I do not need to know anything else. Get out of that main cabin. Find Cassie. Now.
I spin toward the door. Sprint. Heart racing. In a second, I’m there. But my hand slips on the knob. Once, twice. Finally, I grab hold and pull. But the door won’t budge. Then I see a hand high above me pressing it shut. Doug’s hand. The bandage is right there. Inches from my face. I close my eyes, brace for pain. For his fist in the back of my neck. A knife in my flesh.
But nothing happens. There is only the pounding of my heart and all that blood rushing to my head.
“Why doesn’t everyone take a breath and sit down,” Quentin says, not far behind me now. “Especially before the others come back and things get even more complicated.”
His voice sounds totally different, more in control. Older. Or is that just in my head? Slowly, I drop my hand from the knob. What choice do I have? When I do, Doug lowers his arm and backs away.
When I finally turn, Quentin looks different, too. The sweet, nerdy boy is gone. And there is this grown man in his place. This man who seems much taller and stronger. Like he has never doubted himself in his entire life. Who the hell is he?
Quentin takes off his apparently unnecessary glasses and lays them on the table. “Doug, maybe you’d like to start by saying something to Wylie.”
Doug glares at me for a minute. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, crossing his arms. Like a child who is not sorry at all. “Lexi and I.” He points to the back of the room, like she is back there somewhere. “We were just trying to get you here safely. Like Quentin asked.”
“He doesn’t work for North Point?” I ask Quentin, because there is no way I’m talking to Doug.
“No, no. North Point is a legitimate threat that we need to contend with, but Lexi and Doug work for me,” Quentin says, and with this look like this should be a huge relief to me. “I hired them to ensure you arrived safely.” He shoots a look at Doug. “It was certainly not my intent that you be frightened. That was unfortunate and unacceptable. But in Doug’s defense, it’s not as though he’s had a lot of experience doing this sort of thing. Your dad has always underestimated how much people are motivated by money. No offense.” Quentin motions to Doug, who looks like he could easily kill Quentin now. “We paid Officer Kendall, too, though to be completely honest, I’m still not convinced his motivations were purely financial. I always thought there might be something more complex going on where he was concerned.”
“I want to see Dr. Simons,” I say.
There is no way he would agree with any of this—trying to kill Jasper? No. I do not believe it. And no matter what Doug says, that is exactly what he was trying to do in that diner.
Quentin takes a deep breath and rubs his forehead. “Yes, but I need you to hear me out first, Wylie. Can you do that?” He heads over to one of the tables. “Please, have a seat for a second. The more quickly I can elucidate this situation, the more quickly you and Cassie can be reunited.”
My hands are trembling, my pulse racing. But I make my way over. Because I need for them to at least think I am cooperating. That I am listening. Otherwise, they’ll never let their guard back down.
I manage to get myself to sit across from Quentin as Doug drifts toward the back of the room, standing guard. He keeps checking over his shoulder to be sure no one is coming. The others must not know about “this situation,” whatever it is. Dr. Simons definitely doesn’t, and neither does my dad. And is my dad still headed this way? Straight into this? Who knows what they will do to him once he gets here?
“Without question they’re nice people.” Quentin gestures to the back, the others, he means. “Though I did have to take them as I found them. Miriam, for instance, is not exactly predictable.” He sighs. “As a group, they were far too trusting, however. I show up and introduce them to Dr. Simons, who explains how he is your dad’s friend. Three short meetings after that—” He snaps his fingers. “People want someone to follow so desperately. They want to believe. It’s human nature. Look at all it took for you: Harvard. One mention that Adam is a professor there and his sweatshirt. Two independent data points and most people will accept an otherwise unverifiable conclusion.”
“Adam doesn’t teach at Harvard,” I say.
Quentin shakes his head. “Adam works the help desk at Best Buy, but he is surprisingly adept with computers.”
He’s right. I just took Quentin’s word for everything. I never even asked Adam himself. And once I believed that about Adam, it made me believe everything I heard about everyone.