Pretty Wanted (26 page)

Bailey’s voice: “Take a step back now, Senator. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“You think I’m gonna let you shoot me? . . . After all I’ve worked for?”

Fighting was good. That meant they weren’t paying attention to us. More time to figure this out. I wiggled my hand, trying to create enough slack in the rope. I had to get into my hip pocket. It was just a little too high, a little too far.

“Don’t need to shoot . . .” Bailey said. “I’ve got a better weapon.”

The words became fragments again. . . . I was too busy trying . . . stretching . . .

Granger: “Did you know your friend paid me a visit yesterday?”

“What were you doing?” Chet asked.

“Ask him,” Granger said.

Salty blood filled my mouth. I hadn’t realized I’d been biting the inside of my cheek. But finally my fingertips dipped into the fabric, brushed against smooth metal. If I could only get close enough to pinch the tag . . . I reached again, willing my body longer. But I had to be careful. If I dropped it . . .

There.

I clutched the tag and maneuvered my hand out of the pocket,

I tuned in again to the shouting voices. “You both knew. When were you gonna tell me?” Granger asked. “You knew it would change things.”

“Like you care about her. You and your phony high principles,” Chet was saying. “Don’t act like you didn’t want me to kill her. You let me do it, comrade.”

So it was Chet after all. But Granger knew.

I needed a C shape with little tabs on both sides. The metal gave easily as I folded it—more pliable than a soda can. Now I just needed to wedge it into the lock. I felt around, shaking the chain a bit to find the lock, and the tiny space where the shackle met the latch. It was exactly like I’d done back at Valley Prep when I broke into Drew Miller’s locker. It wasn’t a complex move, not for an experienced thief. But with the restraints and my awkward position, the degree of difficulty was a thousand times greater.

“We’re not comrades,” Granger’s voice echoed, even louder now. “I could destroy you. . . . You’re not . . . bulletproof.”

Wait. What? That was our code word.

How did he know?

It couldn’t be a coincidence. The way he’d paused, amplified that word—he wanted me to hear.

The explanation was obvious. Granger must have talked to Tre. Granger must have been in communication with the FBI. He was on our side. Somehow, and I didn’t understand how, he was on our side.

C’mon. C’mon.

The shim was in. It took a few jabs, until the latch finally released.

The loop of the lock swung open. I flung the whole thing off, and the links of the chain tumbled away as I stood up.

I’d done it. Aidan and I were free. He looked at me in disbelief as he pulled himself up, too. Feet on safe, solid ground.

Run!
The command sounded in my head.

Our hands were tied, our mouths still covered, but we could run. We could hide somewhere, maybe inside. . . . The FBI would be here soon. . . .

Before my brain could signal my legs to move, hands grabbed my waist, sucking the air out of my lungs. I screamed under the tape. This time Bailey didn’t hang me over the rail. He was lifting me over it, ready to throw me into the water. My feet kicked helplessly at the air.

So close, and yet so far.

“You’re not as sly as you think,” he grunted.

The wind whipped and the water roared. I closed my eyes, clenched every muscle, and waited to plummet the hundreds of feet below.

This was it. This was how it was all going to end.

“Oof!” Bailey flinched, his rough hands loosening. “Son of a bitch!” He dropped me and I fell onto the rail. Crushing pain shot through my belly.

I recovered to see Aidan’s foot jammed into Bailey’s gut a second time, and Bailey stumbled.

Bailey lumbered back toward Aidan like a bear. He grabbed Aidan and choked him in a headlock.

“Let him go!” I tried to shout through the gag.

“What was that?” Bailey gave me the sickest sort of smile, and I knew for sure then that he’d kill either of us without a second thought. He would enjoy it, too. All along I’d thought Chet was the scarier one, but now I wondered if I’d underestimated Bailey.

Well, screw him.

Pain or no pain, I had to try. I flung myself at his feet, twisting and jabbing the pointed metal edge of the tag into Bailey’s ankle.

He cursed loudly and, in the moment of shock, Aidan squirmed out of his grasp. Bailey went for him again. Now they were pressed together against the railing. Without the use of hands, all Aidan had was the force of his chest to keep Bailey at bay—that was the only thing standing between him and drowning.

I watched, horrified, as Bailey grabbed him by the throat.

“Stop! Don’t kill Moneybags,” Chet called out. “I’ll take care of this guy.”

I looked up to see Chet pointing a .38 at Granger with one hand, dragging him across the pavement toward us with the other. Both of Granger’s hands were in the air.

“Keep back!” Bailey fired his gun in Chet’s direction, but the bullet ricocheted off the metal façade of the electric plant. Then the psychopath pointed the barrel at Aidan’s face.

At least three cars ground through the gravel at that moment, brakes squealing. Doors opened and slammed shut.

“Freeze. FBI.” Corbin trained his gun on Bailey. “I said
freeze
.”

Nobody froze, though. Granger made a grab for Chet’s gun. They both held on tight, dodging forward and back until the weapon spun out of anyone’s grasp, falling to the ground and kicking up dust.

Granger slammed his fist into Chet’s jaw. Chet came back swinging wildly but Granger ducked his punch.

Behind them, against the rail, Aidan was choking in Bailey’s grip, his face going red. I felt helpless. I couldn’t watch Aidan suffer. I couldn’t just stand here.

“Willa, don’t—” Corbin yelled and then Bailey pointed the gun at me as I came closer. “Drop your weapon! Immediately!”

“Come on. You think anyone’s gonna miss this trash?” At that, Aidan kneed him in the groin, and Bailey crumpled, his back on the rail.

Corbin wasted no time. He threw himself on top of Bailey, trying to pin down his arms and grab the gun. An errant shot went off, and Corbin dropped to the ground.

Aidan tried to shield me, so I couldn’t see much of what happened next.

The power of the explosion must have shook Bailey off balance. He was too far over the edge. He slipped, headfirst, his scream reeling out of him as he tumbled through the air.

The sound of the splash was drowned out by the river.

And then came the gunshots behind us. Deafening. The next thing I knew, Granger was on the ground and Chet was standing in front of Aidan, both hands squeezed over the trigger.

Even though my arms were still tied I knew what I had to do.

I launched myself in their direction, knocking Aidan to the ground. He yelped in surprise at first, and then probably pain. The impact, with no hands to stop me, was harsh, and I felt the gravel rake against my cheek as soon as I hit.

There might have been more shots, or more shouting—I was deaf and blind, everything blanked out.

When the world came back, it was completely still. My ears were ringing. I heard breathing first, then smaller sounds filling in the gaps—feet scraping the pavement, a bird calling out overhead.

Corbin was doubled over, clutching at his leg. He called for medical assistance while the SWAT team, three guys in black-and-yellow uniforms, did a sweep of the area, making sure there were no other surprises.

But it was over. Chet was sprawled on the ground, bleeding. The SWAT guys quickly went to work, handcuffing him and reading him his rights.

I slid off Aidan, allowing him to sit up.

“We’re okay,” he said, throwing his arms around me. “Oh my God, we’re okay.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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NINETEEN

THE NEXT MORNING
, Aidan, Tre, and I were escorted into a back entrance of the FBI field office in central St. Louis. The media was camped out in front for blocks, but for once they weren’t here for me. They were trying to get a glimpse of Granger, now in custody. A press conference was scheduled for later in the afternoon.

A lanky bald officer with milky-blue eyes and a pencil line of a mouth led us to the elevator and up to the third floor. We walked down a narrow fluorescent-lit hallway to a conference room. Aidan and Tre and I were seated opposite Corbin at a small table. Corbin had been treated for his gunshot wound, held overnight, and released just that morning. The bullet only grazed his lower calf, thankfully, and it was all bandaged up now, though he still winced in pain when he showed us the dressing.

Chet was in the ICU, fighting for his life with internal bleeding. FBI was waiting by his bedside for him to come to and answer some questions. Bailey’s body hadn’t been recovered yet, but a team was out dredging the river.

Agents had already found recordings of phone conversations with Granger during a search of Bailey’s house and phone—he was apparently hoping to blackmail Granger
and
Chet. Turns out that’s what he’d been doing at the casino, gathering evidence against Granger. Other agents had hauled my mom’s hit-and-run/getaway vehicle from the park—if they could positively ID it with a DNA swab, they’d have almost everything they needed to convict all four of them, even though only two were still alive.

“We have some business matters to discuss,” Corbin told us. “The case came with some financial rewards. The local government’s offering five thousand dollars to anyone who solves the murder—a typical reward for a cold case. And Brianna’s parents—your grandparents—put up another fifty thousand before they died.”

He removed an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table to me. “Do with that what you will.”

He also handed me a plastic bag. “Here are your mom’s remaining belongings—mostly clothes, things we won’t be using in the trial. With Granger’s confession, we have more than enough evidence. I thought you might want them.”

I grasped the bag. “Thanks. Yeah, I do.”

I could look through her stuff later. But for now I opened the envelope and took a peek at the check. Fifty-five thousand dollars was a lot of money.

Corbin tapped his fingers on the wooden surface in front of him. “If you want my advice, I think you should start a bank account, invest it, so that when you get out of juvie, you have a nest egg.”

It was sound, fatherly advice, but typical Corbin to always act like he knew what was best.

“No,” I said, realizing that I knew exactly what to do with it. I looked at Aidan and Tre. “I have some debts.”

I had that list of IOUs. There were people we owed, people in California whose homes we’d borrowed, and whose stuff we’d taken. There was a wrecked stolen car, another borrowed car, and the motorcycle. Clothes. Fancy sunglasses. There were the nights at the library, the City Museum. Bikes. The Lexus. I owed them, too.

“Okay. But that’s probably ten thousand maximum,” Aidan pointed out. “You didn’t steal any fur coats or ruby rings. Most of the other stuff was in perfect condition when you left it.”

“We could split the rest,” I offered. “Three ways.”

“No,” Aidan said. “Tre and I don’t need it.”

It didn’t feel right, somehow, walking away with cash. This had never been about money for me. Money had only been a corrupting influence for everyone involved in this case. “Can we donate it then?”

“You can do whatever you want. It’s yours.” Corbin looked at me like I was crazy. “But like I said, I think you might need it later.”

How could I explain that I wasn’t thinking about later? That now was the only moment I could be in. As soon as I went to juvie, life as I knew it was over. “I want to donate it,” I said firmly.

“I guess idealism runs in the genes in this family,” Corbin said, shaking his head.

I met Aidan’s eyes. “What about the animal shelter in Paradise Valley?” It was where our whole adventure had started, and it seemed a fitting cause. Orphaned animals that had no one else to help them. We couldn’t give them homes but at least we could try to improve their lives.

“I’d vote for that,” Aidan said.

Just then, the uniformed officer who’d brought us into the building appeared in the frame of the glass door and knocked. “Agent Corbin, can I come in?”

Corbin nodded, and the officer stepped into the room. “We have a request for Ms. Fox. Senator Granger wants to talk to her.”

“What does he want?” Corbin said.

“He just said he wants to see her. He didn’t say specifically. I can wait outside the door.”

“You okay with that, Willa?” Corbin asked, looking protective.

I was. Granger was probably going to be locked up for a while, at least until the murder, hit-and-run, and robbery trials, and we were leaving. This was my last chance to talk to him. I wasn’t sure if I was going to like what he had to say, or if he had any answers at all, but there was only one way to find out.

I left the three of them behind, and the officer led me down the hallway to what looked like an interrogation room.

I took a chair across from Granger, who looked exhausted and unshaven. On the table in front of him was a Styrofoam cup of coffee, which he grasped with his handcuffed hands. He’d probably been in here for close to twelve hours now, answering questions. The investigation and the events leading up to it had clearly taken its toll on him. He looked smaller to me now, broken down. The officer shut the door but as he promised, he was waiting on the other side of the glass, watching, in case anything went wrong.

“Hi,” Granger said.

“Hi.” I felt tension build in my throat, tightening around my vocal cords as we sat in an awkward silence. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Was he going to scold me? Blame me for wrecking his campaign, nosing around in his business? I mean, he’d be right to. It
was
my fault, even if I didn’t feel sorry.

“Look, we don’t have much time to talk. But there are things you need to know,” he said, leveling his eyes with mine. “About me and your mother.”