by Ellery Kane
“Just out of curiosity, what would you have done if Augustus hadn’t asked for the Emovere?”
String chuckled to himself. “I guess I would’ve had to shoot you or push you off the building, right?” I jabbed him in the side with my elbow. “Okay, okay. Like I told Max, I know Augustus. He wanted to watch you jump all along. He’s what my brother would call a sicko psycho.”
I smirked at him, still feeling elated at our escape. “Your brother … hmmm. Let me guess, his nickname is Ribbon?”
“Funny,” String replied. “Jump off a couple of buildings and suddenly you’re a comedian.”
“Seriously though, String—thank you.” I patted his arm.
“I figured it was the least I could do, after … well, you know…”
“Drugging me, kidnapping me, and turning me over to the hands of my mortal enemy. Yeah, I’d say you owed me one.”
“Have I satisfied my debt?” String pointed to his face, decorated in varying shades of red, black, and purple.
“Almost,” I teased. “Tell me the real story of String.”
He shook his head at me, then leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, his lips still curled in a mischievous grin. “Some things are best left a mystery.”
CHAPTER FIFTY - SEVEN
MY RESCUER
I WAS DREAMING AGAIN. All around me was water the color of charcoal, so deep I couldn’t touch the bottom, so murky I couldn’t see it. There was no bottom. Panic blossomed inside me, a prickly flower. I started to swim, but my arms were leaden, dragging me down into the tomb of the sea. Something cold slithered past my leg, and I gasped, swallowing a mouthful of water. Pushing my head above the roiling waves, I saw a boat. It was small but sturdy. With determination, it navigated toward me. My rescuer, familiar somehow, though I saw no face until I collapsed within the solid comfort of the boat’s embrace. Then, I knew. I had saved myself.
Quin’s voice awakened me. At first, I thought I was still dreaming, but everything hurt. My body was dotted with bruises, each turn in this unfamiliar bed revealing a new ache.
“Will you tell her I stopped by?” Quin asked. He was leaving? I sat up in bed, wanting to run to him, to stop him. But I didn’t.
“Quin, I’m sure she would want to see you. Let me wake her.” It was my father’s voice.
“No,” Quin insisted. “Let her sleep. Besides, it would probably be harder that way.” Harder?
“You’re right,” my father agreed. “She’ll understand. Tell Mr. Van Sant we appreciate his generosity letting us stay here. I never thought I’d be living in my own mansion in San Francisco.” After String and I returned from our undercover mission, Mr. Van Sant insisted we all stay at one of his homes in the city.
“Me either. But trust me, you’ll get used to it.” Quin’s laugh was my favorite—the laugh of a boy about to cause trouble. “I’ll tell him you said thanks.” I heard a familiar click-click-click, then the sound of the shutting door. Artos. Quin had come to get him. Before I left the room—now my room—I counted to one hundred. From outside, I could hear the television.
“Oakland police are reporting multiple fatalities during a riot that erupted yesterday evening outside of the county jail, where George McAllister is being held awaiting trial. Following reports District Attorney Vivian Dillard described the case against McAllister as a “slam dunk,” an unruly group of protestors fired on officers. Police returned fire, wounding five and killing three of those involved. Many who participated in the disturbance were detained and searched, after Drug Czar Augustus Porter’s suggestion that emotion-altering medications may have been responsible for the crowd’s violent and reckless behavior. Amateur video shot by one of the protestors—”
I sat next to Max and String on the sofa. It was soft brown leather, much fancier than ours.
My father pointed to the television, a massive screen mounted to the wall. “There was a riot last night.”
I returned my attention to the video from the riot. An officer searched a man wearing a Free Inmate 243 T-shirt. “He didn’t do anything. Why are you searching him?” an off-camera voice demanded. The officer didn’t answer, but pointed his weapon threateningly toward the lens. “Get that camera out of here.” Just out of view, I heard the rapid pinging of gunshots. The noise was startling.
Then, String blurted out, “I guess you lost custody—of Artos, I mean. Not that I mind. He wasn’t too fond of me. Your boyfr—” He glanced uncertainly at me, then amended his words. “Quin took him.”
I could feel all their eyes on me, waiting for me to cry. Instead, I looked at String. “How do you think Augustus feels today?” I wondered.
“Probably worse than we do.” String smiled. His face, like my arms, was freckled with bruises. He held an icepack to his right eye.
“A lot worse,” I agreed.
“Have you heard anything on the surveillance?” I asked my father. He was studying my face with caution, probably surprised by my stoic demeanor.
He gestured over his shoulder to a closed door down the end of a long marbled hallway. “See for yourself.” Still barefoot, I padded along the cold floor and peeked inside. The same two men who accompanied String and me on our mission were sitting in front of a computer, listening, as the audio from Augustus’ office was transcribed onto the screen. At the moment, the cursor flashed, unmoving. There was complete silence.
“Hi.” I gave a small wave to the men. It was probably time I learned their names. “I’m Lex. We’ve met but not officially.”
One of them—overweight with thinning gray hair—grunted with a noise that sounded like contempt. The other—dark skinned and heavily muscled—offered his hand. “Well, let’s make it official then. Barry,” he said. “And this is Scott. We call him Scooter.” At the sound of his name, Scooter gave a reluctant nod of his head. “Don’t mind him,” Barry explained. “He’s kind of a grouch in the morning.”
“So how’s it going in here?” I asked, glancing at the computer screen.
Barry shrugged. “Nothing yet. But I will say this—you definitely got under his skin getting away like that. He’s been on the warpath ever since.”
“Lex!” My father called from outside. “Phone!”
“Nice to meet you officially.” I smiled at Barry. “You too, Scooter.” He gave another grunt, a tad friendlier than the first.
Outside the door, my father was waiting for me. “It’s Elana,” he mouthed. “Remind her she’s not supposed to be calling here unless it’s an emergency.” I hadn’t talked to Elana in several days. I’d say that constituted an emergency.
I took the disposable cell phone—another gift from Van Sant Security—and headed back to my room. “Hey,” I said, grateful for a small piece of normalcy.
“Guess what I’m about to do right now?” she asked. I could tell she was grinning.
“Umm … does it involve Edison? Because if so, it sounds like trouble.”
“It involves Edison and Quin. Double trouble.” She paused for my reply. When I said nothing, she continued. “We’re going for a run, just like old times. I’m even going to let Edison win like always.” She giggled. “Do you want to come? You could meet us somewhere.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Elana.”
“Why?” she asked. “Augustus won’t be looking for you here in San Francisco. You can even wear that ridiculous blonde wig again if you want.”
“It’s not that.”
“Quin?” she asked, as if she didn’t already know.
“Yes, Quin,” I echoed. “I’m surprised he has time for running with all the motorcycle riding he’s been doing.”
“How did you know about that?”
“Augustus had surveillance photos. I should probably thank him. Between him and Barbara Blake, I don’t have to stalk Quin like a crazy ex-girlfriend.” Elana burst into laughter. “It’s true.” I chuckled. “Besides, I’m not exactly in running condition right now. My body feels like one giant bruise.”
>
“I heard.”
“From Quin?” I bristled at the tone of my own voice. I sounded hopeful.
“No. Edison’s dad gets regular reports from the security team. We were all worried about you. Do you really trust this Thread guy?”
I giggled. “String. His nickname is String. And, I guess I do. Max sure seems to like him. He’s pretty wrapped up or should I say tied?” We both laughed.
“I can’t believe Max has a boyfriend. What are they like together?” Elana asked.
“I’m not really sure yet, but they hold hands a lot. It’s annoyingly cute in a please stop reminding me that my heart is broken kind of way.”
“I miss you, Lex—I miss seeing you every day.” She sounded wistful. “Do you ever wish we could go back to how it used to be? Living at your mom’s? Before Alcatraz?”
“Sometimes.” I rarely allowed myself to admit it. Wishing for the past seemed like a careless betrayal of my father. And it was pointless, as pointless as asking why—that tiny whisper of a question that echoed so loud in my head sometimes, I wanted to scream it. There was no answer. Not now, not ever. “But we can’t go back … only forward,” I reminded both of us.
“I know, I know, Miss Smarty Pants.” She was quiet for a moment. “So about this run … there might be something else involved.”
“Another covert op?” I was half-teasing.
“Maybe,” she hinted, her voice serious. “Edison’s been hoping for a little redemption with his dad. Mr. Van Sant was pretty annoyed after the whole Paramount fiasco.”
“Annoyed?” I asked, incredulous, recalling Mr. Van Sant’s guttural roar. “That was annoyed?”
Elana giggled. “Okay, okay. More like enraged.”
I hesitated. “Are you sure you want to do that again?”
“C’mon, Lex. I need you. Quin needs you.”
“Alright, alright,” I relented. “You sound like Edison, you know?”
She snickered. “Well, he can be convincing.”
I lowered my voice, cupping my hand over the phone. “I’m going to need some of that convincing to get out of Fortress Knightley.”
“You’re a clever girl. I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said. “See you in thirty minutes.”
“Where should I meet you?” I asked.
“You know the spot.”
String jumped back, looking guilty, as I opened the door to my room.
“Were you listening?”
He shrugged. “Covert op, huh?”
“Shh.” My eyes darted, watching for my father. “Keep your voice down.”
“Can I come?” He raised one sly eyebrow. “Clandestine operations are my specialty, after all.”
“You weren’t invited.”
String stuck out his lower lip in a dramatic pout. “I thought we were a team. Lex and String. String and Lex. Partners in crime.”
I rolled my eyes, but stifled a giggle. “On one condition…”
“Yes!” He was giddy.
“You have to get us out of here.”
“Not a problem, Ms. Knightley. Not a problem.”
CHAPTER FIFTY - EIGHT
MASTER OF SURVEILLANCE
STRING CAUGHT MY EYE in the rearview mirror and smirked. “How was that?” he asked. Puffing his chest, he gave Max’s knee a good-natured pat, as we pulled out of the driveway in the Van Sant security van.
“Not bad for a small time con man,” I joked. “Then again, my dad is pretty gullible.”
String chuckled. “He’s what I like to call an easy mark.”
I felt guilty for laughing, but it was true. My father swallowed String’s story hook, line, sinker, and fishing pole. As far as he knew, we were on our way to Mr. Van Sant’s house to provide official statements about our brutal stay at Hotel Augustus. Barry and Scooter stayed behind to monitor the surveillance.
String turned on the radio, humming under his breath. “Ms. Knightley, please brief us on our mission,” he said, between choruses.
“Uh, I’m not exactly sure,” I admitted. “But we’re meeting at the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“That sounds familiar,” Max said, turning his head to me. Solemn, I nodded.
As we neared the bridge, I pressed my face to the window. The day was clear and cold, Alcatraz visible in the water. From here, it looked serene, untouched. Of course, I knew otherwise. Half of the island was a pile of rubble, the other half an abandoned grave where a part of me was interred. Though the government promised to restore Alcatraz and dedicate it to my mother and the fallen Guardian Force, I was certain that would never happen. Their generous monetary settlement with my father—he called it “hush money”—was further proof they preferred Victoria Knightley to stay buried.
Max sighed. “It looks so…” Like me, he was looking out into the Bay.
“Peaceful,” I finished for him.
“Deceptively peaceful,” he added.
Quizzical, String considered us both. “What is with you two dreary sightseers? Can we get a little more excited here?” Still, when I saw him reach for Max’s hand, I wondered how much he knew.
Tollbooths looming, I texted Elana: We’re almost there. I brought backup.
She texted back. Black van. Red-headed driver.
“Pull over,” I directed String to the shoulder of the road. Elana waved her hand out the window, beckoning us to follow. We trailed her off the highway toward the Presidio and parked in the lot of a long-abandoned motel. Taped to the front door was a large cardboard sign. It was weathered, some of the letters washed out by the rain. WE SU-P-RT TH- RESI-T-NC- !
“Home, sweet home,” Max deadpanned, as he opened the car door. Elana and Edison were already waiting for us, with matching eager grins. Only the top of Quin’s head was visible through the van’s window. He seemed to be reaching for something inside. Then, I heard a bark. Artos!
“Quiet.” Quin’s command silenced him, but only briefly. As they joined the rest of us outside the motel, Artos showed String his teeth, his fur bristling.
“That dog does not like me,” String lamented.
“What are you doing here?” Quin asked, tightening up on Artos’ leash. He directed his question toward String, but I answered anyway.
“I asked him to come,” I explained. “String is … well, he has a lot of skills. I thought he could help.”
“So we’ve heard,” Elana said. “Quin was just telling us how you rescued a kitten from certain death.”
String nodded unabashedly. “It’s a legend, really. One hundred percent true, of course.” I turned to him looking for an explanation. “When Quin came over this morning, he asked how I got my nickname.”
Quin nudged my arm, as if he’d just noticed me. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” I smiled a little, as I ruffled the fur behind Artos’ ears.
He avoided my eyes, looking at the ground instead. Was he nervous? “I was worried about you. I wish you’d told me about—”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, cutting him off. I felt everyone watching us.
“I see that,” Quin replied. “Your father told me that you had a few bumps and bruises, but you look okay.”
“Nothing a little makeup couldn’t fix. Besides, I’ve had worse, right?” I gestured to my side.
Quin nodded, the beginnings of a grin peeking through at the corners of his mouth. “I just wish I could’ve seen Augustus’ face.”
“Me too,” I said.
String’s booming guffaw interrupted our moment. “It was priceless. Absolutely classic! And you should’ve seen Lex shoot that guy. It was awe—” Max elbowed String. “What?” He was undeterred. “I’m just saying, it was awesome.” I felt my cheeks warm, as I tried to stifle a smile.
Edison cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt this meet and greet, but we’re here for a reason.” He turned to String. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Edison—”
“Van Sant,” String interjected. “I know who you are.”
�
�You do? How?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I waited for another tall tale, but he didn’t explain.
Edison dismissed String with an eye roll, but knowing him, I suspected he was secretly pleased. “Here’s the deal.” Edison gestured us in closer. “Quin and I have been doing a little surveillance on Xander’s team, following a few of his men here and there. Up until yesterday, we had nothing. Literally nothing. Xander Steele is one careful guy. But yesterday, Quin got lucky.”
“I wouldn’t call it luck,” Quin insisted, narrowing his eyes at Edison. “I was trained in surveillance, remember?”
“Yeah.” Edison chuckled. “You surveilled Lex, right?” We all waited for the punch line, as Quin shook his head in annoyance. “I guess we should expect you to fall in love with Xander’s henchman any day now.” I didn’t dare look right at Quin, but sidelong, I saw him sneak a furtive glance at me.
Looking from Quin to Edison and back again, String’s lips turned up in a devious grin. “You sound jealous, man.” His beet-red face confirmed it: Edison had finally met his match. “It’s okay to admit you’ve got a little crush. Take it from the gay guy, Quin is hot.” Quin and Max erupted with laughter, as Edison silently swallowed a heaping dose of his own medicine.
“So I was saying…” In a voice reminiscent of his father’s, Edison continued, as if nothing happened. “Quin overheard a conversation between Xander and one of his guys, something about meeting someone at Fort Point today at 2 p.m.” I looked at my watch. 1:53 p.m. Edison lowered his head toward Quin with a melodramatic bow. “Now, the master of surveillance will tell us where to position ourselves.”
“I think you and Elana should wait here in the van in case we need to make a quick getaway. The rest of us will head down to the fort.” I knew Edison wasn’t pleased, but for once, he didn’t argue. He slunk back into the passenger seat without a word.