by Paul Duffau
He avoided her eyes when he answered. “Your mom works at an electronics outfit. What else would be on there?”
Mollified, Kenzie nodded. “We can’t give him what he wants. We have to find a way to delay things until we can get help.”
“No way. We do that and Lassiter will do exactly what he said. He’s a bully in a suit who’s never been knocked on his ass. We gotta find the data he wants, give it to him, and then kick his teeth in. He’s not going to come out of hiding without the real deal sitting within his reach,” Mitch said. He was staring at her now, and the intensity of his gaze made her blink.
He wants to take him head on, she thought. Anger at Mitch’s suicidal surety in his ability to defeat the businessman roared to life, fed by a combination of loathing for Lassiter and the conflict between selling out the Family and the dread of losing Mitch. Just like last night, he wouldn’t—couldn’t—back down.
Mitch mistook her silence for agreement. “We need to move quickly and force him into mistakes. There’s a couple of ways that we can do it. I think the best is to—”
“Would you shut up and listen!”
His head snapped back. Kenzie saw high spots of red on his cheeks, but her own emotions overrode her caution and flowed out as she spoke. “You keep talking about plans, but you have no idea what kind of person you’re dealing with. He’s the same kind of ruthless creep that teaches his kids how to take advantage of every situation and has them practice at school. Some of the kids that can’t hack it end up dopers, baked half the time. Some jump. Whatever plan you put together, he’s going to be two steps ahead of you, because that’s the way all of them do things: plan, test, prepare for every contingency. You don’t think he has it figured out that you’re going to try to cheat him—”
Mitch interrupted, his voice harsh and the words abrasive. “Me, cheat him? The bastard pointed guns at us, threatened to blow your leg off. He can go to hell. No way we can play his game, unless you want Jackson dead, and me along with him, ’cuz that’s what’s coming.”
Kenzie shook her head hard twice. From the corner of her eye, she saw interest perk up in Jackson’s face, an eyebrow rising as his chin set itself like stone.
“We can find other options,” she said. The leaden feeling of being trapped sapped her words of conviction. “Once he knows that we have what he wants, we have a bargaining chip.”
“Lassiter knows that, too,” Mitch said, punctuating his words by nailing the Formica table top with his forefinger. “It’s part of his game planning. Like you said, he’s got plans, but he’s only going to figure on the reactions of normal people and, if there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s normal.”
Kenzie glanced to Mitch. He wore an inner fire born of rage. She drew back from him, from the intensity of his stare. He’s losing it, she thought. And wrong. Compared to him, she was the normal one.
“Look, all we have to do,” she said, hoping to persuade him, “is give him what he wants. Once he has that, we have more time, and we can get help—”
Mitch laughed, a hard sound without humor, and Kenzie’s face grew hot. “Fat chance!”
Kenzie’s face grew warm, and it took effort to unclench her jaws.
Jackson spoke over the hubbub of noise in the restaurant. “You two okay there?” He locked on Mitch.
Mitch lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture without looking at him. Kenzie saw a flicker of annoyance cross Jackson’s face.
“It’s okay,” she said. She accompanied the reassurance with a forced smile.
“Right.” Loads of skepticism encased in a laconic response.
She reached for the spell to hold the bodyguard at bay. Stunned, she realized she couldn’t feel magic. Could the stress Mitch and Lassiter exerted on her overwhelm her connection to the energy? A Harold question. She sucked in a panicky breath, seeking her center.
Kenzie turned back to Mitch and spoke. “It’s better to let the game run its course and find a strategic point to make our break.” It sounded reasonable to her ears.
“That works great if you’re trying to escape, but this clown isn’t going to go away. We need to take him down, and for that, we need some help.”
“Your friend? Hunter? We can’t get anyone else involved.” Guilt made her glance away from Mitch. She still had not told her parents about the odd friends Mitch had. Part of her liked keeping secrets from them, part of her was scared for Mitch. Instinctively, Kenzie knew that coincidences like this—her meeting Mitch, the Hunter guy being his friend, the whole Lassiter problem—weren’t accidental. Somehow, they all tied together even if she couldn’t see how. A queasiness in her belly agreed.
Mitch, looking out the window, ignored the injunction. “Yeah, he’s smart, I already told you that, and really good with electronics. He can design a couple of things for me.”
He broke off as she grabbed his wrist. Her knuckles stood out white against Mitch’s tanned skin.
“You can’t tell him.”
They swapped looks.
“Lassiter needs to be put down.”
The arrogance in Mitch’s words stunned her. Not the promise of violence implied in putting him down like a rabid dog, but the complete dismissal of her suggestions was breathtaking. And infuriating. She wasn’t some little helpless girl who needed a big strong boy to save her. Her breath came faster, and her heart thudded against her ribs as indignation built. She sensed the magic pulling closer, and at the back of her mind she wondered why it came and went with certain emotions. She lost that train of thought when Mitch spoke again.
“You can’t call me.”
Her reaction was instantaneous. She backhanded him across the upper shoulder. The hard smacking sound brought silence to the clatter of the restaurant. Her eyes swept the room with embarrassment heating her face. The other patrons watched voyeuristically for a potential spectacle. Jackson lunged out of his seat and strode toward them. He brought a welcome distraction from those prying looks.
“Jackson,” she said, but he wasn’t looking at her. His grim gaze was fixed on Mitch.
She glanced to her side.
Mitch sat, every muscle in his arms and up across his chest set hard in rigid knots. His face was frozen into hard, implacable planes that sent a shiver along her nerves. He didn’t raise his voice. When he spoke, the words came as stinging as a dead arctic wind that bore slashing ice particles. “You don’t hit me,” he said. “Ever.”
His reaction shocked her and chills danced at the base of her neck. You idiot, she thought, you expect any different from someone who got the crap beat out of him. . . .
“We’re done here,” said Jackson as he arrived at the table.
“No, we’re not,” Kenzie responded. Her hands shook, but she tilted her head up so she could show him her face. “Please, Jackson, go sit down. This is my fault, okay?”
“I was leaving anyhow,” said Mitch. He slid sideways on the bench.
Kenzie laid her hand on his arm but didn’t close it. She couldn’t force him to stay, but she pressed his firm flesh with a gentle pressure. “Wait?”
Mitch stopped but didn’t turn to face her.
Kenzie shifted her gaze back to Jackson, eyes pleading. The bodyguard expelled his pent-up tension with an annoyed sigh.
“No more of that crap, either of you,” he said. He went back to his seat. Kenzie heard him mutter but couldn’t make out all the words, only “teenagers,” as though it were a derogatory term.
Kenzie’s fingers were cool against the warmth of Mitch’s arm. She twitched them to get his attention.
“I’m sorry.” The roller coaster of emotions that had started last night swept her along, off-balance and waiting for another plummet.
“The phones aren’t safe,” said Mitch, avoiding her eyes.
“Wha—” Comprehension filled her, and her fingers closed. His skin was hot against the cool of her palm. He hadn’t meant “don’t call me, I’m dumping you,” but rather “don’t call me, they’re monitoring ou
r phones.” Naturally Lassiter would spy on them. She had absorbed enough of the tech business from her mother to understand that none of them had an altruistic bone in their greedy corporate bodies.
“I’ll figure out something,” said Mitch. His jaw stayed hard set, and his eyes, locked with hers now, simmered, but he sat next to her instead of getting up. She let relief and thanks show on her face.
With a solvable problem, her mind raced ahead. In rapid order, she dismissed landlines and computers. The first required her to explain to her parents why someone was calling—and who!—while computers were even less secure than her phone.
“That’s why you met me here,” Kenzie guessed.
Mitch’s clipped answer disappointed her. “It was an accident. I needed someplace to hang out. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Doubly surprised to see your dad dropping you off, until Jackson pulled up.” He gave a tug of his arm against her fingers. “I got to go,” he said.
“Why?” She blinked. Guys don’t like needy chicks, she remonstrated herself. Cut it out.
Mitch, sounding calmer, as though he had forgotten her slap already, though his expression revealed otherwise, said, “Can you get out of your house to the backyard, or are you, like, in solitary confinement there, too?”
“What?” The lack of sleep and the excess of stress made her stupid, she thought, and Mitch’s fast changes of direction created a whirl in her head.
“There’s a blind spot behind the garage next to the wall. I can slide down the hill later, and we can meet there. Until we figure something else out,” Mitch amended. He shifted restlessly.
“I guess,” she said.
It seemed like a dumb idea, but Kenzie couldn’t think of anything better. It was a big chance to take. She avoided the obvious question about what would happen if anyone caught them.
Mitch stood up. His back was to Jackson. “’Kay, I’ll text you, something boring, then give me thirty minutes.” A ghost of a strained smile flashed, faded into a sigh.
He stepped back in a half pivot. He nodded to Jackson, who was staring at them both. “Thanks, man,” Mitch said to the bodyguard, and headed for the doors.
Kenzie watched his sure stride and wished for Mitch’s confidence. She saw nothing but disasters on every horizon, for him and for her, even if they got past Lassiter somehow. She still had to deal with her mother and the Family. An urge to visit the Glade came upon her. She pictured the peacefulness there. In her mind’s eye, she saw the chrysanthemum set in the pool, smelled honey, heard the tinkling of the brook. She wanted to be there so much it hurt, to be someplace where she felt safe.
Like an awakening, another feeling overcame her.
She wanted Mitch’s arms around her.
Chapter 36
Hunter and Uncle Henry both moved to face Mitch as he plowed through the doorway. His uncle wore a cheerful smile that brought him to a full stop. The fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee permeated the air, and Mitch’s stomach reacted with an acidic lurch.
“Hi, there,” said Uncle Henry, beaming. “You were sure out early this morning. Tried calling . . .” His eyes went momentarily blank as a fat crease formed above them. “. . . can’t remember why now.” Uncle Henry’s voice wavered, then drifted off into the distance. He picked up a half-full cup of coffee and sipped from it as though he had forgotten Mitch was there.
Unnerved, Mitch looked from him to Hunter and raised his eyebrows to silently ask, Whaaat?
Hunter greeted the unspoken query with a broad smile. “Your uncle said you’d be back pretty quick. We were having a little chat.” He lifted two fingers on his right hand, and Uncle Henry grinned. Hunter dropped them again, and his uncle’s expression faded to bland indifference. Freaky.
Mitch jerked his head in the direction of his bedroom. “Dude.”
He stalked down the hall, hearing Hunter behind him. He twisted the knob to his door and swung it wide. He glanced at the disaster zone, and his lips curled. He’d worry about that later. He dumped his tattletale phone on the bed.
He launched into an interrogation as he turned. “What the hell—” He stopped when he saw Hunter leaning against the wall in the hallway, arms held loosely at his sides.
“Just making sure I don’t get slammed into a wall again,” said Hunter. “You going to be reasonable and listen?”
“What the hell did you do to him?” asked Mitch. “And get in here. You look stupid out there.”
Hunter joined Mitch in the room.
“Close the door,” said Mitch.
“No need.”
Mitch frowned at his friend’s cockiness. “Okay, spill it.”
“I figured that you needed some, um, help—”
“Why?”
Hunter laughed, showing perfect white teeth. “You called like eleven times before nine o’clock this morning. Needy, man, totally needy.”
“Shut up,” said Mitch. He almost flipped his friend off and wondered what would happen if Hunter or Kenzie flipped someone the bird. The idea had potential—he roused himself. Not now.
Mitch peered at Hunter. The other boy wore his usual chinos with a button-down shirt and looked as though someone had told him to be ready for a photo shoot. The difference between the Hunter who’d twitched and trembled in the school hallway forty-eight hours ago with this version of the guy, standing there with complete self-assurance, struck Mitch like a blow.
“What kind of help?” asked Mitch.
“Your uncle is a major pain in the ass, so I manipulated his reality subtly so that he’s both easier-going and pretty much disinterested in anything you do.” Hunter shrugged. “It won’t last. It’s more like anesthesia.”
“You manipulated reality?” Shaken by the thought, Mitch let his eyes dart around the room. It looked the same as it did this morning. How much of what’s going on is real?
“His reality.” Hunter’s face took on a speculative cast. “I think.”
“That’s encouraging,” said Mitch. “Not.”
“Doesn’t matter right now,” said Hunter. “I’ve dialed him down so you can motor and do your thing without him riding you about it. Never mind about that, what happened?”
“How come you, or anyone in your family, don’t show up in an internet search?”
“We like our privacy. Surprised it took you this long to put that together. Now, give.”
Mitch’s gaze dropped to the pile of bedsheets. He didn’t hide the small grimace that accompanied the gesture. “I need to get into the school. Can you fix it?”
“Yeah, easy enough,” Hunter said. “Why?”
A silence accumulated and weighed heavy in the atmosphere of the room. Mitch felt the pressure to say more, to explain. He checked Hunter’s hands. The other youth stood motionless. A bird trilled outside, accentuating the tension. Mitch recognized the tactic. Hunter wasn’t going to talk. Mitch didn’t have time to wait him out. He dodged the question. “I also need a piece of gear, a trigger circuit, and it’ll need to be hand-designed, I think.”
This last piece of information caused Hunter’s gaze to focus on Mitch, sharp as a spear tip. Mitch knew it would. More importantly, it distracted his friend from the school. Only for now, though.
“What kind?”
“A transmitter, but it’s got to run on a delay, be nearly invisible in the dark, and have enough power to reach about a quarter mile to a booster.”
“So you need a booster for the signal, too?”
Mitch dipped his chin. “Yeah.”
“Sounds fun. Why?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Hunter shook his head. “Anybody going to call the cops?”
Mitch gave Hunter a stony stare. “No one will call the cops on us,” he said. It wasn’t a total lie. More like a misdirection. He held his eyes steady, almost daring Hunter to challenge him.
“You ought to clean this place up.”
“I can’t wave a hand and make all the crud put itself away.”
“Doesn’
t work that way in the real world, dude.” Hunter turned serious. “And you need to not say stuff like that. It took forever to convince my dad that you’re an asset, and he’s still not convinced that you aren’t more trouble than it’s worth to him.”
“Thanks.” Mitch dragged the word out sarcastically. He glimpsed a hint of anger in Hunter.
“Yeah, be a jerk, man. You don’t know how close my dad was to . . .” The anger petered out, replaced by a hard look. “You owe me, even if you don’t know how much yet.”
A hard knot formed in Mitch’s gut. He had thought that Kenzie’s comment about someone killing him if he knew about her—which paled in comparison to Lassiter’s very real promise—was hyperbole, like so much of what other teenagers said. He saw his mistake, thinking that Kenzie and Hunter were in that same group. Mitch grimaced, and the knot tightened. They weren’t.
“How am I an asset?” Mitch asked. That part confused him, but he wasn’t certain he wanted the answer.
“I told him you have a knack for putting things together. Someone that can read patterns like you do can be very useful to him. Also convinced him that you had no idea what you did the other day.”
“I don’t.”
Hunter waved a hand in dismissal. Mitch kept track of it with a cautious glance.
“What exactly does your dad do?” Mitch asked.
“What do you need to get into the school for?” Hunter countered.
Mitch hesitated before answering. “Powdered aluminum and ferrous oxide,” he admitted.
Hunter’s face went blank for a moment as he processed the chemical equations, then sharpened. “Thermite? You’re going to need an initiator for it.”
Mitch hid his smile, and the bunched feeling in his gut relaxed at Hunter’s response. Thermite wasn’t an explosive, but it burned with incredible intensity. In Mitch’s plan, the metal, aluminum, would steal the oxygen atoms from the ferrous oxide, a fancy name for plain old rust. The reaction was exothermic and released enormous quantities of energy as heat and light. Railroads used it to weld broken axles on boxcars without pulling the whole unit off the track and to fix cracks in the tracks themselves.