Chapter 14 - The Waterfront Trap
Adrian shoved me behind a concrete barrier just as a truck burst through the warehouse gate.
Its headlights swept over us. The driver swerved and raced toward the road, not at us but close enough to leave us coughing in exhaust.
“Stay here,” Adrian said.
“Don't you dare—”
He ran anyway.
I followed, slipping on wet pavement. Behind the warehouse we found the van abandoned with its doors hanging open. A paper cup rolled across the floor. Nobody was inside.
From the dark came a voice. “Mara.”
I turned.
Caleb stood beneath the stairwell, soaked and shaking. He looked at me as if he were trying to decide whether I was real.
I walked forward slowly. “It's me.”
He flinched when I came close, then held out his arms and let me hug him. He was taller than I remembered, of course. He smelled like rain and cheap laundry detergent.
“I kept your stupid dinosaur drawing,” he said into my shoulder.
I laughed and sobbed at the same time. “It wasn't stupid.”
“It had nine legs.”
“Dinosaurs can have nine legs when you're six.”
“I was nine.”
Behind us Adrian stood very still, giving us the gift of privacy in a place with nowhere to hide.
Then Caleb pulled away. “We have to leave. They made me bring you.”
The words felt like ice water.
“Who?”
“I thought if I warned you, they'd stop. They said they only wanted the files.”
“Where's Laurel?” Adrian asked.
Caleb looked at him with open hatred. “You don't get to ask about her.”
Adrian absorbed the blow. “I'm asking anyway.”
“She saved me,” Caleb said. “She taught me how to tell my story. Then they took her again.”
A shot cracked in the distance, sharp against the water. We dropped behind a loading bin. A second sound followed—metal striking metal, not close enough to know where it came from.
Ortiz’s voice rang through a police loudspeaker: “Everybody stay where you are!”
Caleb gripped my hand. “The people running this aren't all at the warehouse.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.” His face twisted. “Vivienne works for somebody else.”
May you like
He took a small memory card from his pocket and pressed it into mine.
“And the person she works for,” he whispered, “is the one who ordered Laurel's disappearance.”
