The Amateurs, Book 3

by Sara Shepard

  He has some sort of weapon pressed into her back, Seneca thought with dread. If Aerin screamed, she’d die. If one of them screamed, she’d die. Brett had every ounce of power and control, like always.

  Seneca, Maddox, and Madison slowly walked toward Brett and Aerin, their eerie, warped reflections following. Brett never broke eye contact. “Nice to see all of you,” he shouted over the sounds of the laugh track. His voice was like a hammer to Seneca’s skull. The shape of his mouth, the squint of his eyes—it was all so real. “Now, do you have something to tell me?”

  “Not until you release her,” Seneca said shakily. She glanced at Aerin. Her friend’s lips were clamped together, as though she’d been ordered not to talk, but her eyes were wide and scared. Please help me, she seemed to be saying. Please end this.

  Brett shook his head. “Tell me the address, and she’s yours.”

  “No,” Seneca insisted. “Give Aerin back, and I’ll take you to the house. I’m not going to just tell you. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  She could feel Maddox stiffen by her side. Madison gave Seneca a look that said, Are you sure? Seneca really wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want Brett to trick them. She didn’t want Brett to get the address, grab Aerin, and run.

  A breeze wafted through the mirror room, bringing with it a scent of mildew. The clown’s laughter morphed into a droning techno song. Brett stared at them for a long time, and then shifted his weight. “How can I be sure you won’t take me to the wrong place?”

  “Because I’ll ring the doorbell. She’ll come to the door. She did so for us. You’ll see.”

  “Seneca,” Maddox urged out of the corner of his mouth. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  But Seneca kept her eye on Brett, her heart shuddering, every cell in her body quivering. “Come on. Give Aerin to Maddox, and let’s go. But you have to promise not to hurt the kid when you go in there, okay?”

  Brett let out a note of protest. “You really think I’d hurt a kid?”

  How should I know? Seneca thought. “You have to get Damien out as soon as you go in there. Send him to me. I’ll make sure he’s safe. Got it?”

  “Seneca…” Maddox murmured.

  “Got it?” Seneca repeated, glowering at Brett.

  Brett’s gaze dropped to the shiny floor. Aerin wriggled a little, the fear on her face intensifying. What was pressed into her back? A gun? A knife? Seneca took another step toward Aerin—she was so close, she could smell her floral shampoo. She was so close to Brett, too. His ordinariness scared her. The way his hair curled over his ears. The acne scars on his chin. That he’d put on shorts today, that he’d tied his shoes, that he had to cut his fingernails and brush his teeth and get a good night’s sleep like every other human on the planet.

  “Come on, Brett,” she said gently. “I know what Elizabeth means to you. I’ll take you to her. I’ll let you close that chapter of your life.”

  The corners of Brett’s mouth were still turned down, but Seneca could tell by his eyes he was starting to crack. He was going to do it. He was going to release Aerin. But suddenly, his head whipped up, and his gaze narrowed on something on the other side of the room. Seneca swiveled to look, too. A new reflection appeared in the mirrors, tall and fat and doubled and warped all the way down the line. It was the shiny badge that caught Seneca’s attention first, and then the wording on the back of his jacket, reflected in the glass: Breezy Sea Boardwalk Security.

  “Everything okay here?” the guard asked, flashing his light across the group.

  Seneca froze. Go away, she wanted to say. Nothing to see here. But then she caught sight of Brett’s betrayed expression. Did he think they’d set him up? Come on, Brett. We know better!

  She opened her mouth, ready to speak, ready to fix this, but time moved both too slowly and too quickly, and her muscles didn’t cooperate. The guard stepped purposefully toward them. Brett’s eyes turned to slits, and he drew Aerin back, one arm slung around her tightly like a seat belt. Seneca reached toward Aerin, desperate to grab her—now that there was security present, would Brett do something crazy? In that same moment, something shiny slashed toward Seneca’s body, and she saw a glint of metal and felt a jolt of pain. Maddox shouted something Seneca couldn’t make out over the techno music. Suddenly, she was on the ground, stars spinning in front of her eyes.

  “Freeze!” the guard cried, grabbing a gun from his holster and pointing it at Brett.

  When Seneca looked up, Brett held a red-tinged knife out in front of him. She stared down in horror at the blood dripping down her arm. He’d stabbed her? The pain rushed in again. The world tilted, then receded. Maddox dropped to his knees next to her. “Shit, Seneca, shit.”

  Seneca pushed him away. “I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s not that bad,” she said breathlessly, struggling to get to her feet.

  “Drop the knife,” the guard repeated, gun trained on Brett. “Release the girl.”

  The guard’s hand went to the walkie-talkie on his belt, which made Brett’s knife press to Aerin’s throat. Aerin let out a little screech. “Don’t you dare call backup,” Brett growled. His eyes were wild, and his jaw was clenched so tightly cords stood out in his neck.

  The guard released his walkie-talkie, but he stepped closer, and there was a click of the safety switch releasing. Brett’s lip twitched. Aerin whimpered. The knife blade dug into her skin. “Come on, son,” the guard said gruffly. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “P-please,” Aerin whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

  A few hot, dark, horrible seconds passed. Seneca had no idea what to do. Brett’s eyes were whipping everywhere—at the mirrors, at their pockets, their hands, perhaps hyperaware that they might call in backup instead. But then, strangely, the next thing Seneca knew, the knife fell to the ground with a clatter, skidding to a stop against one of the mirrors. Aerin flew out of Brett’s arms, staggered toward Maddox, and he engulfed her in a huge hug.

  “Hey!” the guard bellowed, darting into the darkness. Seneca looked around, disoriented. Brett was gone.

  “No!” she screamed, starting to follow the guard through the door. “Come back here!”

  Footsteps rang out in the darkness. The pain in Seneca’s arm throbbed. She exited the mirror room into an arcade full of vintage Pac-Man games and a bunch of claw-grabber machines. The bright lights hurt after so much confusing darkness, and she stumbled through the mayhem, searching for Brett’s bobbing head among the teeming bodies. He wasn’t there. She spied the guard standing by a dinosaur video game with his gun lowered. He was speaking into a walkie-talkie: “On the run…backup needed.” Then he looked up and met Seneca’s gaze. “You need an ambulance, honey?” he asked with concern.

  Seneca shook her head and pivoted toward the arcade’s exit, finding herself on the boardwalk again. Brett had to be here. He couldn’t have gotten away so fast. She looked right and left for a tall, brunette guy, but that was the thing—there were a million tall brunette guys out here. It was like Where’s Waldo? practically. She took a few halting steps to the left, then pivoted right toward the ramp they’d come in on, figuring he’d go back to the streets in hopes of finding Candace’s house himself. She wove through the cars in the parking lot and exited onto the sidewalk, blood still dripping from her arm, head still gummy and swimming.

  The streets were empty. Windsocks flapped on porches. Seagulls soared overhead. Bells rang out indicating that someone had won it big in the arcade. But Brett…

  No. No. Something seemed to snap inside her, splitting her open, throwing a dark curtain over her whole world. Seneca arched her back to the sky and let out an agonizing scream.

  Brett had escaped. Again.

  THE BLOOD BOILED in Brett’s head as he ran through the streets. It felt like acid was pumping through his veins. After crossing the main beach road, he ducked behind a tree, reached into his backpack, and felt around. Took off his T-shirt and replaced it with a tank top. Positioned the long-haired wig on hi
s head and smashed it down with a Yankees ball cap. It was a rudimentary disguise, nothing he’d use long-term, but Seneca—and the cops—would be looking for a brown-haired, hatless person in black sprinting at top speed, not a long-haired skater dude in a wifebeater out for a stroll.

  He passed one house, and then another. It was still so hot; trails of sweat ran into his eyes and mouth. This house? This one? Maybe this one? No, no, no…

  He stopped and leaned over at the waist, breathing hard. Shit. Shit. He started to pommel his thighs with his fists. What the fuck was happening? Had he lost? Had those idiots won? Why had he let go of Aerin? Why had that guard appeared? Why hadn’t he thought to bring a gun?

  He would salvage this, though. He needed to find Elizabeth—he had to. She had to be close, behind one of these doors. And now, with the mood he was in, he would take no prisoners.

  He rose back up and stomped to the next block. This house? This next one? He would find it. He was smarter than they were. Why the fuck had he agreed for Seneca to walk him to the house? Why hadn’t he just gone with his gut and forced the address out of them?

  As he passed a bungalow, he nearly tripped over a shiny bike lying across the sidewalk. Bitterness swirled in his heart. He’d never gotten to have a bike like this. He’d been locked up a good portion of his childhood. He kicked it so hard that it sailed a few feet across the yard and landed with an ugly thunk.

  And then he heard it. Distant wails at first, spiraling through the muggy air, but then they started to come closer and closer. He spun around, trying to make out their location. Flashing ambulance lights appeared through the trees one street over. Brett crept closer, walking halfway into someone’s yard to get a good view. Several police cars had parked at the curb in front of a gray house. A few cops had dogs. Officers were communicating stealthily, SWAT-style. They crept, ninja-like, toward the entrance.

  Brett’s stomach sank to his feet. No. No. He tried to tell himself it might be for some other major crime…but how likely was that? Seneca must have called the police. Seneca must have told about Elizabeth. She’d given the cops the information that was supposed to be his.

  He started to shake with rage. It felt like his body was ripping apart in one explosive burst. He spun around and grabbed the first thing he saw—an oar from a canoe, leaned against the side of the random house whose yard he’d wandered into. Blindly, almost involuntarily, he started to smack it against the grass, letting out a guttural wail. They’d told. Those assholes had told. The one thing he’d dreamed of all his life. The one confrontation he deserved, he was owed. Gone. Gone. He deserved to look her in the eye. It should have been his hands around her neck, repeating all those awful things she used to say to him—this is for your own good, this is the way it has to be, I’m doing this because I love you.

  The oar started to splinter. A piece flew off, smacking against his bare calf, cutting into his skin. Another broke, skittering beneath an expensive-looking gas grill. Brett let out a grunt and flung the thing over his shoulder, feeling like he was part wild animal, part volcano, part wrecking ball. Destroying the oar hadn’t satiated him in the least—he wanted to rip at something, pulverize something to pieces. He clawed at his face, not caring when he felt the prick of blood on his skin.

  But then curiosity got the better of him. Gulping, half-blind, he lurched even farther into the yard toward the sound of the sirens. The ninja cops were no longer on the lawn of the gray house. An ambulance had driven up onto the grass, its lights flashing. The door to the house burst open, and a few of the ninja officers carried a young boy out. EMTs ran to the kid, covering him with blankets, doing whatever EMT stuff they did to make sure someone wasn’t in shock. Brett blinked, trying to remain impassive, but he felt cracked in half. He’d never gotten a rescue like this.

  A second wave of officers brought out a girl. She was a little taller than Damien with black hair and fine features. She looked so much like Viola that Brett did a double take. It was astonishing that Elizabeth could keep finding perfect little replicas. It was repugnant that she kept charming children into trusting her. He supposed he should feel some sense of pride that he’d helped to save these kids, but all he felt was resentment. Damien and the girl had only been stuck in this nightmare for a few months, max. They’d get their childhoods back. They’d get to see their parents. They’d get to live.

  The door opened one more time, and several cops led a woman out in handcuffs. Bile rose in Brett’s throat, but he didn’t dare blink, didn’t dare breathe, drinking up every moment of the thing he’d waited for nearly half his life. Elizabeth still looked the same—gaunt, scraggly, with those crazy, crazy eyes. She was shouting something, though he couldn’t hear what—probably that these were her children, and that she’d done nothing wrong. She was crying, too. Unceremoniously, the cops placed her in the back of their cruiser.

  And then they drove away.

  Brett bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. His mind was whipping with fury. He had been one street away from Elizabeth. One street away from the answer. This was his criminal to catch…but there she went, disappearing down the road, seat belt on, sequestered behind a pane of glass. Months of planning down the drain. Years of searching, for nothing. What was he going to do with this anger now? What was he going to do with this hate?

  A siren whooped closer, and Brett crashed back to the present. He had to get off this lawn, away from this busted oar; the last thing he wanted was to lose his freedom, too. But before he slipped away, he caught sight through the trees of a girl still standing on the kidnapper’s lawn, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest, her mouth in a frown. Seneca’s keen eyes searched the road, the houses, the stairs to the beach. She didn’t look satisfied. In fact, she looked downright furious.

  She was looking for him, Brett realized. He stepped back to the sidewalk, an idea forming in his mind, a tiny flicker of hope bursting in his heart. Working quickly, he called up CNC on his phone and sent off a message.

  You’re sad, aren’t you? So sad you didn’t find me. But you will. You just have to put the pieces together. And I’ll be waiting when you do.

  THAT EVENING, MADDOX, Seneca, and Aerin sat in the waiting room at the police station in Breezy Sea.

  “Here we go,” Madison said, strolling back from the vending machines. She dropped bags of chips, candy bars, trail mix, and a few sodas onto the scratched coffee table.

  Maddox reached for a bag of Cheetos. Aerin snatched a pack of M&M’s. “I made a promise that I was going to eat less sugar if I ever went free. This seems like a bad start, but I don’t really care.”

  Maddox chuckled louder than the joke probably deserved, but damn, he was proud of Aerin. The girl had balls. Other people would have gone catatonic after being trapped with Brett Grady and then threatened at knifepoint in a creepy fun house. If it were him, he probably would have requested a one-way ticket to a psych ward. But Aerin, once the hubbub in the fun house had died down and she knew she was safe and the real police were on the scene? She started tugging at their sleeves to track down Brett. “I’m going to the police station with you,” she’d said vehemently. “There’s no way you’re leaving me out of this. Brett is going down if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Now the sidewalk outside the police station was jammed with rubberneckers, news vans, and reporters—Maddox could hear the din even from inside. The names Candace Lord and Bethany Rose and Sadie Sage were on everyone’s lips. Damien was at the back of the station with a social worker and several psychologists; his parents and Freya were on their way from New York. The girl who’d been recovered from the house, an eleven-year-old named Huntley Monroe, was also in the back, also being interviewed. Huntley had only been missing for a week. Her family had been vacationing at a nearby beach town from western Pennsylvania, and according to the news stories, Huntley had a wild streak; her parents were more worried that she’d run away or was in a terrible, freakish accident. She didn’t have a clue who Candace was when Ca
ndace snatched her, which was different from Candace’s normal pattern, but Maddox guessed Candace couldn’t resist because Huntley looked so much like Julia, her daughter. But now, luckily, Huntley would get to go home, too.

  The cops were still sorting out who needed to be interviewed, though Seneca, Maddox, Madison, Aerin, and even Thomas, from his hospital bed, were on their list. However, because recovering Damien and Huntley and apprehending Candace were the priorities, the cops hadn’t gotten around to talking to them yet. Maddox and the others had agreed on one thing, though, when they did give their testimony: They had to tell the truth about what the guard had come upon in the fun house with Brett and Aerin. That included Aerin’s kidnapping, Brett’s clues, his threats, his past. Brett was gone again, and they needed everyone’s efforts to catch him. Brett’s rampage needed to end, now. They’d already called Viola about it; she was on her way from New York to give her testimony, too. Viola had sounded so shocked that they’d found her kidnapper—but impressed. It had felt pretty freaking good to tell her the news.

  “I bet the cops will find Brett,” Maddox said after polishing off the Cheetos and starting on a pack of sour cream and onion chips. “There’s evidence now. Fingerprints on that knife, for one. That’s huge.”

  “I know,” Aerin said as she poured more M&M’s into her palm. “And there’s that hair of his that I hid in the contact case. I already turned it over to them.”

  Maddox felt a dart of horror—to think Aerin had to scrounge for one of Brett’s hairs in hopes of getting him in trouble!—but then nodded appreciatively. “Good for you.”

  “And don’t forget the car,” Madison said optimistically. The Ford Focus Brett had used to both kidnap Aerin and bring her to Breezy Sea had been abandoned in the parking lot where the botched exchange had gone down. A police officer was staked out near it, waiting for Brett to return, but so far he hadn’t. Well, of course he didn’t. The dude wasn’t that dumb. Still, there could be DNA in there, too.