The Masked Truth(16)

The arms drag me backward, and I realize we’re heading for the door, and I dig in my heels, but a voice says in my ear, “We need to get out of here,” and I turn to see Max, and the shock of that, of realizing who has me, shuts off my brain, and I let him drag me out the door.





CHAPTER 7


We reach the hall, and the second we do, that bubble around me bursts. I hear everything—the shouts, the cries, the scuffling, the cursing, a sob of pain. It hits me so hard I double over, hands to my ears, Max’s fingers still wrapped around my wrist.

“Come on,” he whispers urgently, and I know if I don’t, he’ll leave me here. He’s grabbed me on a whim, and if I don’t follow him, he’ll say to hell with me and keep going.

Waves of chaos from the room pummel me, and I swear I feel the terror and the pain and the panic from every person there. I think of Maria, lying on the floor, and then I see her smiling at me in line, trying to calm me down, joking about her T-shirt.

I see that T-shirt splattered in blood.

Maria shot by Cantina. Lorenzo shot by Gideon. Two of us lie on the floor back there, and I heard more shots as we were running. Who else is on that floor? Gideon? Brienne? Aaron? Aimee?

My knees buckle. Max’s fingers dig in, dragging me, and I want to say? No, just leave me here, but there’s still enough of my brain working that rises above the fear and shouts, Are you an idiot? and I stumble after him.

Then my gut seizes, and I stop so suddenly he’s jerked back with me.

“I’m running away,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he says. “As fast as you can.”

“I-I can’t.” I wheel toward the room. “I won’t run again. I won’t hide—”

“Oh, bloody hell. This is not the time, Riley. Really, not the time.”

“But I need to—”

“No, actually, you don’t. You want to stand your ground? Next life-threatening situation, all right? For this one, you’re getting out.”

“I need to help—”

“Help me. I’ll be your designated rescue victim for today. You can’t go back, because if you do, I won’t make it.”

“Of course you—”

“No, I won’t. Now get me out of here.”

He shoves me, and I stagger a few steps and then start to run. It isn’t easy. I feel the pull of those fading voices and the pull of the panic too, twin forces, one dragging me back, the other dragging me down. But I keep going. I have to. For Max. Which is madness, of course. He doesn’t need me.

So why did he bring me along? He’s never struck me as the sort to slow down and help someone else—especially if it might lower his own escape chances.

Yet Max hadn’t just grabbed me at the last second. I’d recognized that grip and the arm around my waist as the one that pulled me back when Gideon came after me. The one that grabbed me when Maria went down too, the voice that whispered it was all right. Max’s voice.

We’re passing a hall juncture. I can see an exit sign ahead, pointing right. The front door is there, around the next corner, and—

Max slams his open hand into my shoulder, knocking me sideways. I start to turn, but he’s pushing me toward the adjoining hall, and I realize the noise from behind us has changed—not cries and scuffling now but one of our captors shouting, “Where the hell is the girl?”

I look down the main hall, toward the exit.

“No,” Max whispers. “Not unless you can outrun bullets.”

He’s right. The door seems so close, so damned close, but it’s at least another twenty running steps away, and I can already hear footsteps thumping behind us.

I take the side corridor. I see doors. That’s all I see: endless rows of closed doors in a dim hall, like something out of a nightmare.

I glance at the first door. Which is also the first place they’ll look. At the second, I try the handle. Locked. Max is already racing past, and I think that’s it, he’s getting the hell away while the little mouse looks for a hole to hide in. But he only tries the next door and then waves to me when it opens. He holds it while I dart through. Then he closes the door behind us, as carefully as he can, while footfalls thunder down the other hall.

When that door shuts, the room goes completely dark and I stop short. Then there’s a faint bluish light, and I turn to see Max holding down the glow button on his watch. He shines it around.

We’re in a cleaning closet. It’s big enough for me to get away from the door, picking past mops and buckets with extreme care, until I’m tucked down behind them. Max joins me.

Outside we hear footsteps. They’ve slowed now. A second pair joins them.

“What the hell are you doing?” It’s X-Files. “Stay in the room.”

“I can see the door from here,” the second man—Predator—says.

“Yeah, which means we’ll have to chase them if they run.”

“I just thought—”

“Don’t. That’s my job. Now get back in there and—Shit!”

A distant shoe squeak. Then the pfft of a suppressed shot, and X-Files snarls, “You left them with Mark’s gun?” Running footfalls. Several pairs, the remaining hostages fleeing the room. X-Files and Predator take off after them.