“You son of a bitch, you’re sending evidence you have us and telling them where we are,” Ethan yells, then tries to get out of the chair but all he does is fall over sideways.
Oh my God, oh my God, Oh my God…
“Señor Vega required proof and I’m happy to oblige.”
I try to pick Ethan up or untie him or something. This shouldn’t be a shock—Thomas said he was using us as bait—but this makes it so real. Mateo will know where we are. He will come to New Orleans to kill us.
Thomas grabs my arm and starts pulling while I hold on to Ethan for dear life.
I whisper in his ear, “We’re across the hall. Masked guy is someone I knew from Florida.” I turn to Thomas and beg, “Please let him stay with Teeny and me. I swear we won’t cause any trouble.”
“No,” he answers.
I kick Thomas away, hitting him on the side of the knee and he goes down. I dig in closer to Ethan again and whisper, “I got to the roof, it’s steep. Don’t know what to do.”
Thomas gets up, grabs me by the shoulders and I feel a sharp prick on my shoulder.
“Ow!”
I stop moving. Thomas lets go and moves toward Ethan. It looks like Ethan’s still screaming but I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything. Vader leans over Ethan but everything gets blurry. Stars dance in front of my eyes and my tongue gets thick.
And then it all fades away.
My eyes pop open and I’m back in my room, in the bed with Teeny, who’s sleeping next to me.
Did I see Ethan? Or did I dream that? I don’t remember leaving Ethan’s room. Or getting in this bed. My hand goes to the back of my shoulder, finding the tender part immediately.
He drugged me again.
The room is dark but there is a soft pink light filtering in through the crack in the shutters. I can’t figure how long I’ve been out this time. I want to wake Teeny up and ask her how much time has passed, but I don’t. I’m scared to know. Crawling out of the bed, I start pacing the room. We have to get out of here. Out ofNew Orleans. That may not be the best solution, but it’s better than staying here, a pawn in this sick game between two assassins.
I really hope I haven’t lost too much time. I pinch off a chunk of bread from the loaf, praying it will settle my stomach. Whatever Thomas gave me has left me feeling hungover.
And then it dawns on me: I forgot to tell Ethan about Noah.
Teeny finally starts moving.
“Teeny, how long was I gone?”
“Huh? Gone? Where’d ya go?” she asks, and then stretches back, arching her back off the mattress.
She was asleep when I left to see Ethan. Does this mean I left and came back before she ever woke up?
I tell Teeny I saw Ethan but I don’t mention the newspaper or the camera or blacking out. Mainly because I’m freaked out over the whole thing.
An entire day goes by without a visit from Thomas or Tyler. It’s the longest day of my life.
When the light starts fading from the room, I wait patiently for Teeny to fall asleep. The second her breathing changes and I know she’s out, I throw open the shutters. It’s quiet again but there’s traffic on the street. It’s still early, darkness hasn’t completely taken over yet. I hear the clip-clop of the horse hooves again, and this time the carriage is headed in my direction. It’s a long carriage, holding maybe ten people. The driver is turned to the side and seems to be giving some sort of tour. The closer he gets, the easier it is to make out his words.
I need to time this perfectly. I have no doubt things will be bad for us on our own, but I feel certain that once Mateo gets to town, things will not end well for us.
And as sure as I am it will be bad for us to stay, I’m equally scared to death to leave. Even if we’re rescued, there’s still the contract on us. We’ll be out in the open. Agent Williams’s part in this will likely rip the entire program apart. There’s still Agent Hammond to consider as well. I sink back in the window and fight down the bile that crawls up my throat. What would Ethan do? Yell at the top of his lungs for help? Figure something else out? I’m completely torn.
I hide out of sight, but keep the shutters open so I can hear when the guide gets close. I don’t want to scream for help until I’m sure he can hear me. It would suck if I started yelling and Thomas heard me first.
The carriage driver stops right in front of our building and turns to his passengers. He’s talking to them through a microphone attached to a speaker and his scratchy, amplified voice echoes through the street.
“And here we are at the Old Ursuline Convent. Today, it’s a museum run by the priests over at the cathedral. It’s the oldest building in the French Quarter, completed in 1750, and the only building left after the great fire.”
