On Fire (23 page)

“Hello?” she called, and the door opened. She was standing in a red satin robe. Her feet were bare.

She blinked, startled. “Derek,” she said. “Are you all right?”

He was covered in sweat, and she was lovely. He ran his hands through his hair, unable to explain, at a loss for what to say.

“Oh, God,” he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

He turned to go, and she put a hand on his shoulder. Molded her fingers around his muscles, and ran her thumb back and forth along the indentation where bone met sinew.

“Hey,” she said. “Hey.”

He peered up at her, wishing he could just talk to her, tell her everything he was feeling, hoping, fearing. In the parking lot, everything had felt intense and dire; but now, seeing her and knowing she was all right, he didn’t know what he had thought he was doing, racing back here.

“I’m—” he said. And he didn’t know what he was. He was almost in tears.

He towered over her, even at sixteen, and she gazed up at him took one of his hands with both of hers.

“You’re feeling better,” she guessed.

He nodded.

She opened the door wider and drew him across the threshold. “You can take a shower,” she said. “And I have an extra toothbrush.” She laid his hand on her collarbone and trailed her fingers along it. She kept looking at him, as if willing him not to fly apart.

“Okay?” she said.

Wordlessly, he nodded. His moved his hand.

And Ms. Argent shut the night out, and brought him into her den.

Beacon Hills

The Present

I
n Jackson’s room, everything happened in a blur.

Something shattered the window as it shot through it fast and hard. The projectile hit Ski Mask hard in the head. As he toppled, his gun went off with a loud bang. Gravelly Voice started yelling and dove to the floor.

Rescue!

Lydia didn’t hesitate.

She bolted.

Wordlessly, she charged out of Jackson’s room, skidding around a corner as Gravelly Voice bellowed and let fly with a barrage of swearing. Panting, she dashed for the front door just as it burst open. Danny had on his lacrosse padding and Damon was wearing Danny’s helmet. There was a ball in the pocket of Danny’s lacrosse stick and he shot it hard in the direction she had just come. Lightning fast, he grabbed another one out of the equipment bag.

“Get in my car!” Danny yelled.

Lydia made for Danny’s Lexus. The engine was running and the doors were open. They’d planned it out well. Just as she fell into the passenger-side front seat, Danny and Damon flew back out and raced across the courtyard.

Danny turned and shot another ball. Lydia didn’t see where it landed. She didn’t really look. As Danny leaped into the car, she said, “Call 911.”

Danny screeched the car backward. The security gate crept open slowly and as they waited, Danny pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Lydia.

“We heard them talking about accomplices,” Damon said. Then Gravelly Voice flew out the front door toward them and Danny floored the car. It just cleared the end of the gate and then Danny put the car in drive as Lydia punched in 911.

The dispatcher answered. On speaker, Lydia told her what had happened, and that the thieves told her they’d planted spies all through Beacon Hills to kill her if she escaped. The dispatcher asked her if there was an alternate route she could take. The woman had the map up and described various streets to Lydia, suggesting that perhaps they could take the road that led to the south.

Toward Beacon Hills Preserve.

“What if there are shooters waiting for us?” Lydia demanded, looking at Danny. He didn’t take his eyes off the road. In the back, Damon was sliding from the left side of the car to the right and back again, looking for guys with guns.

“We’re sending squad cars,” the dispatcher assured her.
“Proceed with caution, but get out of there. I’m staying on the line with you.”

Lydia looked at Damon. “Do you have your cell?” He nodded. “Call Jackson.”

•  •  •

“Get out of there! Get out!” Bailey shouted into the phone. Then he swore long and hard as he punched in another number.

“Mack, it’s falling apart,” Bailey bellowed. “Someone shot Del and the girl got away.”

Lydia
, Jackson thought. He looked up at Cassie, who was ashen. She dug her fingers into his shoulder, then jerked them away as if she’d been branded when he winced. Fresh tears cascaded down her face and she began to sob.

“Bailey, pull over. Let this boy go. Then we can drive away right now and nobody will find us.” She sounded as if she knew she was lying. Jackson wondered if Bailey was still wearing his ski mask. He still hadn’t see Bailey’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, and Cassie pressed her hands over it again.

“I look like a million girls. I barely said two words to him. It’ll be okay.”

Bailey was silent for a moment. Then he said, “No loose ends.”

Jackson stiffened. There was no way he was going down without a fight.

“Help me,” he whispered very softly, not sure she could hear him.

“If you kill him, and they catch us, I might never see you again,” she said desperately. “Please,
please
let him go. You’re
not
a killer.”

Bailey didn’t answer. Cassie kept crying.

“Stop it!” Bailey shouted at her. “I can’t hear myself think.”

Then they heard a siren in the distance. Disoriented, his head throbbing, Jackson couldn’t tell what direction it was coming from. But the van turned sharply; brakes squealed, and Jackson tried to take advantage and get away from Cassie. But she held him tightly.

“That siren’s coming from the north,” Bailey said. “It’s not for us. No one knows where we are. But we have to turn around and go back the way we came. As soon as we get some distance, we’ll have to take care of the situation.”

Cassie sobbed for what seemed to Jackson a long time. She put her finger against Jackson’s lips. She’d promised to help him, but he was beginning to wonder if she had the backbone to stand up to Bailey. He remembered what she’d said to him in the preserve. She wanted out. Maybe he could help convince her to get out.

“Cassie?” Bailey said sharply.

“Where are we going?” she asked him. “We can’t just . . . do it anywhere.”

“Maybe we should do it in the van,” he replied. “Like right now.”

Jackson watched her shaking her head to herself, eyes shutting tightly. She seemed to age years in seconds.

“There are too many cars on the road. Someone will trace the license plate. Maybe we can get back to the
preserve,” she said. “Meet back up with Mack. Leave this guy there with his Porsche and drive to Mexico, like we planned.”

“Maybe it sounds like you’re more worried about making sure this guy is okay instead of worrying about us,” Bailey said.

“No, baby, of course not,” she said quickly.

She fixed Jackson with a serious expression. Then she reached into a pocket in her jacket and pulled out a cell phone, making sure Jackson saw it.

“How’s he doing, anyway?” Bailey asked.

“Out cold,” she said. “I hope he’s not dead already.”

“Why? That would solve the problem,” Bailey retorted.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” she said through her tears.

There was a silence. Then he said, “Yeah, I did. You just didn’t know it.”

“Oh,
God
,” she whispered brokenly. “But you said—”

“I said a few things,” Bailey cut in. “That didn’t mean all of them were true. But I said I loved you, and that
is
the truth.”

“Okay,” she ground out.

She was clearly in agony. She cried some more, with her entire body. Then she took a deep breath and punched in a number. Jackson couldn’t see it, but there were only three numbers: 911? He couldn’t hear it ringing. Good thing; then Bailey wouldn’t, either.

“Hold on, hanging a sharp left,” Bailey said.

The sound of the siren had receded. So no one was coming after them. Or Bailey was outrunning them.

Cassie thumbed in a message on her phone and turned the display window toward Jackson. She had opened her text-messaging bubble and written:
No handcuff key

He nodded. She typed in more.

Going to push open door. Jump out w u.

His eyes widened. Jump out of a moving vehicle into traffic? He started to shake his head, but he thought about the option: getting shot. He didn’t have any recourse, did he?

He pictured himself in traction in a hospital. A doctor telling him to forget lacrosse. To forget
walking.

Then he imagined himself lying in a coffin with all his friends gathered around, gazing down at him. Lydia sobbing, “At least they were able to conceal the bullet wound.”

He thought about the pain of being hit by a car. It was kind of ironic for a guy who played lacrosse to worry about
that.

Have to move fast,
Cassie typed.

Bailey’s phone rang, and Cassie jumped a mile. Then she stared down at Jackson and gave him a little nod. She slipped her cell phone into the pocket of his letter jacket.

“Yeah, Mack,” Bailey said.

“Now!” Cassie shouted.

Jackson sat upright and pushed himself back against the seat while Cassie dove past him, grabbing at the door handle. She got it to start sliding open when a shot rang out. Jackson looked up to see Bailey aiming his gun at the two of them.

“What the hell?” Bailey shouted.

“No!” she shrieked.

The door slid back, and Cassie put her arm around Jackson’s neck, preparing to pull him out with the momentum of her drop as she leaped out of the van. He could see that it wasn’t going to work.

There was another shot, and Cassie screamed and slumped. Blood spurted everywhere, coating the inside of the van, and Jackson. Bailey screamed almost as frantically at Cassie and the car began to zigzag wildly down the road. Jackson folded himself over Cassie, trying to make himself less of a target while at the same time shielding her. He had never been so afraid in his life, even when he’d been in the video store and he had found the dead clerk.

“Cassie!” Bailey cried.

The van sped up and bumped and jumped over what felt like acres of stones. Jackson rotated his head and stared through the open door. They had circled back to the preserve, but they were nowhere near the parking lot. He didn’t know where they were.

“Get away from her,” Bailey yelled at Jackson. He sounded crazed, frantic. “Don’t touch her!”

Then the van crashed.

Time stopped as the windshield exploded and metal screeched and folded. A body-slamming jolt smashed Jackson backward, whipping back his already-aching head. Cassie’s body cushioned his own as he pitched forward against the back of the front seat, instinctively tucking in his head.

He blacked out for a second, then came to as a shower of glass rained down on him and Cassie. She didn’t react.

He smelled gas.

And smoke.

Still handcuffed, Jackson tried to get out, but Cassie was in the way. He strained to lift himself back into the seat for better traction with his feet and saw a roiling billow of thick, gray smoke churning into the open van door. Orange flames licked on the side closest to the back of the van, where the gas tank was, and he began to panic. Cassie lay motionless across his lap. It was very quiet in the front seat. Jackson wondered if Bailey was dead. He so very totally hoped so.

“Cassie, Cassie,” he said.

She stirred, moaning. “Bailey,” she whispered.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Jackson said.

“You’re not Bailey,” Cassie slurred.

“We have to get out of the van,” Jackson said. “I’m pinned beneath you. The van’s on fire.”

“I can’t feel anything. I’m so cold,” Cassie said.

“The van’s on fire,” Jackson said again. “Get me out of here. I didn’t do anything to you people. I don’t deserve this.”

“Where’s Bailey?” She began to move, but very slowly. She was so bloody.

“Get us out and we can help him,” Jackson said. He would have said
anything
to get to safety.

Then she sort of threw herself toward the van door and fell out onto the ground. Jackson was freaked out by the smears of blood all over him. His neck was throbbing and his shoulders hurt as if someone was pulling them out of their sockets. Grinding his teeth in agony, he inched his way out through the doorway and fell next to Cassie, who sprawled with her arms and legs bent all wrong, inert.

“Get up,” Jackson said, forcing himself to his knees. He looked down at her as he struggled to his feet. Her eyes were glassy, half open. He didn’t know if she was dead. The back of the van was engulfed in rolling orange and scarlet flames. The heat blistered his face.