“You told her I was here?”
“Of course I told her you were here. Why wouldn’t I? So she could yell at me for not telling her?”
“Your weakness disgusts me.”
“Why are you hiding from your team?” Keane asked between downing several more glasses of orange juice.
“I’m not hiding from them. I’m hiding from my family.”
“How is that less weird?”
“So you go out of your way to say ‘good day’ to all the Malones you meet on city streets?” Shay asked his brother.
“Fair point.” Keane put the juice glass in the sink and asked, “Are we taking separate cars?”
Shay checked his daughter’s hair carefully before appearing satisfied with the braids. “Do you want to drive with a bunch of whining puppies?”
“See you guys there. Shay, do not be late.”
Keane and Finn left, grabbing big duffel bags with their team’s colors and logo on them as well as a cooler filled with food and drink.
Shay ran up to the second floor, and Tock helped Dani put her school stuff back into her backpack.
“So you’re in summer school?” Tock asked.
“No. This is for math camp.”
“You’re in math camp?”
“Yes.”
“Trying to get your grades up for college?”
Dani laughed. “No. Just wanted to get a head start for fifth grade. That’s when the pressure’s really on.”
“Pressure for what?”
“Okay, fine.” She zipped up her bag and looking directly at Tock. “I just like math. I could have gone to a regular camp with fun outdoor adventures and s’mores and all that stuff every day. But I just wanted to work on math and occasionally do the s’mores thing and outside adventures every couple of weeks. I find math fun. Okay?”
Tock stood up. “I went to science camp every summer until ninth grade. While the other kids were working on their baking soda volcanos or were prodigies preparing for their freshmen years at MIT, I was figuring out the physics of bringing down the cabins we slept in.”
“Really? Why?”
She shrugged. “I like science.”
“Not why were you in science camp. I understand going to science camp. Why were you trying to bring down the cabins?”
“They were there.”
“Okay!” Shay suddenly announced before shoving a crate of puppies into Tock’s arms. “Enough of that. Baby, why don’t you leash up Princess—I think she’s in the living room—and take her out to the car. I’ll get your backpack.”
“Do I really have to hold the crate?” Tock asked as the kid went in search of the adult dog. “These puppies smell weird.”
“Could you not tell my daughter how you like to bomb things?”
“It’s science.”
“It’s terrorism.”
“It is not. I am very anti-terrorist.”
“Good for you. If you want to talk the basics of math and science to my kid, feel free. But she doesn’t need to hear about the felonies you and your friends were or are up to.”
“Not friends. Teammates.”
“Spare me,” he sighed, slinging the bright pink backpack over his shoulder. He looked ridiculous, but also adorable. “Just no felony talk.”
“Understood.”
“Thank you. Ready, Dani?”
“Coming!” she yelped, attempting to hold onto the leash as Princess dragged the kid from the living room to the side door.
“Shit. Dani, give me the leash.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Dani—”
“I’ve got it!”
Shay threw his hands up. “Fine. But I want no tears when she drags you across the gravel.”
“Thanks for your confidence, Dad.”
Shay glanced at Tock, his eyes crossing. Tock chuckled at his fatherly exasperation while she grabbed her own black backpack with one hand and held onto the big crate containing the puppies with the other.
Shay was right. Telling a ten-year-old about her childhood felonies was probably not a good idea. Even if she did get away with all of them.
*
Mark didn’t know what had happened. One second he was walking home from the gym, the next thing he knew, he was in a cage, chained to the floor. He wasn’t alone. There were others in separate cages. About fifteen of them. Women and men, ranging in race and size and age.
He didn’t get it, though. He was a strong guy. Six-two and could bench press two hundred and fifty pounds. Women asked him to walk them out of the office at night when they worked late. He was seen as a protector. Not some victim. But the ones who seemed to be controlling this situation were some international scumbags, speaking in a range of languages and willing to slap a girl around if she got too mouthy or cried too much. And there were others working with them. Giants. Massive males who gave one-word commands and growled.
Mark had never been scared before. Not since he was a kid. But he was scared now. Terrified. Because none of this was normal. Guys like him might get mugged. They might get shot. They definitely got challenged in drunken bar fights. But they did not get kidnapped for sex trafficking. It just didn’t happen. Not to guys like him.
It got even worse when he realized they were on some kind of cargo ship, trapped in a massive container, and would be setting sail soon. On the ocean, anything could happen to them. He just didn’t know what he could do. He’d tried to pull the chains from the floor. Tried to communicate with the other victims. Tried to kick their giant captors with his feet when they came into his cage, snarling at him to be quiet. But these massive men had dealt with Mark the way he and his brothers dealt with his five-year-old cousins, one of them holding him down while another chained his feet to the floor. They didn’t even work up a sweat.
He also knew it was a bad thing that none of these scumbags hid their faces. They didn’t wear masks and they didn’t blindfold the captives. He watched a lot of streaming true-crime shows . . . he knew what that meant.
When the cargo ship’s engines revved up, he began to pray. It was a last resort, but he was out of options.
The smaller guys were outside the container doors and the massive guys were coming through the container with clipboards. As if they were making sure they had enough cases of Rice-A-Roni for delivery rather than human beings locked in cages.
One of them stood outside Mark’s cage, looking at each captive before jotting something down with the tiny pencil he had clutched in his massive hand. He glanced at the blond, older woman in the cage across from Mark’s, looked at the clipboard and began to walk away . . . but then abruptly stopped. The giant studied the clipboard again, then—weirdly—lifted his head and sniffed the air. He did it several times, each sniff getting bigger and more dramatic.