The Short Game (9 page)

The door hung open, banging against the side of the trailer with each breeze. What the hell was going on here?

I jogged over to the trailer and up the stairs. “Maggie?”
 

I walked the ten long steps to the back of the trailer, but she wasn’t in her bed. She wasn’t anywhere. I turned back to the kitchen and something crunched under my feet. Herbs were scattered across the floor, and Maggie’s basket lay on its side a few feet away. As my eyes adjusted to the dark interior I saw other signs I’d missed when I first came in. A mug, Maggie’s favorite, was in pieces on the floor by the sink. The sheets from my bed were hanging from the side like someone had grabbed them in a failed attempt to anchor themselves to the trailer.

My mind raced. Where was she? And if something happened to her, what did that mean for Shay? I fumbled in my pocket and realized the phone wasn’t there. I must’ve forgotten to bring it with me when I was upset and running off to Tracy’s. How could I have been so irresponsible?

But I could berate myself later. There was no time for that now. I ripped the sheets out of my way and climbed up to my bunk, groping around under the pillows for the phone. I didn’t find it, so I threw them off the platform and onto the floor with the sheets. Finally I saw the phone at the foot of the bed. I opened it and noticed more than half a dozen missed calls. All from Shay. God damn it. How could I be so careless? I was supposed to protect him and Maggie, and I hadn’t protected either one of them.
 

A light shone in through my window, and I looked out the front of the trailer. A truck was coming toward me. I looked down at the phone again. Three A.M. There was no way anyone driving this way at this time of night had anything good to say. I ran out of the trailer not even trying to close the door behind me. I got halfway to my truck when I remembered the dogs. Shit. I had to at least save them. I pulled at their leashes, but they were tied to the tree with double knots.
 

I looked up at the truck coming toward me. It was only ten or so houses away now. No time to deal with the knots. I unhooked both of their collars and took off toward the truck, yelling for them to come as I climbed in. Yeats cocked his head and Beckett stood stock still, a strip of hair standing at attention down his back. Neither moved. I screamed at them to come again, in a howling voice that I didn’t recognize. Finally, they both lumbered to me and scrambled over my lap into the cab. I slammed the door behind them and turned on the truck.

I looked over my shoulder and saw that the other vehicle was now only two houses away. I put the truck in reverse and backed up faster than a knife fight in a phone booth, then slammed it into gear and jammed my foot into the gas pedal. The truck’s tires squealed, spinning for a second before they finally found traction and the truck jerked forward. I kept the pedal floored, cruising toward the main highway. I watched the rearview mirror, navigating the road ahead of me by memory alone. It was too dark to see the driver of the truck behind me, but somehow I knew it was one of the Sheedys.

I finally made it to the front of the Village and pulled out onto the main road without even tapping the brake. Thankfully it was late and no one was on the road. I waited for the other truck to appear behind me, but it never did. I was almost the entire way back to Tracy’s before I allowed myself to believe I wasn’t being followed.

Why would they let me leave? Obviously they were after me, so why hadn’t they pursued me any further than the tree line that cut the Village off from the main road?
 

The answer came like a blow to the gut. They didn’t need me because they already had Maggie. And probably Shay too.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

I PULLED INTO Tracy’s driveway and barely got the truck in park before hopping out. Yeats and Beckett jumped out behind me and followed dutifully at my heels without a sound. It was the most obedience they’d shown me in the seven years we’d owned them, and it was as unnerving as anything else that had happened tonight. I ran into Tracy’s trailer without knocking and burst into her bedroom.

She shot up to a sitting position, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her expression shifted from alarm to confusion and then, when she saw the look on my face, back to alarm. “What happened?” she asked.

“My…mam,” I said, trying to catch my breath but failing miserably. “Shay.”

“Your brother? Is he home?”

“No…not home.” I bent over to brace myself against my knees and put my head down. “Need. To catch. My breath.”

Tracy didn’t ask any more questions. She dropped the blankets and climbed out of bed. She stood next to me and rubbed my back until, finally, I calmed down.

“Maggie’s missing. She wasn’t at the trailer.”

“Is there any way she could’ve gone out?”

“At three in the morning? No. Plus, she wouldn’t have let the dogs tied up the way they were.”

Tracy glanced over to where Yeats and Beckett had made themselves comfortable on her laundry pile, then quickly returned her gaze to me.

“What do you think happened to her?”

“I don’t know, but as soon as someone saw me at our trailer, they came after me. I barely got out of there in time.”

“And what about your brother?”

“Shay!” I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the phone. “I have a bunch of missed calls from him, and he said he’d only call me in an emergency.”

“Well, have you talked to him?”

“No. I just got my phone.”

“Call him back!”

“I’m afraid he won’t pick up.”

“I’m afraid too, but you gotta call him.”

I opened the flip phone and found Shay’s prerecorded phone number. I hit the dial button.

Ring.

Please pick up. Please, please.

Ring.

What if they did something to him? I don’t know how they could’ve gotten to him in Balanova, but I wouldn’t put anything past the Sheedys.

Ring.

Why wasn’t he picking up?

Ring.

Finally someone answered. “Hello?” the voice said, but the relief I should have felt didn’t come. It wasn’t Shay on the other end of the line.
 

“Who is this?” I asked, terrified. There was something strangely familiar about the voice, but I couldn’t place it. Tracy strained to hear what was said, her fingers digging into my arm.

“Jimmy?” the man said.

“Who is this?” I asked again, desperation making my voice crack. Black spots crept into my sightline and I tried to blink them away, my head buzzing. I had no idea what his answer would be, but the cold dread creeping down my spine told me it was going to change my life forever.

The end.

If you loved this story and want more, read
The Long Game
,
the story of Shay and Spencer and Book 1 in the American Gypsy Series. Then read
The Waiting Game
, the prequel about Maggie and Tommy, out January, 2014. The final book in the series,
The End Game
, will be out May, 2014.

Acknowledgements

We couldn’t have finished this book without the love and support of our families, so the first very big thank you goes to them.

Also a thank you to all the writers who inspire us, both as supportive friends or just as inspirational wordsmiths.

Finally, our sincerest thanks to anyone reading this book—a writer is nothing without a reader, and we’re eternally grateful to you for giving us a reason to do what we do.

Signed,

Chelle Bruhn & Katherine Ernst, the writers behind J.L. Fynn

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J.L. Fynn is the public face of the writing collaboration between Katherine Ernst and Chelle Bruhn. Katherine and Chelle disagree on most everything (music, food, need for punctuality), except for what's really important, which is why they've been best friends for seventeen years and writing together for three.
 

Find out more at

www.jlfynn.com

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