London Escape (4 page)

Like the email, his words catch my attention right away. The jewels must be the package he’d mentioned in the email.

The sounds from the party downstairs filter down the hall, but I pay no attention. I lean closer, pressing my ear against the door, but I can’t quite make out the reply I know must be coming from Mr. Barron.

“What?” The voice thunders. “Who else has access to your safe?”

He’s speaking so loudly now I automatically take a step back. I still can’t make out Mr. Barron’s words. Either he’s speaking quietly, or the man who calls himself Mr. V is closer to the door.

“Your wife?” He continues his interrogation of Mr. Barron. My hands are starting to shake as I strain to hear a reply.

This time I hear his answer. “No.”

“Your daughter?” Mr. V presses.

Jason’s older sister, Michelle.

Another negative reply from Mr. Barron.

“What about your son?” His voice is lower now, his tone growing more menacing. My heart stutters to a stop when there’s no reply from Mr. Barron. Mr. V also seems to note his lack of response, because I hear his voice next.

“Interesting.”

I hear the click of footsteps moving away from the door as Mr. V steps closer to Mr. Barron, and this time I can only make out the end of his sentence.

“—is he?”

I can supply the beginning myself.
Where is he?
 Suddenly I’m remembering the night Jason left, the fight with his father and the drawstring bag he stuffed in his backpack. I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to remain silent.

Forcing myself to remain calm I press closer to the door once again, anxiously awaiting Mr. Barron’s answer on his son’s whereabouts. Surely he won’t tell Mr. V where Jason is.

Again, I’m unable to hear the answer. This time because there is no answer. Suddenly the silence is split by the sound of something smashing against wood. Somehow I can imagine Mr. V slamming his fist angrily against the top of the desk. I sigh with relief; Mr. Barron has not given up Jason’s location.

Footsteps move closer to the door where I’m crouched and I ready myself to bolt. But before I do, I can just make out Mr. V’s last words. Even from behind the door I can tell they are spoken in a deadly calm voice.

“Well, lucky for me I have a few friends who specialize in finding thieving little brats like your son. And when I do find him, I’ll make you both wish you had never heard of me.”

This time I don’t wait to listen for a reply. Instead I turn and rush into the next room, closing the door and locking it as quietly as I can. I lean against the door, eyes closed until I hear the footsteps fade away and feel sure he’s gone. I hear Mr. Barron leave too, but I’m still too frightened to move, let alone return to the party.

I turn to survey the room I’ve hidden in, and find myself in one of the guest bathrooms. I splash cold water on my face and sit on the edge of the tub. I’m trying desperately to calm my reeling thoughts, but I can’t seem to process everything I’ve just heard. Finally I manage to slow my thoughts and a sick, numb feeling takes over. One thought pushes through to the surface: Jason is in trouble.

Realizing I can’t spend the rest of the night in the bathroom, I stand. Once my hands finally stop shaking, I creep back down the stairs more stealthily than I came, praying no one sees me or asks where I’ve been for the past half-hour. My eyes scan the party-goers, wondering if any of them could be Mr. V.  But perhaps he’s gone, already on the phone hiring some thugs to track down Jason.

I force myself to remain calm because I can feel the panic rising inside of me. Not knowing who else to turn to, I look for my dad, thinking maybe I can fake an illness and go home. He’s nowhere in sight. Still unsure of what to do, I go to the drink area and order a soda. I sip it nervously, my eyes darting across the room, trying to distract myself from everything I had just seen and heard.

An auction for charity is taking place in one room. People are still crowding the buffet, picking it clean. A guy I recognize from school comes to the bar and tries to order alcohol but the bartender confiscates his fake ID. I spot another neighbor who suddenly calls out to me, “Katherine, Katherine Hawthorn!”

I pretend not to hear and duck down the hall. I know I’m close to the kitchen, so I decide to see if I can hide out in there. My next plan is to try and sneak out the back door and walk home. My dad will have a fit, of course, but maybe I could leave word with Mrs. Barron or something. I just know I have to get out, and fast.

My thoughts are interrupted as I come around the corner into the kitchen. It’s a massive room, so the couple in the far corner doesn’t even see or hear me come in. For the second time today I freeze. It takes me all of two seconds to take in the scene before I flee. Frantically I duck inside the coat closet and sink to the floor, trembling so hard I feel as though I might shatter.

Unbidden, my mind replays what I just saw. Mr. and Mrs. Barron were the only people in the room, as though they had sent the kitchen staff out. They were speaking in low, hushed tones and I clearly saw that Mr. Barron was holding something to his forehead; something that resembled a bag of frozen peas. I can’t figure this out right away, but again it hits me. The sound I heard that I thought was Mr. V smashing his fist onto the desk hadn’t been that after all. It had been this sound of him smashing Mr. Barron’s head into the desk, all because he refused to tell him where Jason is.

“Kit!”

It’s all I can do to not scream when someone throws open the door and calls my name. I stand up when I see it’s only my dad.

I give a nervous laugh. “How did you find me?”

“Please, this isn’t the first time you’ve hidden in a closet during a party.”

“Oh.” I’m trying hard not to let him see how shaken I am, but there’s really nothing for me to worry about. He already has a distant, distracted look in his eyes.

“Listen,” he begins, “something has come up with work. Do you mind heading home now?”

I shake my head, relief washing over me.

“Great.” He stretches out a hand to me. “Let’s get out of here.”

It’s only as we cross the threshold of our home that I realize how unusually silent my dad is being. For a moment I wonder if something is wrong, even when he’s stressed about work he at least fakes being okay for my sake. Tonight he doesn’t seem up to the task. We both hurriedly say goodnight, and it’s now apparent we both have more pressing things on our minds.

Once upstairs in my room I close the door and stand in the darkness. I still feel like I’m vibrating down to my toes. It’s not a good feeling. Shaking my head to clear it, I try to reason it all away. Surely everything isn’t as bad as it seems. Jason couldn’t have stolen something from his father and then disappeared. Even if he had, he couldn’t have possibly taken something so valuable a man was willing to do anything to find Jason and get it back. Still, no matter how much I reason, I can’t ignore the gut feeling I have that Jason, wherever he might be, is in serious danger. I have to find a way to let him know someone is coming for him.

With a jolt I race across the room and snatch my cell phone from the bed where I left it. Falling to my knees, I send a text message, my fingers flying. “Not sure where you are, but you’d better run. They know what you’ve done and they’re coming.” I hit send before the reality of what I’ve just done hits me. For one, if this is all a big misunderstanding on my part, I’ve just made myself look like the world’s biggest idiot. Two, and this is a much bigger problem, I’ve just revealed my own knowledge of Mr. V and the missing package. If Jason were to get caught, they would find my text and Kit Hawthorn might be next on their list.

It doesn’t matter, I realize. I’ve given him a heads up and maybe he can still get away in time. If Mr. V really has no idea where Jason is it might take him a day or two to track him down, longer if he’s careful. It’s all I can do until I hear from him.

I jump when the phone buzzes in my palm, its glow illuminating the still-dark room. With my heart racing I open the text and read it, hoping for some reassurance that he is safe. That reassurance never comes, in fact, dread settles on me instead.

Whatever is going on, it’s worse than I originally thought.

3. SECRET MESSEGES

I
f there was any lingering doubt, a shred of hope that everything might be okay, it fades the second I see the text. I don’t even know what it means, but I know it isn’t good.

Whatever kind of response I was expecting, this certainly isn’t it. There is no message, just a random string of numbers. It’s the kind of message you might send if you sat on your phone and accidentally sent a text. Somehow I doubt that was what had happened with Jason. My mind is suddenly swimming with images of Mr. V’s hired thugs finding Jason already and throwing him around. Why else would I receive a text full of numbers?

Before I can think of better idea, I dial his number, only to have my fears confirmed. It goes straight to voicemail. Immediately I know I need backup. I dial a second number and Alexa picks up right away, as though she was expecting my call.

“Hey, how was the party?” she asks.

“Fabulous,” I say in a sarcastic tone. I’m trying hard to act normally, even though I’m panicking on the inside. Maybe if I can remain calm we could come up with a plan together.

“Really?” she asks, clearly missing my tone.

“No.” I give up all pretense of calm. After all, I’m sitting on the floor in the dark, still in my party dress and my hands are sweating so badly I’m having a hard time keeping a grip on my phone. “Can you talk?”

Even though she missed my earlier sarcasm, she doesn’t miss my tone of urgency now.

“Sure, I’m watching a movie with my mom. Let me just go in my room.” I hear her say something to her mom in rapid Chinese and then the sound of a door closing. “So, what’s up? What’s wrong?”

“Something is up with Jason,” I say and she laughs. “No, listen—” and as quickly as I can, without sounding like I’m losing my grip, I tell her everything I saw and heard tonight. I begin with Jason’s second goodbye, which I hadn’t told her about previously, and end with the strange text I’d just received.

Alexa is silent for a long time, which leads me to believe she’s either trying to find a logical explanation for all of this, which would be so Alexa, or she’s worried too.

“This can’t be good,” she sighs finally.

“I know.” I get up off the floor and sit on the edge of my bed, feeling slightly better now that I have voiced my fears.

“Why don’t you just call the police?” she suggests.

“Do you really think they’d believe me?” Again, sarcasm edges into my voice.

“Right, probably not,” she affirms my suspicion. The story is just too hard to swallow right now, and I have no proof that Mr. V is really after Jason.

“What makes you think Mr. Barron hasn’t already called the police?” she adds.

I’m not sure what makes me hesitate, but I do. “I don’t know. Whatever is going on between Mr. Barron and this Mr. V can’t exactly be good, can it?” I have already realized that something illegal has to be going on, and right now Jason hardly looks innocent.

“You haven’t told your dad, then?” she questions cautiously.

“Of course not, are you crazy? If I told him one of my friends is possibly mixed up in something illegal he’d probably lock me up in the tower for the rest of my life!” I exclaim.

“Um, what tower?” she asks.

“There is no tower, Alexa,” I sigh.

“Oh right, metaphorically speaking,” she murmurs.

Silence falls between us, and it comes back again, the fear that I can’t shake.

“What about the text?” Alexa asks suddenly.

“What about it? It’s a mess, it must be a glitch in my phone or his is broken. It’s completely unreadable,” I explain.

“Send it to me?” she requests.

I take the phone from my ear and forward the message to her phone. Seconds later I hear her sigh.

“You’re right, it is a mess,” she mutters.

“It figures. He never did like texting much, probably because of that old, crappy phone he has,” I say.

“Either that or his phone is broken and sending out screwed up messages.”

Silence again.

“Wait, what if it’s a code?” Alexa exclaims suddenly.

“What do you mean a code? Like a secret message?” I’m instantly skeptical.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says enthusiastically.

“What movie were you watching, James Bond?” I accuse.

“Look, you said he might be in trouble, right?”

“Right,” I admit.

“Well, maybe he got your message and sent you a coded text so the bad guys or whoever are chasing him couldn’t see what he was telling you,” she finishes.

As far as I can tell there are about a million holes in this theory.

I sigh. “Yes, but if someone was chasing him he wouldn’t exactly have time to sit down and figure out how to code a text message would he? Also, if it were so important he would have to know I’d be able to read it. Clearly I can’t.”

I know she agrees with me, because she’s silent again while we both attempt to make sense of it all. I take the opportunity to move over to my desk and put my cell on speaker. After that I grab a small notebook and copy the secret message, whatever it is, so I can study it.

“Hang on,” Alexa cuts in suddenly. “You said if he was being pursued he wouldn’t have a chance to come up with some sort of decoded message?”

“Yeah?” I’m not sure what’s she’s getting at.

“What kind of cell phone does Jason have, you said he hates texting because of his phone.”

“He has an old flip phone.” I glance at my own phone, a newer-model smart phone with a full keyboard.

“That’s it!” she exclaims.

Somehow I already know what she’s about to say.

“If you had to send a text quickly on a phone with no keyboard like that, you have to input the letters manually, scrolling through them one by one. It takes forever and it’s a total pain.” She’s speaking quickly now in an excited tone. “So if you want to send a C, you have to press two, three times. If he was sending you this message on the run, he may have not had time to do that.”