Just drop the damn knife.”
I didn’t have a choice and loosened my grip, letting the knife fall out of my hand. Even as I did, the other guy was there, slapping a fresh piece of duct tape over my mouth.
“Smile,” he said. A camera flash popped, blinding me to what little I’d been able to see in the first place.
I’d blown it. I’d missed my chance. All I saw was shadows and bright spots as the flash ghosted across my eyes.
But I’d seen enough to know that probability had turned against me long before this moment. As soon as I’d laid eyes on the Engineer’s face, back at the coffee shop and again in the street that afternoon, I’d lost any chance I had of making it out of this place alive.
They had nothing to gain by letting me go anymore. And everything to gain by killing me.
CHAPTER 84
THE ENGINEER, OR whoever he was, wasted no time re-taping my wrists. He was big, and way too strong for me. With no trouble at all, he got me sitting up and lashed to a tree before he took the tape off my mouth again.
The sun was all but gone now. Twilight was turning into night, and I could hear spring peepers nearby.
We were deep in the woods, I realized. Somewhere far enough out that he didn’t care if I made any noise or not.
“Did you like the British accent?” he asked just before a flashlight beam seared into my eyes. I squinted hard, trying to see around it. “We’ve got a million of them. Southern, German, whatever. Not that it matters. Just a little something to muddy the water.”
When I tried to speak, a wave of nausea stopped me. I heaved, but nothing came up.
“That’s the propofol,” he said. “It’ll wear off.”
I could hear the other one—the Poet?—moving around in the dark. A van door opened and closed. Music came on, muted from inside the vehicle. Some kind of guitar rock. The kind I hate.
“What about Eve?” I said, trying again. I couldn’t see her from where I was, but it didn’t seem as though they’d moved her, or even paid her any attention yet.
“She’s down for the count,” he said from the other side of the flashlight. “I like to take things one at a time.”
“You told me you’d let her go,” I tried.
“And you”—he took three fast strides toward me—“said you’d play by the rules. So I guess neither of us got what we wanted.”
He was standing over me now. The gun was still there, close enough that I could see the black nib of a sight on his barrel.
I didn’t know how he’d intercepted me, but I could think of a few ways. It had been days since I really took stock of that app. For all I knew, he’d spotted my malware before it could ever pose a serious threat. Maybe I’d been shortsighted, or careless. It was hard to say anymore. But what choice did I have?
“You were never at that address on Condor Street, were you?” I asked.
“Oh, we were there,” he told me. “We lost a perfectly good apartment, thanks to you. The cops are all over it now. I should shoot you just for that.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to kill me?” I asked. I’m not sure why I wasn’t incoherent, because I was terrified.
“Nah,” he said, and stepped back again. “Not my department.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
The music from the van bumped up in volume as the Poet stepped outside again.
“You all set?” the Engineer called over his shoulder.
“Yep.” The other’s voice came out of the dark. I could hear him walking closer better than I could see him. “I was just putting Angela’s picture up on Twitter. Hey, Angela, guess what? You’re famous now!”
The Engineer turned toward his partner. As he did, the flashlight beam swung out of my eyes and gave me my first real look at the Poet.
Justin Nicholson had described his shooter as a short man with, he thought, a Southern accent. Presumably, this was him. The accent had been a fake, for sure. But now I wasn’t so sure about the “man” part, either.
This kid was impossibly young. He didn’t look any more than eighteen, and probably wasn’t even that. Hell, he barely looked old enough to drive.
“Ready for me here?” he asked.
“She’s all yours, little brother,” the other one said, handing off the flashlight. “I’ll just be in the van, if you need me.”
“I won’t,”