by R. H. Herron
“You said you wouldn’t hurt her, though.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dixon’s voice was lower now, as if he were bending over Kevin. He didn’t sound drunk in the slightest.
“You promised me, remember?” Harper was using her honeypot voice. “You said I could have anything I wanted, and that was the one thing.”
“I won’t hurt her. Much, anyway. I don’t want to bang up the bait.”
A noise came from above—a door being crashed through, or something else big and wooden being splintered.
Jojo’s eyes opened. She couldn’t help it.
Dixon raced for the stairs, and Harper’s mouth rounded into a small, surprised O.
“Keep an eye on them!” he yelled.
On the scanner Bettina read a plate to someone—it was clear and current, registered out of San Francisco.
Another crash upstairs. Whatever was going on up there, it didn’t matter. Dixon was away from them, and this might be their last chance.
Jojo scraped her cheek on the concrete floor to loosen the already torn-off duct tape and spit out the gag. “Come on, untie me.”
Harper’s eyes were still wide, and she looked up at the ceiling. More noises thumped above, as if someone were fighting. “I can’t. I’m so sorry, but I just can’t.”
Jojo had to get through to her. “He’ll kill us both. Come on, do it fast.” She held out her hands.
“Don’t be silly.” Harper had a smile draped over her lips. “He acts big, but he’s sweet. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“How did we get here, then?”
Harper tilted her head as if considering. “He tased you both, but that doesn’t hurt. He swears it doesn’t. And the GHB he gave you is kind of nice. Like, for sex. Or sleep and stuff.”
“He killed Zach.”
Now the laugh came out, the light, peachy tone of it lilting from Harper’s perfect lips. “Cut it out.”
Jojo felt as if she were a feral cat caught in one of those humane traps. “He killed him. He kidnapped me somehow, raped me, put me on Kevin’s spare bed, and killed Zach.”
“But Zach’s not dead.” Her eyes looked strange, the green dimmed to a muddy amber. “He can’t be dead.”
Jojo had always gotten along with Kevin better, but Harper had adored Zach. Once Zach had brought her a bracelet he’d made at some craft fair—it was like a kid’s project, but Harper had loved it, wearing it until it broke while she was playing basketball in PE. The beads had clattered all over the hardwood floor.
“Zach’s dead. Your boyfriend killed him.”
Jojo saw a flicker of confusion rise in Harper’s eyes, and then it disappeared, as fast as it had come. “He wouldn’t. He’s not like that. I told you, he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He just has big ideas, and big ideas take big action.”
“He hurt you.”
From upstairs came a man’s roar and another clatter, as if a whole cabinet of pots and pans had been upended onto a tiled floor.
Harper shook her head. “No way. He’s never hurt me.”
Jojo was losing patience, and judging from the sounds upstairs she was losing time, too. “Did you hear me, Harper? He raped me. Your boyfriend raped me.”
“No he didn’t.” Harper’s face brightened. “I did.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
LAURIE HAD BROKEN down the door because fuck it. One kick and it crashed open. Adrenaline surged through her veins, and the gun was steady in her hand as she entered. Just like the old days on the street. And now everything hung on doing the one thing, the right thing.
And this time the wrong thing was the right thing. For once.
She’d kill him.
Then she’d save Jojo and Harper, and then she’d go to jail afterward, and it would be worth it.
The door opened into a small hallway that smelled of dust and spaghetti. A red floral rug on the floor ran to the back of the house. At the end of the hallway was a kitchen table with a bare bulb hanging overhead. It was getting dark outside, and her eyes had a hard time adjusting to the dimness. To the right a set of stairs went up to the next level. To her left another, narrower set of steps led down to a basement.
Darren Dixon barreled up those stairs, launching himself at her with a roar.
Laurie swung the gun and started to pull the trigger, but the son of a bitch moved too fast. He’d been five feet, then zero feet away in the time it took her finger to draw back. He knocked the gun from her hand. It clattered to the floor.
“No!” It was the only word she could think of to yell as he grabbed her arm. He tried to twist it behind her, but she knew all the moves, too, even though her body was rusty. She spun sideways and ducked down, trying to take him out at the knee with a kick.
But Dixon leaped, hitting the wall hard, using the motion to power himself back into the center of the hall.
He wasn’t drunk. He didn’t even smell like alcohol. His clothes were clean. His focus was sharp.
He’d sobered up. Showered.
He’d known exactly what he was doing. And she didn’t, she didn’t—
Dixon lunged for her with both arms like a vengeful bear, snatching a handful of hair as she tried to duck out of reach. He held tight, and Laurie heard the hair rip out of her head. It hurt, but the pain was nothing compared to the fear. Jojo. She was here somewhere, and Laurie would fight till she was dead if she had to, to give Jojo a chance to get away from this man.
He was behind her now, one hand gripping her hair, his other arm flailing, trying to land a punch. Laurie put her hand on top of his, locking it to her head so that her body knew exactly where he was behind her. She shifted her hips to the right and thumped her fist backward in an attempt to smash his balls into his pubic bone.
But he twisted at the last second, and her fist connected dully with his thigh. The gun was behind him. He’d let go of her hair, so she bent her knees and took off in a run down the hallway, toward the kitchen. Weapon. Get a weapon. A knife would do. Any knife.
He was right behind her, a thrashing, roiling mass of anger. She raced to the far side of the kitchen island, keeping it between them as if they were children playing tag. “I called 911. Cops are on the way,” she gasped, scrabbling in a drawer for something—anything—she could use.
He panted, “Bullshit. You can’t trust any of them. You didn’t call.”
The drawer she pulled open was the junk drawer—nothing but take-out menus and old rubber bands. He lunged to the right, and she went the same way. The island was big enough—as long as she could keep herself separated from him, she might find a weapon.
But he found one first. He opened a drawer on his side of the island and pulled out a carving knife. “This what you wanted?”
A person good with a knife could kill faster than a person with a gun, given a similar proximity. She hadn’t believed it till she’d seen the study at work—and shit, he lunged toward her, coming at her over the island. He was fast as hell, but she was a mother lion, and she had to win. She ducked left and got to the same drawer, still hanging open. She grabbed a paring knife more suitable for slicing cheese than for self-defense, but it would have to do. Dixon was on the other side of the island again. This was a stalemate. They could do this all night, until one of them wore out.
Laurie didn’t have all night.
She threw the knife at him.
The blade glanced off his brow in a lucky fucking throw, cutting downward across his right eye. Dixon gave a scream like a dog hit by a car and clawed at his face.
As he fell to his knees, blood trickling down his cheek, Laurie ran around the island and toward the basement stairs. Jojo had to be down there.
At the last moment, Dixon threw himself at her ankle like a soccer player preventing a goal, toppling her. Laurie’s head smashed against tile, the wind leaving her lungs with a thump. She saw blackness lit
with sparkles of stars. No! Fight!
She managed to scramble as far as the hallway. If she could just get her gun back—
Dixon threw himself across her, his weight holding her facedown. “I’ll fuck you while she watches.”
Laurie struggled to take a breath. Coil your strength.
“Then I’ll fuck your baby girl while you watch.”
Her hips bucked, trying to heave him off, but he was stronger and she was still seeing stars from the blow to her face.
“And then I’ll kill you both.”
Laurie stilled completely.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she said.
She didn’t have to fight this one clean. She’d go dirty. She just needed her moment.
FIFTY-NINE
JOJO BARELY REGISTERED the thudding overhead. Harper’s words rang in her head. I did.
I did.
“I don’t understand.”
Harper scooted closer. “It wasn’t like it was a real rape. That’s why I did it.”
A vise closed around Jojo’s chest, and her breathing got shallower. “I don’t understand,” she repeated. They were the only words she had. Nothing—nothing—made sense.
“Like, we’d already been together.” Harper gave the sweetest, prettiest smile, the one that made the dimple appear in her cheek. “We knew it had to look like you’d been raped, but I wouldn’t let him do it. So I just used my hand. You know?”
Jojo did not know. “Why?”
“To bring down Kevin.”
In the corner Kevin gave a low moan, but he didn’t wake up. His breathing rattled.
“Why?” Maybe if Jojo kept asking that one simple word, something would eventually make sense. Behind her, her bound hands burned.
“Because he’s at the top of the chain. Everyone’s eyes are on him, like the whole nation, you know? Half the men in America aren’t even watching football, in protest of what he does, with his pin and his fist and his protests. He needed to be shut up. Like, in a way that no one would ever believe him or a man like him again. So we decided to do it this way.”
That “we” was the scariest part. “But you loved Kevin. And Zach. And CapB. You weren’t just acting.” Yet even as she said it, Jojo felt it click into place. Harper had never been as into the politics as Jojo had. Harper had only gone to the street-medic trainings because Jojo wanted her to. Their friendship had rekindled at a banner-making meeting, but Harper had confessed that it’d been her first. She’d only gone back because of Jojo.
“You were at that first meeting because Ray—Dixon—sent you to it.”
Harper nodded as if pleased. “Exactly.”
“Why?”
“CapB hates cops, you know that. They say they don’t, but you know they do—you’ve heard them talking. And that’s not the American way. In this country we honor those who defend our streets, just like we honor our soldiers fighting for our soil.”
They weren’t Harper’s words—Harper had never spoken like that in her life.
“Dixon isn’t a cop anymore,” Jojo said. “Why does he care? And what about the guys you slept with? Those are all cops, and you’re blackmailing them. How does that go together—”
“Oh, no, those guys aren’t real cops. They’re the fake ones. They act like they’re on the force, but really they’re just friends of the chief. It’s all, like, fake. We were just going after the bad cops, the ones who don’t have the public’s true interests at heart.”
“Harper—what happened to you?” Dixon had done something to make Harper lose her mind. The thought made Jojo more desperate than she’d already been. “It’s like you’ve gone insane.”
Harper narrowed her eyes and drew backward. “He said you’d say that. He said anyone who knew about us would say that.”
Another crash, and then a man’s shout came from upstairs. The radio babbled on—Bettina saying something about a 415 female complaining about a neighbor’s car blocking her driveway. But upstairs someone was fighting with Dixon, and that someone might not win.
If that happened, he’d come down and kill her and Kevin.
“He needs me!” Harper stood and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m not supposed to go up there but . . .”
No, Jojo needed to get Harper back on her side, to break her out of whatever dream she was in. “Harper, listen. I’m sorry I said that. You’re not crazy.”
“Whatever.” Harper put her foot on the first step. Her face was pale, and she paused.
Was Harper rethinking this? Could it be she didn’t want to help him? The real Harper was still in there—she had to be. Maybe Jojo could reach her with words.
“Look,” Jojo said. “Look at what I have around my neck.”
“Huh?” Harper glanced at the ropes at Jojo’s feet, as if she’d misheard.
“Come here.” Jojo inclined her head. “Look at what’s on my necklace.”
Harper approached her slowly. “If this is some kind of trick . . .”
“It’s not. Just look. Please.”
Harper was close enough to push back Jojo’s hair. She tugged the chain up and out of Jojo’s T-shirt. The ring dangled. “Oh,” Harper said quietly. “You’re wearing it.”
“Of course I am. You’re my best friend.” The words tasted like acid in her mouth. “I love you.”
Harper kept the ring in her hand. She was so close that Jojo could smell her—a light scent of BO layered on top of Bombshell. “That was going to be the first thing I bought with the money, once I got it. A matching ring.”
Jojo tried to smile. “We could go try to steal one for you. Maybe you’d get away with it this time.”
“Like you did, you bitch.” The words were warm, and Harper dropped a kiss on Jojo’s cheek. “I’ve missed you, Cordelia.”
“I missed you, too.” It wasn’t true—she’d missed the old Harper, the one that was now just a ghost, not this version of the girl she loved. “Please, please untie me. I’m begging you.”
Harper stilled. They both listened to the upper floor shake. “Did he really kill Zach, do you think?”
“He really did.” Jojo held her breath.
“He never told me that. I was in the car when we left you at Kevin’s. He took a while to come out. He seemed kind of freaked out, but he didn’t say anything. Nothing.”
“I have a feeling there’s a lot he’s not telling you. Let me help.”
Harper shook her head, as if trying to wake up. “I can’t.”
“Your mom is losing her mind, she’s so worried.”
Harper blinked.
“And Andy is, like, catatonic. They miss you so much. I saw his eyes all red and wet from crying.”
It was the wrong thing to say—Harper gave a brittle laugh. “Crying ’cause he’ll miss fucking me.”
Jojo jerked. “Jesus.”
“What? Like you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know. Are you serious? He did that? I asked you if he’d hurt you—remember?”
“And then you believed me when I said he hadn’t.”
“I believed you because that’s what I do! I believe my friends! What happened?” They didn’t have time—they had to get out—but this was key, getting Harper to trust her again. To break this spell she was under.
Harper shrugged. “Nah, it only happened a couple times, honestly, right around that time you asked me about it. I’d been drinking with him both times. I was stupid and let him do it.”
Jojo gasped. “You did nothing wrong! You’re the victim—he’s a criminal.”
“Eh, I get a lot out of guilting him into giving me whatever I want. I just threaten to tell Pamela. It’s kind of great, actually.”
“And your mom never noticed? Never asked?”
Harper tilted her head prettily. “You know her. She never notices a s
ingle thing about me.”
“She loves you.”
“I know that. She’s just not like your mom, all concerned and careful and shit. Pamela trusts me. I guess she trusts Andy, too, which makes her pretty stupid, right? She never pays attention to what I’m doing. Ray, though. He does. He always pays attention to me.”
Jojo’s heart clattered in her chest painfully. “I always pay attention to you. I love you.”
Harper’s right eyebrow rose. “Do you, though?”
“I was in love with you!” Jojo couldn’t breathe again—it felt like the gag was back in and she was choking around the words she hadn’t even known were true till they hung in the air between them.
“Oh, Joshi, I know that. But you left me.”
“What?”
“When my parents didn’t want us to hang out after your dad got us arrested.”
We got ourselves arrested by doing something stupid. The necklace hung heavy around her throat. “Harper. I’m so sorry. I missed you every day. I thought your parents were keeping you from me. And I thought you hated me. You wouldn’t even look at me when you passed me.”
“You didn’t have to give up. You just gave up on me. You didn’t fight for me. Nobody fights for me but Ray. He’ll never leave me.”
More frantic thumping came from upstairs.
Harper’s eyes widened. “We should—”
A short, high scream, full of pain, came from upstairs. They were running out of time.
“I’m so sorry, Harper. I should have fought for you, for our friendship.” Even knowing that something was so deeply broken in Harper that she could do this, Jojo still wanted to be near her. “I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
Harper inhaled sharply. Jojo could feel her wobbling. “Look. Just untie me. At least then I can make my own choice to fight or not, okay? If he killed Zach, just think what he’ll do to me. I’ll tell him I got free on my own. You can do that, right?”
“I can’t.”
“He killed Zach.”