Page 25 of Sweet Deception
The ballerina revolves at a slow clip as the familiar tinkling melody of “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”unspools into my quiet bedroom.
While the music transports me to happier memories—my grandmother brushing my hair before dance classes, putting on new ballet slippers for the first time—my fingers trace the carvings on the side of the box, the same way they did at countless foster homes whenever I had trouble believing that anyone had ever loved me at all.
Which was often.
The music box has several small drawers inside, each lined with felt, and when I pull them out, my grandmother’s old jewelry catches the light. Among the cords, pendants, and rings, a pearl bracelet stands out the most. It’s the one she’d planned on passing on to me for my high school graduation. She died long before I reached that milestone.
The music’s delicate notes have brought me comfort over the years. Times like these, when the weight of my promises threatens to crush—perhaps even paralyze—me, I’m hoping it’ll do its magic once more.
I exhale hard, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease. Not even a little.
My promise to Maya. To Lucy. To myself…
The light outside has faded to almost nothing. The large standing lamp next to my queen-sized bed creates a warm glow, but inside, I’m cold as ice. Horrible scenario after horrible scenario spills through my imagination regarding Lucy’s whereabouts. The harrowing images my mind conjures are so awful that when I start to hear sirens, I think they’re in my head and not outside my building on the street below.
I expect the colored lights to pass, as a fire engine screams down the block, but the blaring doesn’t get quieter. As if Piro’s curious about the noise, too, he climbs across my bed and, with incredible accuracy, leaps onto the windowsill, putting one of his little paws up against the glass. I swear my kitten thinks he’s Batman, out to stop criminals in the night.
Wonder where he gets that from…
I crawl up beside him, but as soon as my eyes connect with the chaos unfolding on the street block below, everything inside my body hardens to stone.
There’s a dizzying amount of purple smoke where my street should be.
Terrorism?
With my heart leaping up into my mouth, I gather Piro in my arms instinctively as my eyes dart down the block and back. As purple smoke drifts through the air, something clicks.
Those weren’t just sirens.
Next, I notice shadowy figures darting behind my building in a coordinated manner. Despite the chaos in the streets,they’re easy to spot. They stand out among coughing, shouting residents, the blaring car alarms, and the lights flashing through the fog. From up here, all the figures look male.
Men. Surrounding my building.
They’re gazing up here now. Tipping their heads back and pointing.
I stumble away from my window and keep retreating until my back’s against the opposite wall.
Those men…are here for me.
Icy dread snakes through my veins. Who are they? How did they find me? Are these the same bastards who took Lucy? The people who threatened Maya? The Kings? Do they know what I did at the wedding?
Repeating my actions from the night I found Piro shivering and near death in the rain, I tuck the little guy down my shirt and use my bra to strap him in. His little face peeks out over the neck of my t-shirt as I dive onto my bed, rip my laptop open, and back up all my work to the cloud.
The nanosecond it’s complete, I stash my hacking laptop in an air vent behind my reading chair, snatch my cell phone off the duvet, and shove it into the pocket of my sweats. I’m one tenth of a second from grabbing the go bag I store under my bed when my front door explodes open. Splinters fly, and the first thing I see is a long metallic barrel.
A gun.
Reflexively, I throw my arm up to protect my face. “Bozhe moy!”
The intruder busts his way into my foyer and stands in the center hallway that connects my kitchen, den, and bedroom. When I drop my arm for a better view, my world implodes.
It’s him.
The man with icy blue eyes sharp enough to draw blood.
A Grecian jawline so statuesque and straight, the rest of the room appears off balance by comparison. His mouth is welded in a frown, and his eyes, well, if looks could kill…
Darren would’ve frozen to the spot.
