Endangered (22 page)

HOW?

There are no security cameras in the room. No one beyond the window that I can see. Twisting, searching, I notice the green on light shining next to my Mac's web camera. It shouldn't be.

I shake off the sensation of spiders crawling along my flesh, and mouth to the guys, “She's watching.” After a moment of consideration, realizing if she can get the camera, she can get the mic, I say, “And she's listening.”

Taylor catches the camera light, too. He leans forward, intending to snap my MacBook shut. I catch his arm and shake my head. There's nothing to hide now. “Let her.”

He backs away from the machine, though his jaw is tight. Quinn Beck, on the other hand, seems giddy. He keeps looking at his still-running recorder.

Roz says, “I knew you were close when you made it to Eric's apartment. But this was fast. So fast. I thought that Photoshopping that shirt on
Alyssa would buy me some time. You're good, though.”

“Wait until you see how fast I go to the cops, you psycho.” Quickly, I drop several damning photos into a folder, and send them to both of her addresses, personal and Admirer. “You'll be receiving some shots from my latest project. I call it
Bye Bye
.”

“Big talk considering I could've cracked your skull with a brick any time I felt like it. I've been standing right behind you for weeks, Panda Bear.”

The brutal honesty of the statement gives me pause. I start to say something tough.

A sob interrupts me.

“Roz?”

“I guess you won this round,” she says, sniffling. “Game's not over, though.”

How crazy is she? “It is, Roz.”

“It's. Not. I'm going to be in the last place you topped me. One hour. Be there. With your camera.”

“You tried to kill my friend. We're supposed to hang now?”

“Bring the cops if you have to. I don't care. Just don't be late.”

“Roz. No.”

She takes a long time to answer. I wonder if we've lost the connection. The webcam's still on. We're not done yet.

Her next word is softer. “Please.”

The webcam winks off, and the call goes dead. My hand's shaking.

“Did that just happen?” Beck asks. Before I answer, he's plugging an earbud into his recorder and reviewing his audio.

Taylor pins me with his gaze. “You know where she's going to be?”

“Yes.”

“Now you'll call the cops?”

“I am.”

“You're not going to do what she asks? You're not going to her?”

Those questions I don't answer. That's answer enough.

“This is unnecessary, Lauren. Insane,” Taylor says from the shotgun seat as we take the highway.

Maybe, but I can't let this go. Not with the way Roz has been playing me. God, that day I got beat up and she met me in the main office, she was texting me as the Admirer from
the same room
while I iced my swollen eyes. She's scary smart, and tricky, and dangerous. And I'm going right to her. I have to.

We hit the bridge, cross the river into downtown Portside. Beck's Jetta trails. Sirens scream faintly in the distance.

“Lauren?”

“I heard you. I don't expect you to understand.”

“Okay, I might not understand. Tell me what you're thinking and let me decide if it's over my head. I get that much, right?”

How do I even say it? “I wanted to hurt people, Taylor. Really hurt them. I see that now. I'm not as brave as Roz is about it, though.”

He smacks the dashboard. “Brave? You saw what she did to Mei, now you're talking like
you
admire
her
?”

“Don't get it twisted. I could claw that skinny bitch's eyes out for what she did to Mei. I'm saying I tried to play the Gray thing as something different. Like Robin Hood stealing from the rich and pretending he's somehow more than a thief. He wasn't. I'm not.”

“You're right. I don't understand.”

We're on a street parallel to where Roz wants me, a block away from the Patriot Trust Building and the Cablon Hotel. I swerve into a five-story parking deck and drive in loops until we're at the top level.

We stop and I say, “Maybe I didn't go as far as Roz. That's only because I pushed her ahead of me.”

“You didn't kill anybody.”

“I killed pieces. What did it feel like when your friends stopped talking to you, when people whispered nasty things? What happened to the you from before my version debuted? Do you get it now? You said I was off the rails. This is how I get back on, Taylor.”

He shakes his head, but no longer pretends he's dumbfounded by my motives. “It's a bad move, Lauren.”

“It's mine to make.”

Beck's beside us, motions for me to lower my window. I do, and he says, “The chatter on my police scanner is crazy. Your girl apparently stole a neighbor's car. Hit the guy over the head with—get this—a tripod. Now she's on an unfinished floor of the Cablon Hotel, just like you said.”

Floor forty-two, I'm sure. “What's she doing?”

“Waiting. For her ‘Panda.' The cops don't know what to make of it. She's too close to the edge for them to grab her, so the negotiator is exploring the possibility of borrowing a bear from the zoo.”

A couple of news choppers buzz the area, and a small contingent of onlookers gather near us, peering over the side of the deck, in the general direction of the chaos Roz is causing. I grab a pair of miniature binoculars from the glove box and go for a look.

Street crowds are bloated. Emergency vehicles block the boulevard where the construction site is located, detouring cars.

The setting sun is behind us. It's the Golden Hour. I doubt the timing is coincidental.

What are you planning, Roz?

Panning with my binoculars, I take in all I can from this angle. No part of the hotel is visible, but the entrance to the Patriot Trust Building is. Gawkers are there, staring skyward, perhaps waiting to see if a girl attempts to fly. Among them, the black-jacketed guard who works the security desk in the PT Building. He's left his post to be part of this circus. Maybe . . .

“Beck? I see a channel nine news van beyond the police barriers. How close can you get us?”

Nodding, pleased, he says, “I've got my badge. That should get us pretty damn close.”

“Good.” I return to my car and pop the trunk, gathering all kinds of gear and jamming it in a duffel bag.

Taylor says, “You're really going to do this.”

When I don't answer, he says, “Okay, we get to the news van. How do you get in the building?”

“Had that covered days ago.”

“She's going to try to kill you.”

His reasoning isn't faulty, because Roz
has
killed. Yet, I feel this going another way. It hasn't been her pattern to harm those she cares for. She didn't hurt Coach Bottin, not physically. She hasn't made a threat against me.

I'm not any less scared, because a lot of bad things can happen even if you're still breathing.

I hoist my bag as Beck joins us. Taylor says, “I'm going up with you.”

“I was hoping you'd be willing to go up”—I press my bag of tricks into
his chest—“but you won't be coming with me.”

We move and I talk, telling them the plan. Beck's wearing a wide grin the whole time, likely seeing major network appearances in his future. Taylor's shaking his head—a futile gesture—and frowning. Together they resemble the creepy drama masks mounted over the door of the school auditorium.

And me, about to perform for all of Portside. I hope this particular play doesn't end up a tragedy.

I'm probably hoping for too much.

BECK'S BADGE WORKS AS PROMISED, GETTING
us through the initial perimeter so we're within a hundred yards of the Cablon Hotel. Further in, sawhorses with Police Line Do Not Cross banners coiled around the crossbeams define the interior perimeter, with a few uniformed officers forming an extra layer of protection beyond the hurdles.

“Please hurry,” I say to Taylor and Beck.

Taylor says, “Don't do anything stupid, Lauren.”

“I'm probably a few years past that option.”

Beck says, “If you make it through this, I get the exclusive?”

“Nice to know you're consistent, Beck. If you help Taylor do what I ask, then it's a deal.”

Before we part, Taylor hugs me, rattling the gear in the bag I gave him. I want to tell him be careful with my stuff; instead I hug him back.

We're apart, moving in opposite directions. I hope I see them again.

The cops are crowded around the main entrance to the construction
site, ensuring only authorized personnel make it through that funnel. Good. No one notices me slipping into the shadows of the hotel.

A crouch-jog takes me to the portion of fence I cut when I was here before. My plastic zip ties remain intact. I snip them with mini wire cutters and I'm inside the site.

Me and my Admirer will be together soon.

“Perhaps no picture is worth your life. Perhaps,” Petra Dobrev says in
Lensing Wild Things
. “To shoot beasts doing what no human eye has seen, and give that image to the world, is its own kind of immortality. Will you chase the prize?”

Her tips, I know them backward and forward. Her words echo in me as I navigate the half shadows of the construction site.

There are cops inside the fence, gathered together, chatting. All that's missing is a water cooler. They're blocking my way to the elevator.

I circle around to an emergency staircase that housekeepers and bellboys will likely use for sneaking smokes in the future. I make my way up two floors, away from Cop Club, then find the elevator column where I catch my ride.

The floor indicator moves in slow motion, the number winking at me slyly, sharing a grim joke.

Enjoy your trip up, Panda. The trip down's going to be much faster
.

My knees feel watery. If the elevator opens on any floor before the forty-second, I might step off, because I'm not this brave. This is stupid. I know it is.

Yet I can't help but go to her any more than iron filings could buck the lure of a magnet. We've come this far together.

The elevator doors part, and a loose grouping of police are yards away, their backs to me. They don't notice me because they're plotting how to reach Roz.

Be bold. Belong
.

I step past the cops, my heart striking my sternum like a woodpecker's beak. They go silent, too stunned to stop me before I've crossed whatever invisible line Roz has drawn.

“Who the hell is that?” a cop shouts.

I don't look back.

They won't shoot me. I might get Tasered, but a few more steps convince me that's not happening either.

Roz is dangerously, sickeningly close to the edge of nothing. She catches me from the corner of her eye, wobbles in the wind. My heart lurches for her, but she regains her balance. Her mouth is pinched. This isn't fun for her. It's necessary.

She takes a single step away from the drop. “Where's your camera?”

I hold my phone for her to see.

“You're kidding me,” she says, “
that
?”

“I had to travel light.”

“Hey!” It's a different cop. “Please come back.”

His badge hangs from a lanyard around his neck, but his dress screams Kind Uncle. He's in a sweater with alternating stripes and gray slacks. There's an openness to him. Even his shouts sound measured and assuring. He must be the negotiator Beck talked about. I'm stepping on his toes here.

“It's okay,” I call over my shoulder, “I'm the Panda.”

Of course, that clears nothing up. Confusion keeps them still.

Roz says, “Come closer.”

There's twenty yards between us. I'm willing to cut that distance in half. It's still too far for us to touch.

“What are we doing up here?” I ask, voiced raised to be heard over the wind.

“We're up here so I can beat you. My next photos will be so classic.”

Raccoon rings surround her eyes. Tears have spread her makeup, giving the appearance of inkblots rimming her cornea. Even in this low light, there's a stunning quality to it. Knowing what she's capable of, I can't help but wonder if this look is the result of emotion, or is it more meticulous planning on her part? Something staged?

She doesn't look like much, but she's powerful
.

Her posture's improved, no slouch. She's almost as tall as Taylor. This is a girl who could be on top of the world in a different way than this. If she wasn't a murdering lunatic.

“Roz, what are we doing here?”

She laughs, turns so I see her in profile. Posing. “Are you getting this? I'm giving you magic right now.”

“I've got you.” I snap a shot with no flash.

She turns toward the city, yells over her shoulder, “Is this the right floor? The one where you took your picture?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“I used a ruler and some string to compare the three tallest buildings in your picture. I triangulated from your vantage point and figured this was very close to the right spot. It's like the navigation techniques sailors used before there were modern instruments to help. Then I calculated my parametric arc. Just so I'd know.”

I understand little of what she's saying. “You're very smart, aren't you?”

“I guess so. Doesn't feel that way sometimes. Keachin was an accident, you know.”

She's facing me again, and I get another shot, holding the camera at eye level, hoping it conceals my skepticism. “You accidentally ran her over with Bottin's car?”

“I just wanted to talk to her. She was lying, you know, to take blame off her. They didn't start before she was eighteen. Her birthday's on August second. They weren't together then.”

There's no smile now. No model-perfect posing. The sun's dipped out of sight, trailing orange and red and a purple that borders black. Shadows lengthen and deepen as if drawn to her.

“How do you know that?” I say.

“Because I was still with him.” It's so low I can barely hear. I only catch the words because I've stepped closer. Seven or so yards separate us.

“She didn't know about me and Eric, not for sure. I called her, I told her what we had in common,
I told her
we needed to meet. And I took his clunker just to show her how far back me and him went. Their little
tryst
was nothing. I get to drive the car, she only screws in it, you know?”

No, I don't know. This is sick.

“Why involve me and hurt my friend, though?” I'm going for compassion because I recognize the biggest threat here is the one she poses to herself. I'm not very successful. My voice is not soft, my chest burns. Throwing punches, like those that blacked my eyes, would feel satisfying about now.

“The pictures.” She pauses, glances down at her Canon dangling from the canvas and nylon neck strap so that it's suspended at her stomach. It's like she doesn't recognize the device.

There's more stuff here, equipment I didn't notice before, because it's partially hidden in the shadow of a girder. A sleeping laptop with a cell phone resting on it. The tripod that likely cracked her neighbor's skull, a camcorder mounted to it. She shakes her head, as if rattling something loose back into place.

“The photos have such power. I wasn't lying when I thanked you for exposing Randy Sigell. He stole from me so many times. For fun. To see me cry. I got tired and decided I was going to stab him with a knife from my mother's kitchen. Then Gray stepped in.”

“Roz . . .”

She was closer to the edge, raising a hand so I'd let her finish. “You got him to stop so I didn't have to hurt him. I liked your way. I taught myself to do what you do.

“That's why I was out there that night. I was going to use my photos to make Eric see how bad Keachin was for him, before someone got hurt. How she could ruin him.”

I say, “Particularly if your pictures got out.”

The shadows around her eyes darken. “As yours did.”

“Is all this payback? I messed up your plan?”

How do you get the color Gray? Throw a Panda in the blender and turn it on
.

“No. I
was
mad. In the beginning. But I came around. You and I were in the woods that night for the same thing. That means
we're
the same. I was Gray approved.”

“Why the game then? All that cryptic bullshit?”

“I didn't want to disappoint you. Or be disappointed by you. It was easier to admire you from a distance. I challenged you, hacked your computer and phone to track you, monitor your movements. Watched you
chase your false leads. It was educational until you lost heart in our cause. You disappointed me after all.”

“When did the cause become killing?”

“I told you that was an
accident
! Keachin wanted to drag me into the spotlight after you exposed her. She wanted my story plastered all over the news, and in everyone's mouths like chewed food. She was going to tell her daddy's lawyer about me so everyone would see how Eric manipulated ‘us.' She was trying to hurt him
more
, Panda.”

“Ocie wasn't going to hurt Coach Bottin.”

Now she's not looking at me. Her neck cranes toward the city. “You wouldn't play the game anymore. You were trading me for something better.”

“So my best friend became one more of your accidents?” I step closer.

“Young lady,” the negotiator yells. I stretch one hand behind my back and show him my palm.
Wait
.

“I did what I know how to do, Panda. I'm not going to let you or anyone put me in a cage for it. You've already told about our game,” she says. “Once you give them all you've found, it will be juvie, or jail, or a hospital. I have to use my power first.”

“You don't have to do anything. It will be easier if you don't.”

Roz ignores me, touches her camera. “I've got an Eye-Fi card in this. A thousand foot range.”

An Eye-Fi card connects a camera to a computer via Wi-Fi, sends photos straight to the hard drive for storage and editing. It's great for photography teams, where one person shoots and the other immediately starts touch-ups. It's also good for a photographer who wants their shots saved on a machine that's far away. Roz's machine is only a few feet from her. For now.

Then I calculated my parametric arc. Just so I'd know
.

I don't know exactly what a parametric arc is, but I'm certain it's got something to do with falling.

She says, “I'm talking action shots. The city in descent. The sidewalk rushing toward the lens. Very dramatic. I'm going to call it
From Grace
. You're going to need a lot of commitment to top this shoot, Panda.” She shows me her back. Faces the drop.

I say, “Please, don't . . .”

“Oh, stop!” she says. “Take my picture so we can get this over with.”