The Long Game (The Fixer #2)(61)

As if he could sense my thoughts, Henry’s hand tightened over my arm as we made it to the stairwell. When the door closed behind us, he forced himself to let loose of me.

“Are you certifiably insane?” he asked, his voice hushed but crisp. “What exactly did you think you were doing out there? They could have seen you! They could have shot you, Kendrick.”

“Mrs. Perkins,” I replied, my voice as low as his. “Mrs. Perkins could have shot me.”

Mrs. Perkins, who could have easily sent a text from Emilia’s phone when someone had turned it into the office.

Mrs. Perkins, who might well have—at the headmaster’s instruction—put in the call for extra security herself.

Henry took up position between the door and the top of the stairs, tense and unable to know which direction the next threat would come from. “There are cameras,” he said. “They’ll see us. We should move.”

I held up the tablet. “We’re in the clear. For now.”

I didn’t know whether we had minutes or seconds. I didn’t know what would happen when someone found us in the stairwell.

“How did you—” Henry started to say, then cut himself off. “Emilia.”

I nodded. “Emilia.”

I handed the tablet to Henry and let him scroll through the camera feeds. He stopped on one of the classroom cameras. Men with guns. Students on the floor.

Wordlessly, Henry handed the tablet back to me.

My heart jumped into my throat. I felt something inside me crumble. Vivvie. I lowered the tablet and closed my eyes. They have Vivvie. I’d wanted to believe that she’d run. I’d wanted to believe that she’d found a place to hide. I’d wanted her to be safe.

You’re supposed to be my friend. My best friend. The words she’d said to me before she’d bolted haunted me. I trusted you when I didn’t trust anyone.

I forced myself to open my eyes. Vivvie was bound and terrified. She was being held at gunpoint—and there was nothing I could do about it.

They’re going to find us, I thought, the realization washing over me, coating my body like oil. They’re going to find Henry. They’re going to find me.

“We have to do something.” I managed, somehow, to form the words. “They have Vivvie. They have Emilia.”

Henry’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “There is nothing we can do.” His words were as hard-won as mine. “I wish there were. I wish,” he repeated roughly, “that we could end this, but I see no way of making that happen and too many ways that we could make things worse.”

What are you saying, Henry?

He responded like I’d said the words out loud. “I am saying that the best way of protecting Vivvie—and ourselves—might be to join her.”

“What?” I said sharply. If I’d been capable of speaking in anything other than a whisper, my voice would have risen.

Henry grabbed my shoulders, turning my body square to his. “We would be safer down in the classroom with Vivvie,” he said. “You would be safer down there.”

In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen Henry Marquette on the verge of tears, but I could hear them in his voice. I could see the sheen of despair in his gaze. Always steady. Always in control.

“You heard their list of demands,” Henry told me, running his thumbs along the edges of my collarbone in a motion so gentle I wondered if he was even conscious of it. “They want something from Ivy. They won’t hurt you.”

Henry wanted me safe. I recognized the impulse. I recognized that whatever anger he’d felt toward me an hour ago dulled in the face of his need to see me taken care of now.

I understood because I wanted him safe, too.

My free hand made its way to his wrist. I held on to him, holding on to me.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe we would be less likely to get caught in the crossfire if we turned ourselves in.” I could feel his pulse. I could feel the heat from his body. “But the chances of getting accidentally shot only matter until they start shooting us on purpose.”

Mrs. Perkins had taped the headmaster talking about cooperation. The terrorists were making demands. I knew better than most what could—and would—happen when demands like that weren’t met.

They’ll line us up, one by one. They would start with the low-value targets, the disposable ones. They might carve pieces off the rest of us for show.

A sound below sent a jolt of adrenaline straight to my heart. I processed the fact that there were armed men in the stairway below an instant before Henry pressed me back against the wall, his body covering mine. Shielding mine.

It happened too fast for me to counter. I stood, frozen. This is it. No more running. No more maybes.

A floor below us, the footsteps stopped.

A door opened.

A door closed.

Henry’s breath was warm on my face, his lips no more than a millimeter from mine.

The second floor. The guards went to the second floor. On the third, we were safe—for now.

Henry eased back, a millimeter or less between my body and his.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said roughly.

“Even though I’m a liar?” I hadn’t planned on saying those words. I hadn’t intended to ask for absolution. I wasn’t sure I deserved it.