probably wasn’t any note, the guys were long gone, and we were screwed. A ray of sunshine, our Victoria.
But after moaning about not having lifted breath mints or a hairbrush or breakfast she did rise and help me.
We’d been searching for about a half hour when Tori said, loud enough to be heard by anyone walking past the windows, “The taggers in this town really have too much time on their hands.”
I hurried over to shush her. “Taggers?”
She waved at the surrounding stacks of crates and I saw what she meant. A crate in every stack had been tagged with graffiti. “My dad’s store gets hit every month, but he never had one this fancy.”
She pointed to one almost hidden in shadow. Where the others were typical tags—nicknames and symbols—this was a sketch in black marker of a teenage guy with a paw print tattoo on his cheek, brandishing Wolverine-like claws.
I grinned. “Simon.” When Tori gave me a
huh?
look, I said, “It’s Simon.”
“Uh, no. It’s a guy with a paw on his face.”
“It’s Simon’s
work
. This is one of his comic-book characters.”
“I knew that.”
“Help me lift the crate.”
She didn’t move. “Why?”
“Because the note”—I heaved the top crate off by myself—“will be under it.”
“Why would he put—?”
Sure enough, under the crate was a folded piece of paper. We both grabbed for it. I won.
Simon had drawn three pictures. In the top left corner, like a salutation, was a ghost. The middle had a big sketch of Arnold Schwarzenegger as the
Terminator
. The third in place of a signature, was a lightning bolt surrounded by fog. Beside the drawing, someone had scrawled in inch-high letters
10 A.M
.
Tori snatched it from me and turned it over. “So where’s the message?”
“Right there.” I pointed from picture to picture. “It says: Chloe, I’ll be back, Simon.”
“Okay, that’s just weird. And what’s that mean?” She pointed to the time.
“That would be Derek, making sure I know
when
they’ll be back.”
“Only once a day?”
“Every time they sneak in here, it’s a big risk. Anyway, the time isn’t really important. If I pick up the message, Derek will smell me. He can follow my trail.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Like a dog?”
“Cool, huh?”
“Uh, no.” She made a face. “So they weren’t kidding about him being a werewolf. Explains a lot, don’t you think?”
I shrugged and checked my watch. “We’ve got just over an hour to wait, so—” I swore under my breath, making Tori arch her brows in mock-surprise.
“We can’t let the guys come back,” I said, “not with that Edison Group guard patrolling.”
There wasn’t an Edison Group guard patrolling. There were two. I sent Liz to check all possible entry points. She returned, naming four: the main gate, the front delivery gate, the back delivery gate, and the entire surrounding fence.
I doubted Derek would climb the fence again. He’d be exposed up there where anyone could see him. If I were him, I’d pick the same entry point as the Edison Group had yesterday—that rear gate.
But I also knew Derek well enough to admit that I
didn’t
know him well enough to guess his strategy with any real confidence. So we had to split up and cover all three entrances. I needed to stay close to Liz, so she could communicate with me. That meant Tori got the back. I could only pray she’d actually remember to watch.
By nine thirty we were in position. The factory yard was at the edge of a residential area—a neighborhood of older homes including, a block away, Lyle House. Derek and I had come this way Saturday night when we escaped and I still remembered the general layout. The roads ran north-south, with the factory yard down at the southern end.
My spot was across the street from the factory, behind one of the end houses. No one was home—the driveway was empty and the windows dark.
I crouched behind a shed watching the front delivery gate, ready to whistle at
But after moaning about not having lifted breath mints or a hairbrush or breakfast she did rise and help me.
We’d been searching for about a half hour when Tori said, loud enough to be heard by anyone walking past the windows, “The taggers in this town really have too much time on their hands.”
I hurried over to shush her. “Taggers?”
She waved at the surrounding stacks of crates and I saw what she meant. A crate in every stack had been tagged with graffiti. “My dad’s store gets hit every month, but he never had one this fancy.”
She pointed to one almost hidden in shadow. Where the others were typical tags—nicknames and symbols—this was a sketch in black marker of a teenage guy with a paw print tattoo on his cheek, brandishing Wolverine-like claws.
I grinned. “Simon.” When Tori gave me a
huh?
look, I said, “It’s Simon.”
“Uh, no. It’s a guy with a paw on his face.”
“It’s Simon’s
work
. This is one of his comic-book characters.”
“I knew that.”
“Help me lift the crate.”
She didn’t move. “Why?”
“Because the note”—I heaved the top crate off by myself—“will be under it.”
“Why would he put—?”
Sure enough, under the crate was a folded piece of paper. We both grabbed for it. I won.
Simon had drawn three pictures. In the top left corner, like a salutation, was a ghost. The middle had a big sketch of Arnold Schwarzenegger as the
Terminator
. The third in place of a signature, was a lightning bolt surrounded by fog. Beside the drawing, someone had scrawled in inch-high letters
10 A.M
.
Tori snatched it from me and turned it over. “So where’s the message?”
“Right there.” I pointed from picture to picture. “It says: Chloe, I’ll be back, Simon.”
“Okay, that’s just weird. And what’s that mean?” She pointed to the time.
“That would be Derek, making sure I know
when
they’ll be back.”
“Only once a day?”
“Every time they sneak in here, it’s a big risk. Anyway, the time isn’t really important. If I pick up the message, Derek will smell me. He can follow my trail.”
Her nose wrinkled. “Like a dog?”
“Cool, huh?”
“Uh, no.” She made a face. “So they weren’t kidding about him being a werewolf. Explains a lot, don’t you think?”
I shrugged and checked my watch. “We’ve got just over an hour to wait, so—” I swore under my breath, making Tori arch her brows in mock-surprise.
“We can’t let the guys come back,” I said, “not with that Edison Group guard patrolling.”
There wasn’t an Edison Group guard patrolling. There were two. I sent Liz to check all possible entry points. She returned, naming four: the main gate, the front delivery gate, the back delivery gate, and the entire surrounding fence.
I doubted Derek would climb the fence again. He’d be exposed up there where anyone could see him. If I were him, I’d pick the same entry point as the Edison Group had yesterday—that rear gate.
But I also knew Derek well enough to admit that I
didn’t
know him well enough to guess his strategy with any real confidence. So we had to split up and cover all three entrances. I needed to stay close to Liz, so she could communicate with me. That meant Tori got the back. I could only pray she’d actually remember to watch.
By nine thirty we were in position. The factory yard was at the edge of a residential area—a neighborhood of older homes including, a block away, Lyle House. Derek and I had come this way Saturday night when we escaped and I still remembered the general layout. The roads ran north-south, with the factory yard down at the southern end.
My spot was across the street from the factory, behind one of the end houses. No one was home—the driveway was empty and the windows dark.
I crouched behind a shed watching the front delivery gate, ready to whistle at
Similar Books
