Jargo thought Evan was a danger to him.
‘I want you to be prepared,’ Jargo said. ‘Because you may have to kill him.’
She watched the line of cars slowly move through the doughnut store drive-through. The back of her eyes hurt. Jargo had never suggested such work to her before; mostly, before sliding into Evan’s bed, she’d worked as a courier for Jargo, in Berlin, in New York, in Mexico City. Never a killer. The silence began to get dangerously long, he would get suspicious. ‘If you say so,’ she said. There was nothing else to say. ‘Then I should get distance. I don’t want to be a suspect.’
‘No, you stay close. If it has to happen, you and he both vanish. You don’t stay around. You’re both dead and gone, and we build you a new legend. I can probably use you more in Europe anyway.’
‘Very well,’ she said. He told her to have a good day and then he hung up. She filed her empty reports with Jargo, manufacturing innocuous lies about what Evan’s next project might be, until Jargo had called her two days ago and said, ‘I want to know if Evan has any files on his computer that shouldn’t be there.’
‘Be specific.’
‘Lists of names.’
‘All right.’
An hour later she searched Evan’s computer while he was out running errands. She called Jargo. ‘I found no files like that.’ Evan had scant data on his computer other than scripts, video footage, and basic programs.
‘Check every twelve hours, if possible. If you find the files, delete them and destroy his hard drive. Then report back to me.’
‘What are these files?’
‘That you don’t need to know. Don’t memorize the information or copy the files. Just delete them and make sure that hard drive can’t be recovered.’
‘I understand.’ And she did. The files were what Jargo was truly worried about, probably files that connected back to Jameson Wong or the other potential film subjects.
But if Evan’s hard drive was to be destroyed, she had a sinking, awful feeling that Evan was to be destroyed as well.
Carrie washed her face again. Evan was gone, stolen by a man who might be very, very bad, and soon Jargo’s technical elves would find a trace of him and they would go get Evan from the man who had taken him. The files had been sitting on his system this morning, she had left without looking for them, and if Jargo doubted her word, he would kill her. She had to win back Jargo’s trust. Now.
Last night, Evan telling her that he loved her, seemed like a moment from a world that no longer existed, a pocket of time where there was no Jargo and no Dezz and no files and no fear or pretending. She wished he hadn’t said it. She wanted to hit him, to push him away, to tell him, Don’t, don’t, don’t, you don’t know anything, I can’t have a life with you, I can’t be normal ever again, it can’t ever be, so just don’t.
She had to harden her heart now. She had to catch Evan.
SATURDAY MARCH 12
8
E van opened his eyes.
He was lying on a bed. The cream-white sheets had been folded back; a thin cotton towel was spread behind his head. One of his arms was raised, bound to the bed’s iron-railing headboard with a handcuff. The bedroom was high-end: hardwood floors, a rustic but expensive reddish finish on the walls, abstract art hung to precision above a stone fireplace. A sliver of soft sunlight pierced a crack in the silk drapes. The door was closed.
He had been seconds from wrecking the car when Gabriel had grabbed him and hammered him. His tongue wormed in his dry mouth. A heavy ache settled in along his jaw and neck for permanent residence. He smelled his own sour sweat.
Mom. I failed you. I’m so sorry. He swallowed down the panic and the grief because it wasn’t doing him any good.
He had to be calm. Think. Because everything had changed.
What had Gabriel said? In your life, nothing is as it seems.
Well, one thing was exactly as it seemed. He was completely screwed.
Evan tested the handcuff. Locked. He sat up, pushing with his feet, wriggling his back against the headboard. A side table held a book – a recent thick bestseller about the history of baseball – and a lamp; no phone. A baby monitor stood on the far table.
He stared at the monitor. He couldn’t act afraid with Gabriel. He had to show strength.
For his mom, because Gabriel knew the meat of the story as to why his mom had died. For his dad, wherever he was. For Carrie, however she was mixed up in this nightmare. She knew he was in danger – how? He had no idea.
So, what do you do now?
He needed a weapon. Imagine the guy who killed Mom is here. What do you hurt him with? Look at everything with new eyes. New eyes. It was advice he gave himself when he was setting up scenes to shoot. He could barely reach the side table. He managed to fingertip the knob and open the drawer. His hand searched the drawer as far as he could reach: empty. The book on the table wasn’t heavy enough. The lamp. He couldn’t reach it but he could reach the cord, where it snaked to a plug behind the bed. As silently as he could, keeping an eye on the baby monitor, trying to quiet the handcuff from rattling against the metal headboard, he tugged the lamp closer to him; the base was heavy, ornate, wrought-iron. But at the angle he was bound, he wouldn’t be able to swing the lamp with enough force to cause serious hurt. He unplugged the cord, looped it neatly behind the table so it wouldn’t catch or snag. Just in case he got a chance. Lamps could be thrown. He peered down the back of the bed, to the floor. Nothing else but miniature tumbleweeds of dust.
‘Hello,’ he called to the monitor.
A minute later he heard the tread of feet on stairs. Then the rasp of a key in a lock. The bedroom door opened; Gabriel stood in the doorway. A sleek black pistol holstered at his side.
‘You okay?’ Gabriel said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Thanks for putting our lives at risk with your stupid stunt.’
‘Did we crash?’
‘No, Evan. I know how to drive a car while seated in the passenger side. Standard training.’ Gabriel cleared his throat. ‘How you feeling now?’
‘I’m fine.’ Evan tried to imagine driving from the passenger side to avoid a high-speed crash. It suggested an extraordinary level of calm under fire. ‘So where did you learn that driving trick?’
‘A very special school,’ Gabriel said. ‘It’s early Saturday morning. You slept through the night.’ A coldness frosted his gaze. ‘You and I can be of great help to each other, Evan.’
‘Really. Now you want to help me.’
‘I saved you, didn’t I? If you had stayed out in the open, well, you’d be dead now. I don’t believe even the police could protect you from Mr. Jargo.’ Gabriel leaned against the wall. ‘So, let’s start afresh. I need you to tell me exactly what happened yesterday when you got to your parents’ house.’
‘Why? You’re not the police.’
‘No, I’m not, but I did save your life. I could have let you hang. I didn’t.’
‘True,’ Evan said. But he watched Gabriel. The man looked as if he hadn’t slept at all. Jumpy. Nervous. Like a man in need of a solid blast of bourbon. But there was nothing to be gained by silence, at least not now.
So Evan told him about his mother’s urgent phone call, the drive to Austin, the attack in the kitchen. Gabriel asked no questions. When Evan was done, Gabriel brought a chair to the foot of the bed and sat down. Frowning, as if he was considering a plan of action and not caring for his options.
‘I want to know who exactly you are,’ Evan said.
