Don't Look Now (11 page)

Still, Amanda felt irritated. When Noa called, Peter jumped. He’d never been like that with her; at least, she didn’t think he had.

Peter checked something on the phone, then dialed a long string of numbers. Amanda propped her head on one hand as she lay on her side, watching him. Noa must have answered, because he said something in a low voice, his head tucked down. Still, it was impossible to miss the spark in his eyes, and his slight smile as they spoke.

Something inside her shriveled. She was suddenly glad that she had no idea what Noa looked like—Peter had always been vague about it, so she was probably stunning. And based on the awe in his voice whenever he mentioned her, she knew he admired her. She’d suspected there might be more; and seeing his reaction now, it was clear. She’d lost him.

Amanda flopped over on her back and stared up at the ceiling, wrapping her arms around a pillow. Peter was speaking in such a low voice, she could only make out fragments: “Phoenix” and “Mason” and “blueprints.”

“Be careful, please,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear. Then he hung up.

He looked worried as he came back over to the bed. “They’re going through with the Phoenix raid,” he said before she asked.

“I figured,” she said, trying not to let the peevishness show in her voice. “When?”

“Soon.” Peter sat down. His eyes were a million miles away from her—or, more accurately, about two thousand, somewhere in Phoenix, with Noa. “It’s kind of a genius plan, actually.”

“Of course it is,” Amanda snapped. “Noa came up with it.”

That caught his attention. Peter frowned at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she muttered. “I should go.”

“Wait, what? You can’t.” He sounded genuinely perplexed. “The T stopped running an hour ago.”

“So I’ll call a cab.” Angrily, Amanda sat up and tugged her hat back on, fighting back pinpricks of tears.

“That’s ridiculous,” Peter said in an infuriatingly reasonable voice. “Stay. I’ll crash on the couch, you can take the bed.”

“No,” she said obstinately. “I’m going.”

“Amanda.” He grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Amanda paused, still facing the door. She was torn between a wild desire to get away from the look in his eyes that no longer had anything to do with her, and the conflicting urge to fall into his arms and start sobbing.

“Please,” she said in a small voice. “Just let me go.”

“No,” Peter said firmly.

She turned. Peter was gazing up at her, his brown eyes full of concern. “You don’t love me anymore,” she said quietly.

He looked dumbfounded. “What?”

“You heard me.” She tugged hard, but his grip on her wrist tightened. “Let go.”

“You can’t just say something like that, then run away,” he said angrily.

“I’m sorry I said anything,” Amanda said, meaning it. What had come over her? Now she really wanted to flee. She’d walk back to her dorm if she had to. “Just forget it.”

He released her hand. Amanda fumbled with the buttons on her coat, stumbling and nearly falling in her headlong rush for the door.

Her hand was on the knob when he said, “I never stopped loving you.”

Slowly, she turned to stare at him. Peter was standing next to the bed, hands hanging loose by his sides as he gazed back at her. “Never, Amanda. Not for one minute.”

She crossed the room in three strides and threw herself into his arms. Peter pulled off her cap and dug his hands into her hair, then tilted her head up to meet his. The kiss ran through her whole body, familiar and yet different at the same time. It felt warm and safe and right. Amanda wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. In spite of herself, she felt a slight twinge of victory as Peter murmured her name in her ear.

“Any questions?” Noa asked.

No one said anything. The atmosphere in the room was keyed up and tense. Noa had just laid out her plan for breaking into the lab. They’d get in, deal with the guards, and save as many kids as they could. She’d gone through it step by step, laying out the role each would play in the assault.

Hopefully, this time there would be some kids left alive for them to save.

She glanced across the room to where Zeke stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t looked her in the eye since they’d gotten back. She wished she’d handled it better. It had been years since she’d been able to rely on anyone, and he’d been there for her through this whole crazy thing.

And if she was honest with herself, that’s why she’d drawn back. Not because she hadn’t wanted to kiss him—she had, for a long time, she suddenly realized. But she was terrified that falling for him would jeopardize everything else. What if it didn’t work out? Would she end up doing this all on her own?

Noa suddenly realized that they were all staring at her expectantly. Zeke caught her eye and threw her a questioning look. She cleared her throat and said, “The radios should work while we’re in there, so make sure to maintain contact with one another on channel twelve.”

She scanned the room. Everyone looked back at her steadily—except for Teo. A fine sheen of sweat covered his face, and he looked like he might throw up. Noa sighed internally. He seemed like a sweet kid, well-intentioned. But they’d had others like him join the group, and they never worked out. They just didn’t have the stomach for walking into dangerous situations. Maybe they were the smart ones, she thought wryly. With that in mind, she added, “No one has to come if they don’t want to. Same deal as always, if you stay behind, we understand.”

“But we could use all of you,” Zeke interceded. Noa threw him a look, but he ignored it and kept talking. “I mean it. We don’t know how many guards are inside the building, or what kind of security measures they’ll have. And without Turk, well . . .” He looked uncomfortable. “It’ll be a lot harder,” he said, mumbling the last bit.

Noa chewed her lower lip. He was right. Despite his faults, when things came down to the wire, Turk had always risen to the occasion. It was going to be a lot tougher without him, especially in a situation like this, where they didn’t know exactly what they were up against. “Any questions?”

A few heads shook—no one spoke up. Relieved, she said, “All right, chill out until then.”

As they filed out of the room, she bent over the warehouse blueprints that were spread across the kitchen table. She sensed Zeke at her shoulder, and caught her breath.

“Sorry about earlier,” he said in a low voice.

“That’s okay,” she said, relieved. “I’m sorry, too. I just kind of . . . freaked,” she finished weakly.

He laughed quietly. “I know, Noa. Not your thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, frowning as she turned to face him.

He shrugged. “Just that you’re not so comfortable with the emotional stuff.”

Flushing, she opened her mouth to retort, but he was right. She was sixteen years old, and could count on one hand the number of times she’d been kissed. Half of those hadn’t been voluntary, either.

But that wasn’t strange, right?

Zeke stepped closer, and Noa forced herself to hold her ground. Standing like this, they were nearly eye to eye.

He trailed a finger down her bare arm, making her shiver. “You know how I feel about you,” he said softly.

Noa felt like her face was on fire. A familiar ball of panic settled in her chest, and she had to fight the urge to run, as far and fast as she could. “I don’t know how to do this,” she finally said.

“So we take it slow.” Zeke leaned in and brushed his lips lightly across her forehead. The sensation made her inhale sharply.

Then he turned and walked away.

Teo had planned on taking off before the raid, but so far, he hadn’t had an opportunity. The house they were camped out in was in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but desert and other abandoned houses all around. It was some sort of upscale development that had fallen apart; the closest signs of life were a few miles away. Phoenix wasn’t what he’d expected; based on what he’d seen driving in, it was all strip malls and weird cookie-cutter housing developments like this one. There had to be a downtown somewhere, but how would he get there? And so far, he hadn’t seen a single panhandler, which didn’t bode well for surviving on his own.

Still, dying in the desert might be better than what was in store if he went along with them. Noa had announced that they were going in tomorrow night, even though they’d pretty much just arrived. He might be wrong, but it didn’t seem like they’d taken time to get a sense of what they were rushing into. All the details on how many guards there were, and where they might be, seemed awfully vague for his liking.

Daisy smiled at him. “Damn, you look nervous.” The two of them were hanging out in what probably used to be the master bedroom. Now it was bare, save for huge dust bunnies and a ragged carpet fragment they’d found in the garage. Daisy’s blue hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she was wearing short shorts and a halter top.

“Me, nervous?” Teo said with false bravado, conscious of the embarrassed flush spreading across his face.

“It’ll be fine,” she said confidently. “Noa and Zeke have done a bunch of these, and they never have any problems.”

There’s always a first time
, Teo thought, but he kept it to himself.

“You’re coming, right?” Daisy whispered, nudging him.

Her skin was warm and soft against his arm. Teo felt himself go even redder. He kept his eyes on her bare feet; her toenails were painted with chipped neon-green polish. He wanted to ask her to come with him; they could slip away tonight, long before everyone piled back into that damn van. But he had the feeling she’d say no. And worse, she’d think he was a coward.

“Yeah,” he said. “Course I’m going.”

“Good,” Daisy said in a low voice. She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed. “We’ll take care of each other. And when it’s all over, we’ll celebrate,” she promised with a wink.

Teo’s heart leapt. He was right; she had been flirting with him. Hopefully she meant what he thought about celebrating later. He’d wanted to kiss her ever since he first saw her; maybe she’d even let him do more.

Of course, Teo realized, he wouldn’t get to “celebrate” unless he stuck around. Which meant going up against armed guys just as tough as the one they’d held captive. The good feeling quickly dissipated. “Yeah,” he said desolately. “It’ll be a hell of a party.”

CHAPTER
SEVEN

P
eter impatiently blew hair out of his eyes. He’d gone too long between haircuts and now it was annoying him, blocking his vision. He should’ve worn a hat, anyway. What if Mason noticed a strange brown hair on his carpet?
Stupid
, Peter thought. At least he’d remembered to bring gloves this time.

He glanced at his watch: He’d already been inside the apartment for ten minutes. So much for get in, get out. He might as well pop open a soda and kick back on the couch for a while.

Angrily, he tried again to get the bug positioned, chastising himself the whole time. He should have practiced with one of these at home. The spy store salesman had sworn that these listening devices took less than a minute to install and activate, but maybe that time frame only applied to actual spies. For nearly five minutes Peter had been struggling to attach one to the underside of Mason’s desk, behind the lip so it wouldn’t be visible unless you were on your hands and knees looking up. But every time he thought it was secured, the bug dropped onto the rug.

Of course, the free-floating frustration he was feeling might not just be due to the bug. He’d awoken before dawn with Amanda curled up in bed beside him. Instantly, everything that had happened the night before snapped into his mind. He’d meant what he said, telling her that he loved her. At least, in the moment he had. But as he watched her sleep, conflicting emotions fluttered through him. Their breakup had hurt him badly. It was hard to feel like he could trust her anymore.

And then there was Noa.

Which was crazy, and ridiculous. But even though nothing had happened between them, and there was a good chance he’d never see her in person again, she occupied most of his thoughts. And his dreams, if he was honest. What he felt for Amanda was . . . different. There was a time when getting a text from her had made him light up, and he could have spent hours just holding her. Even after a year, whenever they were together he’d seek out physical contact with some part of her—his hand on the small of her back, or his fingers wrapped around hers.

He still cared deeply for her. But lying beside her that morning, he realized that he just didn’t feel
that
way anymore. He didn’t want to bury his face in her hair while wrapping his arms around her waist. Part of him was tempted to sneak out of the house before she woke up, but if he did that, she’d go ballistic.

So he waited, staring up at the ceiling, itching to get his laptop so he could start working. When she finally woke up around seven, he tried to act normal. Gave her a kiss and a hug, helped her sneak out the back so his parents wouldn’t see her. And when the door finally closed behind her, he heaved a sigh of relief, then immediately felt guilty about it.

He could tell that Amanda knew something was wrong, but she didn’t say anything. Which just made him feel even worse. So he got dressed in a rush and came here, counting on the fact that Mason would be a creature of habit, and the apartment would be empty.

Stupid risk. But he’d gotten lucky—no one was home.

That luck didn’t seem to be holding, however. Peter swore as the bug fell again, then sat back on his heels. He could practically hear the minutes ticking past, like a bomb countdown. He forced Amanda and Noa out of his mind, gritted his teeth, jabbed another piece of Velcro onto the damn thing, and tried again.

Finally, it stuck. Making a mental note to never go anywhere again without a tube of industrial strength Krazy Glue, Peter returned to the living room. The second and third bugs installed more easily: He tucked one under the kitchen counter, and after a tortuous few seconds of debate, installed the final one in the bedroom. Maybe Mason liked to lounge around on his bed chatting to P&D CEO Charles Pike like a high school girl with a crush. Hopefully, that was the only sort of activity he engaged in there. Peter had no desire to sift through hours of boudoir activity, but he was more afraid of missing something that might help save Amanda.

Peter scanned the room. He hesitated, then went back to the library one last time to make sure the damn bug hadn’t fallen on the carpet again.

All clear. Nervously, he double-checked that there was no sign he’d been in the apartment, then headed for the front door.

Halfway down the hall, he heard the distinct
click
of a dead bolt turning.

Amanda tucked her chin deeper into her turtleneck and hunched her shoulders. The temperature had plummeted overnight, and the faint sunshine barely made a dent in the biting air. She was late for her shift at the Runaway Coalition. Not that it really mattered, but lately she’d gotten the sense that Mrs. Latimar was watching her more closely, and she didn’t want to do anything to rouse suspicion.

It had taken nearly an hour to get back from Peter’s house; more than enough time to mentally review everything that happened. In the dark, Peter had been so sweet. She’d drifted off to sleep in his arms, feeling like they were finally together again, and everything would be fine from here on out.

But then she’d woken up to a stranger. Peter had been so weird and awkward, avoiding her eyes, going out of his way not to touch her. She could’ve sworn he even grimaced when he kissed her good-bye.

At the memory, Amanda fought back tears. She wasn’t an idiot. Maybe he’d only used the
l
word last night because he felt sorry for her.

That got her angry.
Forget him
, she told herself. Between school and volunteering, she didn’t really have time for a boyfriend anyway. Before Peter, she’d hardly dated; weekends, she’d hung out with friends. It had been nice, drama-free. Well, she’d just get back into that mindset. It was almost funny, that Peter was so hung up on a girl who wasn’t even around anymore. At the thought, Amanda experienced a sharp flare of rage. She tamped it down, clenching her jaw to contain it, and quickened her stride. Just a few more blocks to the Coalition.

Amanda was so preoccupied by those thoughts that she was barely aware of her surroundings; someone suddenly stepped in front of her. She automatically mumbled, “Excuse me,” shifting right to pass him.

But he moved with her, blocking her path. Annoyed, she jerked up her head. It was Mason.

Peter froze, his heart shuddering to a halt in his chest. As the doorknob turned, he got hold of himself and edged back down the hall as quickly and silently as possible. In the living room he stopped, his hands sweaty and shaking. Mason would kill him if he found him here. And he could probably dispose of a body in a hundred different ways without anyone finding out. Peter would simply vanish. His parents would assume he’d run away again. Amanda and Noa might search for him, but eventually even they would be forced to give up.

He had to get out, now.

His eyes frantically scanned the room for a hiding place. The curtains? No: too obvious, and they didn’t reach all the way to the floor. Maybe he could make it back to the bedroom? And do what, hide under the bed? Was there even a closet in there? Crap, he couldn’t remember.

Think!
he berated himself.

There was a door off the kitchen; he’d noted it on his first pass through the apartment. As footsteps approached down the long hallway, Peter darted toward it. He was out of time and out of options. If it turned out to be a cabinet, he was screwed. Drawing a deep breath, he turned the knob and opened the door as silently as possible.

When Peter saw that it led not to the broom closet he’d been hoping for, but to something even better, he nearly passed out from relief. He ducked into a small corridor with a trash chute and service elevator, easing the door shut behind him. Before pressing the call button for the elevator, he hesitated—what if it was loud? Mason might hear, and come investigate.

Better to wait a few minutes, Peter decided. Hopefully Mason wasn’t staying long. This time of day, he probably had someplace to be, right?

The sound of keys hitting the counter, and a lower noise. Was Mason
humming
? Peter thought, flabbergasted in spite of everything. He would’ve been less shocked if the door suddenly sprouted a mouth and started talking to him.

Suddenly, a heavy tread approached. Peter stepped back, panicked. It was too late to call the elevator—there was no way it would arrive before the door opened. He frantically surveyed the room, but no windows or exits magically appeared. For a brief second he considered the trash chute, but it was roughly a foot wide; there was no way he’d fit.

The footsteps stopped right on the other side of the door. Peter swallowed hard. This was it. He was about to be caught. A hundred terrible scenarios whirled through his mind. Should he scream? Maybe someone downstairs would hear him. He could call 911 . . . and say what, exactly? That he was trapped outside the apartment he’d just broken into?

At least he could send Amanda a text. He fumbled his iPhone out of his pocket and stared at the screen, unsure what to type.
I’m at Mason’s and someone’s about to kill me(!) Good-bye, it was nice knowing you. :(

Short and sweet
, he decided. Give her Mason’s address, and tell her to get in touch with Noa. While he was at it, he’d include a link to the packet sniffer. Peter berated himself for not sharing that data with her already—what had he been thinking? Noa had no idea that he’d inserted a back door into Pike & Dolan. Even if the Project Persephone files were on an entirely different server, there might be useful information there.

But no, he’d selfishly kept quiet about it.

The knob turned. He’d run out of time.

Peter ducked behind the door as it popped open, sucking in to make himself as narrow as possible. A hand tossed a small bag into the hall. Peter held his breath. It landed with a crackle a few feet away—white plastic knotted at the top, with the outline of cardboard containers inside.
Great
, he thought. His death could be blamed on Chinese takeout.

If Mason took one more step into the hall, he’d be seen. . . .

The door slammed closed. Peter waited a few beats, then exhaled.

Inside the apartment, a phone trilled. It was picked up after two rings. A woman started chattering in rapid-fire Spanish. He heard a sink turn on, then the sound of cabinets opening and closing.

Peter slid down the wall, dropping into a crouch.
Not Mason—his maid.
He had to repress a giggling fit at the realization. So he wasn’t about to die, which was a relief. But he still had to get out of here, ideally without being seen.

He pressed his ear to the door, hearing the persistent whine of a vacuum on the other side. He’d have to chance it. Stepping quietly to the elevator, Peter pushed the call button.

The doors slid open silently. Peter stepped inside and jabbed the button for the bottom floor, then repeatedly pressed the one that closed the doors. As they slowly slid shut, he kept waiting for a hand to force them back open, then reach for him. . . .

The doors finally shut, and he collapsed against the rear wall. It was a service elevator, much drabber than the one used by residents: a chipped linoleum floor, gray walls scarred by streaks of paint. But as far as Peter was concerned, it was the most beautiful elevator he’d ever taken in his life.

He emerged in the basement. Took a second to get his bearings, then mounted a stairwell that ejected him into the alley behind Mason’s building. He checked the street: It looked clear. Trying for nonchalance, he strode out of the alley with his hands jammed in his pockets. It took all his resolve to keep from breaking into a run.

After sliding behind the wheel of his Prius, Peter sat for a minute. His hands shook, echoing how his whole body felt. He was not cut out for this spy stuff. That had been a crazy risk he’d just taken, where the best-case scenario involved an arrest for breaking and entering. From now on, he’d stick to keeping track of things from the safety of his keyboard.

Feeling resolute, Peter turned the key in the ignition and pointed the car toward home.

Amanda could barely breathe. Mason was dressed in an impeccable gray suit with a wool overcoat, a Burberry scarf knotted around his neck. Despite the cold, his cheeks were pale as ever. “Amanda Berns,” he said evenly. “What a coincidence. I was just heading to the Runaway Coalition.”

Amanda opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her whole body had frozen with terror. She stared at him dumbly for nearly a minute; the whole time, his gaze never faltered.

She finally snapped out of it. Smiling weakly, she said, “I’m heading there, too,” and moved to pass him.

He fell in step alongside her. “Well, then we should walk together.”

Everything inside her raged against the suggestion, but she couldn’t come up with a valid reason to refuse. Amanda wanted to shriek at him for abducting her, marking her skin with a creepy warning, and stealing the lives of so many vulnerable teens. But she had no proof. And if she came out and started shouting at him in the middle of the sidewalk, she’d just end up looking like a crazy person.

Plus, Mason would know she was onto him. And everything she’d been doing at the shelter, stealing those names and passing them to Mouse, would have been in vain.

She swallowed hard, trying to get her throat working again. Kept her head ducked low, praying that he wouldn’t talk to her.

But he did. “So,” he said. “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance.”

Amanda looked up sharply, suddenly panicked that somehow they’d been discovered. Had he done something to Mouse? She pictured her wan form laid out on a metal table; the thought made her ill. “Really?” She struggled to keep her voice even as she asked, “Who?”

“Peter Gregory.”

A flash of relief, immediately followed by more panic. Did Mason know that he’d been helping Noa? “He’s my ex,” she said, fighting to sound dismissive.

“Ah, young love.” Mason’s mouth creased into a smile that didn’t extend to his eyes. “Lots of ups and downs, right?”

She didn’t answer. They were a block from the Coalition. The light was about to turn red; she broke into a trot to cross the street anyway. Mason matched her pace, although he managed it at a walk.