Part 19 (2/2)

”Listen,” the boy urged in his softest voice yet. He may as well have been shaping the word with his lips but holding his breath. If I hadn't been what I am, I would've never heard it.

But I heard him s.h.i.+ft the phone in his hand, the scrabbling of his fingers almost slipping, almost dropping it, but holding fast and turning it face-out, I imagined-to better catch the sound of whatever he wanted me to hear.

I held out my hand toward Adrian, who'd come back to join me in the ”dining area” (if any room in any home of mine can be dubbed such). He wasn't wearing the face mask anymore, though tiny threads of it showed around his hairline where he'd washed it off too quickly. I don't know what I was trying to do with the gesture-hold him at bay, keep him from talking, shoo him out of the condo. Any of those things. All of them. I was only trying to concentrate, and concentrate hard. I directed every ounce of my supernatural hearing to the scene back in Seattle, and I even tried to picture it: my warehouse, my things, my floors full of unsecured merchandise and two children who shouldn't be there, really, but where else could they go? I visualized Domino, doing one brave thing, perhaps-just this once. Because when it came to his sister, I didn't think he'd lie to me, and that vestigial psychic sense was bouncing up and down behind my tightly shut eyes, telling me that he was telling the truth, and trying to tell me more without making a sound.

At first, I didn't detect much. The sc.r.a.ping of dry hands on the phone's plastic sh.e.l.l. A shuffle and the rustle of clothing. An occasional breath that sounded like a ragged gasp, and sounded like Domino.

Then the rest began to come into focus. At least, it did whatever sound does when it phases from white noise to something more specific.

It must've looked to Adrian like I was in pain, hunkered over almost double with my eyes closed and my hand still held out, still keeping him away. I backed up slowly until I hit a wall, and then I sat down against it and listened, and listened, and listened.

And now I could catch static-not miscellaneous noise, but actual electronic static, in tiny fuzzes and blips. Footsteps. Carefully uttered words, spoken low and without any of the rambling stutters of ordinary conversation. I couldn't make them out, no matter how hard I tried.

”Domino,” I whispered, trying to match his closeness to silence, yet trying to make sure he heard me, too.

”Raylene,” he said back. ”They're here.”

”Who?” I asked, knowing he couldn't say. Even if it weren't blindingly obvious that the boy was hiding for his life, the odds were great that he wouldn't have any idea who was invading our turf. My turf.

Bless him, he tried anyway. I caught a scrambling of clothes and sneakers that sounded like a herd of elephants in my ear, but surely made nothing more than tiny scuffs and squeaks in the vast labyrinth of the old factory. Even so, I cringed with every rustle of cloth against the microphone. I tensed myself into an even tighter ball as the boy on the other end of the line adjusted himself, and I tried to remember if there was anything...anything at all...incriminating inside that building.

It was a ridiculous thing to wonder.

Everything inside it was incriminating. But try as I might, I couldn't think of any paperwork, or electronics, or anything like that. They'd already found my Seattle condo; I was virtually certain of this. Where else could the storehouse send them, except to Interpol? And baby, I'd rather face off with international crime fighters than mad-scientist military yahoos any d.a.m.n day of the week. inside it was incriminating. But try as I might, I couldn't think of any paperwork, or electronics, or anything like that. They'd already found my Seattle condo; I was virtually certain of this. Where else could the storehouse send them, except to Interpol? And baby, I'd rather face off with international crime fighters than mad-scientist military yahoos any d.a.m.n day of the week.

Everything was unraveling. I could feel it, my whole world being teased open, like a thread of spaghetti pulled twisting onto a fork.

But I listened, and listened, and listened.

Somewhere in the distance of wherever Domino had secreted himself away, I heard a digital pop-the kind you hear when people are using walkie-talkies, or those phones that come with that same function. It was chased by a man's voice, confirming something.

”Affirmative.”

The phone s.h.i.+fted again in the boy's grasp; I suppose he was bringing it back up to his face. ”I can't find Pepper,” he said. ”I think maybe they got her.” He was whispering as only a kid who's truly half afraid to death can whisper, but apparently he felt secure enough to do so. I thought maybe there was a metallic echo to the soft puffs of words, and I a.s.sumed he'd climbed up into one of Pep's favorite old hiding spots-inside the square aluminum tunnels of the ventilation system. They weren't original to the building, of course, but they'd been added by the man who'd owned it before me.

”Why do you think that?” When I spoke back to him, I was quiet, too. Didn't want to give him away. ”Did you see them take her?”

”No. I got here, and she was gone, and they they were here. But they were talking about her.” were here. But they were talking about her.”

”Are you sure?”

”Yes,” he a.s.serted, but I thought he was only a.s.suming the worst. Like I'd blame him for it. Like I wouldn't do exactly the same thing. ”They found a dead guy in the bas.e.m.e.nt.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t,” I said, too loud.

He replied, ”No bulls.h.i.+t,” and if there'd been any less peril to go around, I fully expect that he would've sounded smug about it. Awesome. So he knew, or he suspected. But what did that mean, anyway? He'd always known, and always suspected.

When in doubt, change the subject. ”Domino, tell me. Who are they?” The answer was more pressing than what they were going to do with Trevor, anyway.

”I don't know.”

”What do they look like?”

His hair or his neck, or maybe a scarf went dragging across the microphone. He was looking out, checking to see again if they were close, or if he could see anybody. He said, ”They're all wearing black. They look like army guys. But some of them are in suits.”

”Great.”

”I don't think it's great. I think it f.u.c.king sucks!” His voice got a little too loud, just a squeak.

”I was being sarcastic. Stay cool, kid. Don't get loud or get mad. That's the most important thing, right now.”

”No. Finding Pepper is.”

Devoted little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You had to give him that. ”The two goals are one and the same. You can't find her if you get yourself caught.”

”Maybe I can. At least if they catch me, they've caught us both and I'll know where she is. I'll know she's okay.”

He was right. He'd also just revealed that he wasn't positive they had her; otherwise, he'd have already joined the fray. I was pretty secure on this point, so I ran with it. ”Forget it. Keep your head low and keep watching. Your little sister, she's a d.a.m.n good hider.”

”But they were talking about her. talking about her.”

”What were they saying?” I asked.

”They said they thought she might still be here. They said they know someone's inside. They've been watching.”

”They could've meant anybody.” I pointed out, ”They could've meant me me. I bet you a dollar she's stashed someplace where they haven't looked yet.”

”Make it fifty,” he said. Ah, greed and a sense of humor. Or grasping at straws.

”Very funny.”

”Raylene?”

”Yeah?”

He said, ”They're going to find us.”

”Why would you say that?”

”They're looking everywhere. Floor by floor, moving things around. Taking pictures.”

If I could've cringed myself into a tighter ball and still remained upright, I would've done so. Pictures. Perfect. It was all cras.h.i.+ng down, wasn't it? All of it. Fifty years of acc.u.mulated wealth and work, right out the window. Was it my life savings? No, not by a long shot. But it was still an awful lot to lose. And Pepper was there, someplace. I knew better than anyone how well that kid could hide. I had to trust her now; I had no choice. It was either a.s.sume the best or have a nervous breakdown right there on the phone...which would only send Domino into a downward spiral.

I could sense it. The kid hated me, but he was clinging to me-or just the sound of me, someplace far away.

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