She doesn’t say anything else, simply turns and walks through the door.
Hayward forces a smile at me.
“Women! What can you do?”
Before I have the chance to tell him to slap the bitch, the door opens again and Jose reappears, followed by his minder. This time his tray holds two plates. He’s much more confident with the plates, and balances the tray with one hand as he sets one of the plates down in front of Hayward. Then he walks the length of the table to set the other plate down in front of me.
I’m surprised to find a thick cut of steak, along with mashed potatoes and asparagus. The steak looks charbroiled and smells amazing.
Hayward clears his throat again.
“Louis told me what you requested to eat, and so I had the chef make this specifically for you. Unfortunately, we do not currently have any lobster tail, but you probably knew that, didn’t you?”
Something in his tone has changed—it’s dropped an octave, taken on an edge—and I glance up from my plate to find him glaring back at me.
“You’re a smart woman, Ms. Lin. You know at the very end of this you are going to die. That’s why you’re here. When you accomplish your mission, they are going to want somebody to blame, somebody to point to, and that person is going to be you. And obviously it does not suit our purposes for you to still be alive when that happens. In the next seventy-two hours or so, you will be dead, but as long as you do what you’re told, your family will stay alive. Do you understand me?”
I don’t like being threatened, and I especially don’t like my family being threatened, but there’s not much one can do with a shock collar around one’s neck while a man stands off to the side with a Glock holstered to his belt and other armed guards roaming the property. They’re smart enough not to have given me a steak knife, but there is a butter knife on the table along with a fork and a spoon, and while they may not seem like dangerous weapons, in the right hands they can be. Still, it’s the knowledge that my family is in danger that keeps me from grabbing one of the utensils and making a move at Louis.
I keep my gaze steady with Hayward’s when I answer.
“Yes.”
Smiling, Hayward picks up his fork. He spears one of the asparagus on his plate, takes a bite, chews for a moment, and then wipes his mouth with his napkin.
“I’m glad that we understand each other, Ms. Lin. I hope you also understand I take disrespect quite seriously. My love, well, you saw how she acts. She’s allowed her little tantrums. Nobody else is. Because of your flippant attitude earlier when Louis asked you what you wanted for dinner, you won’t be eating that steak. Nobody will. Jose’s stomach will growl when he throws it away. He hasn’t eaten for two days.”
I sit in my chair, motionless, and stare back at him. Conscious of the collar around my neck. Remembering Jose writhing in pain on the dining room floor. He’s just a boy, and I hate to admit I’d probably end up in the same position if they turned my collar on full blast.
Hayward forks some of the mashed potatoes, chews thoughtfully, and sets his fork aside as he wipes his mouth with his napkin.
“Jose, take her plate away.”
The boy lifts my plate from the table, places it on his tray, and starts back toward the door, his minder following close behind.
I watch Hayward as he cuts into his steak, stabs a piece, and chews on it for a couple seconds before pushing the plate away in disgust. He takes a sip of wine, glaring at me over the glass, and finally shakes his head.
“I was hoping we would have a nice, quiet dinner, but no, you had to go and be obstinate. I don’t think you appreciate the fact that you’re a guest here at Neverland.”
Hayward takes off his glasses, uses a handkerchief from his pocket to clean the lenses.
“You see, Ms. Lin, I appreciate the fact that you think you’re special. I can understand why after what I know you did to the Diaz family, and how you took down El Diablo the way you did—the cartels had been trying to take him out for over a year with no luck—but the simple truth is you are only another freelancer. You’re nothing special. Just yesterday two sicarios passed through here. They were brothers. Imagine that. Brothers who work together as hitmen.”
Hayward puts his glasses back on as he pushes up from his chair. He starts to walk down the length of the table. Taking his time, tapping his knuckles along the tabletop as he goes.
“I’m a businessman, Ms. Lin. That’s who I am. That’s what I’ve done all my life. I was the one who founded Neverland. I created all of this. You might not understand what it is I do, and that’s all right because it doesn’t matter. I’m simply a man fulfilling an obligation. People much more powerful than I want something done, and I’m the one to make it happen, and the only way that happens is for you to do what you’re told. If not, your family dies.”
He pauses at the corner of the table, leans down so his face is only inches from mine.
“I will admit I don’t know much about your background, but from what I understand you killed people for the United States government. You were basically a drone. Just another cog in the massive war machine. You’re nothing special. That’s what I want you to understand before this is all over. When you fulfill your duty and Louis aims his gun at your head, I want you to accept the fact that you are not special.”
He pauses, turns toward Louis.
“Give me a bullet.”
I hear the frown in Louis’s voice.
“Sir?”
“Give me a bullet.”
From the corner of my eye I watch Louis pull the Glock from its holster, rack the slide to cough out a bullet. He catches it midair and hands it to Hayward.
The man holds the bullet close to his face, like he’s inspecting a priceless diamond, and then taps it on the table.
“You see this? This is all you are. You’re not a weapon. You’re simply a bullet. Louis, what kind of bullet is this?”
“Hollow point, sir.”
Hayward echoes it, nodding.
“Hollow point. That’s what you are, Ms. Lin. You’re nothing more than a hollow point. Your whole purpose in life is to kill. You don’t make decisions. Men much more powerful than you are the ones who made those decisions in the past, just as they’re making those decisions now. They’re the ones that load you. They’re the ones that pull the trigger.”
He holds the bullet up again, and smiles.
“You see, Ms. Lin, this is what we do here at Neverland. We make the children understand that they’re not special. That they’ll never be special. And you know what? It works, every single time. Obviously, you won’t be staying here long enough for us to break you, but I still want you to understand that you’re nothing. And this bullet here? I’m going to make sure Louis holds on to this bullet, just for you. So when the time comes—after you’ve completed your final mission—this will be the bullet that ends your life.”
Twenty-Eight
They had passed through a new time zone a half hour ago, give or take, so the time was now an hour earlier than it was an hour ago, or something like that. Erik had always gotten confused about time zones when he was flying against the grain—that was the term somebody in his boot camp had once used and it had stuck with him ever since—and now here he was flying on an actual private jet.
He didn’t know the kind of jet and was too intimidated to ask. Besides the two pilots—who were enclosed in the cockpit—there were the two men from Holly’s apartment, Nova and James.
James hadn’t said a word this entire time, while Nova had said very little. After they’d left the apartment, they drove for nearly an hour before they reached the airfield and boarded the jet, and minutes later they were in the air and now they were somewhere over Tennessee or Kentucky, Erik didn’t know which and again was too intimidated to ask.
He’d flown before, of course, but he never once flew in a private jet, or even thought he ever would. Private jets were for movie stars and sports stars and billionaires, not for the likes
of him. It felt almost obscene, the luxury of the cabin and the large comfortable chairs.
Part of him was exhausted, but another part couldn’t sleep, too wired with everything that was going on. He kept thinking of the girl whom he knew for the past year as Jen, which was apparently not her real name. This knowledge was somehow as shocking as the fact she had killed two men—the knowledge that she had been living a double life—and part of him knew he shouldn’t have agreed to come along with these two strangers, though for some reason another part instinctively trusted them. The way Erik saw it, if these men had wanted to kill him, they would have done so by now.
“Can’t sleep?”
The deep voice startled him. He’d been staring out the window, down at the dark landscape below, and now glanced over at the big man sitting in the chair across from him. Nova’s head was tilted back but his eyes were half-open, watching Erik.
Because he couldn’t think of anything else to say—and because Nova had startled him—Erik said the first thing that came to mind.
“Your boss must be loaded.”
Nova shifted in his seat, and opened his eyes fully.
“He’s not my boss.”
Erik frowned.
“But—”
Nova hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing to James sleeping in the seat behind him.
“He works for the man. Me … I’m simply an associate.”
Erik didn’t know what this meant and didn’t want to ask—somehow he knew he’d still be confused—so he tilted his head at James.
“Doesn’t he talk?”
Nova shook his head.
“He’s mute. Has been most of his life.”
“Does he communicate with sign language?”
“I would imagine so. Why, you know sign language?”
“I do, actually. I learned it when I was a kid. I haven’t used it for years, so I’m sure I’m rusty, but I remember some of it.”
Nova didn’t say anything to this, and glanced out his own window.
Erik said, “So can you tell me anything about what’s going on?”
Nova kept staring out his window.
“We’re flying to D.C.”
“Yeah, I get that part. And we’re going to try to find the people watching Holly’s family. But what happens when we find them?”
Nova stared out his window for another moment before glancing at Erik again.
“Look, you appear to be a smart guy, so I’m sure you get the sense I’m not really on board with having you here.”
Erik nodded but said nothing. He had certainly gotten that impression.
“If it were up to me, we would’ve left you back in that piece of shit town, probably tied up in the apartment so you couldn’t contact any of your fellow deputies. But obviously the powers that be had other ideas. Atticus isn’t my boss, but he’s a man I’ve come to trust. Every time I’ve needed help, he’s provided it.”
Erik studied Nova sitting across from him, trying to decide who the man worked for.
“Are you CIA?”
Nova smiled, and shook his head.
Erik said, “FBI?”
Nova snorted, made a face, but still said nothing.
“I’m guessing you’re not NSA, and you don’t strike me as working for another country.”
Nova said, “I’m an American boy, through and through.”
“So who do you work for?”
“I told you, chief. I don’t work for anybody. I’m just here to help out a friend.”
“Holly.”
“That’s right.”
“But shouldn’t we, you know, try to figure out what happened to her, too?”
“Atticus is working on it. The moment she was taken into custody, he was alerted. That’s how he contacted me. I was out in the middle of nowhere, had been staying at a cabin by a stream to do some fly-fishing. Atticus gave me a call, said James would meet me, and several hours later we ended up in Alden.”
“And I walked in while you were searching Holly’s apartment.”
Nova shrugged.
“We were wrapping up by the time you walked in, but yeah, basically.”
“Did you mean what you said before?”
“I guess it depends on what I said.”
“That Holly can take care of herself.”
Nova nodded, almost thoughtfully, and tilted his head so that he stared out his window again. Erik thought he might say something else, but he didn’t.
“So what are we going to do once we land?”
Nova glanced back at him, took a deep breath.
“Once we land there will be some cars waiting, and weapons, and comms. We’re going to have to split up right away. Holly’s mom lives across town, and her sister’s husband works during the week. Summer just started, so her nephews won’t be in school, but there’s no telling where they might go during the day.”
“I don’t get why we can’t call the police.”
“And tell them what? We don’t have any proof her family is even in any danger. We’re doing this based on your word only. And no offense, but as far as I’m concerned, your word is worthless. Hell, you could be part of the group that abducted Holly for all we know. Playing us for fools.”
Erik said nothing, too shocked to say anything at all.
Nova shifted in his seat to give Erik his full attention. His hands didn’t move—they stayed where they were on the chair’s armrests—but Erik was all too conscious of the fact the man still had the FNX-45 on him.
“Tell me the truth, Erik. You playing us for fools?”
Erik didn’t bother shaking his head. He kept his gaze steady with Nova’s as he answered.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Nova nodded slowly, and glanced back out his window.
“I certainly hope that’s the case. I hope we don’t get to D.C. and find out we’re wasting our time.”
“What happens if and when we find the people watching Holly’s family?”
Nova kept staring out his window.
“Nothing.”
This wasn’t at all what Erik had expected to hear.
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“I mean it exactly as I said it.”
“But that’s insane. If we find the men, why don’t we just—”
Erik cut himself off, suddenly seeing it.
Nova glanced at him again, and nodded.
“That’s right. The moment we take them out, Holly’s life is over. Right now the people who took her want something from her, and they’re using her family as leverage.”
“Say we do find these people. Say we manage to get one of them alone and force him to tell us where to find her.”
“Say we do. An operation like this is a house of cards. Take one card away, the whole thing comes down. That’s why we first need to confirm the surveillance is real, and then we wait.”
Erik shook his head, feeling more frustrated now than he’d felt all day.
“But what are we waiting for?”
“For Holly to do what she does best.”
“And what’s that?”
His head still tilted back, Nova shifted again in his seat to get comfortable and closed his eyes.
“Survive.”
Twenty-Nine
The alarm on the nightstand goes off at seven o’clock on the dot, and a second later the door opens and Louis stands there, dressed in a fresh shirt and slacks, the Glock still holstered to his hip.
“You want a shower?”
It’s an odd question—like, of course I want a shower—but I don’t answer him, just keep lying in bed with my head tilted up to look at him.
His expression doesn’t change.
“You want a fucking shower or not?”
I nod, rising a bit on my elbows.
He tosses something at me. It’s small and plops down near the end of the bed. It’s a key, which will unlock the clasp on the collar.
Louis says, “Need to recharge the collar anyway. You’ve got five minutes.”
I stand as I grab the key and start fiddling with the clasp and only pause when Louis speaks again.
“Oh, and Holly?”
He reaches toward something in the hallway with his left hand as he unsnaps his gun from the holster and draws it, both hands seeming to work in concert, and then Jose fills the doorway with him, the boy still not looking at me, keeping his gaze tilted down at the floor, and Louis presses the barrel of his gun against Jose’s temple just hard enough for the boy to flinch.
“Any funny business and the boy gets one in the head.”
Louis, like his boss Hayward, finds power in making these kinds of threats, and I decide not to acknowledge it, moving straight for the bathroom and reaching into the small shower and turning on the water.
I started the countdown as soon as Louis said five minutes, and four minutes and forty-six seconds later I shut off the water and grab the towel and start drying off. When I step back out of the bathroom, wrapped in the towel, a fresh pile of clothes has been set on the bed, and a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and toast sits on the nightstand.
Louis doesn’t appear to have moved, and neither does Jose.
I say to Louis, “I was out in less than five minutes.”
His expression still doesn’t change.
“Yes.”
I gesture at Jose.
“Well, let him go.”
Louis doesn’t move at first—just stands there with his gun pressed against the boy’s head—but then finally he relaxes his grip on Jose.
“Put the collar on.”
I’m confused at first—does he mean the collar I left in the bathroom?—but then I spot a new collar on the bed next to the pile of clothes. This collar looks to be just like the other one—it snaps together, though it can’t be unsnapped without a key—and it fits snuggly around my throat.
Louis says, “Where’s the key?”
I tilt my chin at the bathroom.
He doesn’t like this response, and presses the Glock’s barrel against Jose’s head again.
I quickly retrieve the key and the other collar from the bathroom and slowly approach Louis. I hold out both items—the collar in one hand, the key in the other—and still without looking at me Jose reaches out and takes the items.
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