Cassidy Jones and the Luminous (Cassidy Jones Adventures Book 4) (6 page)

Pulling off the hockey mask, I brushed away tears and noticed blood smeared on my fingertips. Shame flooded me. I was an animal.

Turning my back to him, I walked to the entryway and shakily set the blood-splattered mask on a table, and then gathered the corner of my sweater under Jared’s jersey to wipe my face. The room was silent, save for Jared’s labored breathing behind me, and the crickets chirping down the hall.

Outside the apartment, doors opened and anxious voices inquired:

“Did you hear a gunshot?”

“Crashing?”

“Where did it come from?”

“This floor?”

Nearly rubbing my skin raw, I released my sweater, drew in a ragged breath, and braved a look at Jared.

Still on his knees, he hadn’t moved an inch.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” I assured, tears pooling again. I moved toward him, haltingly, raising my hands to show him that I meant no harm. “I won’t hurt you.”

A police siren wailed in the distance.

I got down on my knees next to Jared, pinched the corner of the duct tape over his mouth, and carefully peeled it away, avoiding eye contact. Slow, warm tears rolled down my face.

The siren was closer now. Another fired up.

“Someone called the police,” I surmised in a choked whisper. “I need to call my dad.”

Jared looked around him, wearing a lost expression, as I fished my cell from my jeans pocket. His dazed gaze settled on the bloodied, unconscious thug sprawled a few feet away. My hands shook so badly from the spiked adrenaline and fear that I could barely open my contacts.

“Dad,” I wept into the phone when he answered.

“Cassy, what happened?”

The doorbell rang.

“Jared, are you home?” Mrs. Carmichael’s tense voice called from the other side of the door. She rang the bell again, holding it down.

My hand flew over his mouth. He gasped into my palm. The speed with which I had moved surprised him.

“
Please
don’t answer her,” I pleaded in a whisper.

Wide eyes staring into mine, his head bobbed.

While this was going on, Dad had been anxiously repeating my name and asking if I was hurt. I suppressed a bitter laugh. He was worried that
I’d
been hurt?

“Wait, Dad,” I whispered into the phone. I hated the way Jared was looking at me, like I’d materialized from his worst nightmare.

Dad stopped talking. His panic practically poured from the receiver.

When Mrs. Carmichael pattered on to the next door, I released Jared’s mouth. I gave him an apologetic look, then told Dad: “Something bad has happened.”

“Where are you?”

I composed myself enough to explain the awful, awful situation. That isn’t to say there weren’t tears. They cascaded over the brim of my eyes like Niagara Falls. Why wouldn’t Jared stop looking at me like that?

“The men are unconscious?” Dad asked, fear edging his voice.

“Y-yes,” I wept.

“Don’t let them regain consciousness. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Y-y-yes.” I was to knock them out if they started reviving.

“Stay calm. I’m in the car now. Gavin and Emery will be there within minutes. Cassy, do not let anyone in the apartment
and
do not let anyone leave.”

“K-k-kay.” Jared and these men were my prisoners.

“Everything will be all right. I’m coming. I need to hang up to call Gavin.”

“B-bye, D-dad.”

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” he repeated and disconnected the call.

I dropped my face downward, cradling it in my hands. Why did this have to happen? What would happen next?

I heard the police cars pull up outside. The sirens stopped.

“They’re here,” Jared said in a hollow tone.

Shocked to hear him speak, I flung my head up and almost clocked him in the nose. Noticing blood still smeared on my palms, I quickly wiped them on my jeans.

“It’ll be all right,” I echoed what my dad had promised.

Jared didn’t reply.

I wiped my wet cheeks and moved behind him to free his hands.

“Help is on the way—but it’s not the police,” I clarified, the words spilling over one another. “We can’t let them come in, okay?” I couldn’t undo the tape with my trembling fingers, so I resorted to teeth. “
Please
act like nobody is home when they come to the door.” I bit down on the tape and jerked my head to tear it, knocking a couple of teeth loose in the process. No big deal. They’d heal. “The police are in the building—” I pinched the tape on either side of the tear I had made, tasting fresh blood in my mouth. “I can hear them knocking on doors, downstairs—” I ripped the tape down the center. “You’re free.”

Jared brought his arms to his chest and absently massaged his wrists as he plopped down on his backside. I tested my teeth with my tongue. They were solidly rooted again, healthy and whole.

“I’ll get your feet,” I offered, unable to take his silence.

“Ohhhhhh,” the nearest man groaned.

In a flash, I’d grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his face into the floor. Judging by the crunching noise, I’d busted his nose. His body went limp again.

“Oh God,” Jared gasped.

I whipped around.

Hands raked into his hair and eyes wide on the gunman, Jared’s face displayed an expression one would expect to see on the witness of a grisly murder. He rocked slightly, back and forth. I’d traumatized him. Utterly traumatized him.

“My dad told me to,” I explained, scooting up to him on my knees. He squirmed backward, recoiling when I touched his upper arm. I dissolved into tears again. “I won’t h-hurt you. I don’t want to hurt a-anyone. Don’t you understand? I had to. They c-can’t s-see me.”

My cell phone vibrated on the floor. I didn’t remember dropping it.

I flipped it over and read a text from Emery:
I’m here. I’ll knock 3x.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.” I gave my cell a slobbery kiss
.

There were three firm raps on the front door.

I ran to answer it, wiping my face on the jersey sleeve. My eyes met Emery’s, and I threw my arms around his neck, hanging on to him as if for dear life. He carried me into the apartment, dangling off him like a Christmas ornament, and closed the door.

“Everything will be fine,” he whispered into my hair, hugging me. Then he grasped my arms to extract them from his neck.

“Cassidy, we need to work quickly.” Emery set the locks on the door. “The police are almost through the first floor.” He turned around to assess the situation.

“Jared, it is a matter of life and death that you remain silent,” Emery ordered. He lifted the gunman’s head off the floor to determine if he was truly unconscious. Jared winced when he let the man’s head fall to the floor. “It won’t be long before the police are at your door.” He lifted the next man’s head, scrutinized him, and let go. “Do not make a sound,” he repeated, his eyes moving to the thug trapped beneath the hutch. He didn’t bother checking him. “Cassidy, give me a rundown.”

I did what he asked, with surprising calmness. During my recap, Jared silently freed his taped ankles.

“Give me the jersey,” Emery instructed, after rapidly processing the information. I blew out a relieved breath. He already had a plan. “Leave through that window.” He pointed to the dining room window. “There is only a walkway between buildings. You are less likely to be seen. I’ll give you my backpack, since I won’t need—”

“She’s been shot,” Jared spoke up.

I jerked my head toward him, surprised to hear his voice. He had moved to the sofa, where he sat with elbows on his knees, hands in his hair, doing some processing of his own.

Emery turned his head from Jared to me. His eyes narrowed on my left shoulder. I glanced down at the bullet hole. I had forgotten about being shot until Jared mentioned it.

“I forgot. My skin is hard,” I apologized, gripped with shame again. My skin was numb, and felt like it was cinched over bone. How could I have not noticed until now? “Because of the bullet,” I added needlessly to Emery. He knew from experience that a bullet deadened my nerve endings so I felt no pain.

Inserting this new data into his mental calculation, Emery slid his backpack off his shoulder. It was filled with a gadget for almost every situation. He set it on the dining room table, unzipped it, and removed latex gloves.

“Put these on,” Emery ordered, handing them to me.

Jared stared at him as though Emery were a mirage.

“I know you’re in shock, Jared,” I tried to console him as I tugged on the gloves. Emery rummaged through the backpack. “I get it. You haven’t seen Emery like this before. But this is the real him.”

Jared’s bewildered eyes snapped to me. I wished I’d just kept my mouth shut.

“Where are the police?” Emery asked me. He pulled out a switchblade.

The look on Jared’s face made it impossible to answer, let alone concentrate enough to hear anything outside the apartment.

“What are you going to do with that?” he demanded of Emery.

Emery flipped the blade out. “I said to not speak,” he reminded Jared.

“Like hell!” Jared lurched off the sofa.

I stepped in front of Emery. Jared plowed into me, bouncing backward as if hitting a cement wall. My hands shot out, grasping him by the biceps so he wouldn’t tumble to the floor. He gaped at me, speechless.

“I won’t hurt her,” Emery assured calmly, although I did detect irritation in his voice. He produced a bottle of cleaning solution from the backpack. “We need to get the bullet out of her and lodged where it would logically be.” He took a small package of white cloth handkerchiefs from the backpack. “Cassidy’s life will be in grave danger if evidence doesn’t measure up or is left behind. Jared, you are to do
exactly
what I tell you.” He flipped a chair around for me. “Cassidy.”

I sat down. Emery picked up the knife and ordered Jared: “Watch these three.” He gestured toward each man with the blade. “Speak up if any of them start to come to.”

Emery hooked the collar of my V-neck shirt with a finger and eased it over the bullet wound. The metal butt protruded from my shoulder like a cork in a wine bottle, thick blood burbling around it.

“Hold your shirt back,” Emery said.

I collected the fabric, watching Jared. Confusion, fear, and panic mingled on his face.

“Don’t watch,” I forced out around the lump in my throat. I didn’t want him to know what a freak I was. He had seen enough already.

Emery wedged the tip of the knife under the bullet. Jared’s eyes grew even wider with horror, but he didn’t intervene. My cheeks burned with humiliation. Why hadn’t he listened to me?

“She can’t feel this,” Emery assured and repeated his order. “Turn around and keep an eye on your assailants.”

As Jared complied, I wondered if Emery had told him to do this to save me from additional embarrassment.
No
, I decided, as the bullet popped free.
He’s just being efficient.

“Jared, listen carefully—” Emery said as he slid on latex gloves. “You and I were alone in the apartment, in your room.” He doused a handkerchief with the cleaning solution. “You answered the door and were attacked. Seconds later, I came out, in the mask, swinging the hockey stick.” He meticulously cleaned the bullet. “
I
took these men out.
Me.
Put your hand out, Cassidy.” He dropped the bullet into my palm and walked toward the gunman. Now I knew why he’d asked me to wear gloves. “As I was freeing you from the duct tape, I called my dad.” He stepped over the thug and faced Jared’s bedroom, evaluating. “He is out front now, waiting for me to text him to come in. We were in shock, not thinking straight, and were afraid to leave the apartment. Not an implausible reaction for the average teenager. Cassidy, come here.”

While I did what he asked, Emery continued talking. “When the police arrive with my dad, I’ll do the talking. You nod and confirm everything I say. Do
not
offer any information. Cassidy, that picture—” He pointed to a print at the entrance to the hallway, of a Victorian girl holding a kitten. “Throw the bullet through it, full force. A nine millimeter bullet would travel approximately 650 miles per hour when fired, so don’t hold back.”

“In front of Jared?” I whispered.

Emery threw up his hands in exasperation, and motioned to all the reasons around us why I shouldn’t still care about what Jared witnessed.

“Time is of the essence,” he reminded, stepping back to give me space. “Jared, do not move from that spot.”

Pulling my arm back, I threw the bullet with all my might. It pierced the kitten, leaving a clean hole in the glass, and traveled through the wall. I could hear it break through the other side, whiz across the dining room, and strike the opposite wall. Obviously, I hadn’t hit a stud.

I couldn’t even look at Jared.

Emery secured my arm and pulled me to the dining room table. Peripherally, I glimpsed Jared, rooted to the spot where Emery had told him to stay, blinking at the bullet hole through the kitten.

Emery slid off his hoodie. “Put this on,” he ordered, handing it to me.

While I did what he asked, he doused another handkerchief with solution.

“Our goal is to not draw attention,” he explained, and cleaned my face.

Heat flowed into my cheeks. The evidence of my violence was still on my face?

Emery tugged the hood over my head, snapped off my gloves, and ordered me to tuck in loose hair. He tossed the gloves into the backpack, along with his gloves, the switchblade, bloodied handkerchiefs, cleaning solution, and Jared’s bullet-torn jersey. His tension was mounting. He’d obviously sensed the police were closing in, and he was right. I could hear them approaching down the hall.

“Here—” He shoved the backpack at me and pointed to the window again. “Go!”

“I’m sorry,” I said to Jared. He looked as though he were in another world.

Dashing to the window, I shoved it open, made sure the coast was clear, and then jumped, without a backward glance to see if Jared was freaking out.

What did it matter anymore? The damage was done.