The Masked Truth(13)

Gideon jumps to his feet. “I have asthma.”

“And I’m sure you didn’t come to sleepover camp without your inhaler. Sit down, boy.” X-Files paces in front of us and stops at Max. “I’d really like to let you go, because you’re a pain in the ass. But if I do that, then all your therapy buddies here will give me grief, hoping it’ll buy their ticket out. You stay. However, you are on the top of list number two: kids I’ll shoot if Negotiator Will misbehaves.”

Max doesn’t seem the least perturbed. Hell, he doesn’t seem to have even heard. He is paying attention, though, watching X-Files, studying the man, frowning slightly, as if he needs to read lips and he’s not quite managing. It’s enough to make me wonder if he has a hearing problem. It might explain the lack of attention and the smart-ass comments to cover it up.

“Who’s the lucky one, then?” X-Files says.

There’s a moment of silence, and I want to say Sandy. She looks closest to breaking, and given that she just survived a suicide attempt, she really doesn’t need this. But before I can suggest her, Brienne says, “It should be Riley. Like I said, this is going to be harder on her than anyone, after what happened with … well, before.”

“She’s right,” Aaron says. “Plus it looks good. People know who she is. She’s, like, a local hero.”

I flinch. Only Max seems to notice, but he just looks thoughtful. Or bored. With Max, it’s impossible to tell the difference.

Lorenzo clears his throat. “They both have a point. Additionally, it will seem you’re being considerate, releasing the most affected hostage.”

“Which is exactly why I’m saving her as a special reward,” X-Files says. “For this round, let’s go with Welfare Sandy.”

Sandy looks up, mortified, then stammers, “M-my dad’s a seasonal worker. It’s not welfare. We—”

“Really? You’re arguing against getting to go home?”

I catch her eye and force what I hope looks like a smile as I whisper, “Go.”

She closes her mouth and X-Files chuckles. “No argument, then? I didn’t think so. Mr. Highgate has pointed out that most of your families would struggle to scrape up ten grand. Yours would be lucky to find a hundred bucks. But your luck just changed, Sandra. You’ve won the only lottery that counts: the one that keeps you alive. It helps that your little dress and sweater are adorable, in a thrift-shop kind of way. It’ll play well for the cameras. See if you can squeeze out a few tears as you exit.”

He waves for the Predator guy to take her. I catch her eye and give a little wave. Maria mouths something I don’t catch, but Sandy does and her lips twitch in a smile. Aaron shoots her a thumbs-up and she nods, ducking her head shyly before turning away to leave.

We all sit in silence, listening to their fading footsteps. The front door is at least a hundred yards down a twisting hall, and soon we hear nothing. When I close my eyes I catch the barest sound of an opening door and a man barking commands. The door shuts. Silence falls again.

It’s so quiet in here that it’s easy to forget the building is surrounded by a team of professionals, all focused on getting us out alive. I think of my dad, and grief surges, but it calms me too, imagining a dozen of him out there.

When my dad was on the SWAT team, he couldn’t speak highly enough of the negotiators. He said that when they were used, the rate of injury dropped to near zero. I have to remember that. As horrifying as our situation seems, it isn’t nearly as dangerous as an actual kidnapping. This crime was organized and our captors are obviously professionals. Sandy is fine, and we will be too. It’s just a waiting game.

I think of Sandy. Is her family out there? Has it been long enough for them to arrive? I’ve been trying very hard not to consider that, not to think about Mom getting that call.

Will she get a call? Or are they keeping this quiet, notifying only Aaron’s father initially? X-Files said he wants money from everyone, but Mr. Highgate is the big fish. To keep the confusion to a minimum, they might not have contacted the other parents yet.

Maybe Mom is home, finishing a dress design, papers and swatches of fabric spread over her worktable, as she looks forward to a quiet night alone, with me here and Sloane out with her friends. I hope that’s what she’s doing. I hope they haven’t told her and won’t until they need to.

“Brienne was right.” It’s Max, his voice startling us out of the silence. “It should have been Riley. Letting her go early sets the right tone. Holding her hostage will turn the press against you even more.”

“Umm, hello?” Brienne waves her hand in front of him. “Nice of you to join us, Max, but next time? Chime in before it’s a done deal.”

I lift my hand to back her down and say to Max, “I appreciate that, but I’m fine.”

“I know it’s too late for this round, but I’m saying …” He turns to X-Files. “You should send Riley home sooner rather than later.”

“She’s cute, isn’t she?” X-Files mock-whispers. “You’re a little slow, but you finally realized it may be in your best interests to support the cute girl’s cause. Improves your chances of—what’s the word you Brits use?—shagging her?”

Max’s response is remarkably calm. Measured, even. “Given that I’m the least likely to leave this building alive, I doubt that’s an option. Even if I do get out, something tells me none of us are going to want to see each other again. This is hardly a bonding experience. I’m only pointing out that the others are right, and there’s more advantage to releasing Riley than to keeping her.”