The Retribution of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer, #3)(55)

“I would’ve thought your head would be hard enough to break the glass,” he said, holding the picture frame.

“You’re going to feel crappy about making fun of me if I have a concussion.”

“You don’t have a concussion,” Jamie said. He turned the picture over. “Does anyone remember where this was?”

I said, “I think it was on top of the bookcase?”

Jamie reached up to put it back. The picture was facing forward—it was of someone speaking at what looked like a graduation ceremony. McCarthy, I think, was the grizzled man at the podium. But that wasn’t what caught my eye. In the background, standing off to the left of the stage in front of dozens of robed graduates and in a cluster of suited academics, was someone I thought I recognized. I snatched the frame from Jamie’s hand.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Not what,” I said. “Who.” I was pointing at Abel Lukumi.





37


STELLA STEPPED OVER A PILE of academic journals on the floor and stood next to us. “What are we looking at?”

“The person responsible for all of this,” I said without hesitating. There was no other explanation. “That’s Lukumi.”

“Wait—the guy from Miami? From Little Havana?”

“As opposed to the one from Sweden?”

“Shut up.” Stella punched Jamie’s arm.

Jamie snapped a picture of the photo of Lukumi and McCarthy immediately, and then we hastily rearranged the professor’s office to look the way we’d found it. Mostly.

“What are the odds, though?” Jamie asked as we walked.

I shrugged. “One in who cares? He was in the picture with that professor—the head of the department where Ginsberg mailed the key. And he was on the train platform in DC. And he was in the hospital after Jude slit my wrists. He’s been following us the whole time.”

“Not us,” Jamie said quietly.

Jamie had it exactly right. “Me. He’s been following me. Ever since I met him.” My thoughts raced faster than I could speak. “He has to have been the one who sent the note, with the doctor’s bag, when I got sick. Which means he has to have known what was happening to me, what was inside me, which means—”

He would know where Noah was too. Maybe he was the one keeping him.

“But then why would he need the access key?” Jamie scratched his nose. “If he’s the man behind the man or whatever, if he orchestrated all of this, funded all of it, and is following us to, I don’t know, monitor what’s happening to us, wouldn’t he have access to the archives already? Why would he need the key?”

“Maybe that’s not how this works,” I said. “Maybe, to stay anonymous, he organized the corporation that funds Horizons so that only one person at a time can access the archives—so he needed to get the key before he could check whatever he wanted to check, and because even the people who work for him don’t know who he is, he had the key sent here to his friend.”

“Far-fetched,” Jamie said.

Stella wound her hair around her finger. “I’ve heard worse theories. But wait . . . does that mean he has the key now? If one person at a time can access it, maybe—”

“Maybe he’s there,” I said, finishing her sentence. “Maybe he’s there right now.”

We all looked at one another. It was more than past time to end this. “Let’s go.”



We caught the train just before the doors closed, and Stella and I squished in between an older lady with purple hair clutching a Bloomingdale’s bag to her chest and a Hasidic teenager slouched over a copy of The Catcher in the Rye. Jamie mocked a man in a business suit jamming audibly to something on his headphones, but otherwise we were silent until we got off. When we emerged from the subway, the sun was setting. Whatever neighborhood we were in looked pretty industrial. There were hardly any people walking around at all. It almost looked deserted.

“Okay,” Jamie said. “Two blocks east, three north, and we should be there.”

The sun slipped behind the jagged city horizon as we walked. It was almost dark when we arrived.

“This is it,” Jamie said, looking up at a mammoth shuttered warehouse. There were dozens of windows reaching up several stories high. Most were boarded shut with wood, and others were just dark. Adrenaline surged through my veins. This was where we were supposed to be. I could feel it.

“How are we supposed to get in?” Stella kicked the huge metal shutter enclosing what must have been the entrance.

“Fool of a Took!” Jamie hissed through his teeth. “If someone’s in there, they probably heard that,” he said, and stooped down to the ground. “Look. Padlock’s off.”

“So someone is in there,” Stella said. “Lukumi?”

“Maybe,” I said. Or maybe Noah.

Jamie looked at me. “Are you sure we should do this?”

“No,” I said honestly, staring up at the building. “Lukumi has been leagues ahead of us this entire time. He’s known everything we’re about to do before we’ve done it. He’s probably expecting us.”

Stella tugged at her hair. “I don’t really like the idea of that.”