J. Huss - PANIC

“Oh, God,” I moan. My boyfriend is a professional liar!

“Ronin is the only one of us allowed to talk to the police. He’s the only one allowed to give a statement. If Spencer and I are brought in or questioned for any reason—for anything —we are to exercise our right to remain silent. And if we ever get to court, we are to plead the Fifth and not testify. We are not allowed to be involved, Rook. We cannot in any way make a statement in favor of or against ourselves or each other. Only Ronin is allowed to talk. Do you understand this?”

“No. I don’t get it.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Ford says in a cold voice. “You get it, because you’re not stupid. But I’ll spell it out for you anyway. Ronin is the fall guy , Rook. If Ronin gets picked up and we don’t, we do not help him. His job is to get himself off. And we won’t be getting involved in this mess right now, either. I’ve got no idea what he’s in for—it reeks of that Boulder job, but it’s got Jon written all over it as well. So we can’t take any chances. We will stay up here, shut our faces, and sit tight. Do you understand?”

I nod, because what choice do I have? I’ve got a psycho hacker on one side and an admitted murderer on the other. I’m out-gangstered on both ends. But as we walk back to the house, the guys still holding on to my arms—I’d like to think to prevent me from falling in the moonless dark, but that’s wishful thinking—the only thought running through my head is that I need to grab my shit and go.

“Sit.” Ford’s words come out as a command. My training kicks in and I sit the fuck down in the nearest chair and keep my mouth shut. Spencer takes the couch and Ford stands in front of the TV. “Who’s hungry?”

Who’s hungry? I roll my eyes at him but I ask permission before I get up. “May I go downstairs and take a shower? You guys dragged me though the fucking mud.”

Spence mumbles out a, “Sure, go ahead.”

“I’ll go with you, Rook. Spencer, you sweep the place and lock us up.” Ford grabs my arm and pulls on me until I stand. “Come on. I don’t like the basement, I don’t want you down there. There’s no escape except for the window well in the bedroom.”

“You know what I don’t like?” He doesn’t answer, just walks me through the kitchen and waves a hand at the stairs. “Well, I’ll tell you anyway, since you’ve suddenly found your mute button. I hate being treated like I’m weak and stupid. If you’d told me to follow you outside I would’ve gone, you didn’t need to try and suffocate me as I was being pulled through the mud.”

“Well, Rook,” he says as we enter my little apartment. “You are pretty weak and you do a lot of very stupid things. So”—he stops to look me in the eyes—“you can expect to be treated like a liability until we know what part you’ll play and where your loyalties lie.”

“Ha! Where my loyalties lie?” Oh, I am so angry. “That really pisses me off, you know that? I trusted you, I—”

The hand clamps over my mouth again. “No talking. Just get in the shower and I’ll wait here.” His hand is still firmly pressed against my mouth as he stares at me. “I expect an answer, Rook. So nod, or give me the sign language version of a yes, sir .”

I nod, but what I really want to do is bite his hand.

He releases me, huffs out a long breath of air, plops down on my couch and turns on a hockey game.

I go into my room and throw open my closet door, grab a clean pair of jeans, a long-sleeve white thermal, and a Shrike Rook t-shirt.

The backpack is calling my name before I even get the shirt off the hanger. I peek out my bedroom door and listen. Ford is still watching hockey and the announcer is screaming “Goal!” so I figure he’s pretty wrapped up in it. I turn the shower on and then go back to my closet.

This backpack is the only thing besides my Converse shoes that I have left from my other life.

I can’t help it, I fall to my knees and slide the drawstring cord to open it up, then check the little side pocket for the key. I took it from Jon’s office before I left. The other stuff inside is everything I need to make a quick escape. I packed it up the day I shot Jon in the knee because I figured even if I wasn’t arrested, I might still get in trouble. Maybe not from the cops, but eventually someone would come looking for me. It was a given.

And I was right. All those someones are breathing down my neck right fucking now.

Inside the bag I have twenty thousand in cash. I take the money out and flip the bills like you see people do in the movies. Twenty grand doesn’t look like much when they’re all hundreds. You’d be surprised how small it actually is when they are wrapped up in two little bundles. I’ve also got one change of clothes and some basic toiletries and the fake ID Jon made me use when we went places before I turned eighteen.

I stuff the backpack under the hanging t-shirts and go take my shower. When I get out I put clothes on and when I walk out in the living room Ford gives me a dirty look.

“What are you wearing?”

I roll my eyes. “Clearly you can see what I’m wearing.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“No, Ford. I just like being fully clothed when I think something bad might happen. There’s nothing worse than running for your life through the woods wearing a nightie with a crazed boyfriend on your tail. Believe me, I know from experience. I’m wearing clothes, so shut the fuck up about it.”

“Whatever. Let’s go upstairs.”

He gets up and I follow. I guess my sympathy card with Ford has been played, because that last remark didn’t even get an eyebrow raise. I might as well settle in and be nice, that’ll make my night go a little easier.

“Find anything, Spence?” Ford asks.

“No, I swept the downstairs at least. We’ll just stay in here. But”—Spencer looks over at me—“no talking,” he says, putting a finger to his lips. “We need to go outside if you feel the need to talk , and to be honest, we should just wait and see what happens tomorrow at Ronin’s arraignment. So it’s no use anyway.”

Ronin is in jail.

It hits me hard and I sink down onto the couch and scrub my face with my hands, trying to stave off a headache. I’m pretty pissed that I didn’t figure out these guys had a past. I mean, fuck, Rook. How stupid can you be? How gullible? How naive? And now I’m right back where I was when I showed up at Antoine’s.

Confused.

Is Ronin a good guy?

Fucking Ford admits he’s not a good guy. That shit came right out of his own mouth at my birthday party. In fact, he brought that woman on purpose, to show me specifically that he’s got serious issues. The kind of issues I am very familiar with.

And Spencer admitted to killing a guy.

And they’re all responsible for at least two illegal jobs that I know of. How many more are there?

“Rook,” Spencer says as he takes a seat next to me. “I’m the same guy I was last night when you cried on my shoulder. I’m the same guy who painted your body all summer, remember?”

I sigh. “I know, Spencer.” He does know me awful well, doesn’t he? Practically reads my mind now.

“And even though Ford is an asshole when he’s working, he’s still the same guy he was this morning when he took you running. Right?”

I look over at Ford and he’s glaring at me. “What’s with that look?”

“Blackbird,” Spence says, pulling my attention back to him. “He’s still the same guy. You’ve just never met the asshole version we all know and hate. And right now we all have to morph into that other version of ourselves. Because we gotta get out of this, Rook. No one’s coming to help us. So please, we just all need to do our jobs.”