39
I reach out to grip the wall as if the floor were tilting beneath me. “Are you sure?” I ask Bret.
“More than a hundred percent,” he says.
God. Sharp. All this time I’d been around him—
I shake off the thoughts and work hard to form a plan. “What about a woman with that guy?” I ask Bret, pointing to the phone. “She has dirty-blond hair, usually tied up in a bun and um…”
“Black dress pants and blazers,” Dominic adds emphatically. “Stiff as hell. Seems like she’s got a stick up her ass.”
Bret shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone like that associated with Jack, but it’s not like he invited me to a meeting with the whole group. Doubt I was ever meant to figure this out.”
I turn to Dominic. “I don’t think Sheldon is in that group. She’s too by the book, doesn’t fit the profile.”
“Agreed.” Dominic nods vigorously. “Now go find her or call and see if she’s still in the city.”
A disturbing thought occurs to me right then. “She wasn’t there this morning. On the train. With my dad. It was Sharp and some guy I didn’t recognize.”
I’ve already got my phone out, preparing to dial Sheldon’s number. It’s very possible she’s working with a dirty agent and has no idea. I’m about to hit call when I notice a newcomer approaching our little trio—Mr. Lance.
“It’s five minutes past start time,” he says expectantly. Dominic and Bret exchange looks, but none of us moves. “Start time as in you should all head into the designated room now.”
“Ellie has a family emergency,” Dominic blurts out.
Bret chimes in as if the two of them haven’t been mortal enemies for more than a month now. “Her sister’s appendix ruptured.”
I stand there unmoving on the outside, and on the inside everything is on high speed, my pulse, my thoughts.
Mr. Lance looks at Bret and Dominic, then he crosses his arms. “Can you boys give Eleanor and me a minute alone?”
It’s clear he knows we’re lying, and Dominic and Bret, who have likely guessed this fact as well, look completely torn until I nod for them to take off. I just need to go. I don’t need them at the moment. I’m perfectly capable of making up my own lies. And I absolutely wouldn’t have gone near ruptured appendix. It’s way overused.
“Look, Ellie,” Lance says, giving me the same disconnected look from the other night. “I know you disappeared this morning during our Columbia tour. Justice tried to cover for you, but I know you weren’t in the class you were scheduled to sit in on or the admissions interview, and you certainly weren’t at the brunch Justice said you attended with her. So I’m having trouble buying your sister’s appendix story.”
Lucky for me I’ve acquired the skill of texting without looking. I hide my phone behind my back and punch in a quick text to Sheldon.
ME: we need to talk. Where can we meet?
“If you’d like to remain in good behavioral standing during this trip,” Lance continues, “it would be advisable that you join us for the recap session.”
My phone vibrates in my hand, sending me into a full-on panic. Sheldon replied. I need to get to her. I spin several lies around in my head while Lance stands there waiting for me to say or do something. The longer I think on it, the more panicked I get. What if something happens to my dad while I’m here trying to get out of class?
Seconds later, it becomes clear that only one thing will get me past Lance—the truth. Maybe he deserves the truth. Isn’t that what he asked of me the other night?
“You’re right,” I tell him. “I didn’t stay at Columbia, and my sister’s appendix is fine as far as I know. But my family, at least one of them, is in serious trouble right now, and I’m pretty much the only person in the entire world outside of the bad guy with him who knows this and can do something about it.”
Lance opens his mouth as if to argue, but I lift a hand to stop him.
“If I tell you more I would be revealing confidential information regarding an ongoing FBI investigation—” I stop for a moment, putting all the facts together. “Actually, not just the FBI but a couple of other government organizations both with three-letter acronyms. I swear to you that someone will confirm this later. Someone with a badge and security clearance.”
He waits ten full seconds and then wordlessly steps out of my way. I know we haven’t resolved our issues and that I’ve broken Holden’s field trip rules. But it can be dealt with later.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “About everything.”
I race down the hall back toward the hotel entrance while checking my phone for a text.
SHELDON: at an unmarked FBI office not too far from your hotel. I can give directions
An FBI office? Couldn’t pick a better place to meet. Or safer.
ME: Yes! Directions please
I’m out the hotel doors and into the Times Square crowd, waiting to hear in which direction to go.
SHELDON: head west on 47th st.
I turn and head in the correct direction, preparing to cross the street.
SHELDON: there’s a Toyota dealership at the corner of 47th and 11th ave
The journey is nearly a mile, and I run the whole way, weaving through all of the people. Luckily when I get two blocks from Times Square the crowds have thinned significantly. I get another text from Sheldon when I’m out of breath and nearly to 11th Avenue.
SHELDON: walk behind the building. Look for a sign that says “Office for Rent” and lift it away. Push the call button if I’m not outside.
It’s nearly six thirty, and without the bright lights of Times Square, it’s also dark, especially on this block with the dealerships already closed and their lights off. I find the sign with no problem, but before I can lift it, a door I didn’t even realize existed opens and Sheldon walks out. This woman has been the bane of my existence for weeks, but I’m so glad to see her I nearly hug her.
“What’s wrong?” she says, immediately reading my face, earning more of my trust just from that.
“Agent Sh-Sharp,” I sputter, clutching the stitch in my side. “He’s…” He’s what? I hadn’t exactly scripted this part. Does she even know about St. Felicity’s or the rogue group of St. Felicity’s members gone wrong?
“He’s what?” Sheldon demands.
“Have you done it yet?” I ask her. “Arrested my dad?”
“We’re still waiting on—”
Oh God, it really is true.
“Sharp took him,” I say. “Sharp and some other guy. This morning. On the One train near Columbia.”
Her forehead wrinkles, confusion all over her face. “What do you mean Sharp took him? He couldn’t have—”
“Look, it’s all really complicated, but Sharp is involved with the same group that murdered Simon Gilbert,” I tell her, speaking as rapidly as possible. “Somehow they’ve got their hands in this con of my family’s, probably working with the Zanettis.”
She lifts both hands to stop me. “Okay, okay, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but it sounds like we need to get you to a safe place and get a location on Agent Sharp and your father.”
Relief washes over me. I shake my head and nod at the same time. “Yes, I mean yes let’s do that.”
Despite her flaws and disdain when it comes to me, she seems to take my concerns very seriously and acts quickly, getting on the phone with someone, requesting a car service ASAP. Then she calls someone else, probably an FBI boss, and relays some minimal details. I scroll back through my messages, trying to stay calm. My breath catches at the sight of a text from Miles. Sent about forty-five minutes ago.
MILES: where did u go?? Stick with your Holden group! Stay away from fbi agents!!!!
I’m attempting to process the meaning of that but am interrupted by a black town car with tinted windows. It pulls right up to the back of the building, despite the lack of actual road. Sheldon has her back to me, still on the phone. Two men exit the car, and I prepare to move toward it, but Sheldon, having likely heard the doors shut, turns. My gaze travels to her face, takes in her look of fear, and then my eyes shift to her right hand, which is now reaching for her service weapon.
I turn in time to see both of the men draw their own pistols, and then everything moves in slow motion. One second I’m on my feet, the next an FBI agent is flinging her body toward mine and I’m falling. I’m falling and watching one of the men as his finger moves to the trigger. The thud of my heart fills my ears and everywhere, but I watch the man jerk in reaction to the force of his gunshot. My back and elbows smack into the hard gravel ground, the weight of Sheldon on top of me only worsening the impact. Then the back of my head smacks against the ground and my ears ring, my vision blacking out then returning.
Sheldon is on top of me. Limp and unmoving.
Before I can even react, strong hands pull her off and leave her faceup on the ground. Red spreads quickly over the front of her white blouse, her eyes still wide open. Ohmygod…ohmygod…they killed Sheldon. Oh. My. God.
Come on, Ellie, focus!
The two men lean over her and, using Miles’s surveillance techniques, I let my gaze quickly sweep over the two of them, taking in the most important details—both tall, more than six feet, one with dark hair, one sandy, aged between thirty and forty, black dress shoes, man who fired shot has V-shaped scar right above shirt collar.
I scramble to my feet, preparing to run, but suddenly a large hand wraps around my chest, gripping me tight. A male hand. A third man. Sheldon lies bleeding to death less than a foot away. They’re going to kill me, too. Adrenaline courses through me, and I easily toss the newcomer over my shoulder and flat on his back. He lands with a thud and a loud grunt. The other two men both look up, surprised. One of them, realizing the likelihood of my running away, reaches out for the front of my shirt. I duck beneath his hand, dive for the ground, and roll sideways, springing back to my feet.
“You idiot,” the other guy says to the one who just tried to grab me. “Use your fucking gun!”
And soon a gun is pressed against my forehead and two more are aimed at me from a distance. Even if I used the disarming trick properly, it would do me no good, because two more weapons are on deck, ready to take the first one’s place. I glance at Sheldon and her blood-covered shirt. My stomach rolls and fear mounts inside me. I’m not getting out of here alive.
The man closest to me, the one with the pistol at my forehead, steps behind me, and without warning presses a rag to my face. This is something I hadn’t prepared for in any of my self-defense lessons. So I don’t immediately grasp what’s happening or about to happen. The chemical smell is revolting but enters my nostrils with incredible speed.
And moments later, my body turns limp, my eyes roll upward, and the world around me goes dark.