Pride
Page 103
“No.” If I made my dad sound too agreeable to me risking my life, the guys wouldn’t buy my story. “But he agrees that there’s no better way to play this one. And he says to be careful,” I added as an afterthought, hoping they’d attribute my physical signs of stress to the situation rather than to my lie. “He doesn’t want to plan any more funerals.”
Jace frowned and shifted into Reverse. He glanced at the rearview mirror before twisting in his seat to back down the driveway. “I don’t think he’d agree to this if he weren’t so upset right now.” About Ethan. He left that last part unspoken, but we all knew what he meant.
“I know.” I stared out the window at the dark, hoping that when this was all over, they’d forgive me for my lie, because this time I wasn’t simply rushing in with no forethought, fueled by passion and the delusion of immortality. I’d studied the possible outcomes and had weighed the risks. And I’d decided they were worth taking.
For Marc.
Twenty-Six
This time around, we approached Peter Yarnell’s house from the back. We’d actually parked one street over, pulling Jace’s Pathfinder into a line of cars parked on the curb, then crept down the dark path between two houses, grateful that neither yard held dogs. The pooch next door had evidently gone in for the night, because Yarnell’s neighbor’s yard was silent, too.
Dan, Jace, and I hunkered behind a row of over-grown hedges lining the back of Yarnell’s property, running along the three-foot-tall chain-link fence. I’d made Dr. Carver wait in the car; we needed him to remain in good health so he could treat Marc, and any of us who came back with injuries.
“Dan, you go in and get Marc. Fight if you have to….” I glanced at the framing hammer hanging from the loop in his carpenter jeans. The loop on the opposite side held a tire iron. “But grab Marc as soon as you can. If he’s still unconscious, throw him over your shoulder and run.”
He nodded uneasily, but one hand strayed to the head of his hammer like a soldier caressing his gun, ready to go to war.
“Jace, you cover him. Go in first, as soon as you hear the shit hit the fan. Once Dan and Marc are out, come back and help me. We need Kevin unconscious, but breathing. But if Yarnell becomes a problem, kill him.” Because he’d kill either of us if given a chance. Especially once Kevin was neutralized, thus unable to stop him.
I was going to ring the doorbell and go in like an invited guest, then start throwing punches as soon as either Kevin or Yarnell laid a hand on me. My job was to be too much for either of them to handle alone, giving Dan and Jace a chance to find Marc and get him out the door.
Since they couldn’t go in cat form—it would be too hard to haul Marc out and knock Kevin unconscious without hands—they were both going in armed. In addition to Dan’s tools, Jace clenched a crowbar in one fist. I had no such luxury, other than the folding knife in my pocket; if I came in with an obvious weapon, they were likely to cry foul and kill Marc before my guys even made it inside. But since I’d been in Yarnell’s house before, I knew the layout of the front part of his home, and had already pinpointed several potential weapons.
“You guys ready?” I whispered. Dan nodded, but Jace only frowned.
“I don’t think you should go in alone.”
I matched his scowl, adding a hint of impatience. We’d left Marc’s house twenty-two minutes ago, and though Eckard’s dot had yet to leave Yarnell’s house, it could at any moment. They’d have to leave soon to get to Kevin’s on time for the meeting we weren’t planning to show for.
“If I don’t show up alone, they’ll kill Marc.”
“I know. I’m just voicing one last protest for the record.”
I nodded curtly. “Protest acknowledged.” That statement would hopefully keep Jace out of whatever trouble I got into for leading this unauthorized mission. But however my father decided to punish me, it would be worth it to have Marc back in one piece.
“Okay, we’re out of time. Give me two minutes, then sneak up to the back door and wait until you hear me. ‘Kay?”
This time they both nodded, and finally Jace put on his game face—a familiar blend of fear and excitement, with professionally empty eyes. Only this game face was heavier than usual on the eagerness. His anger over Ethan’s death had to be expended somewhere, and Yarnell’s face was just as good a place as any.
I smiled at them each one more time, more grateful than I could ever express that they’d come with me on this maybe-suicide mission, even under false expectations, then stood and jogged hunched over until I reached a backyard two gates away. I turned down the strip of land between the houses without looking back—I couldn’t afford to lose my nerve—then ran silently through some stranger’s side yard, grateful for the grass beneath my boots, instead of the concrete that could have been there.
In front of the house, I jogged across a broad, flat lawn, sticking to the shadows cast by trees in the lamplight until I emerged in Yarnell’s front yard, facing the empty circle of road beyond his house. I took a moment to regulate my breathing and slow my pulse, then I tugged my leather jacket into place and felt in the right pocket of my jeans for the folding knife.
And just as I stepped onto the front walk, directly into the light shed from the porch fixture, Yarnell’s front door opened, and Kevin Mitchell appeared, framed by light from within. As if he’d been expecting me.
Jace frowned and shifted into Reverse. He glanced at the rearview mirror before twisting in his seat to back down the driveway. “I don’t think he’d agree to this if he weren’t so upset right now.” About Ethan. He left that last part unspoken, but we all knew what he meant.
“I know.” I stared out the window at the dark, hoping that when this was all over, they’d forgive me for my lie, because this time I wasn’t simply rushing in with no forethought, fueled by passion and the delusion of immortality. I’d studied the possible outcomes and had weighed the risks. And I’d decided they were worth taking.
For Marc.
Twenty-Six
This time around, we approached Peter Yarnell’s house from the back. We’d actually parked one street over, pulling Jace’s Pathfinder into a line of cars parked on the curb, then crept down the dark path between two houses, grateful that neither yard held dogs. The pooch next door had evidently gone in for the night, because Yarnell’s neighbor’s yard was silent, too.
Dan, Jace, and I hunkered behind a row of over-grown hedges lining the back of Yarnell’s property, running along the three-foot-tall chain-link fence. I’d made Dr. Carver wait in the car; we needed him to remain in good health so he could treat Marc, and any of us who came back with injuries.
“Dan, you go in and get Marc. Fight if you have to….” I glanced at the framing hammer hanging from the loop in his carpenter jeans. The loop on the opposite side held a tire iron. “But grab Marc as soon as you can. If he’s still unconscious, throw him over your shoulder and run.”
He nodded uneasily, but one hand strayed to the head of his hammer like a soldier caressing his gun, ready to go to war.
“Jace, you cover him. Go in first, as soon as you hear the shit hit the fan. Once Dan and Marc are out, come back and help me. We need Kevin unconscious, but breathing. But if Yarnell becomes a problem, kill him.” Because he’d kill either of us if given a chance. Especially once Kevin was neutralized, thus unable to stop him.
I was going to ring the doorbell and go in like an invited guest, then start throwing punches as soon as either Kevin or Yarnell laid a hand on me. My job was to be too much for either of them to handle alone, giving Dan and Jace a chance to find Marc and get him out the door.
Since they couldn’t go in cat form—it would be too hard to haul Marc out and knock Kevin unconscious without hands—they were both going in armed. In addition to Dan’s tools, Jace clenched a crowbar in one fist. I had no such luxury, other than the folding knife in my pocket; if I came in with an obvious weapon, they were likely to cry foul and kill Marc before my guys even made it inside. But since I’d been in Yarnell’s house before, I knew the layout of the front part of his home, and had already pinpointed several potential weapons.
“You guys ready?” I whispered. Dan nodded, but Jace only frowned.
“I don’t think you should go in alone.”
I matched his scowl, adding a hint of impatience. We’d left Marc’s house twenty-two minutes ago, and though Eckard’s dot had yet to leave Yarnell’s house, it could at any moment. They’d have to leave soon to get to Kevin’s on time for the meeting we weren’t planning to show for.
“If I don’t show up alone, they’ll kill Marc.”
“I know. I’m just voicing one last protest for the record.”
I nodded curtly. “Protest acknowledged.” That statement would hopefully keep Jace out of whatever trouble I got into for leading this unauthorized mission. But however my father decided to punish me, it would be worth it to have Marc back in one piece.
“Okay, we’re out of time. Give me two minutes, then sneak up to the back door and wait until you hear me. ‘Kay?”
This time they both nodded, and finally Jace put on his game face—a familiar blend of fear and excitement, with professionally empty eyes. Only this game face was heavier than usual on the eagerness. His anger over Ethan’s death had to be expended somewhere, and Yarnell’s face was just as good a place as any.
I smiled at them each one more time, more grateful than I could ever express that they’d come with me on this maybe-suicide mission, even under false expectations, then stood and jogged hunched over until I reached a backyard two gates away. I turned down the strip of land between the houses without looking back—I couldn’t afford to lose my nerve—then ran silently through some stranger’s side yard, grateful for the grass beneath my boots, instead of the concrete that could have been there.
In front of the house, I jogged across a broad, flat lawn, sticking to the shadows cast by trees in the lamplight until I emerged in Yarnell’s front yard, facing the empty circle of road beyond his house. I took a moment to regulate my breathing and slow my pulse, then I tugged my leather jacket into place and felt in the right pocket of my jeans for the folding knife.
And just as I stepped onto the front walk, directly into the light shed from the porch fixture, Yarnell’s front door opened, and Kevin Mitchell appeared, framed by light from within. As if he’d been expecting me.
