Scarlett Undercover (14 page)

T
hat was sweet.”

Nuala stepped out from behind the wall next to the security gate. I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere.

“Perfect timing.” Deck opened the truck’s passenger door. “Let’s go.”

I reached past him and grabbed my backpack from the front seat. “You two go ahead. I’ll meet you at Calamus.”

“No way.” Deck tried to steer me toward the seat. “It was dangerous enough coming here. We’ve gotta get you safe.”

According to my phone, I had thirteen hours and
change to find Solomon’s ring. I didn’t know if I could do it, didn’t even know if Gemma was still alive. All I had to go on was faith, and that had never been my strong suit. Still, there were two things I did know for sure. The first was that anyone I cared about would be better off without me around. The second was that I cared about Deck. A lot.

It was time to fly solo again.

“All right.” I made myself sound huffy, mostly for show. “Just let me go to the bathroom first.”

“Nope.” Deck snatched me back as I started for the entrance. “We’re leaving.”

“I have to
go
,” I said. “It’s not negotiable.”

“Fine. I’ll come with you.”

He started toward the door. I stood firm.

“You do understand why it’s called the
ladies’
room, don’t you, Deck?” I said.

He didn’t laugh.

Nuala rolled her eyes and pushed me forward. “For fek’s sake!
I’ll
take her. You stay with the dog.”

Deck wasn’t happy with the arrangement. I could see it in the uneasy way he leaned toward me, the way his hands clenched, unclenched, and clenched again. But he let the deal stand, which would have been great
if the whole point of me going inside hadn’t been to get away from both of them.

“There’s a boy,” Nuala said, pushing me toward the hospital by the shoulders. “We’ll be back before you know we’re gone.”

As soon as the automatic doors slid shut behind us, her grip clamped down on me, hard enough to hurt. “Couldn’t you have come up with anything better than going to the jacks, love? I thought you were cleverer than that.”

I gave her a look like I didn’t know what she meant and scanned the hall for escape routes. We were in a quiet wing of the hospital, away from patient rooms and the ER. Most of the doors were shut. Ditching Nuala wasn’t going to be easy.

“What I don’t understand is why you want to be on your own so badly,” she went on. “The Children of Iblis aren’t to be trifled with. You’re much safer with us around.”

I asked her if she’d seen a sign for the bathroom yet. She stopped short and spun me toward her.

“Don’t play games, girl.” The jagged temper she’d shown at Calamus cut through her maternal act like a razor blade through skin. “Neither of us deserves to be
treated like a little girl lost. It’s insulting enough when men do it. I won’t have it from you.”

She never raised her voice or loosened her grip. Nuala could be scary as hell, and I respected her for it.

“There’s something I have to do. Alone,” I said.

“That’s better.” She let go of my arm. “Now tell me what it is.”

“The Children of Iblis kidnapped the girl I’m trying to help. I have to find her.”

She waited for me to keep going. I waited for her to realize I was done.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” she asked.

“Almost never.”

“Answer the question and don’t smart off.”

I shrugged. “No. Not exactly. But I’m going to improvise the best I can.”

She folded her arms and took a step back. “In that case, I’ll not stop you.”

Since surprises so rarely went my way, I wasn’t a fan. But this one was as welcome as French fries at fat camp.

“What are you going to tell Decker?” I asked.

“You’d be surprised what a good liar I can be.” There was a hint of sadness in her smile.

I hesitated.

“What, then?” she said. “Did you want a hug? A pat on the head?”

I shook my head and walked, alone, down the hall, until a nagging tug in my gut made me look back.

“Nuala?”

“What?”

“Take care of him for me. Please.”

She smiled, slow and knowing, and gave me a wink. “Don’t you worry about that, love. I’ve a knack for taking care of boys. I’ve done it all my life.”

T
he cabbie who picked me up on the opposite side of the hospital drove fast and didn’t talk, which suited me fine. I did my best not to think too much about what might be happening to Gemma, and worked on amping myself up enough to walk straight into the mouth of hell on earth.

Hammett House.

Hammett was where they sent the bad kids. The ones who’d screwed up three times too many and burned through the benevolence of even the nicest juvy court judges. In Las Almas, you weren’t afraid of the bogeyman; you were afraid of going to Hammett.
And I probably would have ended up there myself if Emmet hadn’t pointed out a different path and booted me down it.

I sure as hell never thought I’d walk in under my own steam. But Hammett was the last card I had left to play—more than a hunch, infinitely less than a sure thing. Quinn Johnson had risked breaking into the Archer Construction trailer for nothing but junk mail and an unopened letter. According to Sam, the letter was useless. And Gemma had taught me, toot sweet, that I should listen when little kids talked.

That left one thing, one little, shreddable thing, that Quinn might have taken with him to the grave: an envelope, stamped with a Hammett House return address.

From the outside, Hammett looked like something straight out of a Gothic novel. Its stone walls ringed a full city block and rose so high that only turret peaks showed over the top of them. Once upon a time, when this was a central part of town, Hammett had been the state’s best mental hospital. A real showcase for cutting-edge treatments like forced ice water baths and lobotomies. But the city had expanded south, leaving the old building to be swallowed up by factories and warehouses that sprang up on the cheap land around it.

My driver stopped at the end of the long main driveway. I stared at the lion heads snarling down from both sides of the wrought-iron gate in front of us.

“Symbolism’s a bitch, ain’t it?” I said.

“Fourteen fifty,” was the cabbie’s response.

I paid him. Got out. Watched him pull away. Then forced myself to hit the intercom button.

“We’re not expecting any deliveries today,” a crackly woman’s voice said through the speaker.

“That’s okay,” I answered. “I don’t have any.”

“What?”

“I said I don’t have any deliveries. I’d like to talk to whoever is in charge, please.”

“What is this in regards to?”

“My name is Scarlett. I’m trying to help a young girl in a very difficult situation, and I think someone on your staff might have information that could help me.”

It took a while for the voice to come back.

“I’m sorry. No visitors today.” The intercom went silent and stayed that way.

So much for talk
, I thought, taking a slim leather case out of my backpack. I chose a tension wrench and a pick, slipped the wrench into the old-fashioned keyhole, and wiggled it until I’d figured out which way
the lock’s cylinder turned. Two minutes later the pins were set and the cylinder spun, smooth as a greased merry-go-round.

It was too easy. Any minor-league thief could have done it, and Hammett was built for kids who’d mastered petty larceny before their ABCs.
Don’t think
, I told myself.
Just go
. I took a deep breath and walked inside, past the empty stone guardhouse blocking the view from the street.

Whatever I’d expected to see, the vision in front of me wasn’t it.

Hammett sat at the top of a thick, sloping lawn dotted with shade trees and white Adirondack chairs. There were no armed guards, no isolation sheds, no attack dogs on patrol. The main building looked more like an Ivy League college than a prison. Blue-striped awnings shaded its windows. Tennis courts and basketball hoops sat off to the right, and beyond that was a big swimming pool with a slide.

A goddamned slide.

As I watched, a mismatched pair of inmates in jeans and sweatshirts came around the corner carrying conspicuously threatening garden tools. The scarier of the two wasn’t much older than me, but had me beat by
a hundred pounds and probably a half dozen assault charges. He might have been bigger and meaner, but thanks to the nasty scar running from his temple to his chin, at least I was prettier.

“You ain’t supposed to be here,” he said when they reached me. He sounded like he knew how to hurt people and enjoyed doing it.

“I need to talk to whoever runs this place,” I said.

He looked me up and down, waited for me to squirm. I didn’t squirm easy.

“It’s not visiting day,” he said once he’d figured out the score.

I smiled. Repeated my request.

“Sister don’t want company,” he said.

Our conversation had stalled, so I turned to the brown-haired girl at his side, hoping I’d have better luck with her. She had a belly the size of a soccer ball, a pickax in her hand, and the look of someone used to being underestimated.

“Will you take me to Sister?” I asked.

The big guy started to say something, but the girl shut him down with a look.

“Why?” she asked.

“Is she inside?”

“Sister’s wherever she wants to be.” The girl’s index finger tapped the handle of her pickax. “People don’t mess with her,” she said. “Or William messes with them.”

The Neanderthal with the shovel grunted. Apparently, he was William. Apparently, he agreed.

“I don’t want to mess with anyone,” I told her. “I just need help.”

Her finger kept tapping. Bluesy trumpet music came from one of the building’s upstairs windows.

“Sister likes to help people. William doesn’t.” The girl’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not for me,” I said. “It’s for a little girl who’s in trouble. Bad trouble.”

She thought about that awhile, motioned for William to move behind me. “Come on, let’s go,” she said, and took off toward the main building at a fast, pregnant waddle.

I flashed William one of my finest smiles, the kind nobody could resist. “Shall we?” I asked.

William slid his hand down the shovel’s handle, aimed its business end at my gut.

“Tough crowd,” I said, and got moving before he felt the need to help me along.

We passed through a big, shiny kitchen, complete with a cooling rack full of fresh-baked bread and a tiny woman piling sheets of lasagna noodles into pans that could have doubled as bathtubs.

“
Todo está bien
, Trini,” the pregnant girl said when she looked up. Trini shrugged and went back to her pasta.

Beyond the kitchen was a cheery yellow dining room filled with round wooden tables and a sideboard loaded with snacks.

“Come on.” The girl looked back impatiently. I was gawking and dawdling like a tourist.

“Is it always like this?” I asked, brushing my fingertips over a basket of green apples.

“Like what?”

“Nice.”

“We’re criminals, you know, not animals.” She sounded insulted.

“Criminals, huh?” I smiled.

“You think that’s funny?” William growled.

“No, William,” I said. “I don’t think that’s funny at all. Do you?”

William’s forehead wrinkled. I felt bad for the guy. Thinking probably wasn’t something he had to do very often.

“Got a name?” I asked the girl.

“Of course,” she said. Her tough act was wavering.

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Gaby. My name’s Gaby.”

Gaby didn’t look defensive anymore. She looked young and a little scared and not nearly as bad as she wanted people to think she was. I sympathized.

“Good to know you, Gaby. I’m Scarlett.”

She shifted onto her heels and put her hands over her belly.

“You know,” I said, “I’ve always been afraid of this place. But it’s nice. Really nice. There aren’t even bars on the windows.”

“Sister had them removed,” Gaby said. “ ’Cause we all know it’s better in here.”

“Better than what?”

“Where we came from. A lot of our families aren’t real… supportive.”

“I bet a lot of them are assholes,” I said.

That almost made her smile.

I asked her where everyone else was.

“In class,” she answered. “I finished early, and since I’m not supposed to be on my own this close to my due date, William was keeping me company.”

For whatever reason, that made me think of Reem. I wondered if she’d gotten enough sleep between shifts, if she’d put anything in her stomach besides coffee since I’d seen her last.

“So are you ready to go or what?” Gaby said.

“Sorry. Yeah. This place just has me a little off my game.”

“You and me both,” Gaby said. “C’mon.”

We went up a narrow staircase at the end of the dining room. The trumpet music got louder. It was Miles Davis. Reem’s favorite.
Coincidence
, I thought, reminding myself that I didn’t believe in omens. Especially not good ones.

At the end of the hall, Gaby knocked on a pair of French doors.

“Sister?”

The song ended. A new one started up.

“Sister, I’m sorry to bug you, but there’s a girl here to see you. I don’t know how she got on the grounds. William can get rid of her if you want.”

William took a step closer and breathed down my neck.

“Hello?” Gaby said.

“You okay in there, Sister?” William bellowed.

The knob dropped. The door swung inward.

“I’m fine, William. Thank you.”

It was Sister, only she didn’t look like any nun I knew. In my neighborhood, nuns wore shin-length polyester skirts and support hose. They taught school at St. Rocco’s, ran the food pantry, and gave free piano lessons on weekends. We liked them, they liked us, and if it hadn’t been for their starched white collars and pale blue veils, you’d have thought they were just nice ladies with lousy fashion sense.

This woman was as frumpy as a spread in
Vogue
. From her sharp-cut linen pants and calfskin boots to the broad cuffs of her gauzy blouse, Sister’s whole getup screamed money. Her blond hair was styled in a short, mannish cut, and her skin had the well-tended glow of a woman unwilling to let time decide how far past forty she was going to look. Two chains hung from her neck; one was a cross, the other ended below her collar. Sister was the damnedest nun I’d ever seen.

She tilted her head and studied me calmly. “This is a private facility. You shouldn’t be here.”

It was the voice from the intercom.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but like I told you earlier, I’m trying to help a little girl who’s in a lot of trouble. Do you know about the boy who jumped off the Baker Street Bridge?”

Pain stretched her fine features taut.

“Everyone does. It was a terrible tragedy,” she said, too carefully.

“Did you know he didn’t want to die? That he jumped to protect his little brother?”

Sister went rigid. Gaby rushed toward her. Hell, I moved closer, too, until William yanked me back. The nun was about to pass out.

“You want me to see her out, Sister?”

“No, thank you, William.” Sister’s body steadied. The glassy sheen cleared from her eyes. Gaby whispered something in her ear, and Sister patted her arm.

“Let the young lady go, William,” Sister said. He did.

Gaby whispered something else I couldn’t hear.

“No, dear, I’m fine,” Sister said. “You and William may join the others now.”

William wasn’t happy about that, but he backed off. Sister touched Gaby’s cheek.

“You’re flushed, Gabrielle.”

“I’m fine,” Gaby said.

Sister shook her head. “Go lie down. The doctor said you’re to rest.”

“I have to help William with his math homework.”

“All right.” Sister sounded too tired to argue. “So long as you stay off your feet and take a nap this afternoon.”

Gaby told Sister she would and gave me a look that was more promise than threat.
Don’t you hurt her
, it said.
Or I will hurt you more
.

I offered her my hand. She shook it. We weren’t so different, Gaby and me.

Once the Hammett House welcome wagon was gone, Sister spoke with the kind of enthusiasm people usually saved for cold soup and wet socks.

“I don’t know if I can help you, young lady.”

I took out Quinn’s phone. Showed her the picture of Gemma that Iblis had posted.

“They’re going to kill her, Sister.”

“Well then,” she said, eyes locked on the screen, “I suppose you’d best come inside.”