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  His response didn’t fill me with confidence. And despite his sense of hope at possibly finding what he wanted, I could also sense an uncertainty, fear even, under his skin. He was as much a captive as we were. He was doing what he needed to do to satisfy others higher up the criminal food chain. That didn’t make it all right, but it made things easier to understand.

  “Why now?” I tilted my head. “Why didn’t you try to find me or my family and the money before, all those years ago?”

  “During that media-fuelled investigation?” He scoffed. “Put ourselves at risk? Got the hell out of town is what we did. Found other work, other money. But now…” He wrung his hands. “Let’s just say, thanks to the incompetence of my brother, we’re in a bit of a pickle. And there are people who want money, like, yesterday. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” He raised his palms. “I’m sure you understand.”

  “Nothing can make what you’ve done—what you’re doing—okay,” Marco said. “And you’ll get caught,” he said.

  “Not likely.” Sean said. “What, have you had another psychic vision?”

  “Don’t need one.” He stood strong, arms crossed, the roundness of his biceps popping out like they were preparing for a fight. “I just don’t think you’re as smart as you’d like us to believe.”

  Sean stepped close to Marco. “You want me to hurt you? Because I will. I can.”

  The two men eyed each other, not budging. Marco knew, and I knew, that they wouldn’t hurt Marco unless his information was wrong, or until they’d found the money, in case they needed him to give more insight.

  Sean retreated, turned away with a yawn, and walked up the stairs with his spindly legs. He opened the door and said to Brent, “Wake me in thirty. Stand by the basement door, got it?”

  “Got it.”

  Our door closed, followed by a door somewhere else in the cabin.

  “We don’t have much time,” Marco said. “We have to figure out a plan.”

  “Wait,” I angled my head up toward the stairs. I could hear voices from the television. I tiptoed up the stairs, and Marco followed. “They’re talking about us!” I whispered. The news was reporting our disappearance, and asking viewers to call a hotline if they saw us. I was surprised they didn’t take the opportunity to ask why the Iris Harbor Teen Psychic hadn’t predicted her own kidnapping. I wished I could see what was on the screen, but all I heard was that our belongings had been found outside the building our art class was held in, and that the area was cordoned off as a crime scene. According to the media, the police didn’t have any leads. But I knew they would be looking into Sean Bolt, considering they had been trying to find him anyway, and the fact that my dad had mentioned his name in his letter.

  It made me sick to think of how my family was feeling. I knew how they were feeling because I could feel it, the frustration that, without me, they couldn’t connect properly in order to find out clues. They would have to rely on old-fashioned investigation, unless Mom suddenly got her abilities back for some reason or Dad’s ghost appeared to Savannah and told her everything.

  But me, I had Marco. The tables had turned. I had been the one in the spotlight, the so-called town psychic, but the title was better suited to him. I was a Delta Girl, not really a psychic. There was a difference.

  “Do you think the money will be where you told them to go?”

  “It felt right,” he said. “But I can’t always request certain things. I see what my guides want me to see.”

  “Guides?”

  “Yeah. Spirit guides. Helpers from the other realm assigned to certain people. You’ve probably got them too without realizing. If we get… when we get out of here, I’ll teach you how to tune into them sometime.”

  “That sounds cool.” I smiled.

  Marco put his hand against the basement door.

  “What are you doing?” I thought for a moment he was going to try to open it.

  He just held his hand there for a moment. “There’s a spare gun, on the table near the front door,” he said.

  “You can sense that?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  I put my hand on the door too. Nothing. “But what good does that do us if we can’t get past this door?”

  “I don’t know. But if I’ve seen it, it might be relevant. So if somehow we get out, go straight for the table.”

  I nodded.

  “We should look around again, see if there’s anything else that might help us.” Marco stopped. “Hang on. If we could just get one of them to trip and fall, we might be able to run out the door.” He stepped back up to the first step, then toed a jagged bit, testing it.

  “But unless we trip them, or they happen to stumble, it’s probably not going to work.”

  “Hmm.” Marco glanced around. “I doubt Sean will be back in here until he hears from that other guy once he’s been to the cemetery. And Brent might just poke his head in to check.” Marco scooted down the stairs and went to a shelf. He picked up a container, tipped a small amount of something into his palm, then his eyes lit up. “Some kind of oily cleaning solution.” He went back to the stairs. “If we put some of this on that step, whoever walks in might go for a little ride.” He tipped a little out onto the corner of the bottom step, where no one would be likely to step, and tested it with his foot. His shoe glided smoothly over it. “I think it could work.”

  “So should we put it on the top step now? Or do we wait and see?”

  Marco nibbled his bottom lip. “If we put it on and they both come in, but only one slips, then they’ll know we messed with it and that might make matters worse for us. But if one comes in and falls, we may have a chance at getting past them. We just have to be able to get the gun so we can have a chance of getting out.”

  “But they’ll have guns too, and they know how to use them.”

  “True. But maybe Sean put it on the table when he left the basement before and went off for his nap. Or maybe it’s just a spare. I don’t know. Either way, I have to trust the vision. If I’ve seen the gun, we need to go for it.”

  This was all becoming too intense. I didn’t know if I was ready for all of this. Yes, I wanted to get out and would try anything, but how things would unfold was uncertain, and uncertainty was not my friend.

  “We could wait here on the stairs until we hear them unlocking the door, then tip the oil just before they come in. Or we could do it now, and then it’s done. But once they come in, there’s no going back. They’ll either fall, or notice the oil before they do.”

  “What if they step on it but don’t slip?”

  Marco studied the container in his hands, as though there might be instructions on the label for how to make someone fall over using the product. “We should wait on the stairs anyway, and knock them over when they open the door,” he said quietly.

  “Push them?”

  “Or hit them with something. Even just the door. Or a bottle.” He eyed the shelves. “Grab something. And something made of glass. Let’s break it and keep a sharp piece in our pockets in case we need another weapon.”

  I was concerned about breaking glass—what if they heard and came in to see what had happened? But Marco must have read my mind. “Let’s wrap something glass in one of the shirts, take it into the bathroom, and break it in the sink. If anything goes wrong we could just say we were trying to fill it up with water so we could drink from it but it slipped and broke.”

  “Good idea.” I scanned the shelves and picked up a small glass jar. I grabbed another item, a narrow bottle that could be used to hit someone over the head, and held them up. Marco nodded. He followed me into the bathroom with a shirt, wrapped the jar in it, then tapped it tentatively against the sink.

  “Might need to do it a bit harder.”

  “I know, just testing how loud it might be to see if Brent turns the TV volume down.”

  But the TV was still blaring.

  Marco tapped the glass harder, then gave it one sharp whack, resulting in th
e high-pitched sound of splintering glass. Quickly, he unwrapped the shirt and handed me one of the shards. “Careful,” he said. He tore the pocket from the shirt. “Here, wrap it in this.”

  I slipped it into my pocket, and he did the same. Then he pulled out a nearly empty packet of gum. “Forgot I had this.” He held some out.

  I shook my head. “We should save it. In case we can’t get any food later.”

  Marco took half of the gum out and slid it into my hand, taking a moment to cover my hand with his. Our eyes met, but in a flash he diverted his gaze. “Better hide this,” he said, then hid the rest of the broken glass and the shirt in the closet.

  “Now for the oil?” I said.

  He managed a smile, then said, “We make a good team.”

  Marco bent down to reach for the container of oil, but I bent down too and intercepted him. I grasped his hand and entwined my fingers with his. He looked at our fingers, then glanced up into my eyes.

  It was now or potentially never.

  I leaned forward quickly, pushing my lips against his in an urgent gesture I’d never thought I would do. If I had imagined us ever sharing a kiss, I’d imagined it would be slow, sweet, tentative at first. But no. This was an all-or-nothing, this-might-be-the-last-thing-we-ever-do kiss.

  I stumbled forward on bent knees at the intensity, and Marco grasped my shoulders. We stood up together, our lips still seeking each other’s, our bodies close. My hands found their way to his cheeks, and I pressed against his slightly stubbled skin, pulling him even closer to me.

  All the sensations I’d experienced up until now, all the extremes, all the feelings, all faded away into oblivion compared to this. I had never felt anything so strong, so all-encompassing. So right.

  Marco’s arms wrapped completely around my back, crossing over behind me so that one hand was on the side of my waist and the other was rounded over the back of my shoulder. It was like our lips were molding and creating a beautiful clay sculpture, except the creation wouldn’t be seen, but felt.

  I wished our kiss were a magical portal to another world, lifting us up on the wave of bliss and sweeping us off to a faraway place where we would be together, and safe. But it was simply a kiss. A surreal contrast to our situation. And like all kisses, and all good things, it would end.

  Over in a flash.

  The memory fading before it had formed.

  The harsh reality of what we faced ripping away the shreds of any hope we had left. Our first kiss could end up being our last.

  Tears welled in my eyes, and I pushed them back with my hand.

  “Am I that bad a kisser?” Marco whispered against my ear.

  A soft laugh merged onto my tingling lips. “The only bad part was that it had to end,” I said.

  He pressed his lips to mine again with brief but assured pressure. “Then we’ll just have to make sure we keep starting again.”

  We kissed some more, and I allowed myself to live in the moment and take notice of every detail. Not only how it felt, but what it was like with all five senses too. I didn’t need my sisters for this. I only had to tune in and experience the full unfolding pleasure.

  The cabin fell silent, and we broke apart.

  “The TV’s not on,” I said.

  Marco picked up the container, I grabbed the bottle-weapon, and we tiptoed to the stairs. We listened for any sounds of movement, then stepped slowly onto the first step. Then the next.

  Voices blared from the TV again, and my body softened.

  “Must have been channel surfing,” Marco said.

  Brent laughed at something, and laughter echoed from the television show.

  How dare our kidnapper enjoy himself, I thought. “Tip the oil. Let’s get it over with,” I said.

  Marco nodded and inched his way up to the top step. He tipped the container. A thin stream of oily liquid spilled onto the top step, then dribbled like a calm waterfall through the jagged gap onto the second step. Two small puddles settled on each step, and Marco tested it with his fingers, spreading it around a little.

  He placed the container in the corner of the top step, where it would be behind the door when it opened, and I handed him the bottle. He sat on the third step and put the bottle down next to him. I joined him on the fourth, our backs against the wall, our sides touching.

  “I’m sorry again,” he said. “For not telling you my secret. Especially since you revealed yours.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “All that matters is getting out of here.”

  “And finding out about your dad,” he added.

  I nodded, then leaned my head against his shoulder.

  “About that...”

  I lifted my head and turned it to look at him. “Do you know something?”

  “Part of the reason I didn’t tell you about my abilities earlier was because I wanted to have more information for you first. I didn’t want to say, ‘Hey, I’m psychic! But I can’t help you find your dad, sorry.’ People tend to expect miracles when they find out what I can do. I’ve helped people, but it’s not always that easy.”

  “It’s okay. I understand that.”

  “I know you do.” He squeezed my hand. “Anyway, when I touched your dad’s handmade bracelet, I saw something.”

  Ahh. I thought he had seemed a little funny in that moment.

  “A car. A burnt car.”

  Oh my God. “We’ve seen that too. I mean Savannah has.”

  “And you sculpted it, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure it has something to do with your dad, but that’s all I know. Sorry. I wish I knew more.”

  I put my hand on top of his. “I wish that all the time.” He lifted his fingers up between mine, inviting them to entwine with his. “You knew something bad was going to happen tonight, didn’t you.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t know what. I just had a bad feeling about being outside near the parking lot. That’s why I suggested going back inside.”

  “Thought so. Wish I’d listened to you.”

  “We didn’t exactly have much time. It all happened so fast.”

  “Marco, I…” I looked at his eyes. “If things get worse, if we don’t…” I lowered my gaze. “If we don’t get another chance, I just wanted to say that I think you’re really special. I wish we’d gotten to know each other more.”

  His finger raised my chin until my eyes met his. “We will get another chance. Don’t say goodbye now.”

  “I’m just being realistic.”

  “I know. And I’m glad you feel that way about me. I feel the same. In fact, I’d love to ask you out on a proper date, but I’m not going to.”

  I tilted my head. “Oh?” Maybe reality was catching up with him, and he knew there was no hope.

  “I’m going to wait until we’re both out of here and safe. Back home with our families. Then I’ll ask you out.” He leaned in and nudged my side with his shoulder.

  Oh.

  “Something to look forward to.” He smiled.

  “Do you think I’ll say yes? I mean, you seem pretty confident.” I nudged him back.

  “I’ll take my chances,” he replied with a shrug.

  We sat silent for a while, listening for any changes in the cabin. Then, as my mind drifted and sleepiness washed over me again, I asked, “What’s your favorite color, Marco?”

  “Color? Why do you ask?”

  “Dunno. Guess I’m sussing out whether I want to go on a date with you if you ever ask me. I mean, if I’m not a fan of your favorite color, I just don’t think it’ll work.”

  He chuckled. “Hmm, okay, well here goes.” He took a deep breath and gripped my hand as though petrified with fear about my response. “Dark blue. Like that color when daytime becomes nighttime, and it’s not quite black, but it’s not sky blue either. Midnight blue? I’m not sure what to call it.”

  I nodded slowly, envisioning the color.

  “Well, the color I like probably doesn’t even have a name. It�
��s a pinky, orangey, reddish color, like the one when a sunset is just forming but it’s not quite a sunset yet. Watermelon? Peach? I don’t know what to call it either.”

  “So we both like almost-colors.”

  “But not the same almost-color.”

  “Does that mean I’ve failed the favorite-color-date-potential test?”

  I tapped my chin, pretending to think. “Although we don’t share the same favorite color, they are both colors seen in the sky. So maybe my favorite color would not be my favorite color if it weren’t for the dark, midnight almost-blue it has as its backdrop.”

  “And maybe my favorite color would not be my favorite color if it weren’t for the pinky, orangey, reddish almost-sunset that eventually forms and allows the midnight blue to develop afterwards.”

  “True,” I said. Then I leaned close to him and touched his lips with mine. “You passed,” I whispered, kissing him again. He gently held the side of my face with his hand, his warmth spreading throughout my body, and I allowed the moment to take me away again, more slowly this time. His kisses moved to my cheek, tingled across my jawline, and then just below, on my neck. Each breath of his that washed over my skin calmed me, supported me. My arms held onto his back and his held onto mine, and I nestled into his side and rested my head in the crook of his neck. We didn’t move, didn’t talk, didn’t need anything more in that moment. We just stayed together like that as time passed, in what we both knew could be our last peaceful moments.

  I heard Sean talking to Brent, the television still on. Naptime was over. I expected Sean to come in to check on us, and Marco and I stood ready and waiting behind the door just in case, bottle-weapon at the ready. But he didn’t come.

  Still we waited.

  Marco double checked the oil and tipped out a little more.

  A phone rang.

  Sean’s voice sounded from the cabin, and we leaned close to the door to listen. His voice wasn’t totally clear; it varied in volume as though he were walking around the cabin. But then he said, “You’re kidding,” and I knew in that moment that everything would change. “You’ve actually got it?” I heard him say into the phone.

  The television went off.