THIRTY-EIGHT
PARK
I broke rule number one.I got caught by my opponent.
And now I’m hanging upside down, staring at a ticking time bomb as the seconds rapidly wind down.
14:29, 14:28, 14:27.
I feel like I’m waiting for the cheese to melt on a plate of nachos in the microwave. But when this timer goes off,I’mthe one that will be cooked.
14:26, 14:25, 14:24.
This is fine.
I’ve been in worse situations before…I think.
My eyes drop to the ground, four feet below. Then I crane my neck, glancing up at the ceiling. There’s a small vent I can try to crawl through.
I look at the bomb. 14:12, 14:11, 14:10. This rushed timeframe definitely adds to the dramatics of my escape.
I just need to get my hands—which are currently tied behind my back—to the front of my pants. When Derek first told me he was switching out all the buttons on my pants with sharp-edged ones, I thought he was crazy. But who am I to question Derek? He’s the gadgets man. The guy that sits at a desk and gets you out of trouble just by clicking a few strokes on his keyboard or by installing sharp-edge buttons on all of your pants.
The problem is, I’m not double-jointed. I don’t have hypermobility in my arms to get them over my head. So unless Derek’s button is in the back of my pants, it’s completely useless at the moment.
I don’t want to, but I should probably glance at the bomb again just to make sure I haven’t magically lost five minutes without knowing.
14:01, 14:00, 13:59.
I didn’t lose five minutes, but it did physically hurt seeing the number thirteen blink at me in flashing red.
Nicholas Lawrence’s men set the bomb to go off in fifteen minutes and then left me to die.
Actually, a lot of other things happened first, like how they broke into my hotel room in Seattle yesterday (I think that was yesterday. It’s hard to keep track of time when you’re locked up) and took the computer chips from me. Then they shot me with some kind of tranquilizer—I can see why Lacee doesn’t like that. The next time I woke up, I was tied to a chair in this 12 by 12 metal room. There are no windows, only a steel door, a camera in the corner, and one light bolted to a wall. Nicholas Lawrence stood in front of me. He had that same slimy look on his face from when I saw him at the mall with Lacee. The only thing missing was his stupid peacoat.
“We both know you’re not Parson Brown,” he’d said as he paced back and forth in front of me. I should’ve gotten bonus points for choosing such a memorable fake name. “So why don’t you tell me who you are and how you got the computer chips?”
“Does it really matter who I am? You have what you’re looking for.”
Nicholas had huffed out a breath through his fake smile. “It matters because I need to know who else I need to kill to clean up your mess. I need to know how far the information leaked.” I’d hated his arrogant expression, and if it wasn’t for the two muscle heads that had stood on either side of me, I might’ve tried to swing my chairwithmy body attached to it into Nick’s smug face. But instead, I’d chosen to play it cool. Eventually, there would be a time to escape. I just had to wait for that moment.
“I’m not the one who caused the mess. From the information on those computer chips, you and your chemical weapons are causing the mess.” I had flashed him my version of an arrogant smile, although, in that situation, I had absolutely nothing to be arrogant about. I was bluffing.
“I’m the creator, the brains behind the design. Whoever buys the weapons and what they choose to do with them isn’t my problem. I’m merely the seller.”
“What if the buyer uses the weapons you created against Boston, Massachusetts, and you just happen to be in the city at the same time? Would it be your problem then?”
Nicholas had laughed in my face at my question. “Don’t worry about me. I’m making enough money from my buyer that I won’t be in Bostonifthe weapons were to be used there.”
He had saidtherenothere.So I’d guessed we weren’t in Boston. Maybe he’d kept me somewhere close to Seattle.
“Now,” Nicholas had placed his hands on the side of my chair, putting his face close to mine, “tell me who you’re working for.”
“I work for myself.”
“I’m not buying it. What about Lacee Warren? Do you expect me to believe that you and her together were some kind of coincidence?”
That’s what I’d believed, but now I’m unsure. I can’t figure out Lacee’s involvement in all of this, but since Nicholas had brought her up, there must be some kind of connection.
