“What—why?”
“Becauseyoulook like you were in a fight.” He’s sweated off most of the makeup we used to conceal his cuts and bruises, and the towel has taken care of the rest. “Besides, you have to sneak into the office. Division of labor.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “Do you actually know how to pick a pocket?”
“No, but I’ll figure it out.” I’m not giving myself anotheroption.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say to the janitor who I just deliberately bumped into as he was exiting an office. “I’m supposed to be visiting with my grandmother, and I keep getting turned around.” I add a tremor to my voice, and it isn’t hard at all to call up a little moisture to my eyes, thinking about meeting my actual grandfather for the first time. “It’ll break her heart if she thinks I didn’t come.” I shift around him so that he has to turn his back to the office door. “They told me she was having dinner, but I can’t seem to find the dining hall. Could you show me?”
It takes everything I have not to stare at the door I need him to forget about locking. He has kind eyes, and I heard him whistling while cleaning the office. Surely he’s the type to offer help to a visibly upset girl….Come on, come on.
“I get lost all the time,” he says with a wink, placing his keys atop his cart and offering me an elbow. “Let’s go find that grandma of yours.”
I glance over my shoulder as we round the corner, and see Malcolm grab the keys from the abandoned cart before sliding inside the office. A second later, the blinds all close, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
“Don’t you worry,” the janitor says. “Your grandma won’t care if you’re a few minutes late.”
I make an excuse about needing to run to the bathroom once we get within sight of the dining hall. Then my hands go sweaty and I worry that I’ve overplayed my part when the janitor offers to pop inside and let my grandmother know I’m coming, if I point her out.
“That’s so sweet, but I’ve already kept you too long. But thank you!” I dart into the bathroom before he can say anything else. I lean against the door as soon as it closes and wait until I hear the squeak of his sneakers retreating on the linoleum floor before slipping back out.
Malcolm said he needed only a couple minutes to hack into the CCTV footage and locate my grandfather. “They use Hikvision cameras,” he said by way of explanation when I was skeptical about how much time he’d need. “A few years ago, a backdoor command line of code that granted admin level was discovered and exploited by hackers all over the world. Silver Living never bothered to update the firmware when the company released a patch, so, yeah, two minutes, tops.”
He was so confident that I fully expected him to be waiting for me in the stairway we’d designated before splitting up, one ankle crossed over the other and leaning against the wall.
He wasn’t.
Another minute passes.
Then another.
I’d made sure to keep the janitor away for a full five minutes by asking inane questions about every room we passed.
Five minutes plus two more at least. Probably closer to ten.
Maybe Malcolm oversold his skills.
Maybe the janitor returned, found Malcolm in the office, and called security.
Maybe Malcolm took the first opportunity he had to run and left me here alone without any idea how to find my grandfather.
Maybe he’s already halfway down the street by now.
I chew the nails that haven’t had a chance to grow since the last time I was left waiting for someone who never came back.
A door opens a couple floors above me, and a loud female voice floods the stairwell.
“That’s whatIsaid. But you know that old fool—he’d sooner bite me than smile. So I told him, ‘Fine, George. I’ll get you a comb for the one strand of hair you have left on your head.’ So I go get him one and bring it back. And he takes one look at it, then at me, and says, ‘Woman, why on God’s green earth do I need a comb? You can see I’m bald as an eagle.’ ”
Another woman, one with a higher voice, laughs in response.
I press against the wall, trying to make myself as small and silent as possible. My heart beats faster, and even though a jittery pulse might help me sell my story again if those women come all the way down the stairs, the lie won’t matter if Malcolm isn’t there to tell me where to go once they’re gone. I can’t go up to the front desk and ask which room my grandfather is in. I can’t even give the name of someone else on his floor, because I don’t know anyone else.
And what if he did make it out of the office only to run into the bounty hunter or someone on Mrs. Abbott’s payroll? Malcolm said they’d probably beefed up the surveillance after spotting Mom at the cemetery nearby—since, as far as they knew, her only other relative lived here.
I press a fist against my stomach, willing the acid to stop splashing around inside so I can think.
Think.
