by Kieran Scott
“Kaia?” Oliver asked worriedly.
I blinked back to the present. “There’s no key.”
Oliver reached for the door handle and turned it. The door swung open with an ominous creak. Holding my breath, I stepped up next to Oliver and peered inside. The house was dark, the gray light of dusk barely permeating the drawn curtains. An awful, stale stench wafted out at us, and I wrinkled my nose, leaning through the doorframe.
A chill skittered down my back. There it was again. That feeling that we weren’t alone.
“Hello?”
There was a rustle, like an animal running through dry leaves, and a woman burst toward me as if from nowhere, her eyes wide and shot through with red veins. I threw my board up to defend myself, but it was too late. She barreled right into me, knocking me onto my ass on the front stoop, before waddle-running down the steps and taking off on the sidewalk. Sophia went flying and clattered against the porch rail.
“Kaia!” Oliver crouched next to me. “Are you okay?”
My heart pounded in my throat. Aside from a sore butt and a bruised ego, I was fine. “Nothing’s broken,” I muttered.
Satisfied, Oliver jumped to his feet. “Hey! It’s okay! Come back!” he shouted after the woman.
“What’re you doing?” I demanded.
“I feel bad,” he said, lifting his palms. “She probably just needed a place to stay, and we scared the crap out of her.”
I squeezed his hand. “Sometimes you are too sweet to comprehend.”
Oliver watched after the woman, but it was clear she had no intention of returning and making friends. He took a tentative step inside the house. “Yep. Looks like she was squatting.”
I blew out a breath, straightened myself up and dusted myself off, feeling more rattled than I’d ever admit. How was I supposed to get through this if I let a harmless woman startled out of her sleep throw me off my game?
I checked on Sophia, who was fine—she’s a tough girl—and decided to leave her on the porch to keep my hands free for any more sudden attacks. Steeling myself, I followed Oliver inside. The living room was a trashed mess. Two couches had been pushed against the walls and in the center of the room was a large, blackened scorch mark, where someone had clearly set a fire. Remnants of blackened newspaper were strewn everywhere. Some of the curtains had been burned at the edges, and another scorch mark tarnished the far wall, where a door led to a dingy kitchen at the back of the house. There was detritus all over the floor, from paper bags to vodka bottles to crack pipes and needles. A bureau had been toppled over and the doors ripped off, probably for firewood. In one corner lay a pile of newspapers and blankets so big, I briefly wondered if someone else was hiding under them, until Oliver went over and toed at it, scaring up one gray rat, but nothing else.
“Ugh. I hate rats,” Oliver said with a shudder.
I sidestepped as the rodent raced by. “Looks like the neighborhood has taken over in more ways than one.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I know this is your family’s place and all, but we’re not staying here, right?” Oliver asked.
I walked past him toward the kitchen. “Yeah, no. Let me take a quick look around. I want to see if we can figure out what the German was looking for.”
It was wishful thinking that my parents might have been here. That they might have left me some clue as to what had happened, where they were. Even if they had, it was possible that the German had found it and taken it. Or that someone else had—like that random woman who’d knocked me on my butt. But that odd feeling I had on the front stoop spurred me forward. It felt like I was supposed to be here, that there was something here that I was meant to find.
I pulled open a few drawers and rummaged through spoons and plastic knives, unopened squares of wet naps. A search of the cabinets yielded nothing except expired canned corn, rat droppings, and a pair of large cockroaches. On the counter near the broken down refrigerator I found a pile of papers—take-out menus with coffee rings, a list of football teams with scores and dollar amounts listed next to each one. When I tossed the pile back onto the counter, a photo fluttered out.
Oliver bent to pick it up before I could. “Is this you?”
I walked to his side and leaned into his shoulder. My breath caught in my lungs. It was an old, creased photo of me in the park near my house in Houston. Both my parents were behind me, laughing as they pushed me on the swing. My smile was so wide it had all but closed my eyes. There were so few pictures of the three of us, this was like finding pure gold.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I took the photo from him gingerly, my heart growing with each pump of blood until it filled my ribcage. It was as if I could hear my mother’s laughter clear as a bell inside my mind, then my father’s low chuckle. “And my parents.”
“How old are you in that?” he asked.
“Four, I think.”
I didn’t remember the day the picture was taken, but I recognized the pink sweater I was wearing. I’d worn that thing until it was basically a crop top with holes in the elbows. My mother had finally tossed it when I was six, even though I begged her not to. It looked new in the picture.
Oliver gave me an earnest, understanding smile. He only had a few pictures of him and his mom, none with his father. I had some photos of my parents on my iPad—and now the one on the bounty hunter’s phone—but nothing this old.
“Cute kid,” he said.
I smiled. “Thanks.”
How had this photo gotten here? Had one of my parents left it behind by mistake? Or as some kind of clue? And if so, when? What did it mean?
The photo was small enough to slide into the back pocket of my jeans with the passport, without folding it. I wanted to keep it close. I looked around at the dingy windows, the broken cabinets, the grimy floor, and felt myself deflate.
Where the hell are you? I thought, my insides clenching. What is going on?
There was no answer, other than a creak of floorboards overhead. Oliver and I both flinched.
“What’s that?” he asked, looking past me.
I turned. There was a red wire sticking out from underneath the door of what might have been a pantry. I stepped closer, held my breath, and yanked on the handle. The wire was old and dusty with two cut ends. The gold threading frayed out from inside the plastic coating. I would have walked away, except there were fresh footprints in the thick layer of dust on the pantry floor. I peeked further inside, and saw a red light blinking overhead and a black box affixed to the ceiling.
Bomb!
I grabbed Oliver’s arm, but he stepped past me.
“Oliver, don’t!”
He lifted onto his toes, inspecting the box.
“What’re you—”
“I think it’s a security system,” he said.
My heart paused its hammering. “What?”
He dropped back down to his heels. “We have one like it at the shop. Hang on.” He took out his phone and shone the light on the box. “Yeah, the wires go through here.”
Oliver slid past me into the kitchen and opened the next cabinet. “They go through here…” He opened the cabinet. “And here…” He kept opening doors until he came to the sink and looked up. “Yep. There it is. That’s the tiniest camera I’ve ever seen.”
“Oliver!” I whispered as I hit the floor, dragging him with me. His shoulder hit the edge of the countertop as he came down.
“What?” he asked. “And also, ow.”
“Sorry,” I said through my teeth. “But what if the German left it? What if his cronies are watching the feed? Maybe that’s why he came here—so he could install surveillance—and now they know where we are!”
“Crap. Sorry. I figured your parents probably put it in.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I doubt it would still work. There’s no power in this place and the battery would have run o
ut by now. Right?”
“Unless it’s some kind of super-awesome, spy-grade battery,” Oliver said, nudging me with his elbow.
“True…”
“I was kidding,” Oliver said.
If my parents installed the camera, did that mean they’d wired all the safe houses? And if so, why? Did they think they’d been compromised? Well, they definitely had now, considering the German and presumably whomever he worked for knew exactly where they all were.
My fingers curled into fists. This wasn’t right. This was supposed to be a safe place—somewhere we could go when we were in trouble. It belonged to my family. And the very idea that it had been violated seriously pissed me off.
I glared at the camera. I wanted to tell whoever was watching to fuck off, but cameras that small didn’t necessarily have audio capabilities.
“Kaia! What are you doing?” Oliver whispered.
“I’m sick of running. And I’m sick of not knowing what’s going on.” I rummaged through the drawers until I found a pen, then flipped over a piece of scrap paper and wrote my own note.
Whoever you are, we need to talk.
(817) 555–9113
I underlined my number three times, then held it up to the screen and counted silently to ten Mississippis. Then I crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the sink.
“Let’s bail,” I said. “I don’t like this place.”
We stepped into the living as two men stepped in through the front door. One of them was tall with dark skin marked by patches of pink, and wiry hair that was spotty in places. His jeans were too baggy, and his shirt was too tight. He twitched at the sight of us. The other man was short but broad with hair like straw and a scraggly yellow beard. His eyes seemed to roll around of their own accord, refusing to focus. He wore three jackets layered on top of each other and cargo pants cut off six inches above the ankle. They were both carrying tattered brown shopping bags, softened by age, and the smaller one clutched Sophia by one of her axels. More squatters.
I was already angry. Seeing some guy manhandling my board pushed me over the edge. For a second, there was a High Noon-worthy standoff. Then, the tall man stepped forward.
“Watchu doin’ in our house?” he demanded. His voice was far too loud for the small space.
Honestly, it was all I could do to keep from launching myself at him Spider-Man style, but Oliver, levelheaded wonder that he is, jumped in.
“Sorry man. We got the wrong place. We were just leaving.”
“You got no right to be here,” the man accused, his nostrils flaring. “Get out!”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Oliver said in a soothing voice. “Kaia?”
“But he’s got my—”
“Kaia.”
Oliver tugged my backpack and edged around the men in a wide circle, keeping his back to the wall. I did the same. More than anything, I wanted to grab Sophia, but even through the blinding adrenaline I knew that would be a very stupid idea. The tall man followed us with his gaze. The two of them were so close to the door that we were going to have to squeeze out behind them if they didn’t move.
Oliver paused. The man who had stolen my board finally focused—on me. He looked me up and down like I was a piece of finely seasoned meat.
“Excuse me,” Oliver said to the taller man, gesturing for him to let us pass. “If you wouldn’t mind—”
Out of nowhere, the man hauled off and punched Oliver in the stomach. I shouted in surprise as Oliver doubled over, his hand flying out to brace himself on the wall. I reached for him as the other man dropped Sophia with a clatter, grabbed both my elbows, and pulled them behind me, dragging me back toward the kitchen while I kicked and writhed. The weight of the knife was heavy in my jacket pocket, but I couldn’t get to it with my arms pinned behind me. I watched helplessly as the tall man kneed Oliver’s chin.
“Oliver!” I screeched.
The man holding me smelled like rotten eggs and tuna. He cackled when Oliver hit the wall.
“You’re comin’ with me, girlie,” he growled, and I felt something wet flick my ear. His tongue.
Dammit to hell. I tipped my head forward and jerked it back as hard as I could. The room exploded in stars as the back of my skull collided with my attacker’s cranium and my fake glasses hit the floor. He let go of me and staggered sideways, crushing the frames under his heavy boot. So much for that element of my disguise. I lunged to help Oliver as he landed a right hook across the tall man’s face. The crack was followed by a spurt of blood. It seemed Oliver could handle himself.
The blond man grabbed my arm. I gripped his elbow and twisted, bringing him to his knees. Near the door, Oliver’s adversary threw punches, only a few of which landed. It almost looked as if Oliver was humoring the guy—giving him a sporting chance.
“Mercy!” my guy wailed dramatically “I call mercy!”
“What are we, in fourth grade?” I demanded. “You licked my ear!”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”
I rolled my eyes, then slammed him with a fist to the temple. He went down on his stomach, his eyes closed, kicking up a cloud of dust. Behind me, wood splintered. I turned to find Oliver was in a headlock. How the hell had that happened? I was about to grab a two-by-four from a pile of splintered wood, but Oliver suddenly bent forward, throwing the guy over his shoulder with a grunt and landing him flat on his back on the dirty floor.
The tall man groaned. The blond man let out a gurgling sound. Oliver shot me a self-satisfied smile. It died the instant he saw my face.
This was not normal. If he could throw moves like that, why didn’t I know about it? Why would he have kept this a secret from me?
“What?” he asked.
The adrenaline got the better of me. I couldn’t stop myself.
“Enough is enough,” I said. “Who the hell are you?”
chapter 11
OLIVER
The accusation and pain in Kaia’s eyes killed me. I turned and stormed out of the house, speed-walking down the street, blowing right past our car. The sun had set and the sky was an inky purple-blue. I kept walking across the street and into another equally run-down neighborhood.
What kind of question was that? “Who the hell are you?” Like I was the one who’d been lying about my past, my parents, my grandparents, where I came from. She’d made up an entire story for herself, and you didn’t see me jumping all over her case. And hadn’t I saved our asses back there? Where did she get off questioning me?
Shit. What was I doing here? I’d missed meeting scouts for this? Suddenly I became very aware of the thousand dollars in my back pocket. I wondered if she’d even miss it. Did she even realize it had fallen out of her bag? I could go home. Get my life together before it fell completely apart. Hell, I’d taken out two guys in two days. Maybe the next time Jack came for a visit I’d actually have the stones to try my moves out on him.
Up until now, every time I thought about really standing up for myself, for Trevor, I’d chickened out. Well not again. Never again.
I’d pay Kaia back for the loan as soon as I could. If I ever saw her again.
“Oliver! Wait up!”
I heard her wheels on pavement and knew she’d catch up to me in seconds, but I kept walking. I crossed another street. On the next block, the streetlights were working. There was a chill in the air now that the sun was going down, and I yanked my jacket’s zipper to my chin.
“Oliver, please.” Kaia stumbled off her board and tugged on my arm, trying to make me face her. I stared stoically off in the direction I’d been walking. “I’m only saying!” Kaia pleaded, her palms out. “Last week the most athletic thing I’d seen you do was score a winning goal on a header, and now suddenly you’re Jackie Chan? Enough with the secrets, Oliver. Tell me who you really are. I swear I won’t be mad. I just want to kno
w.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” I bit out. “‘Who I really am?’ I’m just me. I’m not gonna morph into an alien or something.”
She shifted her weight and stared at me, frustrated. “Why do you know how to fight like that? How do you wake up one morning and know karate?”
“I didn’t wake up one morning and know how to do it, all right?” I spat. “I’ve been studying jujitsu for three years.”
Kaia blinked. “What?”
“You know that guy from calc? Leo Goto?” I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my jacket.
“Yeah…”
“Well, his family is all math geniuses, but he hardly got past eighth-grade algebra, so we bartered. I’ve been tutoring him in math, and he’s been giving me jujitsu lessons.”
Kaia’s brow creased like she was working through a particularly hard SAT word problem. “How did I not know this?”
“I don’t tell you every little detail either,” I said. “We crammed the math in during study hall, and he’d coach me after my shifts at the store. I’ve been telling you and Robin my closing shifts at the shop went an hour later than they actually did so that we could go to his place and spar.”
“Okay,” Kaia said slowly. Clearly she was trying to process this. “But why would you keep that a secret?”
I let out a short laugh and covered my face with my hands. My whole body throbbed with the effort of holding in the truth. “I just did, okay?”
“Why?” she demanded.
I started walking again.
“Oliver, what’s going on? Tell me!” Kaia said. “Oliver, please—”
She touched my arm again and I whirled around. “I kept it a secret because if Robin found out she would make me stop.”
Kaia blinked. “But why would she—”
“Because she doesn’t want me to fight back! I’m that kid, all right!?” I blurted. “The pathetic foster kid whose fake father uses him as a punching bag!”