Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(45)
He doesn’t have to finish. I know my mom, and I know exactly what Will’s about to say. “She asked you to keep an eye on me.”
“Yeah.” He drops his face ashamedly and takes a step back.
“That’s why I couldn’t shake you.” Here I’d thought he was just some high school lothario, and in reality, he’s a con and I was his mark. “You weren’t really into me. You were just doing a job.”
“That was true at first, but then I started to care about you. Really care about you. You’re so different from any girl I’ve ever met, strong and brave and kind, and you don’t take any crap from anyone. I never stood a chance.” He clasps his hands in front of him and squeezes until his knuckles turn white.
His admission deflates my anger like a balloon, and I’m able to see the situation clearly for the first time since Will recognized Petrov. I can’t really be mad at him for lying to me. After all, I was lying to him, too. I wasn’t honest with him about who I was.
And the whole time I was trying so hard to keep my secret, he knew everything. My world is suddenly spinning on its axis, and I’m not sure whether to laugh or cling to my anger.
The door slams open, pounding into the wall behind it, and Niko strolls in. Petrov follows, then Uncle Samuel, and finally Vasili. They stop in tandem, forming a jagged line from the center of the room to the area just inside the doorway.
Petrov holds my diary clasped neatly in one hand and pressed to his midsection like a prized possession. “I do hope you kids have had a chance to kiss and make up. It’s time to go.”
Will turns slowly to face Petrov and company, and though his stance is casual, arms at his sides and feet askance, his posture is tense. He takes a half step to the side so that he’s standing mostly in front of me.
Petrov takes notice of Will’s attempt to shield me and smirks at him. “It’s okay, you don’t need to protect your girlfriend. I’m not going to hurt her. I still need her.”
“For what?” Will’s question is more of a demand.
Petrov’s smirk spreads into a charming grin, and something in his expression leaves me feeling like a mouse once the cat has caught it and is about to start toying with it. I shudder involuntarily, then try to hide the action by crossing my arms over my chest.
“I’m so glad you asked,” Petrov says as he slides his forefinger into the top of the journal’s spine and rips the loose binding away from the book. Then he hands the journal, sans spine, to Niko and focuses on the strip of cloth binding in his hands. He fiddles with it for a moment, separating layers, and finally produces a small, folded paper and a long, paper-thin metal key. He drops the tattered remains of my journal to the ground like so much useless garbage.
All these years I’d been writing in that book, opening and closing it and handling it almost daily, and I never suspected there could be anything hidden in it. “What is it?” I can’t keep myself from asking the question that’s got every part of me focused intently on the note and key in Petrov’s hands.
“This, dear Marisol, is directions. Your father hid something very important from me, and now you’re going to retrieve it.”
“Why would I do that?” I challenge, even though part of me is considering agreeing just so I can find out what was important enough for my father to hide. Is it possible this was the reason he was killed?
“Because I have your mother,” Petrov reminds me. His voice is bland, devoid of emotion. Like he’s discussing the weather. But his words set every muscle in my body on edge and my pulse racing. Would Uncle Samuel really betray my mother? I look at him, try to read him, but his expression is inscrutable. He did betray me to Petrov, after all.
“I don’t believe you.” It’s a lie. I do believe him, but I’m not about to admit it.
“I had a feeling you’d say that.” Petrov’s voice is smooth and rich and filled with amusement at my expense, like I’m a child he’s condescending to. He raises his hand and motions with two fingers for Vasili to leave the room. The smaller man is quick to obey, and he returns just as quickly dragging my mother, bound and gagged, along with him.
My stomach drops, or maybe the floor drops out from under me; it’s hard to tell at this point. The situation is hopeless, and I have to fight the urge to collapse to the floor and agree to anything Petrov wants, beg for our release, our safety. But then I look into my mother’s eyes, and I see fire in them. She’s burning with fury and determination. Her mettle is contagious, and the strength to remain steely in the face of Petrov’s intimidation begins to seep back into my veins.
“What do you want?” I practically growl the words at Petrov, but I glare at my uncle as I speak. He averts his gaze, refusing to look me in the eye.
“You’re going to find something. Something your father hid from me a long time ago.”
“And if I don’t?” I challenge. Whatever my father hid from him was obviously important, or why go to the trouble of hiding it in the first place? I’m sure my father wouldn’t want me to just hand it over.
“Because if you don’t…” Petrov signals to Vasili, who is all too eager to brandish his gun and set it to my mother’s temple.
I throw both hands up and wave them emphatically in an effort to get everyone’s—Vasili’s—attention on me instead of on shooting my mom. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. You win. Where am I supposed to look for this thing you want me to find?”