The Girls I've Been(3)

The cups fall to the ground. Then so does the guard. Blood blossoms at his shoulder, a small stain that grows bigger by the second.

Things happen in rapid movement, like I’m being sped through a flipbook. Because this is where it gets real. Before the trigger’s pulled, there’s a slim chance of okay-ness you can hold on to.

After? Not so much.

As the guard falls forward, someone—the teller—screams. Wes throws himself toward Iris and me to shield us, and we curl up tight until we’re this muddle of legs and arms and fear and hurt feelings that we really should be putting aside, all things considered . . . and me?

I grab my cell phone. I don’t know if I’ll have another chance. I slide it out of my jeans pocket as Gray Cap swears, stepping past our tangle on his way to disarm the guard and yell at Red Cap. Wes is leaning on it, so I can barely move my arm, but I manage to tap out a message to Lee.

Olive. Five letters. Definitely not my favorite food. Technically a fruit, just like the tomato.

And maybe the key to our freedom. For as long as I’ve known my sister, it’s been our distress code. We are girls who prepare for storms.

Lee will come. My sister always shows up.

And she’ll bring the cavalry.





— 3 —


    Phone Call Transcript between Lee Ann O’Malley and Deputy Jessica Reynolds


August 8, 9:18 a.m.




Deputy Reynolds: This is Reynolds.

O’Malley: Jess, it’s Lee. Can you check to see if any silent alarms have been triggered at the bank? The branch on Miller Street, next to the old donut shop that moved last year?

Deputy Reynolds: You on a job? What’s up?

O’Malley: Not a job. Nora sent me a distress signal.

Deputy Reynolds: You guys have a distress signal?

O’Malley: She’s a teenage girl. Of course we have a distress signal. She told me she’d deposit the money the kids raised last night before coming into the office. I tracked her phone—she’s still at the bank.

Deputy Reynolds: Someone mentioned the bank on the scanner earlier, but no alarms have gone off. Let me check . . . Here it is. The bank manager was in a car accident on the way to work. They took him to the hospital. You think Nora’s pranking you?

O’Malley: She wouldn’t. I’m heading over.

Deputy Reynolds: I’ll meet you. Don’t go in until I show up, okay?

[Silence]

Deputy Reynolds: Okay?

[End of call]





— 4 —


9:19 a.m. (7 minutes captive)



They’re arguing. Red and Gray Cap. Red’s freaking as the guard lies there on his back, bleeding into the carpet. Thank God he only got shot in the arm. He’ll probably be okay. For now. But someone needs to put pressure on his wound, and they’re just ignoring him.

“I told you this was a bad idea. You said no one would get hurt. That we’d just get Frayn into the basement to open the—”

“Quiet,” Gray Cap growls, casting a glance toward us.

I keep my head down, but I’m listening to every word.

They’ve got to be talking about safe-deposit boxes. That’s what’s in the basement. Those things are gold mines of secrets. People love stashing stuff in there that they don’t want anyone else to know about. But if the bank manager is the only person who can access the basement where the boxes are kept . . .

That’s why they need him. And if he isn’t here?

Boom goes their plan.

No wonder they’re panicking hard enough to shoot. Someone might’ve heard the gunshot, but the bank is the only thing left in this once-full strip mall. And even if no one heard it . . . my text to Lee went through. Any minute, she’s going to bring the wrath of O’Malley Private Investigations down on these guys. She’ll probably rope in the sheriff’s department. They’re not great, but they’ll bring guns.

More guns aren’t always good, though. In most situations, more guns make everything worse. And cops always make things worse. But it’s a risk I had to take to let Lee know something was wrong.

“Lock the doors and go watch the parking lot,” Gray Cap orders. Red Cap scurries to obey, like he’s grateful for something to do.

He’s gonna be the weak link here. The mark, if I need one. My mind’s skipping like flat rocks on a still pond, trying to make a plan.

“You,” Gray Cap barks. Wes stiffens. His chest’s still practically in my face, and I can feel his muscles flex as I realize Gray Cap’s talking to him. “You’re husky. Drag him away from the windows.”

Wes glances down at me, just a one-second glance before he stands up, and the look on his face tells me not to worry.

Which, of course, sends me into a freaking tailspin. What’s he going to do? He better just follow the guy’s directions.

Gray Cap’s gun and attention are on Wes as he moves toward the security guard, and it makes my skin crawl. My hand twists in Iris’s, and she squeezes, trying to reassure me, but there’s none of that here.

Wes bends, hesitating as he tries to figure out the best way to move the guard without hurting him more. He hefts him up in one movement. Wes is tall and strong, and sometimes that helps him, but here, right now, it makes him the biggest threat in this entire bank to those men, and my teeth dig into my lower lip as he turns to look at Gray Cap.