Stealth Moves

by Sanna Hines

  It was a nice day, if cooler than the weekend. Holly decided she’d walk with Olivia.

  “You should call her ‘Liv’,” Jen advised. “She’ll tolerate ‘Olivia’ from her grandmother, but she doesn’t like the name.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Forewarned about Olivia’s—Liv’s—preferences, Holly thought about her protectee. They’d talked between the time Liv’s friends left and Holly had to catch the train to Salem. Liv was polite but chilly, clearly resistant to having a bodyguard. Holly intended to warm their relationship.

  She enjoyed the walk along the Common, the Public Garden and the Back Bay with autumn color at its height. Surely fall couldn’t be more beautiful anywhere than New England.

  When she reached Liv’s school, it was just as Jen predicted: business as usual. Passing by the pocket-sized outdoor garden, Holly opened the door to a line of faces. A female teacher asked, “Is there something I can do for you?” Holly gave her name and explained she had come to meet Olivia Smallwood. “If you’ll just wait outside,” the teacher said, “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  Watching pair after pair of similarly dressed students with insignias on their shirts or sweaters, Holly wondered what it would be like to attend an elite prep school. She didn’t have long to ponder the thought before Liv was standing in front of her, a frown on her face.

  “I can’t leave yet. I’m supposed to interview Mr. Bennett, the physics teacher, about Kyle.”

  “Your grandmother wants you to come straight home.”

  “Oh, but this won’t take any time. Mr. Bennett said he’d talk to me right after school.”

  “How about tomorrow? We can clear it in advance with your grandmother.”

  “No!” Liv stamped her foot. Several passing students turned their heads. Liv lowered her voice. “I have to do it today. We need this video finished and posted. We can’t waste time.”

  “I’m sorry,” Holly said, and she actually was. The girl looked miserable, almost desperate. “Maybe if we—”

  Liv didn’t wait for the end of Holly’s sentence. She dashed into the street where she held out her hands to a slow-moving police cruiser. “Help!” Liv cried to the officer inside. “That woman wants me to go with her. She’s stalking me.”

  The cruiser stopped. An officer got out and headed straight for Holly, who ignored him as she followed Liv, now sprinting toward the corner. Holly increased her pace until she heard “Stop! You there—Miss! I need to talk to you,” along with the sound of footsteps pounding after her.

  Holly knew that tone. It was the same she’d been taught in criminal justice classes to use when she meant “Do what I say!” Holly watched Liv slip around the corner. She turned to face the cop.

  “What business do you have with that girl?” he demanded. A young officer, he looked both stern and slightly uncomfortable, as if he weren’t used to confrontations yet. Holly took advantage of this fact.

  “I’m her bodyguard.” Pulling off her shoulder bag, she shoved her purse at the cop. “Here. My identification’s inside. You can arrest me if you want, but later, after I’ve caught up to Olivia. She’s the girl who witnessed the last kidnapping. BPD thought she might be a target. I could use your help in the cruiser to find her.” With that, Holly set off running.

  She rounded the corner and kept on until she reached the alley. At that point, she didn’t know which way to go. Then it hit her: Liv wanted to interview a teacher. She’d double back to the school.

  Holly spotted her by the school’s rear entrance. “Wait!” she shouted, copying the Command Voice the officer used.

  Hand on the door, Liv turned. “I have to do this interview. Don’t try to stop me.”

  “Let’s make a deal. You get to do your interview if you look at this.” Holly pulled her phone from her back jean pocket.

  “No way! You’ll try to grab me, make me leave.”

  “I won’t. Just look at this picture.” Holly called up the image of Cameron, and held out her phone.

  Cautiously, Liv approached. “Wow. Who’s he?”

  “My other brother—your video hero. He’ll act the part if you cooperate with me.”

  Anger tightening her face again, Liv asked, “What do I have to do?”

  “Call your grandmother. Tell her you’re with me and we’ll stay here until your interview is done. Make the interview short—ten minutes, no more.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want my brother in your video or not?” On impulse, Holly hit the record button. “Like what you see?”

  “He…he’s perfect,” Liv said with awe in her voice. “Better than the one on the motorcycle, much better.”

  Cam will like hearing that! Holly exulted as Liv called her grandmother.

  A few minutes later, the cruiser pulled up beside Holly in the alley. “Did you find her?”

  “Yes. She’s inside the school.”

  “One-way streets are Boston’s curse,” the cop said. “Took me four right turns to get here. I could have moved faster on a horse.” The officer dangled Holly’s shoulder bag out the window. “Not really my style,” he told her, nodding at the purse. “I prefer clutches.”

  Holly laughed. The officer—his nameplate read D. Vogel—had a nice smile. “You aren’t going to arrest me?”

  “Not today, Miss Glasscock. Not today.”

  Holly ate supper with gusto. Jen Barnes prepared beef stew, fresh salad and a homemade chocolate cake, leaving these goodies in the kitchen when she went home. Sharing the dining room table with Liv and Mrs. Smallwood, who urged Holly to call her ‘Mrs. S.’ as Jen did or simply ‘Catherine’, felt a little odd at first, but Holly soon found herself chatting easily about her move into town and the comforts of the terrace room. Liv rivaled Cameron’s legendary silence at dinner, every now and then shooting Holly a suspicious glance, as though she expected her to tattle to Catherine, but Holly refused to fall into that trap. She would cope with Liv on her own.

  After dinner, Holly went to her room and called some friends. Glad to be caught up with their news, she took a shower, put on her pajamas, and discovered to her delight that Catherine had already given her access to the house’s wireless network. Settling into her favorite online game, Holly amped her hunter skills until she heard a thud on the deck overhead, followed by heavy footsteps.

  A rope fell past her window.

  She opened her door to watch a white box tied to the rope descend to the terrace. This was followed by a man with greasy blond hair, a torn shirt that might once have been plaid, and muddy khakis. Even from six feet away, he smelled.

  No gun. About her height. Medium build. Late twenties. Best choice was offense.

  When his feet touched down, Holly tapped the burglar’s shoulder. He turned. She seized his right wrist, swept under his arm and pinned the wrist against his back. Launching her knee at his kidney, Holly heard a satisfying yelp before her right foot hammered the crook of his knee. Her weight added to his as he crumpled forward.

  Winded by the fall, he gave her time to grab his left foot and bend his leg until heel touched rump. Holly still had his arm. Grateful for her long limbs, she secured her holds while the burglar shouted, “Let go of me! Who the hell are you?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Mike Smallwood. I live here.” He struggled, but the joint locks defeated him.

  “Sure you do.” Holly snorted. This grubby guy couldn’t possibly be the neat freak who lived upstairs. “Doesn’t everyone come home by climbing over a wall?”

  “Lost my key. Figured I’d get in through my bathroom window.”

  Holly looked up the back of the house. It was at least forty feet to the top floor room. The burglar didn’t have a clue. “So what color are your bedroom walls, ‘Mike’?”

  “Uh…white?”

  Increasing the torque on the burglar’s ankle, Holly hissed, “Not even close.”

  “Ow, ow! Stop already. White…beige…ecru,” he rambled. “I don’t pay attention. Wha
t are you—the decorating police?”

  “Security.” Holly pulled up on the arm. “Answer the question: What color?”

  A long pause. Then a triumphant, “My furniture is black. It’s black, I tell you!”

  The terrace light snapped on and Catherine, wearing a fluffy, pink bathrobe and satin slippers, stepped through the French doors.

  “I caught a burglar!” Holly cried. “Call the police.”

  Instead, Catherine came closer. She looked down at the man. “Myron, I see you’ve met our new security person, Holly Glasscock.”

  “I feel really, really secure,” he muttered. “Call her off.”

  Catherine nodded at Holly, who scrambled away from Myron Smallwood. As he rolled over, she reached down a helping hand. He didn’t take it. Righting himself, he stepped cautiously on his left foot and then rubbed his arm.

  “Why didn’t you use your key?” Catherine asked.

  “It’s at the bottom of Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes, confiding to Holly, “He’s showing off. Anyone else would have said ‘Webster Lake’.” Taking her son’s arm, she asked, “You didn’t go climbing?”

  “My climbing partner cancelled. I went fishing.” Mike Smallwood pointed toward the white box. “There are half a dozen decent bass in the cooler.”

  “Lovely. We’ll enjoy them for dinner tomorrow.” Catherine looked puzzled. “How did you get home if you lost the car keys?”

  “Those were in my pants pocket. The house keys were in my shirt. There’s a hole.” He wiggled a finger through the torn pocket.

  “Ah. Well, your car’s repaired, so you’ll have that for tomorrow. Is mine in the Brimmer Street Garage?”

  Mike nodded. “It’s tucked up for the night, safe and sound. If I’m going to make it into work on time, I should be, too.” He went to retrieve his fish. Shoving the cooler at Holly, he said, “Here. Guard this.”

  “Why did you climb down to the terrace if you wanted to go to your room?” Holly asked.

  “Have you ever tried climbing with a cooler in your hands? I was coming back for it.”

  Holly sighed. “I’m sorry. I thought you were lying.”

  With a back-handed wave off, Mike Smallwood clumped through the French doors. Just inside, he stopped to ask, “Mother, why do we have a security guard?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you in the morning, dear.” Turning to Holly, she added, “Now that you’ve practiced on Myron, I’m certain you’ll do a fine job should any real burglar come by.” She smiled. “Good night, Holly.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Day 6—Thursday

  Liv searched for a place to sit in the crowded Sidley cafeteria. The basement room’s brick walls, tile floor and fluorescent lights made it unappetizing at the best of times. Only freshmen, nerds who studied through lunch, and foreign students afraid of the city normally ate lunch at school. Now, because the headmaster was making everyone to stay in the building all day, the lunchroom was uber-crowded.

  Long, gray tables were packed. Folding chairs along the walls held outcasts trying to look like they weren’t social zeroes, like they enjoyed eating alone.

  Liv was running out a time. In a minute, everyone would know she had no friends. The two girls she ate with last year didn’t return to Sidley.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up at A-list senior, Chase Hansen, captain of the crew team. “You Liv?” he asked. After her astonished nod, he told her, “Mads wants to talk to you. She’s there.” He pointed to the center of the room where a table was double-ringed by chairs. “Gotta bounce.” A dimpled smile dented Chase’s cheek before he left.

  Uncertainly, Liv made her way to the table. Maddy and Tay had been nice to her when they’d hatched the plan for the video series and concert. Still, that didn’t mean they wanted her around all the time. The three of them were just partners on a project, a project that had grown a whole lot bigger today.

  During morning assembly, Headmaster Taunton made their project a school-wide effort. “The Sidley School has always emphasized community involvement. Nothing is more relevant than our missing students.” Psych, art, tech, forensics and English classes were contributing their skills. The whole thing mushroomed beyond belief.

  Maddy waved Liv to the chair beside her. “What kept you? I saved you a seat. You have no idea how many people I had to fight off to hold it.” Maddy smirked, nodding toward her Brazilian walk-home companion, Rodrigo, who was standing behind her.

  “I don’t see why I can’t be the hero in the video,” Rodrigo argued. He ran fingers through his wavy, dark hair. Liv studied him. Yeah, he had full, pouty lips that made him look like a vampire, but otherwise, he wasn’t as great as he thought.

  Tay regarded Rodrigo with sympathetic eyes. She patted his hand. “We need you to be our director. Who could be better?”

  “No one,” Rodrigo snapped. He lifted his cleft chin.

  “There’s fifteen minutes left of lunch period,” Tay said. “Why don’t you go to the tech lab with Dong and Hung here to see what they’ve already done?” The Chinese boys anteloped from their seats to follow Rodrigo, who strode off muttering, “Director? Director. Director!”

  “Phew.” Maddy stretched. “Now we have room to breathe. So, Liv, what did you get from the interview with Mr. Bennett about Kyle?”

  “Thirty seconds of Bennett saying Kyle’s a science genius before the old guy Alzheimered into an asstard story about some other student back in the day. Seems this kid was a super brain— ‘the greatest mind ever to grace these halls’. What?” Liv asked Maddy.

  Maddy stopped giggling. “I’m picturing a giant brain floating along a hall saying Grace.”

  Tay stayed on point. “So what happened to Mega-mind?”

  “Left Sidley during his sophomore year. His twin brother got killed, and he lost it. Oh! This is weird-icky. The brother was mashed by a car on the street outside school—horrocious mess, I guess.”

  “Eww,” Maddy and Tay moaned.

  “Bennett told me to talk to the school psychologist if I want to know more, but I won’t. Miss Tinsley’s on my burn list.”

  “Why?” Tay asked.

  “She married my Uncle Mike. They’re getting divorced.” Liv let the rest slide. She needed brain bleach every time she thought about it. “Anyway, I didn’t get much we can use from Bennett. How’d it go with Kyle’s parents?”

  “No better. Those people are fractured.” Tay rolled her eyes. “You’d think they’d have it more together. The Blakes own the first floor of the old Carbury mansion. I’d never been there before, but Maddy—”

  “Nearly got busted by police last year during Kyle’s off the chain party,” Maddy admitted. “So yesterday, we hiked past acres of marble, gargoyly woodwork and funeral parlor drapes before they let us sit down in their conservatory. Then the Blakes tell us they can’t talk about Kyle because the police told them not to. The kidnapping came ‘at a terrible time since he’s missing out on early enrollment at Harvard.’”

  Liv frowned. “They’re worried about Harvard?”

  “Mrs. Blake is crazed about Harvard. Mr. Blake insisted Kyle was going to M.I.T. So back and forth—’No, he’s not!’ ‘Yes, he is!’—like little kids. Seriously.” Maddy huffed disgust.

  “We asked if we could photograph Kyle’s room, show who he is and what he likes,” Tay said.

  “But nooo,” Maddy interrupted. “The maid hadn’t been in to clean.” She leaned on her hand. “We’ll have to patch in stuff he posted online to tell Kyle’s story.”

  Tay brightened. “At least I’ve finished editing the material Ari started. We’re meeting her mother and an aunt from Israel at the café after school. You coming?”

  “I want to,” Liv said, “but my…uh, my bodyguard won’t let me. I’m supposed to go straight home.”

  Maddy pulled away from the table to inspect Liv. “I thought we had that all squared up. You’re wearing you
r blue shirt and chinos. How about the sheepskin sneakers?”

  “Yes.” Liv watched Maddy extend her long legs to reveal the same shoes.

  “I bought these yesterday,” Maddy explained, “so we’d dress alike. You remember the plan I texted you last night?”

  “It’s kind of complicated….”

  “No, it’s simple. You pretend you need the toilet and rush into the café but head for the men’s room—Chase will make sure it’s clear. I’ll be in the women’s john. When your bodyguard checks, she’ll sees my pants and shoes in the stall. She waits a while, then I come out, and she realizes it isn’t you. She leaves the café to look for you. Bye-bye bodyguard! We have all the time we need with Mrs. Kelly.” Maddy swiped her hands together.

  Liv sighed with relief. She couldn’t wait until school was over.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Day 6—Thursday

  Stealth sat in a window booth at the café. He didn’t feel like himself in the sport coat he only used when those government people came to give him money. Sometimes they were CIA; sometimes, Department of Defense. They met him here today, just as they did every other month or so, always saying the same thing: “Of course, we don’t understand your sci-fi weapons, but if the eggheads at DARPA say your specs are useful, we’ll be back.” Then they handed him an envelope with cash. Stealth would use the money to buy equipment for more experiments.

  His phone showed 3:30, time for the students to come in. Brandon liked to watch the girls, and Brandon deserved a treat. He had a hard night ahead of him. Stealth shut his eyes, but the images of sagging, mottled flesh wouldn’t fade. Queasy, feeling his stomach knot and then surge, Stealth bolted toward the men’s room.

  He couldn’t touch anything in there, so he left his gloves on and used a paper towel to handle the tap. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, Stealth dipped it in cold water. He dabbed the wet cloth against his forehead.

  Your hair’s falling out, Brandon said.

  Stealth held back kinky, brown curls. It’s not! Stealth is only twenty-five.