Promise Me

lowered.

He was biting Myron’s leg.

Myron screamed again, the sound mixing in with the laughter and cheers coming from Art Teacher.

“Go, Jeb! Woo-hoo!”

Myron kept kicking, but Ascot dug in deeper, holding on, growling like a terrier.

The pain was excruciating, all-encompassing.

Panic filled Myron. He stamped down with his free leg. Ascot held on with his teeth. Myron kicked harder, finally landing a kick on top of the man’s head. He pushed hard. His flesh ripped off as he finally pried himself free. Ascot sat up and spit something out of his mouth. Myron realized with horror that it was a meaty chunk of leg.

Then they were on him. All three. Piled on.

Myron ducked his head and started swinging. He connected with somebody’s chin. There was a grunt and a curse. But someone else hit him in the stomach.

He felt the teeth on his leg again, the same spot, opening up the wound.

Win. Where the hell was Win…?

He bucked up in pain, wondering what to do next, when he heard a singsong voice say, “Oh, Mr. Bolitar…?”

Myron looked. It was Art Teacher. He had a gun in one hand. In the other, he had Mrs. Seiden by the hair.

CHAPTER 23

They moved Myron to a large cedar closet on the second floor. Myron was flat on the floor. His hands were duct-taped behind his back, his feet bound together too. Dominick Rochester stood over him, a gun in his hand.

“Did you call your friend Win?”

Myron said, “Who?”

Rochester frowned. “You think we’re stupid?”

“If you know about Win,” Myron said, meeting his eye, “about what he can do, then the answer is yes. I think you’re very stupid.”

Rochester sneered. “We’ll see about that,” he said.

Myron quickly assessed the situation. No windows, one entrance. That was why they’d brought him up here: no windows. So Win couldn’t attack from the outside or at a distance. They had realized that, considered it, been smart enough to bind him and bring him up here.

This was not good.

Dominick Rochester was armed. So was Art Teacher. It would indeed be nearly impossible to get in here. But he knew Win. Myron just needed to give him time.

On the right, Ascot Bite was still smiling. There was blood — Myron’s blood — on his teeth. Art Teacher was on the left.

Rochester bent down so his face was close to Myron’s. The cologne smell was still on him, worse than ever. “I’m going to tell you what I want,” he said. “Then I’m going to leave you alone with Orville and Jeb. See, I know you had something to do with that girl disappearing. And if you had something to do with her, you had something to do with my Katie. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Where’s Mrs. Seiden?”

“No one is interested in hurting her.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with your daughter,” Myron said. “I just gave Aimee a ride. That’s all. The police will tell you.”

“You lawyered up.”

“I didn’t lawyer up. My lawyer arrived. I answered every question. I told them that Aimee called me for a ride. I showed them where I dropped her off.”

“And what about my daughter?”

“I don’t know her. I’ve never met her in my life.”

Rochester looked back at Orville and Jeb. Myron didn’t know which was which. His leg was throbbing from the bite.

Art Teacher was redoing his ponytail, making it tight and wrapping it with the band. “I believe him.”

“But,” Ascot Bite added, “we got to be, got to be certain, tengo que estar seguro.”

Art Teacher frowned. “Who was that?”

“Kylie Minogue.”

“Whoa, pretty obscure, dude.”

Rochester stood upright. “You guys do your thing. I’ll keep watch downstairs.”

“Wait,” Myron said. “I don’t know anything.”

Rochester looked at him for a moment. “It’s my daughter. I can’t take that chance. So what’s going to happen here is, the Twins are going to work you over. You still telling the same story after that, I know you had nothing to do with it. But if you did, maybe I save my kid. You understand what I’m saying?”

Rochester moved to the door.

The Twins crept closer. Art Teacher pushed Myron back. Then he sat on Myron’s legs. Ascot straddled Myron’s chest. He looked down and bared his teeth. Myron swallowed. He tried to buck him off, but with his hands taped behind him, it was impossible. His stomach did flips of fear.

“Wait,” Myron said again.

“No,” Rochester said. “You’ll stall. You’ll sing, you’ll dance, you’ll make up stories—”

“No, that’s not—”

“Let me finish, okay? It’s my daughter. You have to understand that. You need to crack before I’ll believe you. The Twins. They’re good at making a man crack.”

“Just hear me out, okay? I’m trying to find Aimee Biel—”

“No.”

“—and if I find her, there’s an excellent chance I’ll find your daughter too. I’m telling you. Look, you checked me out, right? That’s how you know about Win.”

Rochester stopped, waited.

“You must have heard this is what I do. I help people when they’re in trouble. I dropped that girl off and now she’s gone. I owe it to her parents to find her.”

Rochester looked at the Twins. In the distance Myron heard a car radio, the song fading in and then fading out. The song was “We Built This City on Rock-n-Roll” by Starship.

The second worst song in the world, Myron thought.

Ascot Bite started singing along, “We built este ciudad, we built este ciudad, we built este ciudad…” Hippy Art Teacher, still holding Myron’s legs, started bobbing his head, clearly digging his colleague’s vocals.

“I’m telling the truth,” Myron said.

“Either way,” Rochester said, “if you’re telling the truth or not, the Twins here. They’ll find out. See? You can’t lie to them. Once they hurt you some, you’ll tell us everything we need to know.”

“But by then it’s too late,” Myron said.

“They won’t take long.” Rochester looked at Art Teacher.

Art Teacher said, “Half an hour, hour max.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’ll be too hurt. I won’t be able to function.”

“He has a point,” Art Teacher said.

“We leave marks,” Ascot added, flashing his teeth.

Rochester thought about it.

“Orville, where did you say he was before he came home?”