“Move.” I push him in the side of the shoulder, jolt him down the hall for the door.
We can’t be here. Of course, we can’t be here. Our bikes are parked outside—our bikes, I realize, and his full of God knows how many thousands of dollars worth of goods from Krye?—
And two dead bodies in the fucking bedroom.
No.I can’t. I can’t think it. I can’t think it. I turn every part of me to steel, grip the doorknob, slam it shut. Pan’s still not moving. “For Christ’s sake,” I mutter through my teeth, “Go!” I shove him again, the shoulder blades this time, and it makes him stumble enough that he actually takes a step. And then another.
“I’m going, I’m going,” he says. He lets out a low whistle.
I swear to God, if he says one word about that goddamn jacket.
I jog past him. And as I do, the first hallway door opens. The one that was locked. Just a crack.
And out of it steps…
A kid.
A girl.
Oh shit.
I see her eyes go wide as she takes in Pan and then me. She’s just in a T-shirt and shorts. Freckles. Brownish-red hair all messy over her ears, maybe ten or eleven—I can’t tell—and a cartoon character on the front of her shirt, some robot thing I don’t recognize. But I do recognize the look on her face when she sees him.
It’s a look I’ve had myself. Awe, astonishment.
I hear the sirens now, the wail picking up and taking my heart rate with it.
“Come on,” I grit out. “We’ve gotta?—”
“Who are you?” the kid says.
Pan blinks at her. “We’re?—”
No, I think.Don’t stop. Don’t talk. Don’tlet her get a look at you.
For some reason, Krye’s voice echoes in my mind.This is not low profile.
“Are you friends of my brothers?” she says, folding her arms and frowning. “Because you guys were really loud last night.”
“We’re—” Pan blinks. “So sorry about that.” He grins. Presses his palms together and does a little bow. “Anyway, we’ll just be on our?—”
I grab him by the back of the T-shirt. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I mutter into his ear.
“Are they awake yet?” The girl’s voice has just the barest hint of concern in it.
“I don’t think so,” I say hurriedly, stomach squeezing. It’s not really a lie. The lights flash again. “We have to go,” I say, half to Pan, half to the girl.
Pan slumps. Then salutes her. “So sorry, ah?—”
“Wendy,” the girl supplies.
He nods, smiles, like he likes the name. “Wendy,” he repeats.
Stupid idiot, I think, my pulse tick-ticking in my neck so fast I feel dizzy.Stupid, stupid fucking idiot. “What are youdoing?” I spit at him, my panic spiraling so high that my voice sounds thin, too thin. “Why are you still talking to her? You—you?—”
I can’t form the sentences.
You’re gonna let the cops show up, find two guys shot dead in their own house, and leave a witness who can pull you out of a lineup.
