The Masked Truth(95)

“What?”

Wheeler waves at a side door. “Go. Run. Before I change my mind.”

River runs, and I exhale. They don’t realize what we know. They’re setting him free and now they’ll carry on pretending to be detectives and—

Wheeler shoots River in the back of the head.

At first, I don’t realize what’s happened. I hear the suppressed shot, even more muffled by the closed car windows, and I don’t recognize it. Then River’s head flies back and his arms and legs keep going for a second, kicking out as his body seems, impossibly, suspended in midair. I see the blood spray. I see blood and brain and bone, and I start to scream.





CHAPTER 36


I scream as I never screamed at the Porters’, never screamed at the warehouse. But now I do, and I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I hear the high-pitched shriek and feel it ripping from my throat.

Buchanan scrambles over the seat and slaps a hand to my mouth, saying, “Shut up! Shut the hell—”

“Don’t touch her!” Max snarls, and knocks Buchanan’s hand aside. He pulls me to him, as best he can, his hands still cuffed. He tugs me against his shoulder and whispers, “Shh, shh, shh. I know, Riley. I know. But you need to be quiet. Please.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and get myself under control. I keep seeing River, shot in the head. Keep hearing Wheeler saying, “Run,” and I didn’t think it was possible to hate him more, but I do. Somehow I do. I want to scream and howl at him. I want to … I want to …

I push the thought aside. Can’t go there. Won’t think that.

“It’s my fault,” I whisper. “My fault. I pulled River into this. I made him talk.”

“No,” Max says fiercely. “He got himself into this. His choices got him into it, and he didn’t deserve what just happened, but it’s no one else’s fault—just his and …” He shoots a glare at Wheeler, who’s strolling around the car.

Yes, strolling. I see that walk and the cocky look in his eyes and that I’m-so-clever smirk on his face.

Gray.

This is Gray, unmasked. Yet not unmasked at all, because this is the mask: the face of an ordinary man. He wore his real face in the warehouse. The face of a monster. An inhuman, alien thing.

Wheeler opens Max’s door. “Why’d you have to go and do that, Maximus? Shoot the poor kid as he was running away?” He shakes his head and tsk-tsks and I lunge at him, cursing and snarling, scrabbling over Max as I launch myself at Wheeler. But Max grabs me and holds me back.

“That’s funny,” Wheeler says. “You don’t look the least bit surprised. Dare I guess that you’d already figured out who I am? Such clever children. For children, that is. Crazy, messed-up, broken children. Come on, Miss Riley. You can get out of the car now. Just don’t bother rushing me again.” He waves the gun. “I have a plan, and shooting you doesn’t exactly fit, but I can make it fit. So don’t test me.”

“May I get out?” Max asks.

“Oh, listen to that. So polite. Proper grammar, even. Why, yes, Maximus, you may get out.”

He does, holding me back until he’s standing, and then keeping me behind him as I get out.

“Look at the chivalry,” Wheeler says. “Polite and chivalrous and even kind of cute, if you go for the tortured-bad-boy-wannabe look. I can see why you fell for him, Miss Riley. Of course, it helps that in your own way, you’re almost as screwed-up as he is. Birds of a feather and all that.” He walks to Max and cuts the strap on his wrists. “There. I reward your intelligence by setting you free.”

“No,” Max says. “You have two guns on me, and the longer you leave my hands tied, the more likely the bruising will show up in an autopsy. Especially if I panic and struggle.”

“Did they teach you that in school? The British school system really does provide a liberal and all-encompassing educational experience, doesn’t it?”

“More like too many hours spent watching CSI,” Buchanan says, coming up beside us.

Wheeler snickers.

“You brought River here to kill, so it will look as if I did it,” Max says.

“Mmm, maybe not so clever. Running a few steps behind, are you, Maximus?”

Max opens his mouth, and I suspect he’s going to say no, he’s just trying to hurry this along and get to the point. But he wisely doesn’t.

“Yes,” Wheeler says. “That’s part one. Part two?” He turns to me. Buchanan has moved closer, gun trained on Max. “On your knees, Miss Riley. You’re about to beg for your life, but Max here isn’t going to listen. If he can’t have you, no one else will.” He lowers his voice. “He’s kind of crazy that way.”

“You don’t really expect her to—” Max begins.

“Go along with it? Actually, I do. Because she knows you’re both going to die, and her option is one to the head … or a much slower and messier death, as you decide not to grant her mercy but to make her pay for being such a stuck-up bitch.”

“How about if I actually shoot her?” Max says quickly.

“What?”

“I’ll do it. That’ll pin the shooting squarely on me. Not just my fingers on the gun, but powder and blood splatter and everything else you need to prove conclusively that I shot her.”