Page 11 of The Pretenders of Copper County
“What in the seven fucking hells,” Reed muttered like he was talking to himself. But since the only other sound in the world was thetick tick tickof the car’sengine as it cooled, every word carried like a gunshot. “I am going to kill Janissey.”
I didn’t know who Janissey was, but I figured if Reed was busy killing them, he’d be too busy to worry about little old me.
I cracked my eyes open and peered out the side window through my lashes. We seemed to be in a quiet, middle-class suburban neighborhood, not too different from the one where I’d lived with my dad as a kid. The houses were old and a bit run-down—lived-in, Nonna would say—but with tidy yards and flowers on the stoops. Television light glowed through the thin curtains of the house next door. I didn’t see a single thing that could have made Reed so cranky…
Until I turned my head slightly and caught a glimpse of the house directly in front of us.
Thebright pinkhouse in front of us.
It was a two-story, older home with an enclosed porch and no shutters, giving the house a weirdly wide-eyed, unhappy look, and the pink color—which, seriously, not even kidding,glowed in the dark—made it seem like the house was vaguely embarrassed about something.
If I had to guess, that something was probably the flamingoes.
Fake plastic birds were staked across the entire front yard in tidy rows, like a strange crop ready for harvesting. Another flock climbed the trellis on the left side of the house. And one lone bird perched on the roof like it was surveying the neighborhood.
Despite my anxiety about what was supposed to happen now, I found myself fighting the urge to laugh. Weren’t kidnap shacks supposed to be… unobtrusive?
Reed Sunday was definitelya terrible kidnapper.
Beside me, Reed snorted. “You can stop pretending to be asleep now.”
Shoot. I’d forgotten for a moment that I was at least as bad at lying as Reed was at kidnapping. Nicky used to say that he couldn’t tell me anything because I’d tattle without saying a word. But it was annoying that Reed had caught on so quickly. This didn’t bode well for my escape plans.
I groaned loud and long like I was emerging from a deep sleep and stretched out in the seat. I blinked my eyes open innocently. “Oh. Hello.” I pretended to glance around for the first time. “This is quite a place. I can, um, see why you made the effort to bring me all this way.”
Reed shook his head, popped the latch on the door, and stood. I tried and failed not to notice how his shirt rode up when he stretched his arms above his head or how glimpsing the trail of hair there made my blood thrum with something that should have been fear but wasn’t.
“Let’s go.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Or…wouldn’t it be better if we stay out here? It’s a nice night, and the view is—” I gestured toward the lawn. “Colorful?”
“Stop messing around.” He closed his door, darted a glance around the neighborhood, then pulled a backpack and a large duffel from the back seat. “Get inside. You’ll be safe there.”
Would I, though? Reed kept saying things like that—that I was safe, that I’d be fine, that he’d take care of me—and I hated to admit it, but some part of me seemed to believe it, otherwise I knew I’d be a heck of a lot more panicked than I was. Nonna always said I was too trusting. I had to keep reminding myself that if I were really safe, he would’ve turned around and let me go when I asked him to.
Reed pulled open my door impatiently, leaned in tounbuckle my seat belt—good gravy, the man smelled like forests and fresh breezes, which didn’t seem fair at all—then firmly (but surprisingly gently) hauled me out by the elbow. He shut the door, locked the car, and dragged me around the side of the house before I had a chance to take more than a single breath of cool night air.
I licked my lips. Wasn’t there some saying about not allowing your kidnapper to take you into their lair? Actually, I was pretty sure it was actually about not allowing them to get you inside their car, but I’d failed the fudge out of that.
I could practically hear John Ruffian in my head, yelling,Run! Go! This is your chance! in his deep, growly voice. But I was nearly as bad at running as I was at swimming and lying, and I had no doubt Reed would catch me before I made the sidewalk, so I needed to bide my time. To make it seem like I was going along with him and lull him into a false sense of security while I executed a flawless getaway.
Somehow.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” I said politely as Reed located a box on the side of the door and scanned his fingerprint. “I know some people might be concerned about your flamingo obsession, but I think it’s quirky, and quirky things are the best things?—”
“I don’t have a flamingo obsession.” The door lock clicked, and Reed pulled me into the kitchen. He flipped on the light and propelled me into a corner of the kitchen while he made a quick tour of the house, turning on more lights as he went.
It wasn’t until later that I’d realize I could have left then, while he was distracted, but in the moment, I was a little too distracted myself.
There were duckseverywhere.
Ducks danced across the floral border near the ceiling and the curtains that covered the single window. A duck teapot sat on the old-fashioned stove. Ceramic ducks held napkins, salt, and pepper on the warm pine table. From atop the upper cabinets, a phalanx of wooden ducks with bright blue and pink bows around their necks stared down at us accusingly.
“S-so, not a flamingo obsession,” I said faintly when Reed came back into the kitchen, tucking something into the back of his jeans under the hem of his flannel. “But more of an obsession with birds in general? That’s great.Like what you like, that’s what I say. It’s not creepy at all!”
“Huh?” Reed glanced around like he’d never seen the room before, then ran both hands over his face, digging the meat of his palms into his eyes. “Janissey,” he muttered like an oath. Then he dropped his hands and said forcefully, “Ignore the decor. It’s no big deal. What’s important is the house is clear. High-quality door locks with biometrics. Easily defensible. Unbreakable glass on the windows.” He gave the ducks a dubious glance and added, “Though I’m planning to check the whole place over more thoroughly, just to be sure.”
My eyes went wide. Biometric locks? Unbreakable glass? That was… concerning. Okay, more than concerning. It was… low-key psychopathic. Nothing good happened behind biometric locks, I was sure.
