Notable (Smith High) (16 page)

Liz couldn’t hold back any longer. “Listen up, dumbass. This isn’t a joke. You just negotiated a merger with a
drug dealer
.”

Not the most tactful way to put it, but she definitely got the point across.

Aaron still looked as if he was expecting us to admit the hoax at any moment. “Right. Nice try.”

My palms were sweating, and a small voice in my head kept screaming the same sentence.

He has Amy.

He has
Amy.

I numbly forced myself to move toward the closet where I’d not-so-inventively decided to stash the Buddha statue. My lips twisted into a tight smile as I held it out for Aaron’s inspection. “See that white powdery stuff at the bottom? That’s the heroin my friends’
lives
depend on getting to a whacked-out drug lord. Now let’s see if you can use your fancy law degree to figure out how to help us.”

He paled noticeably. “This isn’t the kind of law I practice.”

“And this isn’t exactly our idea of a great study-abroad program, but that’s life,” Houston pointed out drily.

“Although we did get to Skype with Mackenzie Wellesley. That was pretty cool.”

Houston, Liz, and I stared at Ben in disbelief.

“
What?
Does she make up for the extreme crappiness we’ve been through? No. Was it cool getting to talk with her? Hell yes! That’s all I’m saying.”

Aaron looked at Ben with renewed interest. “You actually spoke to her?”

“Yeah, man. She’s Chel . . .
Lake’s
best friend.”

Okay, so
that
was the biggest lie I’d ever managed to hear with a straight face. But I didn’t see any point in correcting Ben when he might have stumbled on a way to motivate Aaron into doing the right thing.

Not that he should need any extra incentive.

Aaron straightened his tie. “Do you, uh, think you could introduce me to her? Mackenzie, I mean.”

“Sure.” I gritted out the word. “But first you’re going to do a few things for me.”

I didn’t have too much confidence in my plans anymore.

But I had to try
something
.

Amy’s life might depend on it.

“I
t’s not entirely your fault.”

Those were the very last words I ever expected to hear coming from Houston. The guy had practically been going for the world record of times that one person could reasonably say, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” But instead of rightly blasting me for our current disaster, he was cutting me some slack.

Maybe someone had declared it Opposite Day when I wasn’t looking.

“Yes, it is,” I said bluntly. “It’s
absolutely
my fault. It was my idea, my plan, and if it had worked, I would be taking full credit for its success right about now. Just because it blew up in my face doesn’t make it any less mine.”

He looked momentarily taken aback, probably because he expected me to embrace anything that made me less culpable for what had gone wrong. But I was done putting on my game face to hide my insecurities. Sure, I could convince most people to fear me, admire me, desire me . . . or at least not want to directly oppose me. But when it came to actual friendships, I only had a handful of real ones. And I’d knowingly just put one of my friends directly in the way of danger.

There was no ignoring that, even if I wanted to try.

“You didn’t see this coming,” Houston said firmly.

“Well, no kidding. I’m not a psychic, but that doesn’t make this any less my fault. I told her to do it.”

“
Amy
agreed to go, even knowing the risks. I’m not saying it wasn’t stupid. But it’s not entirely your fault.”

“I made her do it.”

Houston’s green eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight: that’s no to being a psychic, yes to mind control?”

“This isn’t a joke, Houston.”

“Oh, I know it’s not. It’s an unmitigated disaster. But Amy made a choice, and you shouldn’t beat yourself up over what happened. You’re acting like she’s incapable of making up her own mind.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Listen up, Chelsea; I’m only saying this once: Maybe I took the responsibilities your dad gave me a little too far.”

“Maybe?”
I crossed my arms. “
That’s
your big concession?”

Houston ignored my interruption. “You’re not the girl he described or the one I remembered from that party. And I didn’t give you the benefit of the doubt, so that part is on me. But I’m not taking the blame for your decisions. You made your choices—hell, we
all
made our choices, and now we’ve got to deal with the consequences. Together.”

But it had to be my fault.

That’s the way it worked. Ask anyone. If Chelsea Halloway was around, she was the source of the trouble. I regularly overheard whispers in the hallways about feuds that didn’t exist. If someone’s boyfriend inexplicably dumped them, within minutes someone was claiming that I’d had a hand in it. The whole thing was absolutely insane. And yet somehow that had become . . . normal. Just part of the price I had to pay for my position as Queen of the Notables. The rationale behind blaming me even started to make sense; when people think you hold all the power, they also think you hold the blame for
everything
.

And maybe somewhere along the way I had bought into my own myth just like everyone else at my school.

Except Houston didn’t think Amy’s abduction was entirely my fault. I had spent so many years fighting to preserve a fake image of perfection, I had always assumed it would be devastating for anyone to see through the cracks. Instead it came as a relief to know that he didn’t expect me to have everything under control. He didn’t blame me for being scared and confused.

He just wanted us to deal with the consequences together.

“I have a new idea,” I said softly. “It’s a risky move, and we don’t have to make it. We can sit here and wait for the reporters to show up tomorrow, just the way we all originally agreed. I’m sure they will love getting the details about Amy’s disappearance from a lawyer at a prestigious firm. But that’s not going to guarantee Amy’s safety. This new plan of mine might be reckless, but I still think it’s the right call to make for both Amy and Neal. So do you trust me?”

His mouth quirked wryly. “Do I have a choice?”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?” I repeated obstinately. “It’s a simple yes or no question, Houston.”

He looked right past me as if I were invisible, and I felt my stomach lurch.

“Guys, you might want to come over here. Chelsea has a new plan she wants to share with the class.”

Liz glanced up at me from the table where she and Ben had been stress-eating french fries ever since Aaron had left the room with the understanding that we’d be in touch. “What’s that?”

“I want to be the hostage negotiator.”

The room descended into silence, and I struggled not to fill it with promises I might not be able to keep.

“I know I’ve screwed up plenty of times before, but I’m asking for one more chance to make this right,” I said at last. “I think I need to do this.”

Ben spoke around a mouthful of fries. “Better you than me.”

Liz nodded in agreement. “I’m with Ben on this one. What do you think, Houston?”

“I think Chelsea’s the right pick for the job.”

The warmth of those words jolted my system as if I’d just drained a cappuccino in one swallow, but I couldn’t allow it to go to my head. Not when I had Amy to focus on. Wiping my sweat-slick palms on my jeans, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my prepaid cell phone. Everything I had heard about this guy suggested he had an aggressive streak and liked to play with guns. If he had shot Amy . . . I shut my eyes and tried to block out the unwanted mental images.

Somehow I would just have to convince him that it was in his best interest to leave her unhurt.

Unless it was too late
.

The life might be seeping out of my friend while I waffled over my approach. Her blood could be staining a bathroom floor somewhere in this very hotel and I’d be helpless to stop it. If this panic was what Amy had experienced when she saw the mess I made in the Happy Wonder Hostel, I owed her a billion more apologies.

I closed my eyes and pictured what my mom would say if she could see me panicking over a phone call right now.

Deep breath in and out.

Okay, I could do that.

Fingers trembling, I dialed Amy’s prepaid cell number and put the call on speaker. The ringing filled the room while I forced myself to keep breathing steadily. Any second now . . .

Or now . . .

A brusque, heavily accented voice interrupted on the third ring. “Speak.”

“I have an important message to relay to Mr. Sovann,” I replied calmly, grateful that my shaking hands couldn’t be seen over the phone. “Is he available?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m simply someone trying to fix an accident I believe happened to one of Mr. Sovann’s shipments. I’d like to speak directly to him.”

There was a brief pause before an even gruffer voice filled the room.

“Who are you? How dare you toy with
me?
”

Oh, snap. That was one very unhappy drug lord I had on the phone.

“Mr. Sovann,” I said carefully as my heart rate tripled. “It is an honor to speak with you, sir. My associates mean no disrespect, and we apologize for disrupting your busy schedule.”

His voice didn’t soften in the slightest. “I do not believe you mean no disrespect. Why else would you send this pathetic
child
to do your bidding?”

There was no mistaking the sound of a palm connecting with flesh and the muffled cry that filled the air.

I didn’t think it was possible for Liz, Ben, and Houston to look any more panic-stricken, but hearing Amy’s pain broadcast into the room did the trick. A distant part of my brain started screaming that I needed to do
something
to stop him. Beg. Plead.
Anything.
But I couldn’t let him know just how deeply I cared about Amy without playing right into his hands.

Houston’s palm clasped mine as I stared at the phone in horrified speechlessness.

If that simple display of affection had happened a few hours ago I might have tried to analyze whether it indicated friendly support or a more romantic type of interest.

Instead, I just gripped it for all I was worth and focused on keeping my voice steady.

“We meant no disrespect, Mr. Sovann,” I repeated. “We needed a way to communicate with you and thought our messenger would draw the least attention to a sensitive matter.”

“You thought to threaten me!” The uncontrolled anger in his voice had me clutching Houston’s already bruised hand even tighter. He winced slightly but gave me a quick squeeze back.

“Never. We only wish to help you correct a mistake.”

My words dangled unanswered, leaving me terrified that he might have grown bored and hung up on us. If that happened, I might as well message Amy’s parents so that we could start making funeral arrangements.

“And what of this ‘Neal’ in your note? Do you not demand that I release him?”

Part of me wanted to tell him to forget it. That I had changed my mind and we only cared about reclaiming our captured messenger. But I couldn’t do that to Neal. Not when I had already come this close to gaining his freedom. If I backed off now, it might be too late by the time more official diplomatic efforts were attempted, and Amy’s mission would’ve been for nothing.

Two lives depended on what I said next.

But, y’know, no pressure.

“We simply hope that with your considerable influence, we can free an innocent man.”

An appeal to his pride, vanity, and any sense of honor he might possess. If my victory hadn’t been so far from assured, I would have been damn pleased with my quick thinking. Mackenzie Wellesley probably could have rattled off some drug-related statistics, but for the first time I was confident that if we failed, it wouldn’t be because I wasn’t smart enough.

“If I free him, you will return my shipment,” Rithisak Sovann murmured thoughtfully, while I did my best not to get ahead of myself . . . or him.

He was considering my proposal, but he hadn’t agreed to my terms yet.

“Absolutely.”

There was another long pause.

“And what will you give me for the return of your messenger?”

A panicked mewl of terror on the other end of the phone sent my ragged pulse racing even faster. Houston’s hand instinctively gave my hand another supportive squeeze.

“Surely,” I croaked, “a man of honor would never shoot the messenger.”

Oh crap. I didn’t need Liz’s sharp kick in the shins to remember belatedly that one of the basic rules of hostage negotiating was probably:
Never remind the crazy man with a gun that he has a freaking gun!

“Your note was for the release of one man. It never said anything about this girl.” There was something even more terrifying about his sudden calmness than his blatant anger and hostility. I had absolutely no doubt that a man who had lived through the horrors inflicted on his country, who might have witnessed firsthand the deaths of thousands of his countrymen, had a very different idea of what constituted fair play than I did.

He also didn’t appear to have any scruples when it came to getting what he wanted. You don’t become a well-known drug dealer and the owner of one of the most luxurious hotels in Cambodia by being nice.

I forced myself to swallow some water so my voice wouldn’t crack like a pubescent boy’s. “You could release her as a gesture of goodwill.”

He chuckled. “She’s too fat for most of my customers, but many men like having white women in their collection.”

Another loud
smack
and an answering cry of pain rang clearly through the phone.

I froze. I could either call his bluff or fold . . . either tactic ran the risk of leaving Amy equally dead. But something about the cold way he calculated his decisions reminded me of the way I had ruled the Notables at Smith High School. If any girl had the nerve to spread rumors behind my back, I would’ve decimated her social standing through a whisper campaign of my own creation.

But challenge me head on . . . and I just might have caved.

“Hurt her and the deal is off,” I told him clearly. “Half of your package will be found in
your
hotel courtesy of an anonymous tip. That won’t be good for your image, right, Mr. Sovann? Particularly with a potential merger in the works. Who knows? The drugs might even be discovered in the very conference room you’ve been using.”

I didn’t need a Cambodian translator to understand that I had one seriously pissed-off drug dealer swearing at me.

“I’ll call you with further instructions,” I said, interrupting him mid-diatribe.

And then I hung up on him while the others looked at me with a mixture of shock, fear, and . . . respect.

Uncomfortable with the intense scrutiny coming at me from every direction, I glanced down at my watch.

“Time for phase two.”