Silence (20 page)

“Breaking and entering is illegal. If we’re going to nail Hank, we have to do it legitimately.”

Scott came around the bed. He pulled the covers down until he could see my face. “He doesn’t play by the rules. The only way this is going to work is if we level the playing field. Aren’t you a little bit curious about what he’s keeping in the warehouse?”

I thought about the hallucination, the warehouse and the caged angel, but I said, “If it could get me arrested, no.”

He sat back, frowning. “What happened to helping me bury the Black Hand?”

That was the thing. A few hours alone to reason things out, and I felt my confidence slipping. If Hank was everything Scott claimed, how could the two of us go up against him alone? We needed a better plan. A
smarter
plan.

“I want to help, and I will, but we can’t just jump into this,” I said. “I’m too tired to think. Go back to the cave. Come back at a reasonable hour. Maybe I can talk my mom into visiting Hank at his warehouse and ask her what’s inside.”

“If I bring down Hank, I get my life back,” Scott said. “No more hiding. No more running. I’d get to see my mom again. Speaking of moms, yours would be safe. We both know you want this as much as I do,” he murmured in a voice I didn’t like. It was a voice that hinted at knowing me more than I was comfortable with. I didn’t want Scott to have that kind of insight into me. Not at midnight, anyway. Not when I was
this close
to slipping back into the dream with Jev. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he said softly, “if that’s what’s got you worried.”

“How do I know that?”

“You don’t. This is your chance to put my intentions to the test. Find out what I’m really made of.”

I snagged my lower lip between my teeth, thinking. I wasn’t the
kind of girl who sneaked out at night. And here I was, about to do it twice in one week. I was beginning to think I was one hundred eighty degrees from the person I liked to believe I was.
Not so good after all?
the devil on my shoulder seemed to taunt.

The idea of going out after dark to spy on one of Hank’s warehouses didn’t exactly send a warm, fuzzy feeling through me, but I rationalized that I’d be with Scott the entire time. And if there was one thing I wanted, it was to get Hank out of my life for good. Maybe, if Scott was right about him being Nephilim, Hank was capable of mind-tricking one or two cops, but if he was doing something highly illegal, there was no way he could evade the entire police force. Right now, getting the police to breathe down his neck seemed like a good start to unraveling his plans, whatever they were.

“Is this even safe?” I asked. “How do we know we won’t get caught?”

“I’ve been canvassing the building for days. Nobody’s there at night. We’ll take a few pictures from the windows. Level of risk is low. You in or not?”

I gave a relenting sigh. “Fine! I’ll throw on some clothes. Turn around. I’m in my pj’s.” Pj’s that consisted of nothing but a tank and boy shorts—an image I didn’t want to sear into Scott’s mind.

Scott smiled. “I’m a guy. That’s like asking a kid not to glance at the candy counter.”

The dimple in his cheek deepened. And it was
not
in any way cute.

Because I wasn’t going down this road with Scott. I made the decision instantly. Our relationship was complicated enough. If we were going to work together, platonic was the only way to go.

With a wry smile, he raised his arms in defeat and gave me his back. I scrambled out of bed, loped across the room, and shut myself in the closet.

Since the doors were slatted, I left the light off just to be safe and felt my way down the rack of clothes. I tugged on a pair of skinny jeans, a layering tee, and a hoodie. I opted for tennis shoes, fearing we might have to run at a moment’s notice.

Buttoning the top of my jeans, I opened the closet door. “You know what I’m thinking right now?” I asked Scott.

His eyes scanned me. “That you look cute in that girl-next-door way?”

Why did he have to say things like that? I felt a blush spring to my cheeks and hoped Scott missed it in the dim light.

I said, “That I’d better not regret this.”

S
COTT’S MODE OF TRANSPORTATION WAS A 1971
Dodge Charger, not the quietest of cars for a guy who insisted we keep a low profile. Add on the fact that the tailpipe sounded like it had developed a crack, and I was pretty sure we could be heard rocketing around from several blocks away. Even though I thought we were only piling on the suspicion by thundering through town with our hoods up, Scott was adamant.

“The Black Hand has spies everywhere,” he informed me yet
again. As if to punctuate his point, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “If he catches us together …” He let the sentence dangle.

“I get it,” I said. Brave words, considering they sent a shudder right through me. I preferred not to think about what Hank would do if he suspected Scott and I were spying on him.

“I shouldn’t have taken you to the cave,” Scott said. “He’d do just about anything to find me. I wasn’t thinking about how this would impact you.”

“It’s okay,” I said, but that ominous chill hadn’t vanished. “You were surprised to see me. You weren’t thinking. Neither was I. I’m still not thinking,” I added with a shaky laugh. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be snooping around one of his warehouses. Is the building under video surveillance?”

“No. My guess is the Black Hand doesn’t want any extra evidence proving what goes on there. Video can leak,” he added meaningfully.

Scott parked the Charger by the Wentworth River, under the low-hanging branches of a tree, and we swung out. By the time we’d walked a block, I couldn’t see the car when I glanced over my shoulder. I supposed that was what Scott had been going for. We crept alongside the river, the moon too thin to cast our shadows.

We crossed Front Street, weaving between old brick warehouses, slender and tall, built one right after another. The original architect clearly hadn’t wanted to waste space. The buildings’ windows were greased over, barred with iron, or covered from the
inside with newsprint. Trash and tumbleweeds crammed the foundations.

“That’s the Black Hand’s warehouse,” Scott whispered. He pointed in the direction of a four-story brick structure with a rickety fire escape and arched windows. “He’s gone inside it five times in the past week. He always comes just before dawn, when the rest of town is sleeping. He parks several blocks away and walks the rest of the way on foot. Sometimes he’ll circle a block twice just to make sure he’s not being followed. You still think he’s storing cars?”

I had to admit, the chances of Hank taking that kind of precaution over Toyota inventory was pretty low. If anything, it sounded like he was using the building as a chop shop, but I didn’t really believe that, either. Hank was one of the wealthiest and most influential men in town. He wasn’t desperate to make a little cash on the side. No, something else was going on. And by the way the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, I predicted it wasn’t good.

“Are we going to be able to see inside?” I asked, wondering if the windows on Hank’s building were blacked out like the others. We were still too far away to tell.

“Let’s move up another block and find out.”

We hugged each building along the way so closely the bricks snagged my hoodie. At the end of the block, we were close enough to Hank’s building to see that while the windows on the bottom two floors were covered in newspaper, those on the top two floors had been left unobstructed.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Scott asked with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Climb the fire escape and have a look inside?”

“We could draw lots. Loser goes up.”

“No way. This was your idea. You should go up.”

“Chicken.” He grinned, but sweat glistened on his forehead. He pulled out a cheap disposable camera. “It’s dark, but I’ll try to get a few clean pictures.”

Without another word, we ran in a crouch across the street. We hurried down the alley behind Hank’s building and didn’t stop until we were hidden behind a Dumpster splashed with graffiti. I braced my hands on my knees and swallowed air. I couldn’t tell if my shortness of breath was due to the running or anxiety. Now that we’d come this far, I suddenly wished I’d stayed behind in the Charger. Or stayed home, period. My greatest fear at this point was being discovered by Hank. How certain was Scott that we weren’t being caught on surveillance tape at this very moment?

“Are you going up?” I asked, secretly hoping he’d developed cold feet too and would make an executive decision to retreat to the car.

“Or in. What are the chances the Black Hand forgot to lock up?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of a row of truck bay doors.

I hadn’t noticed the bay doors until Scott pointed them out. They were raised off the ground and set back in an alcove. Perfect
for loading and unloading cargo privately. There were three in a row, and something clicked in my head when I saw them. They looked a lot like the bay doors I’d pictured during my hallucination in the school bathroom. The warehouse also had a creepy resemblance to the other hallucination I’d had with Jev by the side of the road. I found the coincidences eerie, but wasn’t sure how to raise the issue with Scott. Telling him,
I think I saw this place during one of my hallucinations
wasn’t going to earn me a lot of credibility.

While I was still pondering the spooky connection, Scott leaped up on the cement ledge and tried the first bay door. “Locked.” He moved to the keypad. “What do you think the code is? Hank’s birthday?”

“Too obvious.”

“His daughter’s birthday?”

“Doubtful.” Hank didn’t strike me as stupid.

“Back to plan A, then.” Scott sighed.

He jumped, catching the bottom rung of the fire escape. A layer of rust sprinkled down and the metal gave a low groan of protest, but the pulley worked, the chain fed through it, and the ladder lowered.

“Catch me if I fall,” was all he said before going up. He tested the first couple of rungs, bouncing his weight against them. When they didn’t give, he continued up, one cautious step at a time to minimize the creaking metal. I watched him all the way to the first landing.

Figuring I should keep watch while Scott climbed, I poked my head around the side of the building. Ahead, at the adjacent corner, a long, knifelike shadow spread across the sidewalk, and a man stepped into view. I pulled back.

“Scott,” I whispered up, my voice the barest sound.

He was too high to hear.

I glanced around the edge of the building a second time. The man stood on the corner with his back to me. Between his fingers burned the orange glow of a cigarette. He leaned into the street, glancing both ways down it. I didn’t think he was waiting for a ride, and I didn’t think he’d stepped out of work for a smoke. Most of the warehouses in this district had been retired years ago, and it was past midnight. Nobody was working at this hour. If I had to bet, the man was guarding Hank’s building.

Further proof that whatever Hank was hiding had value.

The man ground his cigarette beneath his boot, glanced at his watch, and started a bored amble toward the alley.

“Scott!” I hissed, cupping my mouth. “We have a problem.”

Scott was well past the second level, only a few steps away from the third-story landing. The camera was in his hand, ready to take pictures the minute he had a clear shot.

Realizing he wasn’t going to hear me, I grabbed a piece of gravel and threw it at him. Instead of hitting him, however, the rock hit the fire escape, ringing out with a
clang, clang, clang
as it bounced back down.

I covered my mouth, paralyzed by fear.

Scott looked down and froze. I jabbed my finger urgently at the side of the building.

Then I ran to the Dumpster, crouching behind it. Through the crack between the Dumpster and the building, I watched Hank’s guard jog into view. He must have heard the pebble I’d thrown, because his eyes immediately traveled up, trying to pinpoint the sound.

“Hey!” he yelled at Scott, jumping onto the bottom rung of the fire escape and hauling himself up with a speed and agility that very few humans could match. He was tall, too, one of the easiest ways Scott had taught me I could spot a Nephil.

Scott clambered up the fire escape, taking the rungs two at a time. In his hurry, the camera slipped from his hand, sailing down to the alley, where it shattered. He gave it one brief glance of disbelief before resuming his rushed ascent. At the fourth-story landing, he hauled himself up the ladder that hooked onto the rooftop and disappeared above.

I ran down my options in a hurry. The Nephil guard was only a flight behind Scott, moments away from cornering him on the roof. Would he rough up Scott? Haul him back down for questioning? My stomach lurched. Would he call Hank here, to deal with Scott directly?

I hustled out to the front of the building and craned my neck, trying to locate Scott. As I did, a shadow streaked overhead. Not
along the edge of the rooftop, but in the air between this building and the one across the street. I blinked, clearing my vision just in time to see a second comet race across the sky, arms and legs pinwheeling athletically.

My jaw dropped. Scott and the Nephil were
jumping buildings
. I didn’t know how they were doing it, and there wasn’t time to dwell on the impossibility of what I was seeing. I sprinted toward the Charger, trying to anticipate Scott’s mind. If we could both beat the Nephil to the car, we stood a chance of getting away. Pumping my arms harder, I followed the sound of their shoes ringing and scuffing far overhead.

Halfway to the car, Scott veered suddenly to the right, and the Nephil followed. I heard the last of their impossibly fast footsteps sprint into the darkness. As they did, a metallic chime rang out on the sidewalk just ahead. I scooped up the car key. I knew what Scott was doing: diverting the Nephil long enough to give me a chance to get to the car before they did. They were faster—much faster—and without an extra few minutes, I’d never make it. Still, Scott couldn’t take the Nephil on a wild-goose chase forever. I had to hurry.