The Trigger Mechanism by Scott McEwen

Author:Scott McEwen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

CHAPTER 31

Jalen’s eyes opened as Narcy’s shrill voice broke in. She was downstairs, arguing with someone. “James did not tell me you were comin’ … And no, Wyatt’s not here and no, you ain’t comin inside this house!”

“It’s vitally important that you let me speak to Wyatt and the other boy,” a man said. “This cannot wait.”

“Told you, no one is here.”

“But he knows me,” the man said.

Jalen pushed himself up to standing. He looked out the window—a gleaming Mercedes on the curb and a shiny black SUV behind it. A thick man wearing a black suit scanned the street. He wore sunglasses and an earpiece, like he was straight out of central casting for the Secret Service.

“If you don’t back away from this door,” Narcy threatened, “I’m calling the police.”

“Ma’am, put the phone down…”

“I’m warning you. You’ve got five seconds to get off my porch.”

“Ma’am, I just need a second…”

“I’m calling—”

Jalen heard feet shuffling and breaking glass. “Help!” Narcy screamed. “Intruder!”

Jalen ran down the hall, just as a man bounded up the stairs. Another man in black behind him.

“Jalen,” the man said, approaching slowly. “You don’t know me, but my name is John Darsie, and I am a friend.”

The man looked like anything but a burglar: pleated pants, a fancy cardigan over his shoulders. He could have been coming from a racquet club except for the needle clutched like a dagger in his right hand. “You had a fall that hurt your memory,” he said softly. “You need to let me give you this.”

“Like hell,” Jalen said, staring at the syringe.

The man came closer, and Jalen stood his ground, his hands and feet—guided by route training—assuming fight stance, his mind unaware of where he learned the posture.

“Wyatt!” the man yelled as Wyatt appeared beside Jalen. “Wyatt, I’m here. Just like I told you. Please … just let me get something for you to look at.” The man ran through the hallway door to the backpack on the floor. He opened the center compartment and ripped out something from the inside.

“Here,” he said, pulling out a Polaroid.

Jalen watched as Wyatt stared at the photo of a girl.

“Run, Wyatt!” Narcy bellowed from below.

In a split second, Wyatt kicked the man with the syringe squarely in the chest, sending him flying down the stairs, crashing into another man, who waited at the bottom.

Jalen noticed a narrow bookshelf outside the bathroom door. He tipped it, dumping the contents, and dragged it over to the small window at the end of the hallway. Strength suddenly returning, he threw the bookshelf through the glass. Three steps and Jalen crawled through the broken glass and scrambled out.

“Go, go, go,” Wyatt said behind him, and they both sprang out, shards of glass and roof shingles under their feet.

One of the men in black crawled out behind them and chased the boys across the roof. Jalen saw a nearby tree and without thinking, he jumped, grasping for a branch. He swung down and rolled, then popped up into a fighting stance.

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