Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(50)

“Griffin,” said Beverly, letting go, “go down into the basement and find us a bottle of wine. We’re celebrating.”

He disappeared from the kitchen.

Beverly grabbed both of my hands. “I’m so glad you two worked it out. Griffin wouldn’t tell me what happened, but it was obvious he wasn’t happy without you.”

I felt shy. Part of me wanted to tell her everything. Another part of me wanted to keep it all inside, because I was afraid she wouldn’t be so nice to me if she knew what happened. I just blushed and looked away.

“He’s been through a lot,” said Beverly. “He lost his father, and he acted out as a teenager, and I wasn’t enough for him. I know he can’t be an easy man to love—”

“Oh, Beverly,” I said. “It’s not like that. He’s very easy to love.” I peered after him. Well, most of the time, anyway. “What happened between us was complicated.”

“But it’s better now, right?” said Christa.

I smiled. “Yes. It is.”

Beverly hugged me again. “Well, I couldn’t ask for a better daughter-in-law.”

When we pulled away, she was brushing tears out of her eyes. I felt my own eyes prick. This was too much. I’d never experienced anything like this before. I loved Griffin’s family.

Griffin reappeared in the kitchen, holding two bottles. “I didn’t know if you wanted red or white.”

“With roast beef sandwiches? Red.” She laughed.

He hoisted the bottle of red. “You want me to open it?”

Beverly nodded.

Griffin set the red wine on the table. “I’ll just take the other bottle back downstairs, then.”

“Okay,” said Beverly. “Oh, Griffin, do you want mustard, mayonnaise, or both?”

“Both,” he called over his shoulder.

And then his phone rang.

He froze.

I froze. No one knew that number except the twins, and they’d only call if there was some kind of trouble. It figured, didn’t it? We couldn’t have any time where we were happy before Marcel sailed in and ruined it.

Griffin dug the phone out of his pocket. “Hello?”

I could see from his posture that something was instantly wrong.

He turned, eyeing his mother. “What do you want from me?” he said into the phone.

I rushed over to Griffin, but he held out a hand to stop me.

“Bastard,” he whispered into the receiver. He hung up the phone, white faced.

“What?” I said. “What happened?”

“He can see us,” said Griffin. “He described my mother’s outfit perfectly. He told me that she was holding a mayo jar. He’s close.”

“Is it Marcel?”

He nodded.

“What is he going to do?”

“He said that he could shoot me now, but he doesn’t want that. He wants me to come to him willingly. And if he has to kill everyone I care about to convince me to find him, then he will.”

I swallowed.

Beverly was still holding the mayo. She looked flustered. “What does that mean, Griffin? Who is this man?”

“It means we call the police,” said Christa.

“No,” said Griffin. “No, I’m not risking that. Any sign of the police, and he’d start killing everyone.”

“Well, then what are we going to do?” said Christa.

“We need to go someplace where there aren’t any windows,” said Griffin.

“Windows?”

“The basement,” said Griffin.

“What?” said Christa. “For how long?”

“The basement’s finished, Christa. There are two bedrooms down there. It’s not going to be a hardship.” He glared at her.

“I don’t see why we’re not calling the police.” She folded her arms over her chest.

“What about the sandwiches?” said Beverly.





Chapter Eleven


“No,” said Christa, throwing a pillow down on the couch in the basement. We’d been hiding down here for days on end, and she wasn’t in a good mood. “We’ve watched everything on Netflix anyway.”

“No, we haven’t,” said Griffin. “Stop whining about everything.”

“Griffin, I’m missing class,” she said. “And there’s not much class left. We’ve been down here a week and a half. Because of you, I’m not going to graduate.”

“Look, Christa, which is more important? Graduating or not dying?”

“The guy’s bluffing,” she said. “And besides, I still think we should call the police.”

“He’s not bluffing,” said Griffin. “Trust me. He doesn’t do that.”

“But you haven’t heard from him,” she said. “And what are we supposed to do? Stay down here forever? Eventually, we have to do something.”

Griffin shook his head. “No. Now, shut up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh my God.”

“Griffin, be nice to your sister,” said Beverly. She was on the other side of the couch, using the remote to scroll through Netflix choices.

“I swear,” he said. “I feel like I’m still thirteen years old.” He got up from the couch and stalked out of the room.