Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(4)

“All right,” he said. “Well, we’re looking for your friend, Naomi. And if you can think of any way to get in touch with your ex-boyfriend, maybe you should.”

And that was it. They said they’d have a cop car making the rounds near my house in case anything happened.

Then they left.

I felt like calling the police hadn’t been particularly productive. They were looking for Naomi, so that was good. But right now she was still tied up somewhere. Hurt. Scared. And because of me. Because of Griffin. Because I dated Griffin. Trouble seemed to follow me, it seemed. And the people I became friends with.

I couldn’t let anything happen to Naomi. I stared at her picture on my phone, at the fear in her eyes. I needed to do something.

That was when I saw it.

In the background of the picture, right behind Naomi’s head, I saw the edge of a windowsill. I recognized it.

Before I met Griffin, I used to sometimes party out in this abandoned house a few miles out of town. There had been a fire there, and it was only partially standing. It was completely ruined, a falling-down, gutted place. I hadn’t been there in a while. But there was something distinctive about that windowsill. I would know it anywhere.

I knew where Naomi was.

I started to dial the police again.

Then I stopped. They hadn’t been all that helpful just now, had they?

Instead, I went to my kitchen, opened a drawer and pulled everything out of it. I threw it on the counter—rubber bands, beer caps, knick knacks, and other junk. The drawer had a false bottom.

I moved it out of the way, and there was a gun hidden down there. Griffin had insisted we have them just to be cautious. He’d taken some of the hidden guns with him when he left. But he hadn’t taken this one.

I took it out of the drawer, along with a box of ammunition. I began to load it.

*

I parked pretty far away from the abandoned house. I didn’t want to spook whoever had Naomi. Assuming he was still there. He’d taken the picture here, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t loaded her into a trunk or something and driven off.

It was May, and it had been pretty warm the past few days. Even though it was the wee hours of the morning, it wasn’t too cold. The jacket I’d put on to conceal the fact I’d tucked the gun into the waist of my pants was a little too warm. I was sweating.

Maybe I was only sweating because I was terrified, though. I’d never done anything like this on my own before.

After I got out of my car, I walked into the woods and traveled near the tree line until I got close to the abandoned house. It was what Griffin would have done.

But Griffin would have been quieter than I was. He could creep through the woods. I never seemed to be able to do it without making the dead leaves crunch under my feet. Too loud.

I walked as carefully and quietly as I could, keeping my eyes out for anyone who might be watching for me.

I didn’t see anything but trees and undergrowth and the starry night sky.

The abandoned house came into view within a few minutes. It had been white once. Now, most of the siding had been singed off, and it was dulled by the smoke from the fire that destroyed it. Mud and time hadn’t done it any favors either. I couldn’t describe the color as anything other than a dingy gray now.

One side of the house had collapsed, but the other side still had a roof and even some windows with cracked glass in them. The tall grass was littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts. Like I said, this place was used as a party hangout in the summer.

I crouched in the woods behind a tree, looking and listening. Was there anyone inside the house?

I couldn’t see anything. The house was dead and dark. Nothing stirred behind its windows. All I could hear was the distant sound of an occasional car traveling down an adjacent road and my own heartbeat crashing against my skull.

She was probably gone.

Or maybe she wasn’t here at all. Maybe she was some other place with distinctive windowsills, and I was completely off base.

A low whistle cut through the silence.

I froze, gripping the tree trunk. My heart thudded even faster.

There was someone inside that house, and he was whistling “Oh My Darling, Clementine.”

Oh God. I swallowed hard, unsure of what to do.

Was it the person who’d captured Naomi?

I had to get closer. I had to see.

I stayed low as I left the cover of the woods, darting through the overgrown lawn until I was right at the house. I flattened myself against the dingy siding, struggling to keep my breath soft and steady.

I could swear I was gasping far too loudly.

The whistling continued uninterrupted.

He hadn’t heard me.

Slowly, I crept along the side of the house until I came to a window. I peered inside.

It was the old kitchen. The appliances had long been ripped out, and there was only a sink along the wall, its faucet glinting dully in the moonlight. The paint on the cabinets was warped and peeling from the heat of the fire.

I moved past the window to the next one.

That window had been busted open, and there were shards of glass outside. They crunched under my feet as I got close.

I stopped moving at the noise, trying to melt into the house.

The whistling stopped.





Chapter Two


Shit. He’d heard me.

What the hell was I doing here, anyway? Why hadn’t I called the police? I didn’t know what I was doing. Griffin was the one who was good at this stuff, not me. I’d always just tagged along for the ride. I bit my lip hard, waiting.