Cassidy Jones and the Secret Formula (21 page)

“Got it,” I said, swinging the locker door shut.

His phone vibrated again. He looked at it and said, “She’s on the move again. So are we.”

We rushed out of the building. While we walked, I slipped on my hoodie and pulled the hood over my “distinct” head. Emery zipped up his jacket, concealing the monogram, and produced a baseball cap from his “bag of tricks.” It made me wonder what else he had in there.

We walked briskly and silently as Emery watched Selma’s movements on the cell phone. I was thankful for the silence. I couldn’t wrap my mind around what we were about to do or how we would do it. It took all my concentration just to keep one foot stepping in front of the other.

Before I knew it, we stood in the parking lot of a contemporary apartment building. I had passed this taupe and smoky gray stucco building a million times, never paying attention to its sleek, clean lines, or the patios with stainless steel rails jutting across each of the four floors.

“I bet the front doors are locked,” I said, biting a fingernail. “How are we getting in?” I looked at Emery. He was looking at the Droid.

“She’s stopped again,” he reported calmly, not answering my question. “With all these frequent stops, she’s likely running errands. Let’s move. We may not have much time.”

“I guess I’ll find out,” I mumbled to myself, scrambling after his long strides.

An apartment resident was coming out of the building as we approached. Emery grabbed hold of the closing glass door, motioning with his head for me to go inside. I scooted through the doorway and he followed me in.

Okay, we’re in. Now what?
I wondered, nervously staring down the wide corridor, decorated in the same color scheme as the building’s exterior. A powerful citrus scent hung heavily in the air, masking other scents. I assumed the fragrance was some kind of air freshener. It was nauseating.

“Heart’s apartment is on the second floor, 2E,” Emery said, scanning the hall. “We’re going to take the stairs. Keep your head down. The hall is monitored with security cameras.”

Oh, my gosh!
My chin dropped. Keeping my eyes on the slate tiled floor, I trailed Emery’s feet.

On the other side of the elevator, he pulled a door open, stepping aside so I could go through. “Keep your head down,” he reminded me as I entered the stairwell.

I nodded, tasting Cheerios in my mouth.
Please don’t let me hurl
, I prayed as we jetted up the stairs.
Please don’t let us get caught
. Emery opened the second-floor door for me. I walked through, my eyes meeting slate.
Please help us get into Selma’s
apartment
. I followed after Emery’s feet.
Oh, geez! How are we getting in?

“Here, Cassidy,” Emery said, his feet stopping. “Move close to the door and angle your body right.” I did what he asked. He unzipped the backpack and pulled out a soft leather case. “You’re shielding me from the camera behind you,” he explained, flipping the case open. Inside were seven steel lock picks and two tools that looked like mini wrenches.

My eyes widened. “You know how to use those?”

“I do.” He examined the keyhole and then selected a pick and a wrench. “Will you hold this?” he asked, handing me the case.

My anxiety dissolved briefly as I watched Emery insert the wrench into the keyhole, easing it clockwise. “Who taught you how to do this?” I asked, fascinated.

“No one. I’m self-instructed.” He slipped the pick into the keyhole, too. “I thought it would be a useful skill to have.” He jiggled the pick, and there was an audible
click
. He smiled at me and grasped the doorknob. “Apparently, I was right. Should we see if she’s set the alarm?”

“No,” I gasped, but Emery proceeded to turn the knob. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath. There was silence and then the sound of creaking hinges.

“You can breathe now,” Emery teased. I opened my eyes to his amused grin.

My breath came out in a gust. “I haven’t been this stressed since playing Ding-Dong-Ditch,” I claimed, putting my hand over my pounding heart.

“Ding-Dong-Ditch,” he echoed, poking his head in the apartment. “So you are an adventurer. All clear. Ladies first.” He pushed the door wider so I could go in. I scampered in, and Emery followed me, closing the door.

“Take these,” he said, handing me the pick and wrench. I slipped the tools into the case as he locked the door and set the security chain. My eyes ran over the combination living/dining room furnished in chrome and black with punches of red. Everything looked expensive—very expensive.

“How can a security guard afford all this?”

“It depends on who you’re a security guard for,” Emery replied, his eyes roaming the room. “Her computer must be in the bedroom.”

The temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees in the bedroom. Silvery walls encompassed white and mirrored furniture sitting on plush white carpet. An extravagant chandelier hung over the frosted four-poster bed, dripping with crystals that looked like icicles.

“Sleeping quarters fit for the White Witch,” I remarked with a shiver.

“Appropriate comparison,” Emery commented, closing the bedroom door. “Can you pick up her scent?”

Mortified, I felt my cheeks flush.
What does he think I am?
A hunting dog?

Emery glanced at me, taking note of the blush. “You’re not allowed to feel embarrassed with me,” he said as his eyes wandered from me, settling on a laptop computer camouflaged on the white desk. “We’re accomplices now. Lawbreakers,” he continued teasingly, sitting down in the transparent desk chair that looked like a block of ice. He set the backpack in front of him and unzipped it. While rummaging through the backpack, he listed our crimes. “Trespassing. Breaking and entering.” He pulled a portable hard drive from the backpack. Turning his head to me, he smiled and shook the hard drive. “Theft.”

“Ha, ha,” I said sarcastically, and then answered his question. “I smell her.”

“Could you recognize her scent elsewhere?” He plugged the hard drive into the laptop.

“I don’t know.”

“Then it would be good to find an article of clothing to take with us,” he said, striking keyboard keys. “In case you need to track her.”

I let out an amazed laugh. “That is the weirdest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Absorbed in what he was doing, Emery didn’t answer.

I blew out a consigned breath. If tracking Selma Heart like a bloodhound was what it took to find Emery’s mom, then I would just have to do it. “I’ll check her closet.”

“Good idea,” Emery said, and then announced, “I’m through the screen lock.”

“Hacking, picking locks. You do make one wonder,” I joked, setting the lock pick kit next to his backpack and moving to the walk-in closet. The closet light automatically came on when I opened the door. Black clothing lined the bars. “What a shock—the twisted Snow White is partial to black.”

“You’re good with these analogies,” Emery remarked. His Droid vibrated.

“Selmazzz on the move,” I said to myself, stepping into the closet. A tall black boot with a wicked spiked heel lay across the floor like the arm of a tollbooth preventing entrance. I nudged it with my toe, as if it could spring to life and attack. Then I began to gingerly finger through her ebony wardrobe, consisting of skin-tight clothing and leather. Her style was hip in a vampirish sort of way.

“Speaking of the twisted Snow White,” Emery spoke up a minute later, “it appears she’s on her way home.”

The air wheezed out of my lungs. “Well, let’s get out of here!” I screeched, jumping out of the closet and spinning to Emery. He sat at the desk, looking down at the Droid in his hand.

“Not until the data transfer is complete,” he said calmly, narrowing his eyes on the cell phone’s screen. “She’s on Raye.”

“Raye! She’s almost here! We have to go!”

“Not until the data transfer is complete,” he repeated, watching the GPS. “She’ll be here before then. Cassidy, I need you to find some way to delay her.”

Delay her! Who does he think I am? Jason Bourne?

“Heart is a block away. She’s driving a red BMW M3.”

Zipping to the bedroom’s sliding door, I peeked through the thin gap where the curtains met. Selma pulled into the parking lot.

“She’s here,” said Emery.

“No duh!” I shouted, ready to hyperventilate.

“Keep your head, Cassidy. Find a way to delay her, but be discreet.”

“That’s a little contradictory, don’t ya think?” I squeaked, watching Selma angle out of the sports sedan. She was dressed in the khaki uniform.
Okay, head, think, think, think. What would Jason Bourne do?
Selma opened the BMW’s back door and dragged out a couple of dry cleaning bags.
What would he do? What would he do?
She closed the door and pointed her keychain at the car, setting the alarm.
That’s what he would do!

Watching her walk toward the building’s entrance, I unlocked the slider and cracked it open. “One delay coming up,” I whispered, listening to Selma’s shoes click on the cement. She was no longer in my line of sight. The clicking paused as she unlocked the glass door. When I heard the door open, I flew into action, forgetting the “discreet” instructions Emery had given me. Yanking the curtain back on the rod, I threw the slider open and dove for the patio rail, grabbing onto it and flipping up. As my legs swung over, I released the rail, dropping the two stories. I landed on my feet in front of an old man pushing a walker.

Uh-oh
, I thought, straightening up.

He squinted at me through his thick lenses. “Where’d you come from?”

“Over there.” I pointed erratically and then dashed toward the BMW. I had to set off the car alarm before Selma got into the elevator.
Wired with nerves and adrenaline, I pressed my palms to the smooth hood, giving the car a shake—literally.

The BMW let out a deafening wail.

Oh, geez!
Slinking low, I scampered several cars over and crouched behind a Suburban’s back wheel. Heart pounding, I listened for the building’s door to open beneath the blare of the alarm. It didn’t.
Oh, no! She must be in the elevator! What do I
do? What do—
The door swung open, and I caught a whiff of Selma. Pressing my hand to my chest, I thought,
Thank you, thank you, thank you
, while listening to the rapid
click
-
click
of heeled shoes coming my way. Inhaling a ragged breath, I drew in her scent anew. It occurred to me then that I wouldn’t need her clothing for scent. Her scent appeared fixed to memory. Lucky me.

Suddenly remembering I had forgotten to close the slider, I cut my eyes to Selma’s patio. The glass door was closed, the curtain back in place, and when I adjusted my vision, I could see Emery watching through the curtains’ gap. Impulsively, I gave him a nervous little wave.

The car alarm turned off. Selma’s shoes shuffled on the concrete. I assumed she was looking around.
What if she walks this way?
I wondered in a panic. My nerves were stretched like a rubber band, ready to snap.
What do I
do?
Jump her?
Run?
To my utter relief, Selma reset the car alarm and I listened to her shoes clicking away. Of course, we weren’t home-free. Emery might still be waiting for the data transfer. Something told me, Selma or no Selma, he wouldn’t leave without it.

The slider opened. Emery slipped out onto the patio and closed the door. Rocking back onto my rear from the low crouch, I sat on the concrete, watching him calmly vault over patio rails until he reached the end of the building. Then he climbed over the side of the last patio and lowered himself to the patio rail below it. I couldn’t see where he went from there, and it only occurred to me after he casually sauntered my way that maybe I should have gotten off my duff and helped him.