The Masked Truth(46)

Aaron has taken the lead, not surprisingly. Which is fine, because it means Max doesn’t have to second-guess himself. Also that Aaron doesn’t see him jump every time he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye.

Gray and Predator are still systematically searching the building. Keeping out of their way continues to be easy, because they seem to see no reason to be quiet. Men unaccustomed to being quiet. Men like his father, full of bluster and noise, because, by God, they shouldn’t need to be quiet. Kings of the jungle and all that. Predators of the highest order. Only prey sneak about in silence. His father has the mind-set so ingrained that Max doubts he even notices he’s doing it, thumping and banging around the house like the proverbial bull in a china shop. These men are the same. Otherwise, they’d be quieter, use subterfuge to sneak up on the kids. As it is, they’re probably wondering why their prey always seems to be two steps ahead of them.

As they walk, Max has the map out. Aaron had turned once, seen him studying it and snorted, “You look like you’re hunting for buried treasure.”

“I am.”

Aaron only rolled his eyes, but it was true. Hidden treasure, at least. The elusive extra exit point. Perhaps a door that isn’t on the map. Or a room without an apparent door.

Really, Max? This is a warehouse. Not the Castle of Otranto. Nor an episode of Scooby-Doo. You aren’t going to lean against a fireplace and have a secret door pop open.

He keeps looking, because he can, and because it focuses his mind on a task, and he’s now doing remarkably well at that. Focusing.

Just need an incentive, son. Some danger in your cozy life. I always worried about that with you—that you were a little soft, a little too fond of your books and your scribbled fancies. If you’d come and lived with me for a while, I’d have toughened you up. Now you see what happens. Get too comfortable in civilian life and it’s not just your body that goes soft. Your mind does too. Rots.

Mmm, no, sir. While I hate to interrupt your pontificating, might I point out those weeks when you came to visit—just need a holiday—and spent half of it in your room, doing nothing? The nights when you came into my room and started shouting at me to start drill and Mum said you were sleepwalking? And the time you mistook me for an enemy combatant and— Oh, yes, sorry. We don’t talk about that, do we? My mistake. As you were saying, sir?

A secret door does not magically pop up as they walk.

And where would such a door lead? You’re in the middle of the building.

Perhaps a basement?

In a warehouse? That mind you’re so proud of really is rotting a little, isn’t it?

There could be a basement, though he allows it is unlikely, given the past and present function of the structure.

Consider the original function of the structure, Max. What was it?

A warehouse. Used for storage. Which meant it was basically a box where one stores things. A single-story box split into two levels. They’ve added all the interior construction too. Walls, rooms, ceilings …

He slows.

Ceilings …

Aaron seems to sense he’s fallen back and glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. Max picks up the pace and closes the gap between them as his mind whirs.

The second-story ceiling. It isn’t any higher than normal. Which means there should be something above it. An attic. Or, at the very least, a crawlspace.

Brilliant. And how will that get you out of the building? Do you expect a literal escape hatch up there, like on a holiday caravan?

No, but it is, perhaps, a weak point. At the very least, a spot where they can hole up indefinitely, because, as Riley said, there is only so long the police will wait before infiltrating. Grab bottled water and more granola bars, find the attic, and retreat there with their stash and their gun and wait it out.

Mmm, forgetting something, Max?

His meds. What if he gets everyone safely up there, and then his meds wear off and they’re no longer safe, because the person who put them up there is as dangerous as the ones they escaped?

Irony: a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result.

Perhaps “amusing” is not the proper word here.

Aaron jabs a finger at a door ahead. Max catches a distant sound, one he can’t quite make out, but he stops dead and turns.

“Max!” Aaron whispers.

“Did you hear …?” He trails off, listening. The sound comes again. He turns sharply, but Aaron grabs his arm.

“Didn’t you hear that?” Max says. “It sounded like one of the girls.”

Aaron stops and listens, but Max can tell by his expression that he hears nothing. Neither does Max now. He catches slow and methodical boot thuds, coming from the other direction. Which means Gray and Predator are not near the girls or running toward them.

“They’re fine,” Aaron whispers. “Riley has it under control. Brienne might be conflicted, but she’s not stupid. The faster we get that gun, the faster we get back to them and end this.”

Max nods. They hurry into the room. Aaron looks around, as if forgetting where he left the gun. Max sees the barrel sticking from behind a box. He scoops up the gun. It’s a Beretta … and that’s about all he knows. Firearms never interested him, and his father hadn’t pressed him to learn to shoot.

Which is a good thing, isn’t it? All things considered.