“Alice wanted me to forget about my dad and be part of her Sorte Juntos team in America, but she knew I would refuse until I knew my dad was dead. So she had me kidnapped in London and imprisoned me in a cage in her horse barn.”
“That’s where you were?”
I nodded.
Lily seemed to consider that, then asked, “But if you could escape the cage like you did that night, why didn’t you just run away?”
“My brothers were there as well. I couldn’t leave without them.”
Lily frowned. “You should have just agreed to be on the crew.”
“Like you did?”
“Of course I did. And I’m serious that you owe me a heist.”
I shook my head and stared at the ground for a few seconds before looking up again. “Will I ever talk you out of it?”
Lily grinned. “Never.”
“Fine,” I said. “But first, I have a different job to do. And for that, I’ll need four keys. Do you think you can help me with that?”
Her eyes lit up a bit. “Okay. Keys to what?”
“I need access to four different abandoned buildings and to one place that isn’t fully emptied out, but isn’t bustling with people, either.”
“So, five keys then?” She’d pulled a tiny composition book from her purse and made notes in a cryptic script.
I took a moment to think through my options. “Yes. And burn that page when you no longer need it.”
She nodded. “Of course. But why so many?”
I paused. “Do you trust me?”
She stared at me for a long time.
I grinned. “And rightfully you shouldn’t. But do you trust me to plan out this little intrigue of ours in such a way that protects us both from being connected to it in the end?”
She nodded quickly. “For that, I trust you.”
“Then don’t ask questions. The less you know and the less I say, the better.”
She paused. “How will I know when it’s done?”
“He’ll be gone. You’ll know because no one in the world will ever see him again.”
Lily smiled, though her next words were heavy with bitterness. “And the world will be a better place for it.”
“Glad to be of service,” I said, just dryly enough to make her bitter smile widen.
• • •
I hadn’t planned on walking back by my house that night, but the path from the park to the house was so ingrained that I found myself on Baker Street and almost to my front steps right as the sun was starting to set. I might have run right up to the front door if I hadn’t heard my father’s voice filter through the curtains at the open kitchen window.
“Mori did all that? My Mori?”
I glanced up and down the street as subtly as I could and then pulled down my cap to cover my eyes. I was tempted to pull my hood up as well, but I’d heard the ladies of the neighborhood spouting off enough about the “delinquents in the park with their caps and hoods” to know that might draw more attention to me than I wanted.
So I pulled out my phone and leaned back against my house as close to the window as I dared, then started to twirl a lock of hair around my finger as I pretended to text with one thumb.
“I would have loved to see that bitch’s face when she realized.”
The longish silence that followed his words made my heart sink a little. I was hoping to find out who he was talking to about me, but he was apparently on the phone.
“And she’s done in? You saw the light go out?”
“Yeah, you’ll get your extra money. I just need to know for sure she’s not recoverin’ somewhere. Can’t have anyone fighting me for my boys. Fake aunt or no.”
Alice. He was talking about Alice, which meant that she was dead. That bang. The smear on Trent’s jacket. My dad had arranged for her to die, and whoever he’d hired had used the confusion I created to take his shot. He’d had someone there at the farm after all. Though that didn’t make sense to me, because he could have sent someone for the boys at any time.
Only he couldn’t without causing a custody mess, which might interfere with his court bail—especially if Alice were to accuse him of kidnapping right before his trial.
He slammed his fist down on the kitchen table, and I heard what sounded like a bottle clank onto its side. My father was practically in tears when he said, “It ain’t right that a father has to fight for custody of his own blood.”
He was drunk, which made me relax a little. Even if he saw me outside this window right now, he’d probably never believe it was me in the morning. Still, I kept watch for a nosy neighbor or two, while secretly hoping whoever was on the other end of the line would break the news to him about my brothers being lost to him forever in America. I could even talk myself into peering into the window to see his reaction to that.
I thought I might even get my wish with his next question.
“And you know where they are, my boys?”
But when I did peek in, he wasn’t angry or sad. The lids on his sunken eyes were drooping and he had this goofy wide grin. He was satisfied with the answer he got.
“Impossible,” I whispered, then leaned back to make sure he couldn’t see me.
“I’ll send the rest of your money tonight, and you’ll get a bonus if you can find out the name of the school and get me that address.”
He hung up soon after that, but I was stuck there in front of my house, my brain a jumble of all the things I could and should do with this new information. I could stake him out, my dad. Follow him to whomever he was paying off—unless he was just transferring the money online. I could sneak into his house, check his computer history, which would mean luring him away and guessing at his passwords. It was no use. I could follow my father for the next month and never know who he was working with—not if they kept things to phone calls and wire transfers.
And in the meantime, whoever this bastard was who had killed Alice and probably Grady as well, I realized.. . . Yes. That explained why Alice had been so upset. She knew my father was coming for her. And the guy who did her in? He was looking for my brothers.
Something he wouldn’t care anything about if my dad were dead. If he knew he’d not get his money for the task, I’d bet he’d give it up in a second.
That meant my time as a watcher was up.
I glanced back into what little I could see of the kitchen as I walked away and then actually typed in a text.
I need those keys tomorrow. No later.
Lily responded in about thirty seconds.
Done.
Lily came through. The next morning, after breakfast, I found a little bag of keys at the base of her father’s tree. I sent Lily a picture of the bag, and she reciprocated with a list of addresses.
The first two places I scouted were useless—one was on the verge of becoming rubble and the other was filled with so much rubbish, a person could barely walk through. But the third of the keys Lily gave me was for a boarded-up nursery school with an overgrown play yard out front. It was in Harrow, which was a bit of a distance from our neighborhood but not too far from London proper. It would be an easier lure than some of the other addresses on my list, for sure.
After wrestling with the tiny wooden gate for a few minutes, it finally came free from enough of the vines that had grown through the boards to let me into the yard itself. I tromped through knee-high vegetation to reach a cement patio covered by an open awning. The awning had probably once provided shade under a cheery, multicolored cloth, but now it was nothing but metal bars and fragments of canvas that were bleached white by the sun.
I liked the place instantly. There was something incredibly nonthreatening about it, despite the graffiti warnings and the way even a light wind made the playground equipment squeak and moan. Not only that, but there was an easy path in from the street and into the building itself. The boards on the windows still held strong, which meant anything that happened inside was hidden from the road completely.
; The interior of the building was filled with more graffiti and various paraphernalia to indicate a few people may have been using the place as a squat. I kicked an empty bottle of butane across the floor and it rolled into a pile of broken green glass that looked like it had once been a liquor bottle of some kind.
It was the perfect building for an assassination. Easily destroyed, the fire easily blamed on a nameless homeless squatter, and it was outside the Westminster borough, which meant none of my father’s lackeys would be called to the scene.
I’d found my killing floor.
• • •
I was prepared to see Sherlock again. I really believed that.
And I managed to hold this belief as Lock left his house and stepped down onto the busy sidewalk. He started to walk toward my house, but stopped short and spun around in place to head the other way. That was when I noticed he was being followed. A man wearing a beanie and sunglasses stopped walking the exact moment Lock did, and pretended to be reading something on his phone as Lock moved past him. But the man didn’t let Lock get more than five or six steps away before he turned to weave through the crowd as well, following three or four lengths behind Lock.
I could only think of two people who might be interested in tracking Sherlock on a school day, but while Mycroft had the manpower to have his brother’s movements monitored, I didn’t suppose his men would be as sloppy as the bloke practically tripping over himself to keep up with Lock’s tall strides. Only my father would have such an incompetent on the task. And if I hadn’t guessed he was one of my father’s men before, as they came up parallel to where I was standing across the street, I could tell he was wearing his police uniform pants.
I shook my head. “Bad form.”
So, my dad knew I was in town. Or at least he expected I would come back to London and thought he could find me by watching Sherlock. That showed some forethought the old drunk hadn’t seemed capable of the night before. For just a moment I thought about walking away from Lock that day. If I never approached him, I could keep my father in the dark for as long as I wanted. I could follow the man trailing Lock and maybe learn what I needed to force my father’s hand.
But I didn’t have the time for that, and there was an easier way. I slid my hand into my pocket to check on the card I’d drawn up the night before with the address to the nursery school. I’d been looking for a way to make sure my father found it—a way that piqued his interest without making him too suspicious. And seeing Lock’s stalker gave me an idea. A plan formed in my head within seconds as I stood there. It was simple and clean and would give me complete control over the time and place of my father’s death. The only drawback was I’d have to use Lock to do it.
I warred with that thought as Lock crossed the street to just a few feet from where I stood, his dutiful follower crossing behind. Neither of them saw me at first, though I wasn’t really hiding—more standing out of the way. And they both might have passed me by completely, but seeing Lock that close made it impossible for me to stay still.
“Do you not even recognize me on the street? Has it been so long as that?”
Lock stopped midstep, but said nothing. I waited, though, because the twitch of his brow and movement of his lips made me think he had something to say.
When he still didn’t speak, I said, “You looked for me.”
“You were in my room.”
“I was.”
We stood in silence, me in shadow and him staring forward, connected only by all the questions he wasn’t asking, like where had I been? Why hadn’t I met him that day? Why was I back? Was I going to stay in London?
He asked none of that, and still my mouth was filled with the answers. I wanted to tell him. It was all I wanted to say. But then Lock suddenly faced me, and my mind fell blank. I’d prepared myself to see him, but I wasn’t at all prepared for him to see me. And for the briefest of moments his eyes held a rush of emotions—far too many for me to decipher. Then they were gone, his expression neutral. He studied me, and though I tried to pretend he was making sure I was still all in one piece, I was forced to remind myself that he had no reason to think otherwise. He had no way of knowing where I’d been, or why. And I no longer had the words to explain it to him.
“You don’t look different,” he said at last. “Why wouldn’t I recognize you?”
He was being purposely cold. So different from how he’d spoken to my name on his map. I felt my own expression soften as I took a step toward him. My father’s man had relocated up the street a bit where he could have clearly seen me, even standing out of the way, but I didn’t want him to think I was hiding, either.
“Ah, you’ve noticed my tail,” Lock said. “I assume he’s been following me around for this exact occasion.”
“Maybe.”
“And that’s why you’re here, then? To get your father’s attention?”
I paused too long before I said, “I have many reasons to be here.”
“And your reasons. . .” Lock trailed off, frowning.
I stepped closer, desperate to know what he was going to say. Was he going to ask my reasons? Should I just give him the answers? Would it matter?
He turned to face the street. “Well, you’ve accomplished at least one of your goals. Glad I could help.”
I thought he might simply stride off, disappear into the crowd, but I wasn’t ready for him to go. Was that why I was involving Lock in all of this? To keep him near me just a few more hours? Would I really weave him into the web I’d use to catch a monster just for that? Was I truly that selfish?
“My other reasons,” I blurted. “I’d like to tell you.” I willed him to answer. When he did not, I added, “I’d like to tell you everything.”
He kept his eyes trained forward, but he nodded once to let me know he would listen.
“There’s a derelict nursery school in Harrow. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.” I rummaged in my pocket for the card with the address, then held it up between us. Lock carefully read the paper without ever making eye contact with me, then turned away. I tried to push the address back into my pocket, purposely missing. The card fell perfectly to the ground, just behind Lock so that he couldn’t see, and beneath my arm so that I wouldn’t be expected to see either. Though I did note the slight grin on the face of my father’s man.
Lock caught me spying on his stalker and cleared his throat to bring my attention back to him.
“Will you be there?” I asked.
“With or without my tail?”
We both gave in to smiles, and he tilted his head just enough to meet my eyes.
I said, “I trust you’ll manage to ditch that old man.”
“Sounds like a bit of fun. I’m in.”
I held his gaze for a few seconds more than I should have, which was undoubtedly why it hurt so much to look away.
Chapter 13
Some days require bloodred lipstick. Perhaps it would have been smarter if I’d tried to make sure I wore nothing that would stand out. No jewelry, no name brands, only bland colors, and makeup designed to help obscure my facial features. But I wasn’t so interested in taking the smarter path on that day. I wore lavish makeup and a bright white sundress that I’d seen in a shop window near my hotel. It looked just like one my mum had worn when I was small. I even pulled out my mum’s rubies from the tiny metal trinkets box I’d found among her things. I’d spent months thinking through what was about to happen, and I was going to enjoy it fully, with no restrictions or hesitation.
I clasped the ruby pendant at my neck, put on the matching dangle earrings, and tucked my hair behind one ear to show them off. I wanted my father to see them. To see me in her clothes, wearing her things. Because if my mum had been half the woman I was, she would have taken care of this chore long ago.
But when I wandered past the mirror, I caught myself scowling, which really wouldn’t do. I corrected my expression immediately as I pulled on white lace gloves. No anger or irritation allowed. I forced a smi
le that made my lower lip shine red and full in the mirror. That was exactly how I wanted to see myself when I faced him—how I wanted him to see me.
Gloriously happy.
My happiness would be the last thing he ever saw.
• • •
My smile was more natural as I entered the nursery school for the second time that morning. I set down my bag and overcoat on an old dusty counter by the front door and looked around. It was perfect. All the work was done. Today would change everything.
I felt light. Almost cheery. And seeing that Sherlock was already there, standing in the very center of the main room, made my smile widen. “I wasn’t sure I’d actually see you today.”
“I said I’d be here.” His eyes lit up as he took in my outfit, but there was a hint of confusion in his expression as well. “It appears I’m underdressed.” He straightened the tie of his school uniform.
“Your clothes don’t matter.” I started to say something else, but a familiar voice called out from the back room.
“Do mine?”
I managed to keep my smile, despite my father’s confident strides into the room. He looked older than he should—as if the five months of my absence had accelerated his aging. His eyes were more sunken, or perhaps the skin around them was darker. His hair was lighter with gray. He was even dressed like an old man: his trousers just a bit too baggy and pooling at his ankles, a wrinkled dress shirt peeking out from a cardigan sweater that was so tight, the buttons stretched their holes at his gut, which was much more pronounced than I’d noticed through the window. But his steps were light as he positioned himself between Lock and me, then started to laugh.
“Hello, Moriarty,” he said. I was surprised at how little his presence affected the dank room where we stood. He was just another scurrying pest, really. Something to be stomped out or scared away. I knew I was ready to face him when the heat in my core stripped away all the lightness I’d felt in seeing Lock, until I was this dark, angry thing—exactly what I needed to be to face him. I was running on rage. This was the man who’d held my mum captive, who’d beaten my brothers bloody. This was the man who had terrified Michael so much that he ran out into the street to his ruin, who’d strangled me and taken away my only friend. And this man was about to pay for what he’d done.
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