The Masked Truth(54)

He whispers, “I’m sorry, Riley,” and his breath hitches, and I hug him again. Then we separate and I say, “I have an idea,” and he nods, a little distracted, still thinking about Brienne, and I’m glad I didn’t see her like that, because I’m not sure I could have gone on if I did.

See, Brienne. Not so brave after all. Just really good at faking it.

“Predator is right over there,” I say, pointing. “Just around the corner.”

“What?” He spins to the door. “I wouldn’t have put you in here if I’d known—”

“Which is why I didn’t tell you. I’m fine. I have this.” I lift the gun. “And I haven’t heard a peep. Either he’s dead or he’s close to it. Did you see blood in the hall?”

His fair skin pales.

I hurry on. “Sorry. I know. Brienne. But—”

“No, just hers. He’s still in there, then.”

“With a cell phone.”

“Right.” He snaps his fingers. “Yes, yes, yes. Brilliant. Let’s go get that, shall we?”

To get to Predator’s resting place, we have to pass the hall where Brienne lies. Max gets up beside me then, and when my head turns that way, he prods me forward and blocks my view with “Don’t, Riley,” and he’s right, of course. It feels cowardly not to look, but I don’t. I keep going to Predator’s room. The door is open, and when we draw close enough, I can see Predator’s foot. He’s exactly how we left him when we ran.

Did Gray not even come back to check him? Just called or radioed and, when he got no response, carried on? Hurt or dead, either way his partner was useless. No need to check.

I don’t search for the phone right away, as tempting as that is. Max doesn’t let me. He waves for me to wait and aim the gun. Then he prods Predator with his foot. A light kick. A harder one. A grunt of satisfaction when the bastard doesn’t move. He searches for the cell phone while I cover him.

“Bloody hell,” Max whispers as his pocket pat-down comes up empty.

Yes, Gray did come back. To get the damned cell phone. We do a more thorough search; but still find nothing.

I remember Predator’s gun and ask Max, but he says Gray took it from Brienne. I remember everyone who’s been shot with that gun. Murdered with that gun. Everyone dead. Everyone gone. No survivors except us. Well, and Sandy, who got out before—

“Sandy,” I whisper.

“Hmm?”

“He’s the one who let Sandy go. That means he had the keys.”

“Yes!”

Max drops beside me, and we start patting Predator’s pockets. He pulls out the keys, grinning, and I give him a thumbs-up and a return grin and—

Predator rolls over. The sudden move knocks Max back, and I’m swinging the gun up, but Predator’s too fast. He’s been playing dead and waiting for exactly the right moment, and when his hand comes up, I see the flash of metal. A knife. It’s coming straight for me, and I try to scramble back, but he stabs me.

The blade goes in. I gasp. Max is on him. He grabs Predator by the hair and yanks him back. Predator slashes at Max. I swing the gun again, and it hits Predator on the side of the head, harder than I would have imagined. There’s a crack, and I don’t care what that crack means, only that it stops him mid-slash, and he crumples.

I hold the gun on Predator as Max makes sure he’s unconscious. Then he sees the blood on my shirt. His eyes widen, and he fumbles to get over Predator’s body, but I pull away, saying, “It’s just a nick.”

“Let me—”

“I’m fine. Just the tip went in.” I point at the blade on the floor, and it is indeed only the tip bloodied, but more than that went in—it just wiped clean coming out. Max nods, chin bobbing as he stares at that blade as if reassuring himself.

“I’m fine,” I say again. Which is not true. Not true at all. “We have the key.”

“Yes. Right.”

“Max?”

His head shoots up.

“Can you focus?”

A sharp shake of his head as he rubs his face. “Sorry, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. We have a gun and a knife and the key. We just need to get to the front door.”

He blinks and turns to the door. “Yes.” He looks at me again. “But you—”

“Right as rain.”

He makes a face, but it’s a Max-face, a little bit eye-rolling, sliding back to himself as the shock passes.

“Can we get out of here now?” I say. “It’s after eleven, and I have a midnight curfew.”

He smiles, shaking his head, and then says, “Then let’s get you home, Cinderella.”

I’m hurt. Really hurt. I try to figure out where the blade went, recall my basic anatomy lessons, but you know the problem with being a high school senior? All my biology labs have been on frogs and fetal pigs, and that’s not nearly as helpful as one might imagine.

The pain comes with every breath. It’s not a ripping, tearing, oh-God-I’m-dying pain, but it tells me that the blade nicked my lung and maybe more, because it’s definitely not a tickling pain either.

I follow Max so he won’t see me wincing with every breath. When he does glance back and catch me, I make a face and give an annoyed wave at my leg instead. That works. My leg is going to hurt, but there’s no way it’s a life-threatening injury.