by Sanna Hines
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
Stealth Moves
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2015 Sanna Hines
v3.0
Cover Photo © 2015 thinkstockphotos.com. All rights reserved - used with permission.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Outskirts Press, Inc.
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Grateful thanks to Barrington Writers Group, my novel group, Linnea, Trish and my family
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
CHAPTER ONE
Day 1—Friday
Right after Kyle Blake vanished, bets were on he’d cruise through Sidley’s doors by the end of the day with a wicked grin and a lame excuse. Sure, a South End girl disappeared almost the same way as Kyle—heading to her school in the morning—but that was miles from Boston’s Back Bay and the world of The Sidley School. Things like kidnapping didn’t happen to people you knew.
Liv couldn’t say she really knew Kyle because he was a senior and she’d just started her second year. It was easy enough to find out about him when two hundred students packed into a former mansion had Kyle Blake on the brain. He held wild parties when his parents were away, but he was also a science geek who made friends by tutoring them for SATs and National Merit, especially the A-listers, the very people who were now Liv’s problem.
Her personal crisis began when Headmaster Taunton decreed no one should walk to school or home alone. He paired students based on where they lived. Liv liked the idea of someone to talk to during her mile-and-a-half round trip from Beacon Hill. Others grumbled about missing their friends. Liv didn’t care; she had no friends.
But then the worst thing—or the best thing—happened. She wasn’t sure which way it would go when she pulled Ariel Kelly, junior extraordinaire, as her partner. Ari was a rebel who somehow got away with whatever crazy thing she did. That made her a hero at Sidley, where rules were sacred for everyone else. And it made Liv Smallwood, nobody sophomore, horribly anxious. She wasn’t interesting like Ari. What could she say that wouldn’t sound dumb? Liv muddled through five days of walks worried Ari would discover she was hopelessly dull.
This afternoon, Ari and her best friends, Madison and Taylor, stood near the front of the leaving line. Lining up was new, part of the headmaster’s scheme to make sure students stayed with their assigned companions. Three brunette heads bent over a sketchpad Ari was working on, her thick, glossy braid falling over one shoulder to drape on the page. Liv sucked in a quick breath before sliding into line next to the girls. It still took courage to approach Sidley’s Triple Crown of Cool.
She peeked at the sketchpad. Ari had cartooned Kyle Blake, his pointed nose drawn fox sharp. “That’s good,” Liv said.
Ari pursed her lips. “It doesn’t capture him. He’s so much more.” She snapped the sketchpad shut. “ARE THEY EVER GOING TO OPEN THESE DOORS?”
Miss Tinsley, the school psychologist, guarded the left-hand door. She looked to old Mr. Bennett on the right. He checked his watch and shook his head. Tinsley said, “It isn’t time yet. Keep it down, Miss Kelly.”
“We’re going to the café for coffee. Want to come?” Tay asked Ari.
“Not today. Lil Sis and I have other plans.”
Maddy’s blue eyes clouded. “Lil Sis?”
Ari wrapped an arm around Liv. “I’m adopting her. I need a sibling for ‘healthy, psychological development’. That’s what Tinsley…” She smiled sweetly in the young teacher’s direction. “...said in psych class.”
“You can have my brothers,” Tay offered. “Take both. Make it a two-for.”
“No sale. Your brothers are morons. Lil Sis is smart.” Releasing Liv, Ari smiled. Caricatures in the art room showed Ari’s ear-to-ear grin. Born with nose and lips that turned up naturally, she looked like she was smiling most of the time, but when Ari really meant a smile, the effect was irresistible. Liv beamed in response.
Ari’s smile faded. “I was scheduled to play Kyle today at Chess Club. I miss him.” The line went silent, the subject of Kyle now taboo. Everyone had seen crime shows on TV. If a kidnap victim wasn’t found quickly, he was probably dead. Picturing Kyle’s rotting body in a dumpster or floating blue and bloated in a Boston pond made Liv’s stomach turn.
“Kyle, Kyle, Kyle,” Ari hissed at the hostile faces around her. “Don’t pretend he doesn’t exist!”
Miss Tinsley crooked a finger at Ari, who stepped out of line. Ari returned to report, “She told me to shut up.”
Tay gasped. “She didn’t!”
“Well, she didn’t actually say ‘shut up.’ She told me not to upset everyone. Doesn’t she understand,” Ari argued, “that biting someone is a bonding experience?”
Last winter, Ari played Anne Frank in the school play. Her Anne hadn’t been a gentle dreamer but a proud Jew with attitude. Tall, sandy-haired Kyle looked every inch the Nazi when he burst into the attic hiding place. He ripped Anne’s diary from her hands, scattering pages across the floor, before he seized her.
Ari went off script, shouting and fighting, finally biting Kyle’s arm to get free. He stared at his bloody sleeve, and then launched a back-hand stage slap at her. Ari-Anne staggered and fell, still screaming defiance as she was dragged off.
Half the audience jumped to its feet clapping wildly. The other half—Liv among them—sat stunned. A lot of tears fell.
The next day, rumors flew around school: Kyle was hospitalized (false). His parents wanted Ari expelled (true). The drama coach was fired (false). In the end, Ari wrote an essay on non-violence for the school newsletter. The essay didn’t do much to promote non-violence. It talked about Ari’s ancestors killed in the Holocaust, the family’s move to Israel, and what “Never again!” meant to her, but she did apologize for biting Kyle, and the storm passed.
Warm wind blew in through the opening doors, pulling Liv’s thoughts back to the present. The air smelled of summer, a tantalizing scent in October.
“It must be 70 outside!” Maddy said. “Think I’ll strip down to nothing.”
“Not here,” Mr. Bennett advised.
“The doorway’s narrow. Wait your turn. No pushing,” Miss Tinsley said as though they were five-year-olds.
“Everything in Boston is narrow,” Liv muttered when she and Ari stepped outside. “Doors, sidewalks, streets, houses—”
“And minds,” Ari added. “One day, we’ll be free, Lil Sis.” She winked, hinting at the secret they shared this morning: They were both exiles from the Promised Land. Liv, uprooted from California, yearned to go home. Ari dreamed of her mother’s homeland, Israel, where she spent last summer. “The boys are so beautiful, so fierce. Their eyes see into your soul. Those eyelashes, those smoky, mysterious eyelashes…”
Who cares about eyelashes on guys? Liv thought. Ari did. To head off more praise of Israeli eyelashes, Liv asked her, “What did you mean when you said we had plans?”
“Tell you in a sec.” Ari dragged Liv around the black-iron fence to the next doorway where Maddy and Tay waited with their boy walking companions, a Brazilian senior and a Chinese freshman. Liv sighed. Amid five sultry, exotic faces, she felt plain.
Her grandmother’s words came to mind. “There’s nothing wrong with your appearance, Olivia. Natural blonde hair always has many tones. We’re Puritan stock. You can be proud of your heritage.” Puritan, meh. Why couldn’t those ancestors be Irish like Maddy’s or Mediterranean like Tay’s—or both, like Ari’s? Liv tried to imagine herself as pretty as they were, but she couldn’t do it.
Ari wound up her conversation with the others by giving them strict instructions to follow Lil Sis online. As they moved away, Liv’s self-conscious mood evaporated. She smiled when Ari put the sketchpad into her backpack and pulled out a purple beret. Plunking the hat defiantly on her head, Ari snapped her fingers on the edge and said, “Take that, Sidley!”
“Purple is not a School-Approved Color,” Liv intoned in a fair imitation of Headmaster Taunton’s deep voice, “and I don’t see the Sidley emblem on that item anywhere.”
“So right. I dyed this to be every shade of that unapproved color. Call it my purple protest.” Ari led off down the street. “I think having Sidley emblems on our clothes is like being forced to wear the Yellow Star.”
“No, it’s not. It’s not the same thing at all.”
“I heard Kyle’s jacket had the emblem cut out.”
“What?”
“The cop who interviewed me because I’m Kyle’s friend slipped up and told me about the jacket—big hole where the symbol should have been. Could be that’s how the kidnapper picks people. The guy might be watching us leave Sidley, deciding if we’re the right victims, making choices. ‘That one? Maybe. Maybe the other. Or—’ “
Liv caught Ari’s arm. “Stop. You’re creeping me out.”
“Okay.” She pulled an imaginary gear shift knob. “New subject. Can you power walk?”
Liv tried her best to copy Ari’s fast pace, ignoring everything else. She’d long since stopped looking at the Victorian row houses along the street, different only because this one had a bow window while that one had a bay or balcony. Low, metal fences lined the sidewalk, protecting mini gardens only Chihuahuas could love. The Back Bay, her grandmother said, was too new to be taken seriously—unlike Beacon Hill, Boston’s first neighborhood. After four long blocks of power walking toward The Hill, Liv pleaded with Ari to slow down.
“We’re nearly there,” Ari said, not slowing. “If we’re late, we’ll miss him.”
“Who?”
Ari finally dropped into low gear. “The gelato vendor. He has a cart by Commonwealth Mall. On a hot day like this, I’m sure he’ll be out.”
“We’re supposed to stay away from the Mall. That’s where Kyle was kidnapped.”
“Blocks and blocks from here. Look, we’re not going into the park,” Ari said. “The cart’s at the street entrance across from the Public Garden. People and cars are all over the place. How can we get into trouble with so many people around?”
Liv tilted her head, considering the idea. Ari was right. Nobody would bother them in the middle of a crowd. Still, she felt a little scared, a little excited. “So why didn’t you want Maddy and Tay to come?”
“Tay’s a pig for pistachio. This time of day, there’s not much pistachio left. I want it.” Ari eyed Liv. “You don’t crave pistachio, do you?”
“No,” Liv lied. “I’m all about chocolate.”
Ari tucked her arm into the crook of Liv’s elbow. “You see why we’re friends? We understand each other.”
For the first time, Liv believed it was true: Ariel Kelly was her friend. She wasn’t being tolerated, endured. She’d made a friend—an awesome friend. Liv floated the two short blocks to the mall.
Ari whooped when she saw the gelato vendor. She let go of Liv to run ahead. By the time Liv caught up, the man was spooning extra-large scoops of pistachio into Ari’s cup. Liv ordered chocolate.
While she was paying, she noticed the dog. “Ohmygod. That’s the cutest dog I’ve ever seen.”
Ari turned to inspect the white ball of fluff. He’d missed the stick toss from a young mother by a baby carriage and was circling, trying to find the prize. “Must be a puppy,” Ari said. “Doesn’t he look just like a teddy bear?”
The woman threw another stick. This time, it landed where the puppy could find it. Twig in teeth, he streaked away from the park toward the fast-moving traffic on Arlington.
“He’ll be run over!” Ari shoved her cup at Liv and dashed toward the animal, who stood staring at oncoming cars. “Slow down!” Ari cried to drivers. Then she was in the street, stopping a van that would have crushed the puppy if she hadn’t lifted him into her arms. The van driver honked, making her jump.
Even from fifty feet away, Liv could see Ari’s fury when she marched toward the driver’s window. Traffic blocked Liv’s view, but she heard plenty of honking at the tie-up. Finally, the van drove off, tires squealing, as though the driver couldn’t get past Ari fast enough.
Except Ari wasn’t there. Cars drove by, but she didn’t reappear. “Ari?” Liv called. Abandoning gelato cups on the vendor’s cart, she ran toward the spot where Ari rescued the puppy. She searched between parked cars, yelling, “Ariel Kelly! Stop hiding. This isn’t funny.”
Liv saw a bit of purple in a wheel well—the beret, now grimy with tire tracks. What? Ari must have lost it when she went…where? She picked up the hat and then whirled around. Ari could be handing the dog to his owner. Liv sprinted toward the park.
The mother was gone. When Liv looked inside the abandoned carriage, she shrieked. A baby stared at her with dead eyes. No, not dead eyes, doll eyes. It was one of those dolls people bought when they couldn’t have babies, the kind they pretended were real.
Feeling sick, dizzy, confused, Liv staggered toward the gelato man. “My friend,” she said, holding out Ari’s hat, “did you see her come back?”
He shook his head. “You have problem?”
Liv gazed at the purple beret. “Big problem.” Hands shaking, she pulled out her phone to dial 911.
CHAPTER TWO
Day 3—Monday
Feeling the first brush of fingers against her butt, Holly Glasscock edged away. There was no personal space on the packed subway car heading into Boston. Wedged between a commuter and a student, Holly realized her life was equally wedged. A college graduate without a job, she had no turf of her own—yet. Maybe the interview today would change that; maybe she could look forward to more in her bank account than $123.16.
The second stroke on her behind wasn’t an accident; a palm slid slyly over the right cheek. Holly shot a look of venom over her shoulder at the young guy who owned the hand. He was tall and lean, with scraggly, brown curls escaping a gray knit cap. The button-down sh
irt looked preppy, but the long face with the pencil moustache and beard didn’t belong to any high schooler. “Hands off!” Holly hissed. The face grinned, and the hand squeezed.
Her elbow connected with his ribs just before the edge of one wooden heel smacked the instep of his green camo boots. She didn’t use enough force to break anything, but the bruises would teach him a lesson. The guy “oophed”, and then swore. Turning to face him down, Holly told nearby passengers, “Watch this guy. He’s a groper.”
A dozen or more angry faces held the groper at bay while Holly shoved through bodies toward the door. When the car stopped, she was the first one off.
She waited on the platform. If Mr. Grabby Hands wanted revenge, better to take him on when she was ready rather than let him sneak up on her. But he shuffled along with the crowd, not scanning for her, so Holly followed the press of people to the Park Street exit, her thoughts again on the interview ahead.
The ad posted online Saturday was short: Immediate opening. Personal security, Beacon Hill. Females encouraged to apply. Most security jobs didn’t favor women, so Holly launched her credentials into cyberspace. To her surprise, she got a call on Sunday from a Mrs. Smallwood, who scheduled an interview for 9:00 a.m. Monday. Excited, Holly called her mother.
“I don’t know, Holly,” was Lisa Glasscock’s guarded response. “This thing about wanting women… Could it be a prostitution ring?”
“On Beacon Hill?” Holly scoffed.
“There was that Mayflower Madam and another one out in California, I think. They ran call-girl operations in good neighborhoods.”
“They’d be horribly disappointed in me. Don’t let the boys know about the ad, though. They’re so pretty they might be recruited, but I’m the one who looks like Dad, remember?”
Both laughed; both knew it was true. Holly’s brothers were dark and handsome, inheritors of their mother’s beauty while Holly got her crinkly, red hair, blunt features and height—all six feet of it—from her paternal Highland ancestors. Ah, well, Holly consoled herself as she set out across Boston Common toward Beacon Street, I don’t need beauty to be a cop.