Notable (Smith High)

by Marni Bates

He just wanted us to deal with the consequences together.

  “I have a new idea,” I said softly. “It’s a risky move, and we don’t have to make it. We can sit here and wait for the reporters to show up tomorrow, just the way we all originally agreed. I’m sure they will love getting the details about Amy’s disappearance from a lawyer at a prestigious firm. But that’s not going to guarantee Amy’s safety. This new plan of mine might be reckless, but I still think it’s the right call to make for both Amy and Neal. So do you trust me?”

  His mouth quirked wryly. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Do. You. Trust. Me?” I repeated obstinately. “It’s a simple yes or no question, Houston.”

  He looked right past me as if I were invisible, and I felt my stomach lurch.

  “Guys, you might want to come over here. Chelsea has a new plan she wants to share with the class.”

  Liz glanced up at me from the table where she and Ben had been stress-eating french fries ever since Aaron had left the room with the understanding that we’d be in touch. “What’s that?”

  “I want to be the hostage negotiator.”

  The room descended into silence, and I struggled not to fill it with promises I might not be able to keep.

  “I know I’ve screwed up plenty of times before, but I’m asking for one more chance to make this right,” I said at last. “I think I need to do this.”

  Ben spoke around a mouthful of fries. “Better you than me.”

  Liz nodded in agreement. “I’m with Ben on this one. What do you think, Houston?”

  “I think Chelsea’s the right pick for the job.”

  The warmth of those words jolted my system as if I’d just drained a cappuccino in one swallow, but I couldn’t allow it to go to my head. Not when I had Amy to focus on. Wiping my sweat-slick palms on my jeans, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my prepaid cell phone. Everything I had heard about this guy suggested he had an aggressive streak and liked to play with guns. If he had shot Amy . . . I shut my eyes and tried to block out the unwanted mental images.

  Somehow I would just have to convince him that it was in his best interest to leave her unhurt.

  Unless it was too late.

  The life might be seeping out of my friend while I waffled over my approach. Her blood could be staining a bathroom floor somewhere in this very hotel and I’d be helpless to stop it. If this panic was what Amy had experienced when she saw the mess I made in the Happy Wonder Hostel, I owed her a billion more apologies.

  I closed my eyes and pictured what my mom would say if she could see me panicking over a phone call right now.

  You created this mess, Chelsea. So why don’t you act like an adult and fix it?

  Deep breath in and out.

  Okay, I could do that.

  Fingers trembling, I dialed Amy’s prepaid cell number and put the call on speaker. The ringing filled the room while I forced myself to keep breathing steadily. Any second now . . .

  Ring.

  Or now . . .

  Ring.

  Why wasn’t anyone picking up?

  Ri—

  A brusque, heavily accented voice interrupted on the third ring. “Speak.”

  Okay, so drug dealers didn’t waste time on pleasantries. That was fine with me.

  “I have an important message to relay to Mr. Sovann,” I replied calmly, grateful that my shaking hands couldn’t be seen over the phone. “Is he available?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m simply someone trying to fix an accident I believe happened to one of Mr. Sovann’s shipments. I’d like to speak directly to him.”

  There was a brief pause before an even gruffer voice filled the room.

  “Who are you? How dare you toy with me?”

  Oh, snap. That was one very unhappy drug lord I had on the phone.

  “Mr. Sovann,” I said carefully as my heart rate tripled. “It is an honor to speak with you, sir. My associates mean no disrespect, and we apologize for disrupting your busy schedule.”

  His voice didn’t soften in the slightest. “I do not believe you mean no disrespect. Why else would you send this pathetic child to do your bidding?”

  There was no mistaking the sound of a palm connecting with flesh and the muffled cry that filled the air.

  Amy.

  I didn’t think it was possible for Liz, Ben, and Houston to look any more panic-stricken, but hearing Amy’s pain broadcast into the room did the trick. A distant part of my brain started screaming that I needed to do something to stop him. Beg. Plead. Anything. But I couldn’t let him know just how deeply I cared about Amy without playing right into his hands.

  Houston’s palm clasped mine as I stared at the phone in horrified speechlessness.

  If that simple display of affection had happened a few hours ago I might have tried to analyze whether it indicated friendly support or a more romantic type of interest.

  Instead, I just gripped it for all I was worth and focused on keeping my voice steady.

  “We meant no disrespect, Mr. Sovann,” I repeated. “We needed a way to communicate with you and thought our messenger would draw the least attention to a sensitive matter.”

  “You thought to threaten me!” The uncontrolled anger in his voice had me clutching Houston’s already bruised hand even tighter. He winced slightly but gave me a quick squeeze back.

  “Never. We only wish to help you correct a mistake.”

  My words dangled unanswered, leaving me terrified that he might have grown bored and hung up on us. If that happened, I might as well message Amy’s parents so that we could start making funeral arrangements.

  “And what of this ‘Neal’ in your note? Do you not demand that I release him?”

  Part of me wanted to tell him to forget it. That I had changed my mind and we only cared about reclaiming our captured messenger. But I couldn’t do that to Neal. Not when I had already come this close to gaining his freedom. If I backed off now, it might be too late by the time more official diplomatic efforts were attempted, and Amy’s mission would’ve been for nothing.

  Two lives depended on what I said next.

  But, y’know, no pressure.

  “We simply hope that with your considerable influence, we can free an innocent man.”

  An appeal to his pride, vanity, and any sense of honor he might possess. If my victory hadn’t been so far from assured, I would have been damn pleased with my quick thinking. Mackenzie Wellesley probably could have rattled off some drug-related statistics, but for the first time I was confident that if we failed, it wouldn’t be because I wasn’t smart enough.

  “If I free him, you will return my shipment,” Rithisak Sovann murmured thoughtfully, while I did my best not to get ahead of myself . . . or him.

  He was considering my proposal, but he hadn’t agreed to my terms yet.

  “Absolutely.”

  There was another long pause.

  “And what will you give me for the return of your messenger?”

  A panicked mewl of terror on the other end of the phone sent my ragged pulse racing even faster. Houston’s hand instinctively gave my hand another supportive squeeze.

  “Surely,” I croaked, “a man of honor would never shoot the messenger.”

  Oh crap. I didn’t need Liz’s sharp kick in the shins to remember belatedly that one of the basic rules of hostage negotiating was probably: Never remind the crazy man with a gun that he has a freaking gun!

  “Your note was for the release of one man. It never said anything about this girl.” There was something even more terrifying about his sudden calmness than his blatant anger and hostility. I had absolutely no doubt that a man who had lived through the horrors inflicted on his country, who might have witnessed firsthand the deaths of thousands of his countrymen, had a very different idea of what constituted fair play than I did.

  He also didn’t appear to have any scruples when it came to getting what he wanted. You don’t become a well-known drug dealer and
the owner of one of the most luxurious hotels in Cambodia by being nice.

  I forced myself to swallow some water so my voice wouldn’t crack like a pubescent boy’s. “You could release her as a gesture of goodwill.”

  He chuckled. “She’s too fat for most of my customers, but many men like having white women in their collection.”

  Another loud smack and an answering cry of pain rang clearly through the phone.

  I froze. I could either call his bluff or fold . . . either tactic ran the risk of leaving Amy equally dead. But something about the cold way he calculated his decisions reminded me of the way I had ruled the Notables at Smith High School. If any girl had the nerve to spread rumors behind my back, I would’ve decimated her social standing through a whisper campaign of my own creation.

  But challenge me head on . . . and I just might have caved.

  “Hurt her and the deal is off,” I told him clearly. “Half of your package will be found in your hotel courtesy of an anonymous tip. That won’t be good for your image, right, Mr. Sovann? Particularly with a potential merger in the works. Who knows? The drugs might even be discovered in the very conference room you’ve been using.”

  I didn’t need a Cambodian translator to understand that I had one seriously pissed-off drug dealer swearing at me.

  “I’ll call you with further instructions,” I said, interrupting him mid-diatribe.

  And then I hung up on him while the others looked at me with a mixture of shock, fear, and . . . respect.

  Uncomfortable with the intense scrutiny coming at me from every direction, I glanced down at my watch.

  “Time for phase two.”

  Chapter 29

  The prepaid cell phones were without a doubt the best purchase I’d ever made, beating out the sea-foam-green jeans that had previously held that distinction by a landslide.

  Although there’s nothing quite like a great-fitting pair of pants to increase your confidence . . . even when your to do list includes meeting up with a renowned drug lord/kidnapper at a holy Buddhist temple.

  Okay, so technically I was only scouting out the location in preparation for the meeting. But delaying the inevitable until we were ready to make our move didn’t magically alleviate my stress, no matter how beautiful the atmosphere or how historic the architecture surrounding me.

  It was strange knowing that if Neal had never walked into the wrong room at the worst possible time, the syllabus would have brought us to this very spot. Amy would’ve been breathing in the heavy scent of incense and laying down offerings like all the other tourists while a new guide with another unpronounceable name showed us around. Liz would have made some crack about orange robes not really being her color; Ben would’ve inevitably come up with a wildly inappropriate response that would make even Houston laugh in spite of himself. And the whole time Neal would have been encouraging us to take notes for our upcoming final.

  Then he’d have taken each of us aside to make sure we weren’t struggling with life abroad.

  A few weeks ago that would have been my definition of torture, and now I was daydreaming wistfully about imaginary history lectures when I needed to be prepping for my face-off with a drug cartel. Somewhere buried in this mess I suspected I had a really great college admission essay just waiting to be written.

  You know, on the off chance that I survived.

  The warm pressure of a hand on my shoulder halted my inspection of every nook of the temple that I intended to memorize inside and out in case one seemingly insignificant detail could give me an advantage during an escape. Pasting a warm smile on my face, I looked up expectantly at Wesley.

  “I’m, um, glad you came here with me, Lake.” He spoke haltingly, as if he wasn’t exactly certain how he had ended up giving me that promised tour after the unmitigated disaster of a date we’d shared the night before. “Surprised that Aaron of all people has now suddenly decided to play matchmaker, but really, really glad.”

  I tucked my arm through the crook of his so that we looked like just another couple of tourists strolling around the popular destination, which was part of the reason I’d asked him to join me there: Nobody pays much attention to obnoxiously happy couples. Although keeping him away from Aaron so he couldn’t ask any nosy questions like, “Why are you calling the corporate jet pilot and asking how quickly he can go wings up?” had definitely played a part in our outing as well.

  It had seemed like a perfect solution at the time. We needed to get Wesley out of the hotel, and since Ben was busy flirting his way into information about Mr. Sovann from his various female employees, Liz was messaging with Jane in an attempt to keep the press apprised of the situation, and Houston was out buying emergency medical supplies in case Rithisak Sovann ignored my threat, I was the only one available to keep him occupied.

  The task of playing carefree tourist would have been significantly easier if I wasn’t carting around five pounds of heroin in my tote bag. Simultaneously, I was scouting out areas public enough to make Mr. Sovann reconsider pulling out his gun but private enough to make the switch without getting caught. Not to mention, I was expected to bat my eyelashes charmingly at a guy who didn’t exactly set my pulse racing.

  “I’m glad you still wanted to be seen with me after the way my colleague overreacted last night.” I released a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I can’t believe he thought I’d been drugged. I swear, sometimes I don’t think photographers can see what’s right in front of them unless it’s being filtered through a lens.”

  Liar, liar, low-rise jeans on fire!

  “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  I pushed back my red hair so that I had an unobstructed view of his earnest face. The guy was really pretty sweet, which probably meant I should feel guilty about leading him on . . . but I didn’t.

  Maybe because Amy still had a chokehold on my guilty conscience.

  I smiled and moved the conversation onto safer ground. “Me too. This place really is incredible. I could spend hours just soaking it all in.”

  At least those words were the truth. I was avidly studying the golden Buddhas that glowed majestically in the mid-morning sunlight. In a way, I was using the temple just as selfishly as the tourists who complained bitterly about the heat and the Cambodian children who were trying to support their families by selling travel guide books to the tourists.

  Except instead of looking for the best angle for a Facebook photo, I was trying to figure out how best to avoid getting shot.

  I sort of hoped that would earn me at least a handful of karmic bonus points.

  One arm still entwined with Wesley’s, I strolled down a semi-secluded pathway and tried my best to discreetly check my phone for missed calls. I had copied down everyone’s numbers and taped the list to the back of each cell so that if anything happened, help would be only a phone call away. That was the theory anyway; I wasn’t in a position to rush back to the hotel if anything else went terribly wrong.

  The distance separating the hotel from the temple was actually something of a relief. I could see why the others hadn’t wanted to do the negotiating: It was hard knowing that if something went wrong, you were the one who had been unable to fix it. That you’d be forced to spend the rest of your life what if–ing yourself straight to the therapist’s office, which Houston already thought I needed.

  Please ring with good news.

  “Wat Phnom is the tallest religious structure in this city,” Wesley told me as he tugged me flush against his side.

  “That’s fascinating.” I glanced down at my phone.

  Please, please ring.

  “We’re only a few miles away from Wat Botum. We could go there next, if you want?”

  “Mmm,” I murmured noncommittally.

  Ring, damn it! I’m going insane here!

  “Pol Pot lived there for a while as a kid. Apparently, he was really well liked. Creepy, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Or we could go back to the hotel and have
wild monkey sex?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said vaguely. Then I registered his words. “I’m sorry. I know I’m a bit . . . distracted.”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  I looked sheepishly up at Wesley. “It’s a work thing. I’m expecting a call and until I get it—” I shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m having trouble staying in the moment.”

  “I know a great way to fix that.” He leaned in close and kissed me.

  It wasn’t bad.

  In fact, I would even categorize it as solidly decent.

  Most of my girly parts that usually take notice when an attractive guy kisses me responded. I felt . . . warm, or at least lukewarm, but not exactly all hot and bothered. And it was nothing compared to the jolt I had felt only yesterday when Houston had kissed me right on the edge of the makeshift dance floor. That had been . . . unreal.

  Although Houston definitely could’ve taken a lesson from Wesley about the proper way to end a kiss, which was with glazed eyes and a grateful smile.

  “Um, wow.”

  Oh yeah, I hadn’t lost my touch.

  Wesley grinned at me. “So does this mean we don’t need to talk about the guy from last night? Your work buddy, right?”

  My phone finally rang.

  I never expected I’d be relieved to get an update on the status of an evil drug lord.

  I didn’t even let it reach the second ring.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded into the phone while my heart finally began to pick up the pace. “Is everyone okay?”

  Ben’s voice crackled into my ear. “You’re not going to believe this, but I just caught a glimpse of Neal being frog-marched through the lobby. He looks like he’s been through hell, but at least he’s here and he’s breathing. That’s all that matters right now.”

  “I completely agree.” I glanced up at Wesley and chose my words carefully. “Any idea what caused such a sudden shift?”

  “I guess your threat rattled Mr. Sovann into acting faster than anyone expected. The guy is mega-wealthy, so maybe he keeps the private plane around just for this reason. You know, the trusty in case I’m blackmailed and need to fly someone to Phnom Penh plane.”