Hemlock 03: Willowgrove (24 page)

“Right,” muttered Kyle. “Because now is so the time for an
I told you so
.”

I eased out from behind Kyle, willing Stephen to turn and look at me. “You lied.” The words sliced something deep within my chest. “Everything you said about Flagler. Everything about losing control after Amy’s death. How could you have used Amy as part of your lies?”

Though his back was still to me, I saw Stephen flinch. “Things aren’t that simple, Mac.”

“You’re infected and you’re working with a woman who tortures and kills werewolves,” said Jason. “Seems pretty simple to me.”

Stephen turned. “What would you know about it?” He glared pointedly at Jason’s neck. “You think the things she’s done are any worse than the men who gave you that tattoo? Guys like you are the reason people like me have to hide
what we are. At least she’s trying to do something to help werewolves.”

Jason let out a low snort. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Sinclair stepped in before the argument could continue. To Stephen, she said, “You told us you were on your way to retrieve the drive. Where is it?”

All that time I thought he had been checking on his grandfather and he’d really been contacting Sinclair.
Stupid.
I had been so stupid. Stephen’s father hadn’t sent Donovan after him; Stephen had been working with them all along. He had just lied in the hope we could help him figure out where the hard drive was.

“I thought I had it.” Stephen ran a hand over his shoulder as he answered the warden, kneading the muscle nervously. “I was wrong. It’s just copies of some of the files. Not the whole drive.”

The disdain on Sinclair’s face was strong enough to melt flesh from bone. “Where are the files?”

Stephen hesitated. “What are you going to do to them? Mackenzie and the others?”

“They’ll be free to go. Once they give me what I need.”

The whole country thought Sinclair was dead. She wouldn’t undo that by letting us walk away. Once we told her where Serena was, we’d be just another loose end.

“She’s lying, Stephen.” Kyle’s voice was calm and level as he stepped forward, but there was wariness behind each word. “You know she is. And you know Amy wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to Mac or Jason.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Stephen turned to Kyle and the expression on his face was so bitter, so lost, that a wave of hopelessness swept over me. “Why should I care what Amy wanted? She sure as hell didn’t give a damn about what I needed.” He swallowed roughly. “She was just as bad as my father. Do you have any idea what he threw away? What they both tried to take away?”

“Enough.” Sinclair placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to explain yourself to them, Stephen. They don’t understand. They’ll never understand. No one will; that’s why you came to me.” Almost gently, she guided him off to the side. Once he was out of the way, she gestured at two of the men in the parking lot, waving them toward the rest of us.

The men hesitated until Donovan gave a barely perceptible nod—a gesture Sinclair completely missed—and then moved in to flank us. I bit my lip. Sinclair acted as though she was in charge, but the men weren’t taking orders from her.

In front of me, Kyle tensed. A muscle twitched in his upper back and I felt a surge of panic at the thought of what Donovan’s men would do if he transformed.

“Where is Serena Carson?” asked Sinclair.

“So much for not asking a third time,” observed Jason.

Before the last word had left his mouth, two gunshots rang in the air like thunderclaps. The bullets slammed into Kyle, spinning him around and sending him staggering into me before I could process what had happened.

He fell and I fell with him.

My knees slammed into the pavement. Kyle ended up sprawled on his back with his torso stretched across my lap. His face twisted in pain.

Animalistic, choking sounds clawed their way out of my throat as blood blossomed on Kyle’s shirt. I fought with the buttons, my fingers thick and clumsy as I desperately tried to figure out where he had been hit.

Jason crouched over us. He pushed my hands away and ripped Kyle’s shirt open. Blood stained his fingers as he thrust the fabric aside. Both shots looked as though they had taken Kyle in the shoulder. Away from his heart. Away from any vital organs. “He’s okay. He’ll be okay.” Jason’s voice shook and I wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince me or himself.

I caught a flash of movement over his shoulder and then he was yanked up and back. Away from Kyle. Away from me.

Jason struggled, but the man who had grabbed him was almost a foot taller and twice as wide in the shoulders. He wore what looked like a dozen silver hoops in his right ear, and unlike the other men in the courtyard, he carried an assault rifle. He let go of Jason just long enough to club him between the shoulders with the butt of the gun, practically driving him to his knees.

“No!” My shout echoed in the parking lot as Jason was dragged toward the courtyard.

Kyle pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

Somewhere, someone else was shouting. It sounded like Stephen.

Rough hands grabbed me and pulled me up. “Move and
I’ll shoot her.” The words were for Kyle and they did exactly what they were supposed to: they froze him in his tracks.

I started to fight, but stopped when I caught a glimpse of the gun my captor was carrying. The words hadn’t been an idle threat.

I threw a desperate glance over my shoulder as I was dragged to the courtyard. Kyle stood ten yards away. Two of the men had taken up positions in front of him, their guns trained on his chest, but he didn’t spare them a single glance. Fear flashed across his face—not for himself, but for Jason and me.

Kyle was a werewolf, but Jason and I were his Achilles’ heel: all they had to do to get him to cooperate was threaten us.

My gaze was wrenched forward as my foot caught on the edge of a flagstone. I stumbled, but the man gripping my arm kept me from falling. He was smaller than the one who had grabbed Jason, but he still outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds. His skin was darker than the shadows in the corners of the courtyard and his eyes were as black as pitch. Had he been at the junkyard? I couldn’t remember.

Stephen said my name as I was pulled past. Donovan’s two remaining men stood just behind him. I didn’t meet his eyes. I couldn’t. As painful as Ben’s betrayal had been, it paled next to this. For three years, I had looked up to Stephen. I had trusted him. “Why?” I asked, the word shredding my throat on the way out.

I didn’t think he would answer. By the time he did, I was far enough away that I had to strain to catch the soft words.

“Because she’s my best hope of a cure. I can’t live like this. If anyone ever found out . . . I’d lose everything.”

Not
the
best hope.
My
best hope.

In that instant, I hated him. Maybe even more than Sinclair. The warden was batshit crazy, but she wasn’t doing this for herself: she honestly believed she could cure LS and help thousands of people. Stephen, meanwhile, only cared about himself.

My eyes sought out Jason. He had been dragged to the fountain. There was a deadly light deep in his green eyes as he watched Sinclair and Donovan walk toward him.

The man holding my arm stopped when we were still a few feet away.

Donovan’s eyes were restless, never lingering for more than a second on anyone or anything. Sinclair, on the other hand, had eyes only for Jason and me.

I glanced over my shoulder. Kyle had been allowed to follow just as far as the edge of the courtyard. His gaze met mine for a split second before sliding to the warden. As he stared at her, I could have sworn I saw the wolf peek out from behind his eyes. Sharp and predatory and deadly.

“Where is Serena Carson?” asked Sinclair, her voice every bit as commanding as it had been in the camp.

None of us spoke.

“Do it,” she said.

My stomach clenched, even though I wasn’t sure what was coming—not until Jason was spun around, not until Donovan strode forward and leveled a sharp kick at the back of his leg.

Jason screamed as his leg gave out beneath him.

I tried to run forward, but the man holding me twisted my arm, twisted it so hard that it felt like my shoulder would dislocate. He placed the muzzle of his gun against my ribs. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, glancing past me to the edge of the courtyard where Kyle stood.

Donovan forced Jason over the ledge encircling the fountain and shoved his head down while the other man—the man with the earrings—pinned Jason’s arms behind his back.

There were only four or five inches of water in the basin, but four or five inches was more than enough to cover Jason’s mouth and nose.

“No!” My shout echoed with Kyle’s as Jason thrashed.

“Let him up,” said Sinclair as Jason’s movements began to slow. The men hauled him—sputtering and gasping for breath—out of the water.

Jason leaned on the edge of the fountain and retched.

Sinclair didn’t look at him. Or at Kyle. Her eyes were locked on me. I was the one she wanted to break. This wasn’t about hurting Jason; it was about hurting me. It was about seeing how far she could push me before I would give her what she wanted. The ghost of a smile crossed her lips, and I knew she was enjoying this.

While Jason was still trying to catch his breath, they shoved him back under.

“Stop it! You’re going to kill him!” My voice rang across the courtyard as Sinclair looked on impassively.

Behind me, I could hear Kyle yelling at Stephen, trying to reason with him. On his own, Kyle couldn’t take all of the men in the courtyard—not without something happening to Jason and me first—but two werewolves might have stood a chance at turning the tables.

How long had they been holding Jason under? Forty seconds? A minute? How long could Jason hold his breath?

“Just tell me what I want to know,” said Sinclair. Her voice was so calm that she might as well have been asking me about the weather.

Jason had stopped thrashing. His body hung limp and boneless over the fountain’s ledge.

“The church near the cemetery!” The words were a frantic cry. They ran together and were almost unintelligible. “Please.” I stared at Sinclair. “She’s at the abandoned church on Douglas Lane. On the other side of town.
Please let him up.
”

“And the hard drive?”

“We don’t have it. I swear we don’t. I didn’t even know it existed until I talked to Stephen.
Please
. . .” The word flooded my mouth with a bitter taste, but I would beg if that was what it took. “Please let him up!”

“She’s telling the truth.” I didn’t turn as Stephen’s voice drew closer. “She was friends with my sister. I asked her if Amy had ever told her about a hard drive. It was the first she had heard of it.”

Sinclair’s gaze flickered to Stephen. “You said you had files.”

He hesitated. “They’re on two DVDs. In the car.”

I counted the seconds as Sinclair considered Stephen’s words. When she finally said “All right,” I almost collapsed in relief.

The men hauled Jason out of the fountain. He fell limply to the flagstones.

He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.

The man with the earrings shot a nervous glance at Donovan. Even the man holding my arm seemed surprised. His grip lessened—just for a second—and I threw myself forward.

I covered the distance to Jason and crashed to the ground at his side. I felt, more than saw, one of the men reach for me, but Sinclair said, “Leave her.”

“Jason?” I rolled him onto his back. His face was slack and still, his lips tinged blue. I tilted his head back, desperately trying to remember the first-aid class Amy and I had taken two summers ago. Panic flooded me—so much fear that it was like being ripped apart—but I pushed it away as I pumped his chest, counting under my breath.

There were noises in the parking lot—Kyle shouting, Stephen arguing with Sinclair—but they were a distant, background hum. All that mattered was Jason. “Eight. Nine. Ten.”
He’ll be all right. He has to be all right. Please let him be all right.
“Fourteen. Fifteen. Six—”

Water burst from Jason’s mouth as a spasm racked his entire body.

Eyes swimming with tears, I rolled him onto his side, holding him as more water came up.

“Mac?” His voice was a hoarse croak as he twisted and looked up at me.

“It’s okay.” I folded my body over him, pressing my forehead to his. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back the tears, as one thought echoed in my head over and over: I was going to stop her. I didn’t care how long it took or what I had to do. Somehow, I would stop Winifred Sinclair from hurting anyone else.

Even if I had to kill her.

“Get me the DVDs.”

No.
My head jerked up at the warden’s words. Whatever was on those DVDs, we couldn’t just let her take them.

Stephen hesitated and then turned toward the parking lot. Sinclair stopped him before he took a single step. “Not you. Him.”

My gaze darted to Kyle. The sheer fury on his face was frightening. It was impossible to miss the way his muscles jumped and writhed under the sleeves of his shirt. Only then did I become fully aware of the men standing over Jason and me, of the guns that were pointed at us.

My arms tightened around Jason as though I could somehow protect him.

I swallowed. Sinclair might not trust Stephen to hand over the DVDs after everything he had just seen, but she knew Kyle would give her anything to keep us safe.

Kyle’s gaze locked on mine. I started to shake my head, but then I glanced down at Jason. They could have killed him. They almost had.

Every person you care about is a weapon someone can use against you.
I hated my father’s platitudes—especially when they were right.

I didn’t watch Kyle turn and head toward the car. I couldn’t watch as Sinclair was handed everything. I couldn’t watch as she won.

Jason’s body spasmed with a cough so fierce that it sounded like things inside his chest were being ripped to shreds. He grasped at my clothes, pulling me closer.

“Jason? Are you okay?” I didn’t know what to do. I tried hitting him lightly on the back, but that only seemed to make the coughing worse. He clung to me, and I caught a small flash of blue-tinged light.