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In the end, no one has any clear grounds for telling me no, though if anyone thought I was a sane, rational person before, they’re definitely over it now.
I report back to the kitchen, where Tannis and Emi are starting to set out the buffet of piping hot Italian food. A giant bowl of spaghetti. Hot pots with two kinds of sauce, one veggie, one meat. Baskets of garlic bread. A beautiful green salad. In the background, Chef Kiki is still furiously working away on her famed petits fours.
My stomach rumbles, and my footsteps falter. It would be so much easier to stay here. Dish up a plate, enjoy the company of friends. Forget for a moment what lurks just outside our door.
Maybe that’s my problem, my fundamental source of anxiety that once drove me to drink too much and now drives me to work so obsessively. Once I know something, I can’t unknow it. There’s so much danger in the world. So many people who go unseen in life, based solely on the color of their skin, and then when something bad happens, are ignored completely by the powers that be.
I can’t sit here, in this inner circle of bright light, cheerful noise, and hot food. My mind is already outside, worrying about the rustling coming from that bush, the sudden quiet of the always raucous seabirds overhead, the hulking shadow slipping between those two buildings.
As long as I’m terrified, I might as well do something about it.
Trudy and Ann have a tray waiting for me. The single plate bears an impressive mound of spaghetti, topped with grated cheese. Smack in the center of the cheese is a spot that remains bright red.
“That’s your target,” Trudy whispers.
“We thought it would look better,” Ann adds in a low voice, “if you took the bite right from the middle of the dish. Less suspicious.”
“You two ever want a career change, I recommend espionage. You’re good at this.”
Tucked to the side of the screen doors, Charlie grunts his agreement.
Half a loaf of garlic bread sits next to the spaghetti. A pile of silverware is on the other side. Two of everything, I notice, in case Keahi and Brent decide to share.
Would they? What are the dynamics between the two? Given Keahi’s victim preference, Brent has selected a risky partner in crime. I’m already certain her corrections officer consort has come to a bloody end. Too hard to get both of them smuggled onto a tiny Cessna bound for Keahi’s target. And given what Keahi did to her own lawyer, she clearly doesn’t hold loyalty in high regard.
Maybe Brent will reach for a bite of spaghetti and she’ll kill him on principle. This feeding the enemy idea might be even better than I’d hoped.
Which doesn’t explain why I’m trembling uncontrollably and having a hard time wrapping my fingers around the edge of the tray.
“Are you sure, luv?” Charlie murmurs softly. “You don’t—”
“I got this!”
“Maybe we should take it. There are two of us.” Ann and Trudy square their shoulders in mutual resolve.
“No!” That as much as anything gives me strength. If they went out there and something happened to them—I couldn’t bear it.
Deep breath. I tighten my grip, lift up the tray, get it in position on my left shoulder just as Vaughn appears.
He looks at me, then at my crack assistants. He doesn’t have to say anything for us to know that he knows we’re up to something.
He focuses his attention on me. “You will drop off the tray, then get right back in here.”
I nod.
“No lingering, no side trips, no rash or impulsive acts.”
He might as well be asking me not to breathe. I raise my chin a notch. Then I nod.
“I don’t like this.”
None of us say a word.
“But I’m going to trust you on this.”
Low blow. Good thing I’m already shaking.
Last deep breath. I turn toward the rear door. Ann hustles forward to open it. Trudy finds the switch to snap on the outdoor floodlights in front of the storage shed. Charlie raises his shotgun. And under the watchful gazes of my friends, I step into the night.
