“Why? If you know I’m guilty, this kid is the only leverage I have.”
Sebastian swallows, and when he speaks, his voice quavers. “If I ever did anything to you, sir, I’m sorry. It was an accident. A mistake. I’d never—”
“Shut up,” Paul says, and Nicole tenses, outrage fairly pulsing from her. Paul continues. “I didn’t even know your name until now, kid. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, so you’re going to help me get out of this. Just be a good boy and pray that Casey here gives a shit about you.”
“Paul, let him go and—”
“If he dies, it’s on you, Casey. Just like that dumb-ass security guard who got me into this mess.”
I don’t ask what he means. I know he’s going to tell me. He’s itching to tell me.
“I used to take hostages all the time,” he says. “It’s the one thing people pay attention to when you’re robbing a bank. Grab some kid or old lady, and suddenly, everyone pays attention. They do what you ask, and no one gets hurt. Not until some doughnut-munching lard-ass security guard decides to be a hero. Then what can I do? If I don’t shoot the hostage, no one’s ever going to take me seriously again. I try not to kill the old lady. I shoot her in the shoulder. That’s what they always show in the movies. That’s even what ol’ Deputy Will taught us. You could cost someone the use of their arm, but it’s a damn sight better than killing them. The problem is when you aim for the shoulder, and they move. Suddenly, I’m not just a bank robber; I’m a killer. That’s when they pay attention. That’s when you get a federal warrant on your head.”
“Agent Garcia found you,” I say. “And you bribed him to let you go.”
His head whips my way.
“He wouldn’t come here alone on a warrant,” I say. “He caught up with you once before. You made a deal with him. But something happened—maybe you stiffed him on his payment when you came up here—and so he followed.”
“I didn’t stiff anyone. I paid Garcia in full, and he’s the one who got me up here. He knew about this place. I paid him to let me go, and I paid him for a contact with Rockton. Then … who the hell knows. Maybe he got greedy and followed. He wanted more.”
“Or he had a change of heart,” I say. “He regretted what he’d done and came up here to make you face justice.”
Paul laughs so hard the knife wavers, and Sebastian shoots me a look, the frightened-kid facade slipping to show the unnervingly mature adult beneath, the one who isn’t terribly concerned about his situation but asks me to please refrain from anything that will get him killed. The look vanishes in a blink, and he starts breathing hard, eyes fluttering.
“L-look,” Sebastian stammers. “I—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Paul says. Then he turns back to me, and in him I also see another person, a stranger now. I have to remind myself that this is the same man I’ve known since I arrived, the eager and helpful militia guy I couldn’t quite rely on, but only because he was prone to screwing up, never because I doubted his loyalty.
No, that isn’t true. I think back to those screwups. To times when Paul disobeyed an order—like when he failed to help me during Roy’s lynch mob—and I should have wondered whether it was truly a failure of nerve or a deeper problem. A lack of commitment to his job. A lack of loyalty to Dalton. We’d known not to put Paul in charge of anything critical, and I think we’d all just been hoping problems were “Paul screwing up … again” rather than anything serious.
Garcia told me his target would have insinuated himself deep in the community, and that’s what Paul had done. He just hadn’t been able to fake full commitment to the task.
“Let’s negotiate,” I say.
“You’re in no position to do that,” Paul says. “You act like you can give orders, but you’re just Eric’s girl. You’re hot, and you’re into him, and he’s taking full advantage of that. As he should.”
I resist the urge to glance behind Paul, where I know Dalton is in the trees, rolling his eyes.
“Maybe,” I say, “or maybe I’m the one taking advantage. You can tell yourself I don’t have power here, but you know I do. As long as I share Eric’s bed, I have power—over him. I am in a position to negotiate, and you’ll get a better deal with me than you would with Eric.”
He doesn’t come back with a rejoinder, which means he sees my point.
“We’re going to trade hostages,” I say.
Paul snorts. “Yeah, no. This skinny kid can barely heave a hatchet. I’ve watched you fight.”
“Which is why I
’m not offering to be your hostage.” I gesture, and his gaze moves to Nicole.
“No,” I say and point his attention downward. “I’ll trade you Sebastian for that rifle. You take the gun and the knife, and you go. You run fast, and you run far. You might even get away.”
“I saw how well that worked for Oliver Brady. No, here’s my version of the deal. I keep this kid, and you give me the keys for the plane. Been a while since I’ve piloted, but I can manage it. I’ll let the kid go in Dawson. I know that’s the nearest town—I’ll find it and leave this kid there. I might even leave him alive, if he behaves—”
Sebastian starts to hyperventilate. “Oh God, no. Please don’t let him take me.” Tears spring to his eyes as his voice quavers. “I-I’m sorry. I just can’t do that. I’ll puke, or I’ll have a panic attack, and he’ll kill me. Give him someone else. Please.”
“For Christ’s sake,” Paul mutters. “Grow a damn backbone, kid, and—”