The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) - Suzanne Park Page 0,69
face, forcing me to breathe in God-knows-what.
How long had I been knocked out?
The hood had been replaced by a blindfold, which made breathing a lot easier. From the air-conditioning blasts above me, chilling me to my core, I could tell I was indoors now.
Groggy and sore, I tried to stand. Something tied to my waist, wrists, and ankles held me down.
“Where’s Kate?” It came out sounding like a whine. “And where am I?” I cleared my throat, trying to get my voice to stop wavering, and I dropped it to a lower pitch. “Tell me where she is!”
“Please, Nate. Stop shouting. You’re being disruptive in our work environment. Kate’s safe and you are too. You’re going to give me a headache with all your racket.”
This made me want to annoy the man more. I shouted, “Fuck you! Take this blindfold off, you asshole!”
His voice went down a few decibels. “I will, but you have to stop shouting. And cursing. You’re disturbing the workers.”
The band came off my eyes. Uncontrollably blinking, I tried to take in my new environment. I’d expected an interrogation chamber or a windowless, cinder-blocked room with a singular incandescent bulb swinging on a string above our heads. But no, I was in an executive office, with sleek IKEA-looking office furniture. Directly across from me sat a familiar-looking older man in a stylish dark gray blazer, blue button-down shirt, and no tie.
Through his interior office window, he had a clear view of a few dozen people buzzing around in front of four enormous computer screens. Each one projected linear graphs, topographical maps, weather conditions, and live feeds of the forest.
I glanced back at the man, and it clicked. He was Robbie Anderson-Steele, my idol. Here, in the flesh. Far more impressive that the 2-D version of him in my closet.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Well, how about this? Let’s play a little game. To test your deductive reasoning.” He placed his elbows on his desk and folded his arms in front of him. “Let’s start with, why are you here? I’m talking about this competition, not here in my satellite office. What made you enter this competition?”
Before I answered, I tried to loosen the zip tie securing my right wrist. Whoever tied me up had done a good job. “I’m here with Kate. She’s the one who wanted me here. To help her win.”
He leaned back a little into his chair. “Interesting. Kate’s not the outdoorsy type. Why would she want to do this in the first place?”
This familiarity with Kate set off sirens in my head. Serial killer! Perv! Obsessive community theater junkie! I needed to proceed with caution.
“She and I are both into zombies. We love them. We thought it would be fun.” There was way more to it, but I didn’t want to discuss this anymore. Not with him, Mr. Pervy Pants.
My heart thumped harder than ever before. My spidey sense tingled as he took a slow sip of water from his Evian bottle.
On his desk, he had a recent school photo of Kate.
Holy shit.
It clicked. Robbie Anderson-Steele was Kate’s dad. Kate Anderson. Her house with the creepy iron gate. Her freak-out when she ran into her dad’s cutout in my closet. It made sense now.
“I’ve done some research on you, Nate. You’re very talented, I must admit. And smart too. Makes sense that Kate would use you to win.” His words stabbed little holes in me, but the way he spat my name reminded me of Pete and all those rich shits at my school. Now I knew what Pete would be like when he grew up.
“We’re friends,” I hissed back. Even though we were maybe more than just friends, this was not exactly the place or time to ask Dad’s permission to date.
His cold smile sent a shiver down my spine. “Good, good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Then as a friend, you’ll want to consider Kate’s best interests.” He unfolded his arms. Through his glass desk I saw