Going Rogue (21 page)

“Shit,” I whispered when the third lock slipped away from me. “Damn it, okay. Sorry, I just have to start over.”

“Take your time,” Roux said, but she was shivering a little in the rain. It was still humid out, but colder than it had been at the airport.

It will open when you need it most
, Angelo had said, but his words just hurt when I thought about them now. I needed a lot of things right now, and part of me wanted to fling the tools away and stop opening the lock until someone—anyone—explained what I was doing here and why someone tried to kill us and where in the world my parents were. As soon as I had answers, then maybe I might open the lock, but until then, no deal.

But none of that was going to happen, so I kept working.

The third locked slipped again, then once more. The rain wasn’t helping either, and our driver Mathieu eventually herded Jesse and Roux back into the car. I couldn’t blame him. Having two people standing around staring at me breaking into someone’s apartment was not inconspicuous.

“If he drives away with us, I’ll go ballistic on him,” Roux assured me as she slid into the car.

“You do that,” I replied, then shoved my hair out of my face and tried for a fourth time.

By the tenth time, I was near tears. Sometimes opening a lock is like a sprint, other times it’s a marathon, but now I felt like I was in some never-ending Ironman competition. My arms were starting to tense up, but when I loosened my grip on my tools, the lock would slip and I’d be back to square one. My legs shook from squatting in the same position for so long. My hair was now getting wet, not just damp from the light rain, and above all else, I knew that my best friend and my boyfriend were waiting for me in what was probably a bulletproof car, waiting for me to open this door and get them inside to safety.

I hated this lock. I hated Paris. I hated my job, I hated being a spy, I even hated Angelo for teaching me how to pick locks in the first place. I hated my parents for not following me for the first time in their lives. I hated myself for wanting them to give me more space, more responsibility, more independence. Now that I had it, the world felt too big, like I would never find my way home again. “Our home is wherever we are, Mags,” my mom had said, but now I didn’t even know where they were.

I gritted my teeth and anchored my biceps, trying to get that third lock again. Sometimes you use talent to break into something, and other times, you have to use emotion instead.

“I hate you so much,” I whispered, then pushed at it one more time. “I just want to go home.”

I felt the third lock suddenly jolt into place and I gasped
when my tool moved forward, anchoring it open. “Oh!” I said, then carefully let go and moved on to the fourth lock. I had never gotten this far before. I had never wanted something so badly before.

The fourth lock was tiny, barely big enough to fit the jimmy in, but I managed to wiggle it open. Even though my thigh muscles were trembling, my hands were still as steady as always, which made me feel a bit better. Steely McGee, my dad used to call me, and I could hear his voice now as I carefully slipped through the gears and moved them apart. I held my breath, scared that even a puff of air would make everything fall apart. It was like building a house of cards, when one wrong movement could destroy everything.

I could feel Roux’s and Jesse’s and even Mathieu’s eyes on me as I turned the lock one half turn to the left. If this didn’t work, we were screwed. There was no Plan B, no other location, no backup situation. We either got in or we didn’t.

With a loud popping sound, all four locks clicked open.

We were in.

I sat back on my heels, letting out a whoosh of air and feeling my heart pound. Behind me, I heard Roux let out a whoop before Jesse shushed her, then she shushed him right back. I was exhausted and starving and emotional, but at least the lock was open. Once again, Angelo had been right.

“C’mon,” I said to them, “let’s go in.”

Mathieu handed us our bags, then went back to the driver’s seat, ready to bid us good-bye. He idled at the curb
until I waved him away, and then he drove off, leaving the three of us alone for the first time since the attack. “What is this place?” Jesse asked.

“I have no idea,” I told him. “But we’re going in.”

The door was surprisingly heavy, and when we opened it, we were in a dim hallway, lit by a single crystal chandelier. There was a table against one wall and a mirror above it, almost like the lobby of an apartment building. “Is anyone else getting
The Shining
flashbacks?” Roux whispered. “Just me? Okay then.”

There was an elevator at the end of the hall and we went in. It was old, too, and creaky, a lot like the one we had in our loft.

I pulled the gate shut and pressed the up button. “It’s probably just an empty building,” I told Roux and Jesse, trying to convince all three of us. “Angelo has places like this all over the world. Probably.”

Neither of them replied. They didn’t have to.

The elevator came to a sudden, jolting stop on the second floor, and we carefully climbed out. There was a door waiting for us and when I turned the knob, it opened without any trouble. My heart was pounding faster than it had been downstairs when I worked on the lock, and my hands were definitely shaking now. I could hear Jesse’s raspy breath behind me, and I couldn’t hear Roux at all.

The door opened into an apartment, all warm light and wooden parquet floors and crystal chandeliers. There were several gray couches and a loveseat, and raw silk curtain framed the windows and flowed to the floor. Bookshelves
lined the wall behind the dining room table and I caught sight of a Gauguin painting on one wall.

Angelo, I knew, loved Gauguin.

“Well,” said a voice from the living room, and Roux, Jesse, and I all tiptoed forward to see a guy and a girl standing there. “Took you long enough.”

They were probably only a year or two older than us, but they looked amused, even almost surprised that the three of us had managed to get into the apartment. He was pretty average height and had on dark jeans rolled at the cuff to reveal thick-sole boots. He wore a black sweater with holes in the wrists and elbows, only they look artfully arranged, not moth-eaten. She stood next to him in leggings and ballet-style shoes and an oversized Rolling Stones T-shirt, her dreadlocked hair piled into a dark jumble on top of her head.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Maggie,” the girl said, smiling at me. “We have been waiting for you.”

Roux, Jesse, and I stood in the doorway, not moving.

“We weren’t sure you were going to be able to open the lock,” the guy said. His English had a heavy Australian accent, and I realized that his thick, black-frame glasses had no glass in them. “We heard you struggling with it.”

“Thank you so much for that,” I said. “How do you know me?”

“Angelo sent you here, yes?” the girl said. Her voice had a French accent, but not as thick as his Australian one. “He said you would be arriving.”

“You talked to Angelo?” I said. “Is he here? Where is he?”

“Not here,” he said. “I’m Ryo, by the way. This is Élodie.”

She waved a little. “Hi.”

“I like your hair,” Roux piped up behind me.

“Thank you.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, waving my hands in front of me. “Let’s back up a few steps. Who are you?”

“Ryo and Élodie,” Ryo said again, pointing between them.

“No, I mean, who
are
you?” I said, gripping the back of the chair for support. “What are you doing here? How do you know Angelo?”

“What, you think you are the only young person in the Collective?” Élodie said, a smile playing at her mouth.

“You’re in the Collective, too?” Jesse asked, and Élodie smiled at him.

“You’re Jesse,” she guessed. “And Roux.”

“Hi,” Roux said. “Nice place.”

“It’s Angelo’s,” Ryo told us. “We use it sometimes for … refuge.”

“Refuge,” Jesse repeated. “Are you on the run, too?”

“Not exactly, mate,” he said. “At least, not right now. Who knows? Tomorrow is a brand-new day.” He smiled at Élodie. “Right?”

She grinned back at him, then turned to us. “Are you starving? Do you want some food?”

“Wait!” I said again. “Back to the topic at hand. Where’s Angelo? Where are my parents?”

Ryo and Élodie glanced at one another. “We don’t know,” Ryo said, his tone cautious. “We just got a call from Angelo saying to meet you here.”

“Mags,” Jesse said behind me. “You should sit. Or eat something.”

He was right, of course, but I ignored him. I was starting to shake again, the exhaustion and stress of the past day making its way through my bones. “I want to talk
to them,” I said. “Call Angelo right now. I want to talk to them.”

“We cannot do that,” Élodie said. “He calls us. We don’t know how to find him.”

“Then why are we here?” I yelled. “Get him on the phone right now! I want to talk to my parents! I want to know they’re all right!”

I don’t think I had ever thrown this loud of a temper tantrum in my life, but I certainly was now. I felt Jesse try to grab my arm, but I shook him off and stalked around the table into the living room, planting myself directly in front of Ryo and Élodie. “You need to tell me right now if my parents are dead,” I said, tears building up in my eyes. “And if you lie to me, I’ll kill you myself.”

“They’re not dead,” Ryo said. “I promise, Maggie. They’re not dead. We wouldn’t lie about that.”

I looked at both him and Élodie, looking for any sign of treachery. Their faces were honest, though, and a little sad, and that’s when I burst into tears. “I want to go home!” I said. My voice was choked and I didn’t sound like myself, which only made me cry harder. “I’m out, I’m done! I don’t want to do this anymore!”

Jesse’s hand was on my waist, reeling me back. “Mags, c’mon,” he was whispering, and I tried to shove him away, but he was stronger than me. “It’s okay, we’re okay.”

“It’s not okay!” I cried, and the full truth of the words slammed into me. “It’s not okay! Nothing about this is okay!”

Despite my struggles, Jesse managed to pull me into his
arms. He still smelled familiar, like home, and I buried my face in his plaid shirt and started to sob. “I’m sorry!” I wept. “I just want …”

“I know,” he whispered, his mouth close to my ear. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

The tears were so strong that they almost hurt, racking my ribs and lungs as they tore their way to the surface. Everything ached and I was so tired and jetlagged and I missed my parents so much that they felt like phantom limbs, parts of me I could no longer find.

Jesse was still there, though. His hand cupped the back of my head as he held me, his fingers smoothing over my tangled hair, and I could hear the rumble of his voice in his chest. He was talking to someone, maybe even me, but I couldn’t understand the words. All I could do was cry.

After a few minutes, I felt him gather me up and start to guide me out of the room. I was still a sniveling, teary mess as I stumbled along with him, but he held on to me so I wouldn’t fall. “C’mon,” he said soothingly. “Let’s lie down.”

“I’m not tired.” I sniffled.

“You’re such a liar,” he said, but his voice was affectionate and warm. “You can be stubborn tomorrow, okay? Let’s take a break for now.”

I could hear Élodie talking as we walked down the hall and into a bedroom. It was plain, just a table and mirror and a bed covered in a white duvet, with one window that showed the stormy skies outside. Jesse pulled back the covers and set me down on the bed, then tugged my shoes off
before pulling off his sneakers and wriggling out of his hoodie. “Here,” he said, slipping it around my shoulders. I pulled it around me and clung to the sleeves as I lay down and scooted over to make room for Jesse.

He crawled in and pulled the duvet over us, wrapping me up in his arms. I was still hiccuping a little and Jesse’s shirt was cold and wet from my tears, but it felt good to be in a real bed with someone who loved me. “Go to sleep,” Jesse whispered. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

“You don’t know that,” I said. My throat was scratchy and sore and my chest hurt, like someone had stepped on it.

“Of course I do,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of my head. “Things always work out when you’re around. Haven’t you noticed?”

I was quiet a long time, thinking about that. Jesse’s heartbeat was slow and steady in my ear, a tiny measure of time, our breathing soft and even. “Jess?”

“Hmm?”

But I was already asleep.

When I woke up, the sky was gray and the room was dim. I still had Jesse’s hoodie, but it was tangled around my waist. When I went to reach for him, his side of the bed was empty but still warm, like he had just gotten up a few minutes before me. I felt better, though, almost satiated. I had been running on fumes and when they gave out, so did I.

I looked out the window for a few minutes, seeing only the sky and the old pale Parisian buildings across the street. Their windows were arched and wide, just like the ones in Ryo and Élodie’s—or Angelo’s?—apartment, and I saw figures moving past the window, winding up their day, living their life.

The bedroom door opened and I looked over to see Roux peeking her head in. “Hi,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled, stretching my arms over my head, and Roux took that as an invite to plop herself down next to me.

“So,” she said. “Better?”

I nodded as I sat up. “How bad is my hair?”

“Atrocious,” she replied cheerfully, which made me smile.

“What time is it?”

“Almost six thirty. At night,” she added. “Jesse just got up a little while ago, too. He’s talking with Ryo and Élodie. They’re pretty cool. Élodie’s going to dye my hair for me.”

Called it.

“Are you hungry?” Roux continued. “There’s food. And coffee, of course.”

“There’s always coffee,” I said. “Wait, though. Are you okay?”

Roux just shrugged. “Yeah. Yesterday wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, but we’re okay now. And I like it here. I like Paris. I mean, I haven’t been outside yet, but I still like it. What about you? Are you okay?”