fifty-seven

I scanned the room, looking for anything I could use to staunch the blood. It was a storage room, with boxes and narrow crates stacked on metal shelves. A lumpy six-foot rug was rolled up in one corner. There was also an easel with a cloth draped over it. I pulled the cloth off and ran up the stairs to the detective. The easel crashed to the floor behind me.

The detective winced as I stopped the flow of blood by tying the cloth around her wrist.

“We have to get you out of here,” she said. Her voice was weak. “Where did … ?” Her eyes seemed unfocused as she looked around.

“I’ve got it,” I said, picking up the knife, which I saw now contained a whole set of tools. “Sit tight.”

I stepped past her and tried the door handle. As she’d said, it was locked. I looked down at her. Detective Vega was in no shape to pick a lock, and I didn’t have my phone for Dorian to talk me through it. I looked to the hinges, remembering the way I’d opened another locked door the previous year. There were no hinges here. They were on the other side. That meant the door swung outward …

I was willing to bet this room hadn’t been built with the purpose of locking people inside. At least I hoped so. If it was meant to hide illicit goods, its creator would want it to be hidden on the outside, but not necessarily secure on the inside. Which was why Ward had tied us up so tightly.

“I have an idea,” I said, rushing down the stairs. I pushed my way through the various boxes on the shelves until I found something that was both heavy and maneuverable. A heavy, flat crate sat on a high shelf. Inside was a canvas painting, but that’s not what interested me. It was the ornate iron frame. Perfect.

I hauled the framed canvas up the stairs and helped Detective Vega scoot down a few steps until she was out of the way. She didn’t object, which told me how much blood she’d lost.

I swung the iron frame through the air a few times, getting a feel for the arc it made. I braced myself against the wall and heaved. The iron crashed against the door. I heard the wood crack, but it didn’t give.

“Good,” Vega whispered. “Go for the frame of the door, not the door handle.”

I swung again, this time aiming for the spot where the wall met the door. The wall didn’t appear to give, but I tried the door one more time. It swung open a few inches.

Detective Vega smiled weakly. “We make a pretty good team. Now let’s get out of here.”

I helped her up and we stepped out of the underground storage room. Or rather, we took half a step, and then the door stopped. The door was behind a file cabinet. I slammed my shoulder into the door three times before it was open far enough for us to slip through.

We stepped into a dimly lit space, and I realized it wasn’t lit at all. It was the first rays of daylight coming through a narrow, high window. We were inside a sprawling warehouse—and we weren’t alone.

“I thought I heard a commotion.” Ward approached, a knife in his hand.

Detective Vega stepped in front of me. “Don’t make this worse for yourself. Help is on the way. Make it easy by turning yourself in.” Her voice was the perfect balance of calm and commanding. But she had better control of her voice than her body. She began to sway.

Ward noticed it too. He and I both stepped toward her. Me to support her before she collapsed, Ward with the knife clenched in his gloved fist.

I reached her and pushed her out of the way. We landed in a tangle on the hard floor, and I slammed into the side of the cabinet that had blocked the hidden door. The crash echoed through the warehouse. No, it wasn’t an echo. It was the sound of chains spinning as a wide metal door swung open.

“Hey, you guys!” a young voice called. Veronica. “I told you I heard something in this one.”

Sunlight streamed over us and three teenagers rode their bikes into the warehouse.

“That’s him!” Ethan cried.

Brixton hurdled his bike straight toward a shocked Ward. The knife flew from his hand as the bicycle collided with him. Brixton flew over the handlebars, but something soft broke his fall. Ward.

Veronica and Ethan stopped their bikes in front of the mess and helped Brixton up. He’d scraped his palm but otherwise looked all right.

Veronica jumped off her bike and gave Brixton a hug. “That was the bad guy, right, Ms. Faust?”

“It was.” I looked at Ward. He wasn’t moving. Neither was Detective Vega. “I need one of your phones. The detective needs medical attention. I need to call 9-1-1.”

“On it,” Ethan said.

“Thank you all,” I said, “but how—”

“Your French friend called Brix,” Veronica said. “He said the police didn’t take his anonymous tip seriously. He had to try Brix like half a dozen times before the phone finally woke him up. Sorry we’re late. There were a bunch of warehouses to try.”

“But it was pretty cool we got here at sunrise, just like in Max’s favorite movie.”

“I don’t know which warehouse,” Ethan was saying to the 9-1-1 operator. “How am I supposed to know that? Can’t you use GPS or something?”

The sound of brakes screeching sounded from nearby. I knew modern emergency services were quick, but Ethan had called only a few seconds before. And the sound was familiar … especially after the door opened.

“Mr. Freeman?” Veronica said as Tobias rushed inside with a duffel bag over his shoulder.

He scanned the scene, his eyes widening at the sight of Ward lying unconscious on the floor, then jogged to Detective Vega’s prone form. “Anyone else hurt?”

“No,” I said. “She’s lost a lot of blood. A knife sliced her wrist while she was cutting off the ropes. Ward hit his head when Brixton crashed into him to save us.”

Tobias knelt at the detective’s side, took her pulse, and ripped open the bag.

“I called 9-1-1,” Ethan said. “Paramedics should be here soon.”

“We got here in time, didn’t we?” Brixton asked.

“You did.” I couldn’t resist pulling him into a hug. His dark wavy hair was windswept from the waterfront bike ride to find us, and his body shook from adrenaline. I would have kissed the top of his head if he hadn’t sprouted several inches in the past year. “But I still can’t believe Dorian dragged you into this.”

Tobias’s head snapped up. “They know Dorian?”

“He’s too shy to meet them in person,” I said. “They email. So he called you too?”

Tobias shook his head as he continued to monitor the detective. “I don’t think he has my number. It was a cold night. Too cold for someone sick to be in the trailer. Nick needed more heat to recuperate, so I drove us back to your house, and—”

“Um, you guys?” Veronica said, “I think that man on the floor is starting to wake up.”

“Should I kick him in the head?” Ethan asked.

“No!” I said. “Get away from him. I’ll be back in a few seconds. Tobias—watch Ward.”

I ran down the steps of the room where I’d been held captive and grabbed the longest intact pieces of rope I could find. Just as he’d done to me, I bound Ward’s hands behind his back, and his ankles.

The sound of a siren sounded in the distance. The ambulance was nearly here.

I looked down at Ward. After mumbling for a few seconds while I tied him up, he’d fallen unconscious again. We couldn’t let the police get hold of him. I couldn’t let him go, either. Nor could I harm him …

Tobias must have had a similar thought. “This was really heroic of you all,” he said to the kids, “but I’m guessing your parents won’t think of it that way. If you want to slip away to get to school before the authorities show up and question you, we won’t say anything.”

The boys began to protest until Veronica said, “My dad will so kill me if he learns I’m here. I won’t be allowed to see either of you for the rest of the school year.”

The handlebars of Brixton’s bike were bent but the bike was functional, so the three of them rode off, with only Brixton casting a glance back at us before they disappeared from sight.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Tobias asked.

“We can’t hand over Ward to the police for him to end up in jail,” I said. “He doesn’t age. We need time to figure out what to do with him.”

“Take his feet. Hurry. I don’t think the ambulance knows exactly where we are, but the sirens are getting closer.”

We carried Ward to the floor of the passenger side of my truck and tossed the blanket over him that was there to cover Dorian. We were back at the door of the warehouse when the ambulance pulled into the parking lot.

“She’s inside,” Tobias said, jogging alongside them as he took them to the detective.

“Caller mentioned a second person who needed help,” the medics said.

“He’s long gone,” I said. “The man who attacked me and the detective got away.”

Tobias went with Detective Vega in the ambulance, and I hurried home with my captive. Only I didn’t make it nearly that far.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, Ward stirred. Slowly at first, but by the time I’d gotten a few blocks he must have been conscious enough to feel his confined surroundings on the floor of the passenger seat of the Chevy. He grunted and began kicking wildly. Though his arms and legs were tied and he couldn’t move far, he wasn’t affixed to anything. Using his head, he knocked into the gearshift and hit my elbow, sending the steering wheel spinning.

I grasped the steering wheel, trying to gain control as we pitched forward—toward the river.