The Chaos Kind (John Rain #11)(67)

In her peripheral vision, she saw Dash roll to his knees. He picked up the table leg and stood. She wanted to check him, to touch him, to make sure he was all right. And tell him to hide again, to make himself small, there was another man with a gun.

But she had to stay focused. Panting, she managed to say, “Tell me. The message.”

“Marvin told me to tell you that the Orioles should never have traded Machado to Los Angeles. I don’t even know what that means, okay? But that’s what Marvin told me to tell you.”

Manny Machado had been Dash’s favorite player with the Orioles. Marvin had given him Manny’s walk-off home run ball when they’d first met. And Dash had been heartbroken when the Orioles had traded Manny to the Dodgers. No one else would have known all that. It had to be Marvin.

“Okay?” the man said again. “Can I come out?”

“Yes,” Evie said, her hands beginning to shake. “But . . . slowly.” She realized she was still on her knees and came to her feet. The moment she stood, a bolt of pain shot through her left ankle.

“I’m going to start with my hands,” the man called back. “Okay? You’ll see they’re empty. And then the rest of me. Now I know you’re scared. If you’re pointing a gun toward me, please lower it, okay?”

“Let me see your hands first.” She realized her voice was shaking now, too.

A pair of empty hands appeared above the desk. “Okay? Now it’s your turn. Lower the gun. We don’t want to have an accident.”

She was suddenly suspicious. “How do you even know I’m pointing it at you?” she called out.

“Because I would be. Now listen. I’m going to move very slowly. But I want you to tell me first you’re not pointing a gun at me.”

She wanted to believe him so much. But she was afraid to. Still, as long as she could see his hands, it seemed safe to lower the gun.

A little.

She lowered it. “Okay,” she said. “It’s down. Not that much, though. So don’t try anything funny.”

The words sounded strange as they came out, like something she would have heard in a movie. She had an odd feeling of dissociation. Was any of this really happening?

The hands went higher. She could see arms. Then a pair of eyes. The eyes took in the way she was holding the gun. The man slowly stood. He was Asian. He wasn’t big, but there was something . . . physical about him. As though he might be stronger than he looked. Or faster.

“Can you lower the gun more?” he said, his hands still up.

And then her urge to check on Dash overwhelmed her. She took her left hand off the gun and pulled Dash to her body, touching his head, his shoulders, his back. But he seemed barely to notice. His feet were planted solidly, and he held the table leg across his body with his right hand at the thin end and his left palm up under the fat end, like the sheriff in that movie Walking Tall. Her little boy was suddenly gone. She’d been protecting him, and now he was protecting her.

“Do you believe me?” the man said. “Can I come out from behind this desk?”

“Yes,” she said, crying. “Yes.” She couldn’t sign with the gun, so she put it on the floor and explained to Dash what was happening. His eyes shifted from her hands to the man and back again.

The man stopped a respectful distance away. Evie signed, Do you think he’s telling the truth?

Dash watched the man for a moment longer. Then he nodded.

Evie looked at the man. “Are there others?”

The man glanced at the doors. “I think it was just the two of them. If there had been more, they’d be here by now.”

“What about our house?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Then what do we do?”

“I think you have two choices. You can take your chances with the police. Or you can come with me.”

Dash had been intent on the man’s face while he’d been talking, reading his lips. He said, “You’re Marvin’s friend?”

“No,” the man said. “A friend of a friend.”

“What’s your name?”

“Rain. Listen, I can’t stay here. Your next move is up to you.”

Dash looked at Evie. But not a searching look. Or a frightened or confused one. He nodded his head. And that decided it for her.

“All right,” she said. “We’re coming with you.”





chapter

fifty





MAYA


Maya sat in the rear driver-side seat of the car, Frodo in her lap. Her forehead was pressed against the window, and she stared out as trees and signs and streetlamps went past. It reminded her of when she had been a girl, in the back of her parents’ car. Just a passenger, secure that everything was fine and always would be, free to stare out the window, her mind wandering as the world rolled by, while her parents took care of her and everything else. Only now, the feeling of just being along for the ride was bewildering and anything but secure. She didn’t even know where they were going, and almost didn’t care. She thought of Ali, lying motionless on the ground, police tape and flashers all over the street. All of it felt exactly like a nightmare. Except she knew she wasn’t dreaming.

She’d said hi to the woman and the boy when they got in the car, and the routineness of the interaction was itself deeply bizarre. The boy, sliding over to the middle seat, gave her a small wave, looked at Frodo, and said in a slightly strange voice, “He’s cute.” The woman came in behind the boy, nodded, and said hello. Frodo didn’t bark, or even make a sound. He just licked Maya’s face, trying with all his little might to make both of them feel better.