The cashier handed over their order, and the car filled with the intoxicating scent of French fries, bacon, and freshly cooked meat. Kenzie pulled into a shaded corner of the lot, rolled down the windows, and turned off the engine.
As she took a bite of her burger, Cheyenne mulled the idea.
“You’d have a three-hour window between lunch and last period. Or”—Kenzie drew out the word as she thought—“Jaydra drops you off, you meet me in the student parking lot, and we leave. That would give you the whole day.”
“Either way, school would call home when we didn’t show up in class.” Cheyenne ripped off a chunk of burger and passed it back to Phantom. “And then we’d be screwed.”
“You know I can speak adult. I’ll call in for both of us.” Kenzie lowered her voice and spoke quickly, sounding like a harried businesswoman. “‘I’m afraid Cheyenne won’t be in today. She’s come down with a touch of food poisoning.’ And then I’ll call back again for me, but with a different excuse. I’ll drop you off at school right before it ends, and you can meet Jaydra at the pickup area like you just got out of class.”
“It could work. Or it could totally fall apart. And then I’ll be grounded forever.”
“Face it. You already are grounded.” Kenzie noisily sucked up the last of her shake. “How much more could they take away from you?”
“Right now, at least nobody’s following me around at school. If they find out, I’m going to get in so much trouble. Jaydra would probably never let me out of her sight again.”
“The guys would love it if she came to school,” Kenzie said. “She’s like an assassin. They’ll all be busy guessing where she hides her gun or asking her to cuff them.”
When her dad had said he was hiring a bodyguard for her, Cheyenne had imagined some beefy, burly guy with a shaved head. Some no-nonsense ex-military dude who could barely fit his shoulders into a jacket. What she got was Jaydra. Her dad said he wanted someone who could follow her into the ladies’ room without raising eyebrows.
“She’s basically like a babysitter.”
“A tattooed babysitter who knows jujitsu and who gives you pointers about how to get out of handcuffs,” Kenzie said. “Besides, even if they catch us, we could always make up some lie about why we left. We could say we wanted to go shopping or something. We won’t tell them you saw Griffin, and we’ll make sure he doesn’t tell anyone. And once the trial is over, your parents will relax.”
Cheyenne took a deep breath. “I’m going to tell him yes.”
Kenzie squealed and squeezed her hand with greasy fingers.
Cheyenne hadn’t really been paying attention to the sounds outside their windows, but now she heard a woman say, “Look at that dog! It is her, like I told you. Hey, Cheyenne, look over here! Cheyenne!”
A second voice, a man’s. “Are you ready for the trial, Cheyenne?” He sounded closer than the woman.
Cheyenne shrank back. “Are they reporters?” If they were, she would never be alone again.
Kenzie swore. Like Cheyenne, she no longer trusted reporters. “I think they’re just people. Nosy people.” The car started up and jerked into reverse. “They’re standing right behind the car.” The pitch of her voice changed as she leaned out the window to yell, “Move your butts before I run you over!”
Cheyenne ducked her head and put her hand over her face as Kenzie squealed out of the lot. Had she just blown her one chance to see Griffin?
CHAPTER 9
PHYSICAL PROBLEMS WITH PHYSICAL SOLUTIONS
CHEYENNE
Cheyenne’s outing to Burgerville had not leaked into the wider world. At least not yet. She had set up a Google Alert to see if anyone posted photos of her out and about when she was supposed to be in lockdown at school. So far, nothing new had shown up.
Now she sat in the passenger seat of the Escalade, lost in thought as Jaydra drove home from school. In just three days, she could be seeing Griffin. Where would they meet? What would they do? They would have at least seven hours together.
“You sound happy,” Jaydra said. It seemed as much a question as an observation.
Cheyenne froze. She had been running her index finger over her lower lip, wondering what it might be like to kiss Griffin. “What?”
“You were humming.”
“Oh, um, Kenzie had me listen to this new band she likes.” To forestall any questions about the imaginary band, she changed the subject. “It must be getting kind of boring, just driving me back and forth to school.”
“You can’t let yourself think like that. That’s when you start making mistakes. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I try to pick a different route each time. It keeps me from getting bored, and it keeps us from being predictable. Predictability is what gets people killed.”
“What do you mean?” Cheyenne asked, mostly to keep her talking. It wasn’t hard. Jaydra liked to lecture. How adrenaline affected your body. How when seconds counted, the police were minutes away. How movement was life, because movement indicated initiative. And whoever had the initiative won the battle. Meanwhile, Cheyenne could continue to internally debate whether she should wear perfume Monday.
“There was a high-level executive in New York who always used to go to the same diner for breakfast. He was kidnapped walking back to his car. Another guy used to stop every morning at the end of his gated driveway to get the paper. The neighbors found his car still running—with the driver’s door open. Only he was gone.”
A shiver crept across Cheyenne’s skin. What good was life if you had to worry every time you left your house? “So if you were the bodyguard for one of those guys—what? You wouldn’t let them eat at their favorite restaurant? You wouldn’t let them get the paper?”
“Maybe I’d be the one to get the paper. And if my client really, really wanted to eat at that restaurant, I’d insist on accompanying him. And see if I could secure a parking spot for us right outside the door. Entrance and egress—leaving—are the most dangerous points of any travel plan. That’s why I don’t let you get out of the car until we’re right in front of the school.”
Cheyenne most definitely did not want Jaydra thinking about her safety at school. What if she took it into her head to begin following Cheyenne from class to class? “You seem like you know a lot, so how come you’re not guarding an ambassador or a movie star or something? Instead of just me?”
“When it comes to personal protection, it’s still a man’s world.” Jaydra let out a huff. “Most people won’t hire a woman for a high-profile job. Everyone’s got this stereotype of a man-mountain in a suit and dark glasses. But someone like that just attracts attention. Plus they tend to see physical problems with physical solutions. They’ll go after the paparazzi and leave the client unprotected. Women are much better at keeping it on the down low, and using their social skills to defuse things. And a female bodyguard can blend in. That’s one reason I work with so many minors. People look at me and think I’m the mom or sister or nanny. Or a friend.”
A friend? Cheyenne couldn’t imagine being friends with Jaydra.
“And I can sit in a restaurant or a park with a client or go shopping with them and look as if I belong.”
“Do you like to go shopping?” It was hard to think of her doing something so frivolous.
Jaydra made a sound like a laugh. “Not really. Not that I could afford to shop where my clients do anyway.” Her voice tightened. “Rich people think they can buy anything. Once I was the minder for this ten-year-old Middle Eastern princess visiting Manhattan. She demanded I get her a kitten, a puppy, and a baby tiger. I said I couldn’t get a baby tiger, and all hell broke loose.” Her voice was bitter.
“A baby tiger?”
“That’s the problem with some rich people and celebrities—they’re used to having things their way. They hire you for your expertise, but then they won’t do what they’re told. They want to stick their head up through the sunroof, or they take things from fans instead of letting you handle them fi
rst. They never think about whether it might be anthrax or a bomb.”
In her mind’s eye, Cheyenne saw bullets and explosions. She was finding it harder and harder to daydream about Griffin. Was she risking too much, trying to see him? “But how often does stuff like that really happen?”
“All it takes is once. But in their world, no one ever says no to them. Well, I do. I say no. And sometimes I have to pay the price.”
Cheyenne felt a twinge of guilt. Would Jaydra end up getting in trouble because of her? If she got caught, she would have to make sure her dad knew it was all her idea. “But it’s impossible to keep anyone completely safe.”
“You’re right. But you need to choose your risks and make a plan for what to do if things go wrong. Because if you’ve never felt your body dump adrenaline, then when something bad happens, you’ll probably just freeze. That’s why I surprised you the other night, to teach you how important it is to react right away, while you still have time. Which is vital for you. You may not always be rich and famous, but you’re always going to be blind.”
“Yeah, I know.” The words were out of her mouth before Cheyenne could call them back. “Thanks for reminding me.”
Jaydra let out an irritated sigh. “All I meant is that a certain subset of people are always going to see that you’re blind and think that means you’d make a great victim. But now, if you have to, you’ll be able to demonstrate that’s not true.” She added, almost to herself, “Not that you appreciate it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Because your eyes don’t see, you’ve forgotten that you still roll them whenever you think someone’s full of it. And I’ve seen plenty of eye rolls from you. When I’m just trying to do my job.”
Heat climbed Cheyenne’s face. She hated rude people, but now it sounded like she was one. And if she rolled her eyes in front of Jaydra, who else had seen her do it? Scrambling for words, all she came up with was “I’m sorry. But you can’t judge me for something I don’t even know I’m doing.”
“What you don’t understand is I would give my life for you.”
Cheyenne was finally goaded into speaking the truth. “You’re just saying that. That’s what you’re paid to say.”
“You think I’m joking?” Jaydra’s voice was cold.
“Look, I appreciate it, I really do, but talking about sacrificing yourself is kind of hyperbole, isn’t it? You’re basically my babysitter. You’re just here to make up for my dad and Danielle feeling guilty.”
“This has nothing to do with Nick and Danielle. But you wouldn’t understand,” Jaydra said, and then stopped.
After the silence stretched on too long, Cheyenne said, “What wouldn’t I understand?”
“When I was a kid, my parents were missionaries in Pakistan. There were rumors that because we were Americans, we must be rich. My little sister and I were kidnapped. Tied up, held in a hut for days. I managed to escape. She didn’t.”
Cheyenne knew what it was like to be tied up and held captive. She knew what it was like to escape. But she had survived. “Wait. Do you mean your sister was, like…” She couldn’t finish her sentence.
“Jessalyn was killed. Yes.”
“How old was she?” Cheyenne asked softly.
Jaydra’s voice roughened. “Just thirteen.” Her tone made it clear the topic was closed. “I decided I didn’t want another family to ever go through what we did.”
“I’m sorry,” Cheyenne said haltingly.
Instead of answering, Jaydra made a shushing sound. Cheyenne felt her straighten up.
Suddenly, the car cornered, tires squealing. Hard enough that Cheyenne’s seat belt cut into her neck.
“What’s the matter?” Jaydra’s driving was always carefully controlled.
“Someone might be following us.”
Cheyenne thought of the man snatched as he walked away from the diner, the man taken from his car before he could even retrieve the paper. Her mouth filled with bile as her lunch threatened to come back up.
They were going so fast that, even in the cocooned bubble of the car’s interior, she could hear the engine revving. She pushed her feet against the floor and put her hands out to brace herself.
“Get your hands off the dash,” Jaydra rapped out. “If the airbag deploys, it will break your arms.”
Another hard corner, the tires chattering. The car whined as it accelerated. What would happen next? Would their car be rammed? Would someone shoot at them? Would they spin out of control? Cheyenne pictured herself being dragged screaming from smoking wreckage.
Then unexpectedly the car began to slow.
Jaydra let out a relieved laugh. “Guess I was being paranoid. He just pulled into a driveway and got out. It was only an idiot with no idea of proper stopping distance.”
CHAPTER 10
SHUT UP FOR GOOD
TJ
The present Dwayne promised TJ came the day after he visited. A portable DVD player, new in the box. Sealed, per the rules.
But thanks to Roy, who wasn’t above passing off old as new, TJ knew looks could be deceiving. With plastic wrap, a hair dryer, and a little patience, you could make anything look all nice and new and shrink-wrapped.
“Too bad your friend didn’t send you any DVDs to go with it,” the nurse said as she handed it over. “Maybe you can borrow one from someone on the ward.”
As if anyone would part with one. The rules said you couldn’t have more than twelve DVDs or CDs. You couldn’t have much of anything. Even if you were a bookworm or an artist, you weren’t allowed more than a cubic foot of paper products.
That night TJ took the player to bed with him. Nobody looked twice. People tended to keep a tight hold on the few things they were allowed to own. In the darkness, he fiddled with it, letting his fingers serve as his eyes. It gave him a little thrill to think that must be how Cheyenne did things.
The back was loose. With a fingernail, he unscrewed it. The insides had been gutted and replaced. He slid out what was inside and traced it with his fingers. An eight-inch pair of bolt cutters. Along with the crisp paper of a note.
Later he took it to the bathroom, read it, and then tore it in tiny pieces before flushing it away.
Meet outside of west yard fence Friday 6:15 pm.
He was going to be free. He was going to be with Cheyenne again. Eventually, he slipped into dreams of her shiny hair and soft skin.
* * *
Friday morning began with a security guard flashing the searing fluorescent lights and shouting, “Time to wake up! Rise and shine!” Then came a pleated white paper cup filled with a rainbow of pills. As he had since Dwayne’s visit, TJ tucked the pills between cheek and gum. Following protocol, he opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and then shuffled away. The staff no longer bothered to look too closely. As Bobbi Jo, one of the nurses, had told him, “We like you, TJ. You can feed yourself, you can toilet yourself, and you never take a swing at us.”
He knew what they thought. What everyone always thought. Poor old TJ. Wasn’t too smart, didn’t cause much trouble. Mostly did as he was told. In the bathroom, he spit the pills into the toilet, flushed, and went to breakfast.
TJ wasn’t stupid, especially now he had stopped taking the pills. He was smart enough to know Oregon State Hospital wasn’t really a hospital. It was a place for crazy people. Which TJ supposedly was.
He wasn’t crazy, and he wasn’t stupid. He was only here, in this locked ward eating cold cereal and watery juice, because of Jimbo. Back when TJ and Jimbo were working for Roy, Jimbo had liked to make fun of TJ. Called him dummy, stupid, idiot. Until finally he said things like that one too many times. So when they were hunting Cheyenne, TJ showed Jimbo who was really stupid. Stupid for calling him names when TJ had a gun in his hands.
And Jimbo had finally, finally shut up. TJ smiled as he took his last bite of soggy cereal. Shut up for good.
Sure, afterward he had been a little bit freaked out, TJ thought as he took his empty dish
es to the conveyor belt. It was just how red everything had been, so red and shiny. He had walked away, leaving it all behind: his gun, Jimbo, and Jimbo’s share of the ransom money. Money wet with Jimbo’s blood. He had been a little mixed up, and by the time he remembered to look for Cheyenne, the cops had found him first.
Cheyenne. Today they would be together again. And he wouldn’t let anyone or anything separate them.
Since it was a weekday, after breakfast it was time for “school” or “work.” You could be a janitor, deliver mail, or work in the library, in the woodshop, or on the grounds. Patients hadn’t been allowed to work in the kitchen for decades, not since one substituted poison for powdered milk and killed forty-seven residents.
A lot of the jobs were make-work, but TJ had a real job in the motor pool. After all those years taking stolen cars apart in Roy’s chop shop, it was kind of nice to put them back together. He spent the day humming to himself as he rebuilt a carburetor, his mind filled with memories and daydreams of Cheyenne. When the bell rang at the end of his shift, he didn’t know where the time had gone. While the supervisor counted his tools and then patted him down, TJ tried to hide his impatience. He ate only enough dinner not to get in trouble.
Cheyenne, Cheyenne, Cheyenne.
Right before yard, TJ put on his puffer jacket. The inside pocket was heavy with the bolt cutter. As he pulled a plastic chair up to the fence, he looked around. Two employees sat at a picnic table, talking. Another surreptitiously checked his phone. A couple of others scanned the grounds, but by their posture, he could tell they expected to see nothing out of the ordinary. It was a warm day filled with birds chirping, the low hum of insects, the murmur of the nearby freeway.
Like he always did now, TJ linked his left hand in the fence. His right hand looked like it was doing the same, but really he was biting at the wire with the bolt cutter hidden in his curled fingers. His hands were strong. Snip, snip, snip. Until finally he made a hole just big enough for him. A TJ-sized hole.