Forty-one
Aimee had entered, headlamp on, carrying a tray of food.
“You!” she shouted.
“You!” I echoed back.
We fell silent, staring, barely acknowledging the secrets that had torn us apart. Her frizzy blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She placed the tray on the floor.
My shock grew. I had absolutely no clue what was going on. My fingers curled into tight balls and anger shot through me like lightning. It felt like years had passed since I’d seen her. I’d been shot at, I’d sneaked and spied, and I’d been cooped up in a hen house.
“You’ve been feeding him?” I whispered.
I wanted to say so much more as the questions piled up.
“Oui.”
Aimee grabbed the napkins. She ripped the man’s shirt and pressed the napkins to his wounds.
“What happened?” she asked sharply, but then she gasped at Jolie’s man lying on the floor and the revolver several feet away.
My voice wavered. “I hoped my mom was down here. But I found him.”
“Has he been talking?”
“Yes. But I think he’s lost it.”
Aimee didn’t say anything as she worked quietly, cleaning up the man’s wound the best she could. Her forehead creased in thought, like she had a lot to say to me. Rage built on days of worry simmered underneath my thinning veil of patience. Would she tell me the truth?
My voice turned sharp and prickly. “Where the hell have you been?”
Her movements became fast and jerky, but she still did not answer. Oh, but I had lots to say.
“I thought you were gone! Missing! Kidnapped by that lunatic Peyton! I didn’t believe your note for one second and did everything I could to find you. All I needed was proof, a real note, a goodbye, face-to-face. Was that too much to ask?”
She wrapped the man’s wounds with precision, her lips pressed tight together.
“Answer me!” My voice rang out loud and clear.
I pushed her shoulder, angry, trying to get her to say something. Anything.
“Or are you fabricating your story, your lies, just like your grandfather, the great Jolie Pouffant? Maybe you can tie me up, too. Heck, why stop there? Go after my dad and mom too.”
“Enough!” Aimee dropped everything and rushed at me.
Her arms wrapped around my middle and she pushed. I landed flat on my back, and the air whooshed out of my chest. I reached up, wrapped my fingers around her ponytail, and yanked her off. We struggled, pushing and shoving, rolling in the dirt. My face pressed into the floor. I managed to flip around and twist her arm behind her back. She wiggled out and we locked arms, unable to move each other. Finally, we let go and flopped down side by side, spent, and breathing like racehorses.
“Why?” I asked, desperate to understand the lies that surrounded me and pressed against me and freaked me out even more than the bones and skulls in the walls.
Why had Aimee pretended not to know Jolie Pouffant? Why wouldn’t she tell me? Why did she take off? And if Jolie was a criminal what did Aimee know about it?
“I had my reasons.” Her voice sounded close to breaking.
Tears might have streaked my dirty cheeks but I didn’t pay any mind. “I thought you were gone. I thought you were in trouble. I lied to my dad and broke rules so I could find you. You were my friend. And you lied. The whole time. I know about you and Jolie.”
“I know.” She couldn’t look at me. Guilt was etched across her face.
The prisoner spoke softly, his calm words filling the air like the glow of a burning candle. “Tell her. Everything.”
Aimee pushed up but wouldn’t look at me.
“There is no time.” She grasped his hands. “You must see a doctor. We wasted enough time already.”
“Tell her.” He closed his eyes, his chest barely rising and falling.
“Tell me what?” My words sounded like an accusation. I stood to my feet, ready for round two. “Do you know where my mom is? Did your crazy grandfather lock her up too?”
Aimee shook her head sadly. “If my grandfather had anything to do with your mother, I know nothing.” Her voice grew desperate. “But he is in trouble.”
I snorted. “Like I care.”
She rubbed the prisoner’s hand but her words were for me. “I do not expect you to care for my grandfather. But it has to do with you, too.”
My body sagged, and the last bit of anger trickled out. I didn’t know how much more truth I could take.
“I’m listening,” I said, broken but dreading what was coming next.
“Months ago, my grandfather started acting jumpy and nervous. He said it was nothing, but I poked around and listened to his phone calls.”
She stopped and her head dropped to her chest. Tears splattered against her chest.
“Go on,” I said, my anger slowly dissipated. What was our connection? The prisoner squeezed her hand and reached for mine.
Her voice was a whisper. “I think someone was threatening his life. I was afraid he would die. Soon.”
My frustration rose. “What does this have to do with me? And my mom?”
“My grandfather thought your mom had something to with it. That she was here to take his life, because she was watching him. But then she disappeared, and you and your dad arrived. I joined Spy Games to spy on you and your family. I thought your dad might pick up where your mom left off.”
I choked on my argument. I thought about the camera and all the money someone had sent my mom. Was she an assassin?
“So why leave without saying goodbye?” I asked.
“My grandfather found out I was working for your dad and was furious. He forced me to disappear.” She snapped her fingers. “No goodbyes. No explanations. Just the letter. Then he hired Malcolm to take my place.”
“My family is not dangerous.” At least not me and Dad. Mom used to go on a lot of trips. I thought they were for her scrapbooking business. But maybe they were official trips to kill people.
“I tried to tell my grandfather that, but he would not believe me. And then you started poking your nose around where you should not. That did not look good.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“It was always about my mom,” I murmured.
I didn’t know whether to be furious, happy, or sad. The conflicting emotions whirled inside me, pulling me one way and then another every few seconds. The prisoner groaned.
Aimee put her arm around his back. “I must get you to help.”
He pulled me close again. His ragged breaths were filled with pain. He tried to talk but his words jumbled together and he spoke nonsense. Aimee put a hand to his face.
“He is burning up. He must go now.”
I put my hand behind him to help her. This man had risked everything, and he might lose his life, for me. As much as I wanted to hear more of Aimee’s explanation, I had to hear the rest of his story.
“No.” She pushed my hand away. “I need your help.”
What? “There is nothing I can do to help you. I want to help him!”
Tears filled her eyes once more. “I need you to save my grandfather. Please? I can bring this man to a hospital. I speak the language. But I cannot do that and save my grandfather.”
I stared at the prisoner, the pain etched in the lines on his face, the weariness of weeks of captivity. He’d put himself last, and me first. A girl from a vision who he didn’t even know existed until today. He had faith. But could I trust Aimee?
“You do not trust my grandfather, and you are right. Jolie does not always make the right decisions. He has a bit of a temper.” She twisted her hands, not able to meet my eyes. “He is probably involved in something illegal but I know nothing about his business. I am still your friend. I am like you.” She lifted her head. “Trying to save my family.”
Her words sank in deep, taking root and reminding me of all the reasons I’d lied or done something wrong. At the Extravaganza prelim
inaries, someone, still didn’t know who, had me shoot Jolie with a tranquilizer. Had that been a warning for him? Maybe today at the finals, they’d finish the job. Maybe instructions were waiting up at the table for me. Maybe I’d be a distraction, while some hired gun finished the job. Or maybe it was my mom who would be doing the killing. I had to know.
“Fine. I’ll go see what your grandfather is up to, but only if you’ll see that this man gets treatment and money to leave the country.”
Aimee opened her mouth to speak but a gunshot rang out, echoing in the small chamber.
This time, we both screamed.