Vaughn stepped forward, dropped down. Sprayed light on the side of the tank.
There were stickers wrapped around the cylinder, flanked by the appropriate hazard symbols. Skull and crossbones—fatal. Flame—flammable. Red/yellow burst—explosive, reactive. Exclamation mark inside a yellow triangle—irritant.
Finally, in bold print, Vaughn read: “Hydrogen Sulfide Gas.”
He leaned back to take everything in.
When Vaughn had first stepped into the barn, he’d thought that this was an amateur job. And maybe the construction of the three connected rooms was.
Butthis? This set up with the tanks and the tubes and the nozzles?
This was anything but amateur. This was pro-level shit.
And that only meant one thing: this deadly game, or whatever the hell it was, was only the beginning.?
?Chapter 12
Abby Granger wasa solid six. Tall, thin by design—she spent more time in the gym than anyone else Ivy had ever known—with platinum blond hair. Face more oval than round, a nose that was just a little too long. Abby was a six the way she was now. By the time they were ready to head out, however, that would change.
“Damn, you look terrible.” Abby gave Ivy a hug, crinkled her nose. “Smell bad, too.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Hey, if I can’t tell it to you real, who can? Anyways, you only smell this way when you’re stressed. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you inside.”
“Oh, it’s one of those.” Ivy unlocked the door. “One of those,I’m going to need a glass of wine first.” Abby grinned as she produced said bottle of wine from her purse. “Don’t worry—I’ve got you covered.”
They stepped inside, and Abby popped the bottle of red and poured two glasses. More than two thirds of the contents gone.
“So?” Abby handed her a glass. “What’s up?”
Ivy took a healthy gulp of wine and Abby did the same.
She didn’t feel like sharing, but this was Abs. She told Abs everything. The only person in the world she could fully trust, no questions asked.
Ivy told her about the call from assisted living. About the upcoming anniversary of the fire—but this, of course, Abby already knew. She was one of the few people left who had known Gene before the accident. They’d both gone through undergrad together—met in first year, instantly became friends.
Opposites attract and all that.
Ivy doing a math degree, Abby social sciences. Still, Abby wasn’t an airhead—despite how she came across. Abby was smart, strong. Loyal. Incredibly skilled with computers.
Their lives had diverged dramatically since those first few years, with Ivy continuing her education while Abby had gone directly into the workforce. Abby had made some connections in school, had gotten a job at a beauty clinic, one that specialized in Botox and plastic surgery. Took advantage of the employee discount.
Her lips were plumped, falling just shy of the duck look that seemed to be all the rage these days. She’d gotten her breasts done, too, going from a large A to a small C—something that Abby had never admitted to, but having seen her in the shower countless times, Ivy would have to have been brain dead not to notice. Botox, for sure—Abs didn’t have a single crease on her face.
“Shit, Ivy. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll be okay.”
Ivy hopped in the shower while Abs occupied the mirror and used some sort of Dyson wand to turn her thin blond hair into something spectacular.
“How about you, Abs?” Ivy asked, allowing the cool water to wash over her.
“Oh, you know, living the dream. Listening to rich New Jersey housewives bitch about their old-ass husbands.”
In a way, Ivy envied her friend’s simple life. But, hey, this is what you get when your father is a math prodigy and you become theblah, blah, blah.
