I recorded a few different phrases and sentences with Piper, guessing which ones would work the best for this. I hitPAUSEand wait.
We don’t have to wait long.
The radio crackles with feedback, and then Vale’s voice comes through. “Percy?”
Except that isn’t Vale’s voice as I’ve heard it before. Emotion bleeds through that single word in a flood of mingled hope and fear. That isn’t Vale—it’s Percy’s mom.
At the sound, Eames flinches and draws into himself. It reminds me of an abused dog hearing the voice of its owner. My fingers tighten on the radio.
I find another recording and hit thePLAYbutton.
“Mom,” says Piper’s voice. “Mom, I want out of here.”
“Percy.” Hannah Vale breathes the word a second time. “Baby, where are you?”
I hitPLAYon a different recording. “Mom, I didn’t wantto go.” Piper’s voice brims with emotion. Probably there wasn’t a lot of acting involved. “Mom, I’m sorry.”
Eames presses his forehead to the doorframe as though he wishes he could block out both voices.
“Where are you?” repeats Hannah. A vein of desperation opens up in her voice. “Sweetie, I’ll come and get you. We can go together—you won’t ever have to run again. I’ll keep you safe.”
Eames clenches his fists.
Such sweet promises. I bet Vale even means them.
I hit another recording to answer. “I—I’m in the lobby,” says Piper’s voice. “In the mail room. Will locked me in here to keep me safe.”
“I’m coming,” says Vale. “You’ll be all right. Just stay there.”
There is a crackle, then the radio falls silent. I turn the dial, shutting it off. If all goes to plan, we won’t need it again.
“You all right?” I ask quietly, putting my visor back on.
“I’m fine,” Eames says, sounding the furthest thing from fine. I let him have the lie—sometimes we need those untruths. Even so, I put my hand on his shoulder.
We’ve set the trap, and now all we can do is wait.
This particular closet is near enough to the stairs that we can hear the thumping overhead as someone sprints down the stairwell.
Vale. It must be her. Only she would care so little for secrecy.
A heartbeat after she passes the third floor, I hearanother set of footsteps. These are slower and heavier.Corey, I mouth the word to Eames, who nods in answer.
And then I hear the final set of footsteps. Uneven, lighter than the last. As if the person is limping.
Carla.
I nod to Eames. He yanks the door open and rushes into the hallway. I follow and see Carla rounding the corner of the stairwell. Her hand is on the railing and she is favoring her left knee. Eames plows into her, taking her down in an impressive tackle.
In an instant, Eames has his hand over her mouth and his other arm around her waist. He drags her toward the closet, then shoves her inside. He pulls the gun from her holster and hands it to me. I drop it down the garbage chute.
Carla looks from me to Eames. Her fingers curl into fists, but she makes no move to attack us.
“Will,” she says once the breath returns to her.
“Aunt Carla,” he replies quietly. “I think we should talk.”
23
