The Amateurs, Book 3, Page 2

  Brett had.

  There was something strange about Thomas’s car, though. Thick black smoke poured from its tailpipe, obscuring the air behind it. Seneca knew nothing about car maintenance, but it didn’t seem good. The traffic light turned green, and Thomas hit the gas. The smoke billowed. A strange pop sounded. And suddenly, horrifyingly, the car burst into flames.

  “Oh my God!” Seneca darted toward the automatic doors.

  The air outside smelled like burning fuel. Flames leapt from ­Thomas’s hood. Most people were running away from the fire, but a few brave souls were running toward it. Seneca pressed her hand to her mouth as she reached the sidewalk. Thomas’s door had opened, and he tumbled out and crumpled to the ground.

  “Thomas!” Seneca screamed, but he didn’t raise his head. Fear cut jaggedly through her. How had this happened? How could a car just explode?

  Two men in volunteer fire jackets sprinted toward Thomas’s body. “Get back, get back!” they screamed at Seneca, Maddox, and Madison, who’d rushed up behind her. Seneca bit down hard on her fist.

  A police officer had appeared and was starting to divert all traffic to a side road. The fire department arrived and sprayed the car down. Ambulance sirens wailed. Onlookers to Seneca’s left began to murmur. “Did anyone see what happened?” a woman asked.

  “It just exploded!” someone else said. “Scared me half to death!”

  “I’ve heard you can’t trust that model year,” a third voice murmured.

  Seneca was starting to get woozy from the smoke. Was Thomas’s car just a lemon? But Thomas was a meticulous guy. She couldn’t imagine that he’d let important car maintenance go to the point where his vehicle would explode. Paranoia nagged at her. She clutched Maddox’s arm. “I don’t think this was an accident.”

  Maddox and Madison nodded numbly. And just like that, Brett has cut our numbers to three, Seneca thought with dread. Of course he wiped out Thomas—as an ex-cop, he had a lot of resources to hunt Brett down. And he and Aerin had just started dating. Seneca couldn’t forget the dreamy looks Brett had given Aerin back in Dexby. He’d liked her. Maybe liked her a lot.

  So Brett wanted Thomas out of the way, then. He wanted Aerin all to himself. And he wanted them never to be found.

  “Okay, now we’re definitely telling the police.” Madison spotted a broad, squinty-eyed cop who’d appeared to direct traffic. She took a few shaky steps toward him, but then Seneca’s phone started to buzz. She looked down at the number, and her breath caught in her chest. Impossible. The person who had sent the Don’t look for us text was now calling.

  “Wait, Madison.” She grasped her friend’s arm. “Don’t.”

  Madison gave her a startled look. Maddox started to protest, but then Seneca showed them the phone’s screen. “It’s the same number as before. The same number that sent that text.”

  Madison blinked. Maddox’s lips parted slightly. The phone kept ringing.

  “Answer it,” Maddox finally urged.

  With a thumping heart, Seneca pressed the green phone icon, then put the call on speaker. “Long time no talk, my friends,” sang a familiar, haunting voice over the din of sirens.

  Brett.

  BRETT GRADY, a name he’d gotten used to calling himself, kept his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel, his cell phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder. Years ago, when he’d taught himself to drive, he didn’t know how the phrase ten and two had leapt into his brain or how he’d known that it was the proper orientation for your hands. From his dad, maybe, when they used to ride go-karts? From a TV show? Still, he prided himself on always following the rules of the road to a T. Never speeding, never making crazy moves across lanes, always staying under the cops’ radar. He’d passed three patrol cars today already, but they hadn’t stopped him. Why would they? He was a model citizen. If those cops did notice Aerin’s limp form in the backseat, they probably just figured she was his girlfriend and had decided to take a nap.

  He was tickled by this tableau and decided to run with it for the few moments it was taking for Seneca Frazier to mentally get her shit together on the other end of the phone line. If a cop did stop Brett, he would see Brett and Aerin as a couple on a long road trip. She’s my one and only, Brett would tell the officer, smiling sweetly at her passed-out form in the back. We finish each other’s sentences. We order for each other at restaurants. We’ve had tons of play-fights about songs on the radio, and I guess all that wore her out. And actually, Brett really did know all those things about Aerin. She wouldn’t want to listen to “Call Me Maybe” because it reminded her of her murdered sister, for instance. And if they stopped for pizza, she would like it plain, with barely any cheese.

  See? He wouldn’t even have to fake it.

  “Are you still there?” he finally asked Seneca. His phone had gone silent. Brett wasn’t surprised. Seneca was probably stunned that he’d called her directly.

  There was some fumbling, and then Seneca came back on the line. “Yes. Wh-where are you? Is Aerin okay? And Thomas’s car exploded. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  “So many questions.” Brett could picture Seneca, with her curls and determined eyes. She probably thought she was going to entrap him, make him slip up, which felt insulting. They knew each other so well by now—she should understand that he never made mistakes.

  He’d already known about Thomas’s car accident. An app on his phone played the local police scanners; he’d heard the emergency call. Apparently, Thomas was still alive and had been taken to the hospital. Not the best outcome, but Brett hoped the injury was enough to scare the others. His nose wrinkled at the thought of that brawny, brainless interloper smiling at Aerin, touching Aerin, kissing Aerin…and Aerin kissing back. And also? Brett was the fifth person in their little sleuthing group. Thomas Grove couldn’t crime-solve his way out of a paper bag.

  “Aerin’s great,” he said brightly, glancing at her in the backseat. She was slumped over, her head bent at an unnatural angle, a bubble of spittle at the corner of her mouth. Her skirt was hiked deliciously high on her thigh. “We’re having a really nice time together.”

  “Let’s talk to her, then,” a new voice demanded.

  Brett grinned. Maddox. He could just picture the guy standing next to Seneca, all coiled-up muscle and easy, jock-boy good looks. He was a little hurt by Maddox’s harsh tone—he’d been a great friend, the type of guy he could chill with while playing Resident Evil 7. He thought with a mix of fondness and sadness about how admiringly Maddox used to laugh at his jokes. “Uh, Aerin’s a bit indisposed at the moment,” he said. “But she’s good. Scout’s honor.”

  “Where are you taking her?” Seneca demanded.

  “It’s a secret.” He smoothly moved into the left lane to pass, spying yet another police car lurking behind an overpass. Just a guy out for a drive. Just a couple on a trip. Doo-dee-doo. “Though if you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

  “Why would we do anything for you?” came yet another voice. It was Maddox’s cute, perky sister, Madison. Interesting. So they’d all stayed. Well, except the one he needed to get rid of.

  “Because we’re old friends,” he singsonged. “Aren’t we?”

  Silence. Brett squeezed the steering wheel tightly, then let go. He’d been kind of kidding, but kind of not. He really missed his old group. It killed him that they were all together, hanging out, brainstorming as a unit…and he wasn’t in on the fun.

  “Check your CNC messages, Seneca,” he said. “I’ve sent you a case I’ve been interested in. I tried to figure it out…but I didn’t get very far. That’s where you come in.”

  He thought of the link he’d sent her just a few minutes before when he’d pulled up to refuel. Nine-Year-Old Catskills Boy Goes Missing. It had only happened two months ago, but a Case Not Closed file had already been opened on the kid. It was despicable how lazy cops could be, how quickly they could give up if things were just a teensy bit confusing. Did anyone in this world use th
eir heads anymore? Did anyone care about justice?

  His phone beeped. Brett glanced at it, then felt a leap in his chest. He pulled over—there was no way he was getting caught texting and driving!—and stared at the screen. The software he’d set up blinked a message. User is ready to connect. Do you want to connect?

  Brett clicked yes. A map of Avignon, New Jersey, appeared. He’d downloaded this program from the darknet and loaded it onto Seneca’s phone the night he’d broken into her room at the bed-and-breakfast in Avignon. Now, because his and Seneca’s phones had connected for more than three minutes, the software had activated, and it was triangulating her phone’s GPS coordinates and allowing him to track her every move. This was Brett’s little insurance policy. He wanted to make sure his puppets were doing exactly what he wanted at all times.

  “I don’t get it,” Seneca said, presumably after finishing the CNC article, which described how Damien Dover, a shy, musical nine-year-old boy, had disappeared from his New York hometown two months before. “Did you kidnap this kid, too?”

  Brett scoffed as he pulled back into traffic. “You know I’d never kidnap a child.”

  “Why do you want us to look into this? It’s a waste of time.”

  “A kid is missing, Seneca. That’s a terrible thing. Don’t you want to help?”

  “Why didn’t you solve it?” Seneca challenged. “You’re the expert.”

  “You flatter me,” Brett said, grinning. “Like I said, I did look into it. But then I had other things to do. So I’m delegating.”

  “How do we know this boy’s even still alive?” Maddox asked.

  Brett drove past a farmers’ market sign in the shape of a dopey smiling eggplant. “I don’t know for sure, but I’m hoping he is. And you’re going to find him for me.”

  “Uh, no, we’re not.” Seneca sounded irate.

  “That’s the deal. You solve this, you get Aerin back. But no cops. If I find out you’ve talked to the cops, you’ll never see Aerin again. And, oh, I want updates every day. If I don’t hear from you, or if I don’t think you’re working hard enough…” He trailed off, letting them fill in the blanks.

  “How do we know you haven’t already done something to Aerin?” Madison demanded.

  “Good point,” Seneca said. “Put Aerin on the phone. Prove she’s okay.”

  Brett’s skin flushed all the way to the roots of his hair. Guys, it’s me! Your old pal! I saved you from a burning building, Seneca! Do you really think I’d hurt our precious girl?

  He knew it was insane to presume they’d think like that—he’d just rigged Thomas’s car to go kaboom. Still, he’d hoped that they’d at least acknowledge that they knew him instead of talking to him like he was some random nutjob on a Most Wanted poster.

  He glanced at Aerin’s limp, sleeping form again. She looked so peaceful, the fear on her face gone. She’d been a bad girl, and she made him so angry and disappointed like so many other women he knew, but he also loved her, and the pull of love was greater than the pull of hate.

  “I’m looking right at her,” he said into the phone. “She’s fine.”

  “Prove it,” Seneca demanded. “Take a picture of her.”

  “No way. You’re going to have to trust me. So start investigating. The clock’s ticking.”

  “What do you mean?” Seneca asked. “You’re giving us a time limit?”

  “Let’s see, today’s Friday.” A semitruck whooshed by him on the shoulder. “I’m going to give you three days to crack this. So until Monday.”

  “Three days?” Seneca sounded horrified. “You want us to solve a cold case in three days?”

  “Eh, you guys are experts. I believe in you. Now, chop-chop! Get going!”

  Then he pressed END, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. Aerin sighed, and he glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Still sleeping. Still unaware. He tried to run through what she might say when she woke up. Let’s face it, it probably wasn’t going to be Oh, how lovely! A trip, just the two of us! It was going to be Seneca’s going to find me. Then you’ll be sorry.

  And what would Brett say to that? All his kindness would vanish. He’d see her again as the girl who’d chosen another guy over him. Sorry, but you’re wrong, he’d tell her. Seneca and the others aren’t even looking for you anymore. I’ve got them busy doing something else.

  “UNBELIEVABLE.” MADDOX WRIGHT watched as Seneca said this over and over, making wide circles around a very big floral display. “Unbelievable. Un-be-freaking-lieveable.”

  They stood in a flower shop inside the Avignon Hospital, a bright, sand-colored building that had banners of smiling, healthy people all over the walls and a man playing a classical tune on a grand piano in the lobby. Thomas had been brought here by ambulance. When they’d checked in about Thomas at the front desk, the triage nurse said that he was being evaluated and they couldn’t see him yet. Because the waiting room was too crowded, they’d retreated into the chilly, plant-filled room that smelled a little too much like a funeral home. Now they were staring at one another, still trying to process what had just happened.

  Thomas’s explosion kept playing over and over in Maddox’s mind like a Boomerang video on Instagram: his car pulling forward through the light, the smoke billowing out of the tailpipe, and then…fiery inferno.

  But the conversation they’d had with Brett really had its claws in Maddox. This had gotten so personal. Well, it had always been personal—the Kellys had been family friends of his growing up, and it devastated him that the same monster that had murdered Aerin’s sister had taken Seneca’s mom away and manipulated all of them into being friends with him.

  But now Brett had taken Aerin? Maddox had grown to adore her since they re-met this year. He tried to picture what she must be going through, but all he saw was scary, paralyzing emptiness. It was almost too painful to think about. He felt guilty, too—if he’d just done…something…maybe he could have prevented this. Why hadn’t someone gone outside and stood with her to make sure all was okay? The second they dropped their guard, disaster stuck. There was no way he would take his eyes off Madison or Seneca again.

  In a letter he’d written to the group just days ago, Brett said he’d had drinks with Aerin’s sister, Helena, in New York, and her rejection of him might have inspired him to kill her. Was that why he’d taken Aerin, too? Any fool could see that Brett had fallen head over heels for Aerin back in Dexby. But Maddox had thought he was so harmless at the time! He’d actually felt sorry for the guy’s lack of game! And now, this past week in Avignon, Brett had probably watched her in secret—and seen Aerin and Thomas together. The same crazy alarm bells that had rung with Helena must have gone off again. Maybe he was punishing Aerin for not choosing him.

  Was he going to kill her, too?

  The flower shop was so chilly, and Maddox jogged in place to get his blood pumping. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago, he’d actually thought this whole mess was…well, not over, exactly, but at an impasse. For a few minutes, he’d figured he’d be returning home to Dexby to get ready for his freshman year at the University of Oregon, where he’d been recruited to run track and compete at the Olympic trials. He’d begun to mentally plan for buying new off-to-college boxers at Abercrombie and doing a fartlek workout around his neighborhood tomorrow. He’d thought that maybe they’d return to Avignon to revisit the search…but with Brett tying the mystery up so neatly and cleanly, would they really find any answers about him?

  What an idiot he’d been. As long as Brett was out there, this was never going to be over. He had to stay here now with Aerin gone. All of them had postponed their trip home the moment they’d gotten off the phone with Brett, actually. Seneca, in her typical balls-to-the-wall way, had called her overprotective father and blurted, “Dad, I’m nineteen years old, and I can do what I want, and I’m not coming home quite yet. I’ll call soon.” Mic drop.

  “Any luck?” Seneca asked, nodding at Aerin’s iPad, upon which Madison was furiou
sly tapping and swiping.

  “Still trying to log in,” Madison mumbled between shaky breaths as she leaned against a refrigerated case of roses. The woman behind the counter was staring at all of them blandly, disinterestedly, as though panicked individuals who had no interest in buying flowers hung out in the shop every day.

  The group had strategized about how they might gather clues as to where Brett had taken Aerin. They doubted they could just call her and ask, or even send a secret text—surely Brett had already taken Aerin’s phone away. But maybe Aerin had composed an SOS in those first few moments of getting into the car. Was it possible?

  Aerin had an iPhone, which meant her texts and photos might be linked to her left-behind iPad, which was in Madison’s lap. When Madison finally remembered Aerin’s password to unlock the screen—she’d used Aerin’s phone once or twice, and Aerin had recited it to her—she hadn’t found any photos that had loaded to the cloud from the last hour. As far as Aerin’s texts, she hadn’t yet authorized them to show up on the iPad. But if they could figure out her iTunes password, the texts would load onto the device.

  “I’m going to try that Viola person, too. You know, Brett’s ‘sister’?” Seneca typed on her phone. “Maybe she knows something about where Brett went.” Maddox watched as she pulled up a new e-mail, using the address for Viola the Realtor had given her. “I wish we had a phone number,” she muttered. She searched Viola’s e-mail address in Google for personal details, but the inquiry yielded nothing.

  “Maybe we could question people in Avignon about what they knew about the guy they knew as Gabriel, too,” Maddox suggested. “Maybe he had another beach house somewhere?”

  “But everyone thinks Gabriel died in a car crash.” Madison didn’t look up from typing.

  “Uh, well, obviously that’s a lie.” Seneca pushed her phone back into her pocket, having finished the e-mail to Viola. “Unless Brett was calling us from beyond the grave.”