Deadfall by Anna Carey Page B

bed and raises both his hands.
    “If you’re going to kill me, just do it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
    REYNOLDS STARES DOWN at the floor. Sweat beads at his temples. “I knew you were going to find me eventually.”
    Salto gets up from the bed. She kept her jeans and sneakers on, hidden beneath the blanket. She closes the door.
    “You’re Richard Reynolds,” Ben says. “You supplied the memory drug to AAE.”
    The doctor doesn’t respond, but the muscles in his jaw tense. He sits down on the edge of the bed and rests his head in his hands. “At least it’s over.”
    “What do you mean, ‘it’s over’?” Ben asks. “Nothing is over.”
    He raises his chin, and you see his eyes are red. “I’ve just known someone was coming for me. I worried I’d be with my kids, that my wife might be there and—”
    “We’re not going to kill you,” you interrupt, “We need toknow about the hunters. Where you met them and how we can find them.”
    Reynolds studies Salto in her medical gown, in the jeans with stains on the front. He eyes your ripped hoodie. The white sneakers you woke up in are now a dull gray, your hair in a tangled braid. His eyes dart to the watch Rafe wears on his right wrist.
    “You’re the kids, then,” he says. “I didn’t recognize you.”
    “Why would you?” Rafe asks.
    “Some of you were here for the trials.” He gives Rafe’s knife a quick glance.
    “Here? In this hospital?” You look at Salto and Rafe—neither of them seemed to remember it.
    “No, somewhere else.”
    “You have to be more specific than that,” Rafe says, anger rising in his voice. “We don’t have a lot of time. AAE—who runs it? Who brought you in? We need names, addresses.”
    “I don’t know anything about the hunters—I only worked with the targets.” Reynolds’s eyes flick back and forth between you and Rafe.
    “Bullshit,” Ben says. “Who was responsible for the hunters when they came back from the island? Broken bones, gashes, cuts. Who was treating them if you weren’t?”
    The man looks away. Rubs his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t know, kid. I’m a neurologist —I haven’t done that sort of thing since med school.”
    As he says those last words, his tone rises, almost cheerful. You know he’s lying. “Why would they use other doctors when they have you? You were already being paid.”
    “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I don’t understand everything about AAE.”
    Your eyes meet Rafe’s. “Why should we believe that?”
    “You don’t have to believe it.”
    Rafe lunges forward. The man flinches, bringing his arm up instinctually. Rafe grabs his hair, yanking his head back so his throat is exposed. He presses the knife against his Adam’s apple. “That is not an answer.”
    “Okay, okay. Look—I’ll tell you what I know. Someone get him off me.”
    “Rafe . . . don’t hurt him,” you say, watching how close Rafe is, the blade pushing against the skin, about to draw blood. He’s holding the knife so tightly his knuckles are white. Finally he steps back, letting the doctor go.
    Reynolds continues, “There’s one guy who’s the head of it. But I don’t even know his real name, and I don’t know where he lives. I don’t make arrangements to see them—they decide when we meet. They decide everything.”
    “What does he call himself? What does he look like?” Ben asks.
    The man rubs his temples. “What’s going to happen to me after this?”
    “What’s going to happen to you ?” Rafe says, his voicebreaking. “Are you kidding me, guy? She doesn’t know where she lived or anything about her life before,” he says, pointing to you. “Some men gave you money to help kids forget things so they’d be easier to kill. You can just stop the self-pitying bullshit. You need to start telling us the truth. Real things, things that are actually gonna help us.”
    “Is there a drug that reverses the memory loss?” you ask.
    “No,” Reynolds says,