On Fire (21 page)

She was absolutely terrified, but she pretended not to realize that Gravelly Voice had seen her smile.

“Hey,” he said, stomping over to her, “what’s the big joke?”

“Oh.” She made her eyes big and round, and swallowed hard. “Um. Nothing.” She fluttered her lashes, hoping that wasn’t laying it on too thick.

He gestured to Ski Mask, who came over.

“She was smiling,” Gravelly Voice reported.

They both stared down at her through their ski masks, and she made herself keep her head. She would not panic. She would play this out.

“Why?” Ski Mask demanded. He pointed his gun at her. “Tell me.”

She focused on data collection. Ski Mask was the boss. Ski Mask was the one who was armed. She couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to realize that Gravelly Voice didn’t have a gun.

Ski Mask bent over and put the gun against her head, like before, and it terrified her just as badly as before. All he had to do was pull the trigger. If Damon and Danny chose this moment to attack, she would be dead.

“You can’t blame me for forgetting,” she said in a high, little-girl voice. Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid she would faint. She had to keep it together, play this through. She remembered days driving the golf cart at the country club for her father while he selected the proper club and took his time lining up his shot.

“Always play it through,” her father said.

“What did you forget?” Ski Mask asked, looming over her. “Tell me now, or I’ll kill you.”

But he wouldn’t. She knew it. Because while he was ruthless, he was not impulsive. They hadn’t killed her when they’d first invaded the house, and they had a reason to keep her alive right now: they had to know the secret she was convincing them she had.

“Promise not to hurt me if I tell you,” she said.

“No,” the guy said, pushing the gun against her forehead.

She shut her eyes against a disabling stab of panic. It was all right to let them know that she was afraid, but not okay to lose control. She had to stay in control.

“Okay. Well, Jackson thought it would be funny to spy on his parents. So he installed a Web cam.”

The guy slapped her with his free hand and she gasped, shocked. She burst into real tears.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I know he watches them on his computer.”

“So it’s not running right now,” Gravelly Voice said, but he sounded uncertain. “Right?”

“I
told
you to tell me everything,” Ski Mask said. He threw back his hand to slap her again, then seemed to think
the better of it and lowered his arm to his side. “You kept this from us.
Lied
to us.” He was indignant.

“I forgot about it. Really,” she said, as tears tumbled down her cheeks. “I swear I did.”

“We need to check it out,” Ski Mask said. “Go into his room and turn on his computer. See if you can see it.”

Gravelly Voice didn’t move.

Ski Mask stared at him.
“Well?”

“Um,” Gravelly Voice said, “I’m not sure how.”

“You’re useless,” Ski Mask barked at him. But he made no move to go into Jackson’s room, either.

“Do
you
know how to see it on his computer?” Ski Mask asked her.

This was the moment when she had to put on the best performance of her life. She lowered her head and moved her shoulders.

“I . . . guess,” she said reluctantly. As if not every single part of her was screaming at him to untie her. “If you go into his room, I could call out to you how to look at it.”

“Okay—” Gravelly Voice said, but Ski Mask cut him off.

“No yelling,” he said.

But they had yelled earlier. He had shouted at her that he was going to kill her if she moved a muscle. So maybe things were changing for them, too. They were getting cautious. It was possible—no,
probable
—they had timed the robbery, and they had been there too long. So maybe they were starting to get desperate.

“I’m going to untie you,” Ski Mask said. She kept her face blank. “This is real life. This is not the movies. You don’t know kung fu and I’ve got a gun. I don’t know how much
you know about guns, but this one has a silencer on it. No one will hear it go off. The next sound will be the cracking of your skull just before it enters your brain. Got it?”

Lydia bit her lip. She was almost afraid to be untied, to walk with this man holding a weapon. She tried not to stare at the gun as Gravelly Voice went behind the chair and untied her hands, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t equipped with a silencer. It didn’t look long enough. But on the other hand, despite all the hundreds of hours she had spent watching cop shows and action movies, she couldn’t bring to mind exactly what a silencer looked like.

After Gravelly Voice finished untying her, her hands stung like crazy. That was the blood rushing back into them. She stood, feeling incredibly dizzy, and the room seemed to tilt to the side as Ski Mask stepped away from her and she shuffled away from the chair.

Now what? Now what?
she thought, flush with victory but trying to work out the next step in her mind.
We’re going to Jackson’s room. What’s in his room that I could use to defend myself? He has trophies. Could I smash a trophy in this guy’s face? Is that just wishful thinking? Could I send a message when I turn on Jackson’s computer? Activate his Face Talk?

She had to think on her feet, literally, as she stood on the threshold of Jackson’s room. She saw it almost the way a stranger would, and fresh panic surged through her. She had to make this work. Had to make it count.

Ski Mask turned off the light that she herself had turned on. The three stood in darkness . . . except that Jackson’s curtains were open. Maybe she could signal where she was to Danny and Damon.

And then what?

“Don’t try
anything
,” Ski Mask ordered her. Then he gripped her arm tightly. “No heroics. I’ll shoot you. Now walk to his desk, sit down, and turn on his computer.”

She thought about pretending to stumble and asking him to turn on a light. But she remembered her logical conclusions: this guy was smart. She didn’t want to find herself being harmed because he saw through her charade. So she swayed nervously through Jackson’s room, felt for the chair—had a wild, insane moment were she fantasized about grabbing it and whirling in a half circle, knocking both of them over like bowling pins—and then pulled out the chair and sat down. Her hands found the keyboard, and she knew the on button was the upper right key.

Still in the dark, just before she turned it on, she pulled the monitor sideways as quickly and as discreetly as she could, angling it toward the window, and prayed that the light would reveal what was going on inside. Or at the very least, serve as a signal to Danny and Damon about where she was.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Ski Mask said, and she was afraid he’d caught her moving the monitor. “Turn it on
now
.”

Lydia pressed the power button.

Be watching
, she mentally ordered Danny and Damon.

•  •  •

Jackson was slowly coming awake. His head was pounding, and he felt sick to his stomach. He heard someone crying, and he figured that was not a good thing. Then he realized
his gag was off, but the handcuffs were still on, and his aching head was in someone’s lap. He half turned, grunting against the pain.

A hand went over his mouth. He looked up to see Cassie staring down at him, her face streaked with tears. She gave her head a shake and pressed the forefinger of her free hand across her lips. Her blond hair was making a curtain around her face, so it was all he could see.

“He didn’t see your face, Bailey,” she said. “And even if he did, what’s he going to say? He doesn’t know who you are.”

“You’re right. He didn’t see me. But he saw
you
. You idiot.” It was Hunter Gramm—or rather, Bailey somebody.

“So what?” Cassie said. “I don’t have a record.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I
do.
And you’re my girlfriend.”

“Even if they get a description out to the police, we’ll be long gone. We can just dump him somewhere while he’s unconscious.”

“Mack should have left that damn Porsche behind. It’s too noticeable. I’m going to kick his ass for that,” Bailey said. “But . . . Jackson Whittemore is a danger to us, baby. You know we can’t just let him go.”

“Yes, yes, we can,” she begged.

“Maybe we can make it look like a carjacking,” Bailey said.

Jackson’s eyes bulged.
He’s planning my murder. I have to get out of here
now. He started to raise his head, and Cassie pushed it back down.

A cell phone rang, then was cut off. Losing his cool, Jackson tried to jerk upright. She pushed harder on his head.

“Yeah.” Bailey paused, listening. “Are you freaking kidding me?” he said. “And you let her get on his computer?” He swore.

Jackson listened hard. Someone—a her—was on “his” computer. Whose? What was going on? Bailey was obviously working with someone. Doing . . .

He shut his eyes tightly. His parents were away. He was here. Which left the possibility that Lydia was at his house, on his computer, with the caller.

I told her I was coming back soon. She probably went to my house to wait for me
.

His heart felt as if it had just flopped over inside his rib cage. He yanked on his handcuffs, trying to pull them apart, and Cassie clapped both her hands over his nose and mouth and stared at hard at him. He looked up at her, and she licked her lips, listening.

“Spy camera? That’s . . .” Bailey trailed off. “Are you watching her? She’s not sending a message? Shut it down.
Now
.”

Unable to breathe, Jackson struggled quietly against her hands, and she slid them down off his nose. She moved her mouth, but it was too dark for him to make out what she was saying. Then they glided under a streetlight.

I. Will. Help. You.

He nodded to let her know he understood. He wanted to know what was going on at his house. Had to know. He was so afraid for Lydia.

Then Bailey shouted into the phone, “What’s happening?”

Beacon Hills

Six Years Ago

I
’m ready,” Derek said, as he finished his second glass of wine.

Then Ms. Argent put one hand on either side of his face, smiled into his eyes, and kissed him. Her lips were so soft, and so warm, and it felt so good. So amazingly good.

He had to be careful. But he was losing himself in the kiss and images flashed through his head, animalistic and fierce; he wanted to do all kinds of things to her and he didn’t dare. He was going to lose control. He was going to hurt her. But he couldn’t stop kissing her.

She trailed her mouth across the hollow of his cheek to his ear and whispered, “I love this. I love how dangerous it is. It excites me.”

And then she pulled away. “Oh, Derek,” she murmured, and she looked into his eyes, as if searching for something. “I just . . . I know we said we’d take it slow. That we’d have
coffee,” she murmured. “And instead we had the wine, and it’s loosened my inhibitions, and you’re just so incredible.”

She licked her lips and smoothed back her hair. “Okay. I’ll behave.” She pursed her lips. “So, ah, what else do you like to do besides swim?”

Kiss you
, Derek thought. Then something felt wrong. His stomach cramped. The back of his throat started burning. And his eyes stung. He tried to ignore it. He wanted to kiss her some more.

His stomach contracted. His throat filled with acid. He was going to throw up.

Oh, God, I can’t barf in front of her,
he thought.

He got to his feet. She moved away, her brows knitting.

“I’ve offended you,” she said. “I’m sorry, Derek.”

“No. I’m just not feeling well,” he told her. “May I use your bathroom?”

“Sure. It’s down the hall. Do you need something? A glass of water?”

He started to say yes, but he didn’t know what was happening. He was lurching down the hall, his stomach churning. He was so embarrassed that he wanted to die. He felt so sick that he wanted to die.

He lifted the lid on the toilet, fell to his knees, and threw up. He fumbled for the sink faucet and turned it on full blast so she wouldn’t hear him. He flushed the toilet, too, and then he vomited some more.

It couldn’t have been the meat. Werewolves could smell bad carrion and knew to stay away from it. Maybe the mayo was bad. Or maybe it was just nerves.

He felt so unbelievably stupid. He threw up some more,
wincing from the pain and grimacing because he was barfing so incredibly loudly. She had to be hearing it. Way to ruin their whole evening.