The Masked Truth(94)

“Riley’s hurt,” Max says. “Her injuries have opened up again, and she’s bleeding.”

It takes two long seconds for Buchanan to look. Two seconds to remind himself that this should be a cause for concern. He glances over the seat and grunts, “It’s a little blood.”

“She needs to go back to the hospital,” Max says. “You aren’t charging her with anything, are you? It was my fault. I tricked her into leaving with me.”

Any other time I’d have jumped to his defense. But that wasn’t the point here, and instead I mumble, “It wasn’t really tricked, but I had no idea he was about to be arrested. And he said we’d only be gone”—I inhale sharply, wincing as if in sudden pain—“an hour at most.”

“Can we drop her off at the hospital?” Max says. “Or call a backup car to take her?”

Of course, we don’t really expect them to agree. Max is confirming our theory while distracting them from my escape attempt.

“Can she at least call her mother?” Max says. “You confiscated River’s mobile. Can she use that and let her mom know she’s all right?”

“The hospital knows she’s with us.”

“Can you give her painkillers?” Max asks. “Tylenol, aspirin …”

“Can you shut the hell up?” Wheeler growls. “I know it’s a strain for you, Maxi—” He stops before saying “Maximus” and retreats into silence as Buchanan shoots him a look.

As Max has been trying distraction techniques, I’ve been frantically looking for a way out of this car. All I can think about is River and what happened to him, because I have no idea where he is, but I’m sure he’s not alive and I’m equally sure we won’t be either if we finish this ride.

I might be able to smash out the window with my elbow, but that’s on a good day, and even if I managed it, they’d have guns on us before I could squeeze through, and if by some chance I did get out, I’d leave Max behind, and that isn’t happening. Is not happening.

I could try to catch the attention of a passerby. They’d probably think I was just goofing off, but I would still try … if there were anyone around. We’re in an industrial area, and I see cars in parking lots, but very few of those, and I swear half the buildings have For Lease or For Sale signs on them and boarded-up windows and …

I see rubble. Up the road. The remains of a demolished building. And I remember me and Max huddled in it as I lost consciousness.

Don’t leave. Please, please, please. I don’t want to be alone.

I know where we are. Oh God, I know where we are.

Max takes my hand and squeezes it and forces a smile for me, and I know he didn’t see the rubble, doesn’t know where they’ve taken us, and I don’t know whether I should tell him or—

The car turns. Darkness yawns ahead. An open warehouse door. The car drives inside.

“Where are we?” Max asks, trying to sound calm.

The men don’t answer. I won’t call them detectives now or police or even cops. They are men. No, they are killers. Hired killers. That negates anything else they are, anything else they might have been.

Wheeler gets out. We turn to see him head for the big garage door, presumably to shut it behind us, and I think, We’re dead. This is it. Any chance we had, we’ve lost. Dad always said that if anyone ever grabs me on the street, I need to get out of that car before they take me to their destination, because once I’m there, they can do whatever they want and … Dad, oh God, Dad, why didn’t I listen to you? Why didn’t I kick out that damned window and who cares what happened then, because it’s going to happen now. We’re dead and—

Max squeezes my hand until he gets my attention, and when I look over, he whispers, “We’ll do our best.”

Not We’ll be okay. Not We’ll get through this.

We’ll do our best.

Because that’s the truth, the only truth, and he isn’t going to lie to me. He lied to me before, about the meds, about his condition, and he won’t do it again. Not about the suicide notes. Not about this. I look at his face, fear waging war with conviction. Conviction that we will do our best, because that’s all he can be sure of, and that’s enough. It has to be enough. It is.

He says, “We’ll do our best,” and I love him for it. I don’t care if that’s foolish or naive, or if I can hear Sloane saying, “You’ve known him only a few days.” I love him. I lean over to kiss his cheek and whisper, “We will. We absolutely will.”

If anyone can get out of this, we can. Not you. Not me. Us. Together.

Wheeler closes the garage door and the garage is pitched into darkness, lit only by the car’s headlights. Then he walks to the trunk. He opens it. And he pulls out River’s body.

He pulls out River’s body, bound hand and foot and gagged, and he throws it to the floor. Then River moves. He starts squirming and struggling, and I realize they brought him alive. Thank God he’s still alive.

Wheeler cuts the zipties with a knife. He pulls off the gag. River stumbles to his feet, saying, “I didn’t tell them anything. Whatever they say, it’s a lie. They figured some stuff out, and they tried to get me to say it was true, but—”

“Run,” Wheeler says.