And I helped put her there.
I can’t let fear take over. I have to keep calm and find a way out. This is a problem. Work the problem to fix the problem.
When we came in, who else was in the bank other than the teller? I trace it back in my head. There’d been a woman at the front of the line. Red Cap pushed her aside when he started shouting. Now she’s on the floor to my left, her purse tossed a foot away. Gray Cap had come up behind us. He must have been sitting in the waiting area.
My stomach somersaults when I remember that another person was sitting there—a kid. I can’t turn my head enough to see where she ended up, but I glanced at her when I came in.
She’s ten, maybe eleven. Does she belong to the woman up front? She must.
But I’ve got a perfect line of sight on the woman, and she hasn’t even glanced toward the chairs where the kid was.
Okay. Five grown-ups or almost-grown-ups. One kid. Two bank robbers. Two guns at least, maybe more.
Those are bad numbers.
“We want in the basement.” Red Cap keeps shoving his gun in the teller’s face, and it’s not helping. It’s making her more scared, and if he keeps doing it . . .
“Stop shouting.”
It’s the first time Gray Cap’s spoken. His voice is gruff, not like he’s trying to disguise it, but like that’s just the way it is. Like years of living have torn the insides out and all that’s left is a suggestion of a voice. Instantly, Red Cap steps back.
“Get the cameras,” Gray Cap orders. And the one in red scurries through the bank lobby and behind the teller stands, cutting the cords of the security cameras before returning to Gray Cap’s side.
Iris nudges me. She’s watching them as hard as I am. I press back to let her know I see it, too.
The guy in red may have made the first move, but Gray Cap’s the one in charge.
“Where’s Frayn?” Gray Cap asks.
“He’s not here yet,” the teller says.
“She’s lying,” Red Cap scoffs. But he licks his lips. He’s spooked at the thought.
Who’s Frayn?
“Go look,” Gray Cap orders.
Red Cap’s shoes pass by us, and he disappears from the lobby.
I take advantage of the moment, as soon as I’m sure he’s out of sight and Gray Cap’s distracted by the teller, to turn my head to the right. The kid’s under the coffee table in the middle of the waiting area, and even this far away, I can see her shaking.
“The kid,” Wes whispers to me. His eyes are on her, too.
I know, I mouth. I wish she’d meet my eyes, so I could at least shoot her some sort of reassuring look, but she’s got her face pressed against the ugly brown carpet.
Footsteps. Fear kicks up a notch in my chest as Red Cap comes back. “Manager’s office is locked.”
The panic in his voice makes it crack.
“Where is Frayn?” Gray Cap demands again.
“He’s late!” the teller squeaks out. “He had to go get Judy, our other teller. Her car wouldn’t start. He’s late.”
Something’s gone wrong. Whatever they’ve planned, the first step’s been messed up. And when people screw up, in my experience, they do one of two things. They either run or they double down.
For a split second, I think they might run. That we’ll get out of this with nightmares and a story that’ll give us mileage at every party for the rest of our lives. But then, any hope of that gets shattered.
It’s like slow motion. The bank door swings open, and that security guard I’d been wondering about walks in, his hands full of coffee cups.
He doesn’t have a chance. Red Cap—impulsive, shaky, and way too spooked—shoots before the guy can drop the lattes and reach for his stun baton.
The cups fall to the ground. Then so does the guard. Blood blossoms at his shoulder, a small stain that grows bigger by the second.
Things happen in rapid movement, like I’m being sped through a flipbook. Because this is where it gets real. Before the trigger’s pulled, there’s a slim chance of okay-ness you can hold on to.
After? Not so much.
As the guard falls forward, someone—the teller—screams. Wes throws himself toward Iris and me to shield us, and we curl up tight until we’re this muddle of legs and arms and fear and hurt feelings that we really should be putting aside, all things considered . . . and me?
I grab my cell phone. I don’t know if I’ll have another chance. I slide it out of my jeans pocket as Gray Cap swears, stepping past our tangle on his way to disarm the guard and yell at Red Cap. Wes is leaning on it, so I can barely move my arm, but I manage to tap out a message to Lee.
Olive. Five letters. Definitely not my favorite food. Technically a fruit, just like the tomato.
And maybe the key to our freedom. For as long as I’ve known my sister, it’s been our distress code. We are girls who prepare for storms.
Lee will come. My sister always shows up.
And she’ll bring the cavalry.
— 3 —
Phone Call Transcript between Lee Ann O’Malley and Deputy Jessica Reynolds
August 8, 9:18 a.m.
Deputy Reynolds: This is Reynolds.
O’Malley: Jess, it’s Lee. Can you check to see if any silent alarms have been triggered at the bank? The branch on Miller Street, next to the old donut shop that moved last year?
Deputy Reynolds: You on a job? What’s up?
O’Malley: Not a job. Nora sent me a distress signal.
Deputy Reynolds: You guys have a distress signal?
O’Malley: She’s a teenage girl. Of course we have a distress signal. She told me she’d deposit the money the kids raised last night before coming into the office. I tracked her phone—she’s still at the bank.
Deputy Reynolds: Someone mentioned the bank on the scanner earlier, but no alarms have gone off. Let me check . . . Here it is. The bank manager was in a car accident on the way to work. They took him to the hospital. You think Nora’s pranking you?
O’Malley: She wouldn’t. I’m heading over.
Deputy Reynolds: I’ll meet you. Don’t go in until I show up, okay?
[Silence]
Deputy Reynolds: Okay?
[End of call]
— 4 —