his eyes or land a perfect shot on his neck, close to impossible.
A last resort.
She had lots of last resorts right now. Not so many good ones.
“What do you think of, Kira? I see in your eyes you’ve gone somewhere.”
She could give him this much. Keep him happy. “The beach.”
He reached into his pocket, came out with a vial, held it up.
“I learned my lesson.”
“No, this is the real one. Coca.”
Yeah, I’ll just get high and sit in this closet for a while. “Thanks, but no.”
He shrugged: Your loss. He unscrewed the cap, tipped a tiny pile of while powder onto the back of his hand, leaned over and hoovered it up. Then blinked, rubbed his nose.
“Cocaine, you know what it’s good for?”
She had a crawling fear of what he’d say next.
She made the mistake of looking at him. His eyes were feral now. The coke had lit them somehow. He wasn’t joking. She needed to figure out exactly what to say.
Or he was going to rape her.
He reached for her—
“The stuff, what’s it like?” Distract him.
He stopped. “It makes everything, I don’t know—bright. You want some?”
What a sales pitch. “A little, sure.”
He handed her the vial.
Her hand shook and she dropped it, sending the coke spilling on the floor. Not an accident, what she’d planned. She knew she risked angering him but she hoped she’d slow him down.
“Fuck.” But he laughed.
“I’m an idiot.”
“Sí. Idiot.” Though he seemed weirdly cool about the coke. Maybe he had a pound in the sugar jar downstairs. Maybe they paid him in coke.
“I’m scared, Rodrigo.” That much was true, at least. “Of everything.” I want you to keep me safe? No, too much, too soon. “I can’t trust anyone.”
For a moment she thought maybe she’d reached him.
Then his eyes turned hard and covetous. He nodded to himself as though he’d decided something. He raised his hands to his mouth and blew on his fingertips, puff, puff, cleaning them somehow before he reached for her.
He grabbed her shoulder. He was strong, not gym strong, the casual strength of a guy who’d spent his life lifting boxes, digging ditches. Fighting.
“Rodrigo.” That stupid, inescapable song from a few years back filled her mind, I’m only one call away, I’ll be there to save the day—
Nobody was one call away. Not Superman or anybody else.
He didn’t say anything, just pulled her toward him.
In the distance the garage door clicked up, the sound unmistakable.
He groaned. Kira understood. She’d made the same sound herself when she’d put a perfect ball on the net, a certain goal, only to have the goalie sweep it away at the last moment. No way. That was mine. I was gonna score.
He dug his fingers into her shoulder. “You don’t say anything.”
He grabbed the vial from the floor, stepped out, slammed the door, slapped the deadbolt in place. A moment later the light went out.
* * *
The chalk taste of fear in her mouth. She swallowed it. Now that she’d escaped, saved by the bell, she could try to laugh. Afraid to get caught with your hand in the cookie jar, Rodrigo? Her cookie jar, as it happened.
He was dangerous. But she could already see the chance he offered. He had come to her when the others were away.
He would come again. She needed to be ready.
She heard voices downstairs. Faintly. A man, a woman, another man. Jacques, Lilly, Rodrigo. Was it really just the three musketeers? She couldn’t decide if she would be safer with someone else in charge.
She listened as hard as she could, but couldn’t distinguish anything, not even the language. She decided to use the conversation as cover to check the room once more. Start with the shelf.
She stood on tiptoes, ran her hands along the top of the shelf. Nothing. The wood smooth, finished. Then, down in the corner, where the shelf met the front wall.
Metal. Ridged. A screw and then a smooth-finished nail. Maybe two and a half, three inches long. She imagined a carpenter finishing the doorframe, leaving these pieces behind. They’d rolled into the corner.
She poked it into her palm. It was sharp. Sharp enough to pierce skin, explode an eye. Good.
She left it where she’d found it. They hadn’t noticed it yet. No reason they would now.
She checked the shelf once more, slowly. Touching every inch, especially where the wood met the wall.
In the back corner her fingers grazed what felt like a roll of electrical tape, a smooth tube a couple inches around. She could