our backup?”
Kelsie shook her head. “Too late. They’ve spotted us.”
Three men were standing outside the open warehouse door. As Ethan slowed and turned into the driveway, they waved the car inside.
“Three of them,” Ethan muttered. “I was hoping there’d be only one guy to talk to.”
“No, it’s better if there’s a bunch,” Kelsie said. A group was easier to nudge in the right direction. Maybe she could keep everybody calm and focused.
My power is strong, she reminded herself. My power can do good. My power can right wrongs.
“What I really want is backup,” Ethan said. “The anonymous dude and the all-seeing girl would be pretty awesome right now. Even Glorious Leader might come in handy.”
Driving into the warehouse was like being swallowed. A deep shadow engulfed them, cutting out any glimmer of the setting sun. There were huge construction machines everywhere, some on wheels, some on treads like tanks. Excavators with large, metal jaws or pincers and some kind of machine mounted with a giant steel needle to pierce the ground.
The machines were almost as intimidating as the men in bulging suits. Kelsie could make out two more in the shadows. That made five, plus her and Ethan. Not a bad number.
She could feel the group’s energy forming in the space—a fledgling crowd.
She could keep them calm, at least. Though that wouldn’t prevent anyone from calmly shooting her and Ethan in the face.
Ethan brought the car to a gradual halt. “There’s Misha.”
“Check out the guy with him,” Kelsie whispered.
The stranger was tall and broad-shouldered. He wore an expensive suit and his gleaming, shaved skull was tattooed with several rows of tally marks, like he was keeping score.
“What’s with those tats?” Ethan asked.
She swallowed. “I so don’t want to know. Can we keep the engine running?”
“Won’t do us any good.” Ethan nodded toward the rearview mirror.
Kelsie looked over her shoulder. A couple of old Mercedes had pulled in behind, blocking their exit. She exchanged a queasy glance with Ethan.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded. “Let’s get this thing over with, nice and easy.”
She hoped that’s what the Bagrovs wanted too.
CHAPTER 69
MOB
KELSIE GOT OUT OF THE car.
The gangsters’ nervous energy filled the room, strong enough to set her nerve endings singing. And all that energy was focused on her and Ethan.
She took a long, slow breath, stifling the anxiety rising in her gut. Then she slipped into the skittish buzz of the warehouse and softened it, mellowed it out.
She felt their resistance, their desire to stay fixed in that raw, angry place. But they gave in eventually. She settled them, like little kids who didn’t realize how tired they were.
Her power was strong. Her power could do this.
“Misha! My old friend,” Ethan said, his other voice smooth and soothing. He stuck out a hand, like a slick young salesman here to close a deal.
Misha smiled leanly. “Bank boy. I’m so glad you came along.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. You going to help us out today, Misha?”
“I’m going to try, my friend.”
“Is my dad okay?” Kelsie felt her interruption jangle the web of tension in the room. She reminded herself to play this cool.
Misha slid his gaze over to look at her. “He’s hanging in there, little girl.”
He sounded almost gentle.
“I want to see him.”
“I understand completely.” Misha nodded half a dozen times. Then he gestured to the man beside him. “But introductions first. This is my boss.”
“Mr. Bagrov,” said Ethan’s other voice. “Been a long time.”
“Do I know you?” Alexei Bagrov rumbled.
“Remember that thing back in Chicago? I was part of Zuyev’s crew.”
Kelsie swallowed, realizing the real problem with Ethan’s voice. Beyond the fact that it had no morals and no wisdom, it had no fear.
“Little punk like you worked for Roman Zuyev?” Alexei looked like he might laugh. “You don’t mind if I call him right now? I can confirm.”
Alexei pulled out a phone.
Kelsie looked over at Ethan. For a moment, the terror in his eyes didn’t match his smooth expression. But then he opened his mouth and that weird, creepy voice started talking again.
“You go right ahead. But I don’t think he’ll hear the phone ringing. He’s been six feet under for the past two weeks.”
Alexei frowned, then began to laugh in a low, coughing stutter. “Thought nobody outside Zuyev’s team knew that yet.”
“You got that right. Except you, of course,” the voice said, and Ethan followed that up with a smile that looked kind of loose and surprised.
Kelsie felt the energy in the room ease out even more as Alexei laughed. The men started to visibly relax, their shoulders slumping. They grinned, like this was the best joke they’d ever heard.
She spoke into those shreds of goodwill. “Mr. Bagrov, when can I see my dad?”
Alexei turned to her, his laughter still in his eyes. There really was something wholly creepy about Alexei Bagrov, and she didn’t need a superpower to spot it. Some people had a vibe, one that trickled out into whatever group they were part of. Alexei’s energy
was practically bouncing off the warehouse walls, as if he was eager for some kind of sick thrill.
On the other side of Alexei, Ethan looked unhappy. But his voice said, “You understand, the lady wants to check the quality of what she’s paying for.”
“Of course,” Alexei replied. “But first I’ll check the money. Make sure it’s not traceable.”
“It’s definitely not that,” Ethan assured him. He reached into the driver’s side to pop the trunk of the car, and Kelsie showed them the duffel bag. When Alexei gestured for her to open it, she unzipped the bag to reveal the thirty grand in cash.
“And now you take the bag out of the trunk, please.” Alexei took a step back, as if he thought it might explode.
“Let me do that, Miss Laszlo,” Ethan’s voice said.
She stepped away automatically. It was hard not to obey those firm, confident commands. Ethan came around, pulled the duffel bag out, and dropped it at Misha’s feet.
When a few bundles of money rolled out, Alexei nodded in satisfaction.
So far, so good. Kelsie let out a breath.
She prayed that Ethan’s voice was going to stay on target. That Ethan wouldn’t slip up and forget that they were here to save her dad as well as themselves.
“And show us, nothing else inside?” Misha continued.
Ethan squatted and rummaged through the open bag, stirring the wads of rolled-up cash.
“Nothing but dollars in here,” the voice said. “We’ve got no reason to put a tracker in. We just want Jerry Laszlo back.”
Ethan held up a wad of the stuff, but Alexei gestured it away like it was dirty. He indicated for one of his colleagues to step in. The man took the cash from Ethan, slipped off the rubber band, and started flicking through it.
“It’s nonsequential, used,” Ethan said, with that preternatural calm. “From a small-time operation on Ivy Street.”
“Drug money?” Misha asked.
“Is that a problem?” the voice said, like it knew it wasn’t.
“Not for us,” Alexei confirmed.
Kelsie was glad Ethan was there. And his voice. She couldn’t imagine trying to get through this on her own.
She worked to stay on top of her fear so it didn’t bounce around the room. The men around them seemed content to watch and wait while the one guy counted.
“It’s thirty thousand dollars and change,” she said.
“Thirty?” Alexei looked pleased. “The price was twenty-five.”
Ethan’s voice said, “Consider that interest. An investment in a beautiful new business association.”
Kelsie tried to smile. Every time it spoke, the voice ratcheted up the stakes just a little. Like a mark at a poker table, it couldn’t resist pushing its luck.
“So here’s my question,” Alexei said. “Four days ago, you handed Jerry to my colleague Misha here. And now you’re buying him back? Why?”
“It was all part of my plan. I wanted to meet you personally,” Ethan’s voice said. “Nothing makes for an introduction like a smooth transaction.”
Alexei Bagrov beamed, and Kelsie stifled the temptation to tell him and the voice to get a room already.
Instead she said, “Mr. Bagrov, can you bring my dad out now?”
“Oh, he’s not here,” Alexei said casually. He spoke over his shoulder. “How’s the money?”
“Good,” said the other man, still counting.
“But we paid you,” Kelsie said, trying to staunch the panic before it leaked out into the crowd. “You have to give me my dad back!”
It was the wrong thing to say. Apparently Alexei didn’t like to be rushed. The stare he gave her made her pulse beat faster in her ears.
The guy nearest her reached for a gun at his hip and brought it around so it was in front of him, pointing at the floor. He kept his eyes on Kelsie, his knuckles white on the gun grip.
Ethan held out his hands. “So just tell us where he is, gentlemen. We’ll go get him. Save you the effort.”
“Not necessary,” Alexei said. “We’re happy to reunite you with your father. But if you want to see him, you’ll have to come with us.”
Kelsie was about to agree when Ethan’s voice spoke up. “Now, wait a minute, gentlemen. You’re changing the rules.”
“What rules?” Alexei smiled. “Tie their hands.”
Misha looked surprised, but hesitated only momentarily. Then he came toward them.
“Wait!” Ethan said in his real voice, the fear evident.
Kelsie watched Ethan open his mouth like he was about to say something else. But nothing came out.
“Ethan?” she said.
He was still silent. One of Alexei’s men grabbed her wrists, pulling her arms behind her.
“Scam?” she cried.
He looked at her sadly and shook his head.
A bag came down over her head, blocking her view.
CHAPTER 70
ANONYMOUS
“HOLY SHIT,” FLICKER SAID. “I just lost Mob’s vision!”
“Is she . . .” Thibault slowed. “Did they . . . ?”
He didn’t have the breath to finish. They’d been running for five minutes, as fast as Flicker could go. The industrial park was huge, the warehouses growing bigger and the streets wider as they ran, like some kind of nightmare. And he had to call out every possible danger he could see coming up—gravel, potholes, curbs—cursing the fact that he was the one person whose vision she couldn’t use.
Flicker’s expression shivered, changing as she switched viewpoints.
“No. But they put a bag over her head. Scam’s, too. The guy whose eyes I’m in, he just shoved them into a trunk. A Mercedes. Black.”
Thibault stared at the warehouse across the parking lot. HURRICANE HAULING AND DEMOLITION was painted in giant letters on the side.
So near, but too late.
“Let’s get closer,” he said. “Maybe I can get in there before they drive away.”
“I don’t know,” Flicker said. “Those guys look pretty scary. Like you could punch one in the face and he’d just laugh it off.”
“How many?”
Her face did that thing again, shifting moment by moment as she cycled through every viewpoint in the warehouse. He could see why Nate had named her Flicker.
“Five or six?” she said. “Plus Mob and Scam.”
“They won’t notice me,” Thibault said. “Let’s go.”
They ran again. Flicker was off in her own headspace, her eyes inside the warehouse, so he had to lead her along flat ground, avoiding curbs and concrete parking barriers.
As they neared the building, Thibault felt a glimmer of the people inside—all that focus leaked through the walls, like when Glorious Leader was working a room. Someone big was in charge in there.
There was a side door, but a chain-link fence stood between them and it. He laid Flicker’s hand against the metal.
“Can you climb this?”
Riley hooked her fingers through the links, frowning at the sky. Thibault tried to sense more from the arcing signals in the building. But he only knew that the people in there were focusing hard.
“They’re getting into cars,” Riley said.
Thibault started to climb the fence, but then something buzzed up along the road beside the warehouse. He jumped down and spun around, ready to fight.
But it was just a delivery scooter. PIZZA2GO! was written on the insulated box behind the rider. It zipped past and into the driveway next door.
“The cars are moving,” Riley said, clambering up the fence.
Thibault’s mind went numb with panic. Taking on a half dozen gangsters was crazy enough, but there was no way for him to stop cars in motion.
In front of the next warehouse the pizza guy switched off the scooter and stuffed the key into his jacket pocket. He took a stack of pizzas out of the insulated box.
“Sunlight spilling in!” Flicker cried from the top of the fence. “The doors are opening up! They’re leaving!”
“It’s too late to get inside.”
“So what are we supposed to do?”
Thibault had recovered and was back in mission mode, where you just had to grab the solution at hand. “I have to leave you here, Flicker. I’m going to follow them. Will you be okay?”
She jumped back to the ground, took his shoulder to steady herself.
“I’ll be fine! Move it! They’re turning a car around, but they’ll be gone any second!”
“And you can make it back on your—”
She grabbed his other shoulder, pulled him close, and kissed him.
“I’ll be fine. Now go!” She blew another kiss at him two-handed, as if she were throwing him away.
He stumbled backward, then spun around and sprinted across the next parking lot. Up ahead, the pizza guy was being waved in by a girl in coveralls. A tight little connection shone between them, either a mutual crush or a bad case of pizza hunger on her part.
He ran harder, wishing he was wearing broken-in sneakers instead of shiny new shoes.
By the time he burst through the doors, there were easily ten people in the reception area. More workers in brown uniforms were crowding in.
“Pepperoni, and lots of it!”
“Where’s my Hawaiian?”
Thibault slipped through them, hacking away any glances they threw him, heading for the girl in coveralls. She was counting out money to the pizza delivery guy. His jacket pocket gaped open so wide, anyone could have taken the key.
A moment later Thibault was out the door and dashing for the scooter, key in hand. A black Mercedes sedan was already easing out of the driveway next door. Two big sunglasses-wearing guys were in the front seat, and a bald-headed man was in the back.
Flicker stood in the shadow of the warehouse, one hand in her hair, the other reaching out searchingly along the road. She was trying to read what she could from the receding car.
Thibault straddled the scooter, stuck in the key, and started the engine.
CHAPTER 71
ANONYMOUS
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