Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [139]
Kneeling down, I give her a tiny kiss on her forehead. “Viv . . .”
“Shh,” she says, refusing to listen. “Say a prayer with me.”
“What? Now? You know I don’t believe in—”
“Just once,” she pleads. “One little prayer. My last favor.”
With no choice, I lower my head. Viv’s is already down. She grabs my hands as I close my eyes. It doesn’t do any good. My mind’s racing too fast, and then . . . as the silence seeps in . . . God, please take care of Viv Parker. That’s all I ask. I’m sorry for everything else . . . My brain empties, and my eyes stay shut.
“Now was that so bad?” Viv asks, breaking the quiet.
I shake my head. “You’re an amazing person, Vivian. And you’re gonna make a great Senator one day.”
“Yeah, well . . . I’m still gonna need a great chief of staff.”
It’s a sweet joke, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I haven’t felt this bad since my dad died. I feel the pregnant lump at the center of my throat. “I’ll be fine,” I promise, forcing a smile.
Before Viv can argue, I pull the blanket over her head, and she disappears from sight. Just another hidden propane tank. Convincing myself she’s safe, I go for the tools, searching for a weapon. Needle-nose pliers . . . electrical tape . . . a tape measure . . . and a box of industrial razor blades. I grab the razor blades, but as I flick open the box, the blades are gone. Needle-nose pliers it is.
Darting deeper into the room, I clang the pliers against the side of every metal machine I pass and make as much noise as possible. Anything to keep Janos moving past Viv. I keep telling myself this is the best way to protect her. Stop the ride and let her off. As I turn the corner behind an enormous air-conditioning unit, there’s a scraping sound back by the door. Italian shoes skid to a stop.
Janos is here. Viv is hidden. And I’m ducked behind a metal grille that comes up to my chin. I pound the grille, pretending to hit it by accident. Janos starts running. C’mon, Viv, I say to myself, mouthing a final silent prayer. Now’s your chance . . .
74
THE SCRATCHY, STAINED army blanket reeked from a mixture of sawdust and kerosene, but as Viv ducked her head between her knees and shut her eyes, the smell was the last of her worries. Tucked underneath the olive green cloak, she could hear the scratching of Janos’s shoes as he entered the room. From the noise Harris was making—banging on what sounded like sheet metal in the distance—she figured Janos would run. And for a few steps, he did. Then he stopped. Right in front of her.
Holding her breath, Viv did her best to remain motionless. Instinctively she opened her eyes, but the only thing she could see was the tip of her right foot sticking out from underneath the blanket. Was it covered up, or was that what Janos was looking at? As a slow grumble rippled through the air, Janos pivoted slightly, bits of concrete grinding beneath the tips of his shoes. Knowing better than to move, Viv gripped her knees, digging her nails into her own shins.
“Hurry . . . !” Harris whispered in the distance, his voice echoing down the concrete hall.
Janos stopped, twisting back toward the sound.
Viv knew it was Harris’s lame way to distract, but as Janos started running, it was clearly working.
Counting to herself, Viv was careful not to rush it. Don’t move an eyebrow until he’s long gone. Once again, she held her breath—not just to hide, but to take in every sound. The rumble of the air-conditioning units . . . the buzz of the overhead lights . . . and most important of all, the light rasp of Harris’s footsteps fading in the distance . . . and the gnawing, quick shuffle of Janos’s shoes as he gave chase right behind him.
Even when they were out of earshot, Viv still took another few seconds, just to be safe. Finally peeking out from below the blanket, she scanned the entryway. Nothing anywhere. Just some garbage cans and her fellow propane tanks. With a