Authors: Kat Carlton
“Break a thief out of custody. Then steal something with him.”
The two of them exchange a glance. “Steal what?”
“I don’t know.”
Their eyebrows shoot up in tandem. “Huh?”
“They haven’t told Kari what it is yet,” Evan explains. “But the thief has a rap sheet for art and jewel heists, so it’s probably something like that.”
“Oh, that’s all,” Rita says, as if we’re going to be snatching a pack of gum from a 7-Eleven convenience store. “Awesome.”
Kale runs his tongue along his front teeth. Gives one quick nod. “So how can we help?”
“Well, we need some of Rita’s talent, first of all,” I say.
Evan gets more specific. “Hack into this juvenile detention center’s computer system. Find the files on Duvernay, Gustav. Report anything useful that will help us break him out.”
“Spell the name?” Rita grabs a pen off Kale’s corner desk.
I do. I also spell the name of the detention center.
“Just a thought,” says Kale. “Why not get into the facility by pretending that one of you is in police custody and checking in as a prisoner?”
“That’s a good idea,” I concede. “Rita, can you find out the protocol or process?”
“Yes. Give me a few hours. I’ll get you everything I can find.”
“Thanks.” I hesitate. “I, um . . . I know I don’t really have the right to ask, after I got us into so much trouble. But I—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Rita says. “This is Charlie’s life we’re talking about!”
I look down at the floor. Then back up at her screen image. “Yeah.”
“You okay?” Kale asks.
“Peachy. Homicidal, but other than that, great.”
Evan breaks in. “Right. The three of us—Kari, me, and Matthis—will book tickets on the train from Paris to Munich. We’ll ring you back to see what you find.”
“Yup,” Kale says. “When?”
“Exactly twelve hours from now,” I tell him.
“That’s, like, four a.m. here,” Rita points out.
I nod. “Sorry. We have less than ten days to get everything done.”
“It’s just hard to get around my parents.” She yanks on her ponytail, thinking. “But they should be comatose at four a.m., so I should be able to sneak onto the desktop computer in my dad’s home office.”
“Can you pretend you’re spending the night with—”
She shakes her head. “Not on a school night. No way.”
“I’ll get to your house,” Kale says. “Can you let me in without waking your parents?”
“Yeah, I think so. Come to the back door, off the
kitchen, okay? Kari, we’ll figure it out. We’ll Skype you at four a.m.—if all goes well.”
“Cool,” I say. “Thanks. I really miss you both.”
“Same,” Kale says. “Stay calm.”
I blow out a breath. “Easy for you to say.”
He nods in compassion.
“Bye, Kari.” Rita blows me a kiss. “Hang in there.”
Just as Evan, Matthis, and I are logging out of Skype, the doorbell rings.
My heart stops.
Matthis, always jumpy, squeaks and rears back, almost smacking the lenses of his metallic blue glasses with his kneecaps.
Evan’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he grins.
“Spaz,” I mutter.
Matthis takes a deep breath and settles himself onto Evan’s rug. He reminds me of a praying mantis.
“Who would come to the door this late?” I ask. “It’s after ten p.m.”
Evan shrugs. “I’ll get it.”
Fear is having its way with me again. “Oh, God. Evan, what if somehow the kidnappers know that I’ve told people about Charlie, and they’ve sent me one of his fingers?!”
He takes me by the shoulders. “You haven’t left the house. There are no cops here. Why would they do that?” But he grabs a gun out of his desk drawer, rams home the clip on his way downstairs, and tells us to stay upstairs.
I feel sick, but I follow on Evan’s heels, disregarding his order to stay put. He gives me a dirty look, which I meet
with my best impression of an impassive stare.
Evan puts his eye to the keyhole, frowns, and shoves the gun into his waistband. He turns the deadbolt and throws open the door. I’m ready for anything—anything except Cecily Alarie, of all people. I’d totally forgotten that she was coming to get her history book from Abby.
She comes strutting in. “
Bonsoir,
Evan,” she says to him with a dazzling smile. She kisses him on each cheek. For me, no kisses. She has only a tiny, disapproving sniff. “Kari.”
Kahrrrhi
.
“Cecily. This is quite a surprise,” I say. “What brings you to the unfashionable burbs in the dead of night?” But I know exactly why. She wants to see Evan. That’s why she’s “forgetting” things at school—it’s so transparent.
“Abby has my heestory book. And besides, she called to ask for my assistance,” Cecily says airily. “It eez a fashion emergency.”
A fashion emergency. Right.
“We must find her a dress for Lisette’s art opening on Friday. You are coming, yes, Evan?”
“Uh . . .” He stalls.
Cecily sidles up to him and lays her hand on his arm. “Lisette would be so touched if you did.” No man could resist those curves; that accent.
Ugh
.
“Well . . .” Evan casts about for something to say, just as Abby clatters down the stairs in a pair of high heels. I’d break my neck if I tried to negotiate steps in those.
“Cecily!” She looks like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ohhh! I cannot thank you enough for coming over to guide me!”
Gack.
Any more effervescence and she’ll foam over like a bottle of soda after it’s been shaken.
Cecily beams at her and runs over to kiss both of her cheeks too. “I am ’appy to ’elp.”
Since when?
She casts a sidelong glance at Evan as she moves toward the stairs, to see if he’s checking her out.
Ugh.
My only consolation is that he doesn’t pay much attention to her as she undulates up the stairs like Sofia Vergara in her clingy hot pants and formfitting sweater.
Cecily aces things in deportment class (my second least favorite, after Tech 101) like the Model Strut she just demonstrated. She’s also a whiz at gracefully getting out of a taxi—with perfect posture, knees together.
And me? The last time I got out of a taxi, I accidentally flashed my underwear to a whole sidewalk full of people.
I’m close to failing deportment. I’m not even sure how that’s possible, given how stupid it is, but I am. Madame Blumenthal despairs that I will ever be able to hold a teacup or a champagne glass properly. And evidently I “swig” rather than “sip” my beverages. I “chomp” rather than “delicately savor.” Yeah, what
ever
.
Cecily and Abby start chattering like a couple of squirrels and disappear into Abby’s room. As soon as her door closes, Matthis slinks down the stairs and shrugs into his jacket. “Meet you at the train station tomorrow morning,” he mumbles.
“Matthis, what will you tell your mom and dad?”
He chews on his lip and shoves his glasses higher on
his nose. “Huh. Hadn’t even thought about it.”
“You’ll need some kind of cover story if you’re going to disappear to Germany for days,” Evan tells him.
“Special GI field course?” Matthis suggests.
I shake my head. “Too easy for them to check with the program.”
He chews on his lip some more. “Got it. A special chess competition. I made the finals, which are being held in Munich.”
“Will they believe that?” Evan asks.
Matthis nods. “I’ve never lied to them before.” His expression is a little guilty.
“Yeah, you’re not the juvenile delinquent type,” Evan teases him. “Unlike me.” He adds this with a wink.
“How are you going to explain being gone?” I ask Evan.
“I actually have been on special field assignments for Rebecca,” he says. “So that’ll work. You, though? You’d better call in sick with a really nasty flu.”
“But Abby will know the truth,” I point out.
He frowns. “We’ll have to swear her to secrecy.”
Matthis disappears into the chilly December night, which leaves me standing alone with Evan in the hallway.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
No. I’m not okay at all, but I need to be, for Charlie’s sake. I have to be strong for him, and smart for him. My mind flashes back to the sound of the smack I heard over the phone, and I cringe. I hope to God they only did that to get a reaction from me. I begin to pray silently.
Please let them not be beating him on a regular basis. Please let them be feeding him and keeping him comfortable. I
hope he’s not terrified . . . dear God, he’s only seven years old. Please keep him safe. Please. I will do anything—just please, keep him safe until I can get him away from those monsters.
“Kari?” Evan prompts.
“I’m . . . fine.” I shove my hands into my pockets as I remember the feeling of being in his arms, sitting in his lap, my head tucked under his chin. Awkward.
He’s gazing at me with an enigmatic expression. I have no idea what he’s thinking.
“Listen, Evan . . . thank you.”
“For forcing my way into this operation?” he asks drily.
“For helping. For being a friend.”
Evan takes two quick steps toward me, and suddenly I’m back in his arms. It feels way too good. My cheek feels way too comfortable resting over his heart, the rhythm of which is way too strong, steady, and reassuring.
“We’ll get Charlie back. I promise you, Kari. Okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He starts to say something else, but a feminine throat clears audibly right above us.
Evan breaks away from me, and I feel momentarily lost—how ridiculous.
Cecily is lurking on the first-floor landing, Abby behind her. Cecily lets her mask slip for a moment, looking as if she just sucked on a lemon. Then she regains her poise.
“Oh, Evan—we need a man’s opinion,” she purrs.
Ehvahn. Gag.
I have to control my urge to deck her.
“An opinion on what?” he asks, his voice light. He heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time, as usual.
“On a dress . . .” Her voice fades as they both head to Abby’s room.
I stay by myself downstairs, in the dark living room. Clearly they do not want
my
input, and I’m feeling really screwed up, on so many levels . . . confused about Evan, freaked about Charlie, mad at Luke, still sick about my parents.
Exhausted, I eventually fall asleep on the couch for a fitful couple of hours. I have nightmares about Charlie. Is my little brother okay?
The next morning I stand with Evan and Matthis on a platform at the Gare de l’Est waiting for our train to Stuttgart. Besides the two hours on the couch, I haven’t slept, due to nightmares about Charlie being mistreated. I’m so afraid for him.
Have they tied him up? Drugged him? Is he chained to a radiator? Using a bucket for a toilet? Are they feeding him? I deliberately blank my mind to anything worse—I can’t take it. I’ll get hysterical and then I’ll be useless to my brother.
It’s very cold, and the holiday decorations everywhere seem to mock me. My attitude is growing worse, if that’s possible. I can’t even remember the person I was before my parents turned traitor and took off . . . that girl seems so young, so naive, and so long ago.
I scan the crowd around us, for lack of anything better to do. There’s an elderly man reading an Arabic newspaper,
his lips moving ever so slightly. A matronly woman talks on a cell phone. And a couple in their midthirties holding hands, but with an odd lack of intimacy. Almost as if they’re doing it for show.
Something about them looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place them. I nudge Evan and cut my eyes toward them. He scans them discreetly but shakes his head.
Matthis can’t stand still. He puts on his own pair of video sunglasses. He alternately taps one foot, then the other. He fishes through his pockets for something. He paces. He rubs at his neck. Looks around.
Evan keeps up a patter of deliberately polite, cheerful conversation that is meant to distract and relax me, but instead sets my teeth on edge. I want to tell him to please be quiet, but I know he’s only trying to be kind.
I’m not sure I deserve kindness. After all, I’m the one who let Charlie go outside by himself. Paris is a big city. He was alone and vulnerable. If I’d just stayed with him, the kidnappers might not have him now.
I’m still beating myself up when the train pulls alongside the platform and it’s time to board. The three of us find a compartment with no one in it and take seats, Evan and I across from each other and Matthis next to me with his feet propped up on the opposite seat. He immediately puts away the sunglasses, pulls out his iPad, and fades into his own high-tech fantasy world. He still fidgets, though. I wonder if Matthis is ADHD, or if he’s always this high-strung.
Evan leans back and smiles, as if we’re all going off on some holiday.
Me? I brood and obsess and fight off more images of Charlie being mistreated. I hope Rita is having lots of success hacking into the system at the juvie facility. I want to know every possible detail of what goes down there.
Evan tries to lure me into a discussion about French politics, but my eyes glaze over and he eventually gives up. He puts in his earbuds and listens to music.
I fold my arms across my chest, close my eyes, and pretend to sleep, but what I really do is brood for the next three-odd hours, the scenery outside blurring as the train rumbles along. Finally I’m driven from the car by the need to pee, so I exit and go to find the WC.
When I step out again, the woman who was holding hands with the man on the platform is standing near the door. I hold it open for her, since it’s the polite thing to do. She smiles and nods her thanks.
When I turn my back on her, I notice her companion ahead of me, blocking my path. The woman jabs me in the kidneys with something hard—the barrel of a gun? Then she leans forward and whispers into my ear. “This is an H and K semiautomatic. It will easily blow out your small intestines. Walk very slowly. Don’t try anything—I won’t hesitate to shoot. Turn right into the empty car just ahead. Then sit down.”
I process my shock and her orders. First Charlie, now me?