Don't Let Go (20 page)

“Awesome.” Peter inhaled deeply. He felt lighter, like a burden had been lifted. “I saw some ice cream in the fridge.”

“I’m full, actually.” Noa was rubbing her wrist, the way she always did when she felt anxious. “That was a great movie.”

“Yeah, the best.” The awkwardness had crept back in between them. “Are you tired? I was going to take Rick’s room, if you want his sister’s.”

Noa didn’t answer. She was staring at the screen with a shocked expression.

Peter followed her eyes. The TV had switched back to live mode, and it was tuned to CNN.

Their faces filled the screen, right above the banner:
TERRORIST ALERT IN COLORADO
.

Teo clutched Daisy’s hand. They were seated next to each other in the rear of the plane. Mason hadn’t bothered tying them up again; Teo couldn’t decide if that was a good sign or a really, really bad one. Daisy was curled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair, trying to silently reassure her.

As the plane started to descend, Daisy tilted her head to look up at him. “So this is it, huh?”

Tears pressed against his eyelids. Teo shook his head firmly and said, “No way. We’ll be fine.”

“You’re such a liar,” she said with a small, sad smile. The plane shuddered as the wheels touched down. It bounced once, then started to taxi. “Where do you think we are?”

The window shades were drawn, but he could tell it was still dark outside. “I’m hoping for Disneyland,” he said lightly. They’d been flying for about five hours, so they could be pretty much anywhere from Mexico to Canada.

Daisy giggled. “That would be an awesome place to die. Wonder why they didn’t just kill us in the air?”

“Probably didn’t want to mess up the upholstery,” he said grimly.

“Well, at least I finally got to ride on an airplane, right?” she said softly.

Seeing the tears in her eyes nearly killed him. Teo drew her close, wrapping both arms around her.

The hiss of a door opening, and hands suddenly pulling them apart. “Time to go,” one of the guards said gruffly, digging his fingers into Teo’s shoulders. “Get up.”

Teo growled, “Get your hands off me. I can walk.”

Holding Daisy’s hand, he walked up the aisle on shaky legs, remembering the look of rage in Mason’s eyes. Would they be killed right there on the tarmac?

Teo paused in the doorway. A set of stairs had been driven up to the plane, as if they were dignitaries getting off a fancy jet. Four black SUVs were parked in a half circle at the bottom of the stairs. The airfield was small, just a single runway surrounded by trees. He scanned the area, but there was nothing to indicate where they were.

“Go,” a voice behind him ordered.

Slowly, Teo descended the stairs, the metal clanking beneath his boots. He could hear Daisy sniffling behind him. One of the men opened the rear passenger door of the closest SUV and motioned for them to climb in. There was already someone sitting in the front passenger seat; he leveled a handgun on them.

Mason got in a separate vehicle, Teo noted with relief. But maybe he wasn’t the type to get his hands dirty, at least not directly.

Their SUV pulled away from the airplane. With a growing sense of dread, Teo watched the tarmac unfurl before them. A metal gate rolled aside to let them through. Then they were driving down a two-lane road, hemmed in by trees on either side. He kept his eyes peeled for street signs, even though that was probably pointless. Why bother finding out where he was going to die?

It felt like they drove for an eternity, although probably only forty-five minutes had passed when the SUV abruptly turned up a long, sweeping driveway. A twelve-foot-high stone wall rose up on either side of the car. The SUV stopped in front of an enormous gate. The driver rolled down his window and swiped a key card against the security box, then the gate slowly swung open.

The driveway eased left. It was lined with lights that provided just enough illumination for Teo to make out more trees surrounding them. They could be anywhere: a pricey suburb, or somewhere rural. Hell, they could be in a whole other country for all he knew.

They rounded a bend, and his jaw dropped. An enormous mansion loomed up, nearly every window lit. It looked like something out of a movie: Bruce Wayne’s castle in
Batman
, maybe. Carved out of massive stone blocks, with honest-to-God turrets.

“They’re going to kill us here?” Daisy said. “Fancy.”

“Shut up,” the driver barked.

They passed the main door, pulling around to the side of the house. The SUV stopped in front of a garage with five vehicle bays.

“Out,” the driver ordered. “And stay quiet.”

Teo was practically choking on the lump in his throat.
Pull it together
, he scolded himself as he climbed out. A guard motioned for them to follow him through a side door. Daisy fell in step beside him, her hand small and sweaty in his. Teo squeezed it reassuringly as he glanced back; the other guys from the car were right behind them.
So much for making a break for it
.

They entered a dark, gloomy hallway. The guy in front kept walking, and they followed him through a series of rooms. Teo’s mouth gaped open: In his entire life, he’d never set foot in such a nice house. Roy and Monica’s compound in Santa Cruz looked like a tenement in comparison. Huge chandeliers in every room. Rugs and furniture that even he could tell were worth a fortune. Paintings set in gilded frames on every wall. He briefly wondered if it was a museum; there was no way actual people lived like this.

“Damn,” Daisy muttered. “What is this place?”

Teo shook his head. “Not Disneyland.”

She stifled a nervous laugh.

Finally, the guard halted before a set of enormous wood doors. He rapped on them with his knuckles. From inside, a voice intoned, “Come in.”

The guard opened the door and stepped inside. Someone prodded Teo in the back, and he followed.

They were in a living room, if you could call a place the size of a banquet hall that. Lots of plush furniture beneath a chandelier that scattered light across dark red walls.

An older man leaned against the mantle. He was dressed in khakis and a light gray sweater that matched his hair.

As he turned toward them, Teo gasped, recognizing him immediately from photos and videos. This was the man who had infiltrated all of their lives, even though they’d never met.

Charles Pike.

“Welcome,” Pike said with a broad smile. “Please, have a seat.”

CHAPTER TEN

“O
h, crap,” Peter said, running both hands through his hair. “What the hell?”

Noa stared at the photos of them on-screen. Peter’s was a school portrait; he looked younger, with that persistent lock of hair nearly covering one eye. He gazed into the camera with a cocky grin, looking self-assured and confident.

Hers was less formal. She was wearing headphones and looking down. Her hair was cropped short, and she had on her favorite scarf. She’d bought it last September, so the picture must have been taken then, before she was kidnapped.

By the people stalking me
, she realized. Pike’s people.

“This is not good,” Peter said grimly.

Noa forced herself to focus on what the news anchor was saying: something about a murder in Colorado, and the discovery of a sleeper cell in an old missile silo. “Wait,” she said. “Murder?”

Another image replaced their faces on-screen: Loki against a hazy blue background, probably from his driver’s license. He stared challengingly out at them, his mouth set in a firm line, the beard consuming most of his face. His ever-present trucker cap was gone, revealing thinning brownish-gray hair.

“Loki didn’t make it,” Peter said flatly. “Those bastards killed him, and now they’re blaming us.”

The anchor’s bland voice was saying, “. . . Matan Maoz was found dead by authorities who raided the compound this afternoon. The state police believe that Maoz was killed by his co-conspirators before they fled. Numerous bombs and bomb-making materials were found in this former missile silo, purchased by Maoz in 2007. While the police refuse to discuss which terrorist organization might be responsible, an anonymous source revealed that these two teenagers are persons of interest. A nationwide manhunt is currently under way for Noa Torson and Peter Gregory. They are to be considered armed and dangerous; authorities stress that if you see them, please call the tip line immediately. Do not under any circumstances attempt to make contact with them.”

“Anonymous sources, my ass,” Peter snorted. He pushed off the couch and started to pace. “Those bastards are framing us.”

“Poor Loki.” A well of emotion rose up, nearly choking Noa. He’d fought to give them a chance to get away, and now he was gone. Sometimes it seemed like everyone who tried to help her ended up dead.

Loki’s photo vanished, replaced by footage of state police cruisers parked in front of the gate to his compound. The news anchor prattled on about bomb-sniffing dogs and robots being brought in to search the site.

Then the camera cut to a living room, where a well-dressed middle-aged couple sat on a couch. Peter collapsed in a chair, as if his legs had buckled beneath him.

“What?” Noa asked, alarmed.

“Those are my parents,” he croaked.

Noa shifted her attention back to the screen. The resemblance was clear: Peter had his mother’s brown, wavy hair, and his father’s eyes and nose. His parents looked tired, and agitated. They sat in a gorgeous living room: Everything looked insanely expensive. This must be where Peter used to live, the house he’d grown up in. She swallowed hard, struck again by how different their lives had been.

His mother spoke first. “Peter was an excellent student, with a lot of friends. He’s always been such a happy boy. He’s not . . .” She broke down, covering her mouth with a manicured hand. Peter’s dad rubbed her shoulder reassuringly.

“He fell in with some bad people,” his father said gruffly. “Ran off a few months ago. We’ve been looking everywhere for him, even hired private detectives. And now this.” He shook his head. “It’s not his fault. They must have brainwashed him.”

Peter made a strangled sound. “Me? I’m the one who’s been brainwashed?”

“Please.” Peter’s mother’s hands twisted in her lap. “If he is involved in all this, I’m sure it wasn’t his idea. He’s a very sweet boy.”

“God, she’s making me sound like a serial killer,” Peter grumbled. “Thanks a lot, Mom.”

“Peter’s got a lot of anger in him,” the father interjected, staring right at the camera. “I’d like to say I’m surprised to hear that he killed someone, but, well . . . we should have gotten him help sooner. That’s all we have to say.”

The camera abruptly cut back to the blond news anchor. As she announced a four-alarm fire in an abandoned storage complex in Flagstaff, Arizona, the picture beside her switched to a city block engulfed in flames. Peter picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

They sat in silence for a long time.

“So,” Peter finally said. “Nationwide manhunt, huh? That’s not exactly a change of pace for us.”

“It is when
everyone
is looking,” Noa said. “Not just Pike’s people.”

“Good point. Looks like it’s time to invest in some hair dye.”

Noa plucked at a hole in her jeans. This was very, very bad. The one thing they’d had going for them was relative anonymity; Pike had just stripped that away. All it would take was one phone call from a concerned citizen, and the dragnet would descend. “So. Those were your folks, huh?”

Peter’s face clouded over. “Yeah.”

“They look . . . nice,” she offered.

Peter glowered at the blank TV screen. “Yeah, really nice. I wonder how long it took Pike to convince them to sell out their only living kid. They probably tripped over each other to volunteer.”

“Maybe it wasn’t like that.”

“Please.” He examined his hands, then started methodically cracking his knuckles. “I mean, I knew they were involved in all this. I guess I just figured that if it came down to it, they’d take my side, you know? And instead . . .” He gestured toward the TV. “My mom even did her hair and makeup, did you notice that?”

He sounded utterly bereft, like someone had just torn out a piece of him that he’d never get back. Noa bit her lip. She’d spent her entire life resenting people who had parents. But maybe she’d been better off. “I’m really sorry,” she finally said.

He shrugged. “Whatever, right? Bob and Priscilla can go screw themselves.”

Noa felt like she should say something, or do something, but didn’t know what.
Zeke would know
. He’d always had a knack for coming up with the perfect words to make someone feel better. She brushed the thought away. “We should get some sleep.”

“Right.” Peter had retreated into himself; he seemed to be growing smaller by the moment.

“Do you need anything?” she offered one last time.

Peter shook his head. Noa stood there awkwardly for a minute, waiting, then left the room. At the top of the stairs, she turned back. He was still sitting there, staring at his hands. As she watched, his shoulders started shaking. Noa bit her lip: She wanted to go back down, to comfort him in some way. But she got the feeling that more than anything, Peter wanted to be alone.

Suddenly exhausted, she shuffled down the hall to her room and quietly shut the door.

Daisy perched on the edge of the sofa, surreptitiously checking out their surroundings. Teo was sitting next to her, still holding her hand. The windows were all the way across the room, and closed: No way she could get to them without a guard tackling her. And for all she knew, there were dozens more surrounding the place. This was more like a prison than a house.

Charles Pike held a drink in his hand as he stared down at them. He swirled it, making the ice clatter, then took a sip. “I’d offer you some,” he finally said. “But you’re underage. And I wouldn’t want to get in trouble for that.”

Humor played in his voice, like this was all a big joke. He was attractive for his age, tan and athletic looking. Salt-and-pepper hair, piercing blue eyes, and a cleft chin. Daisy imagined leaping off the couch and clawing her nails down his cheek; that would wipe the smug grin off his face.