This is bad. Very bad. My heart seized.
“I’n’t that sweet?” he sneered. “Katie and Petey sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” he sing-songed, then leaning forward, he squared up his knees. “But aren’t you kinda sleeping with the enemy? That is . . . unless Cadet Davenport has switched sides on me. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what’s going on. All I know is—I turn around, and my underling’s gone AWOL.”
I made my first move to sit up at the same time Pete’s body stiffened. I was pretty sure he was only pretending to be asleep now, although the rise and fall of his chest hadn’t changed rhythm. I would try to stall Ranger as long as possible while Pete hopefully thought of some kind of James Bond move to get us out of this situation.
Meanwhile, Ranger removed the glasses—Pete had gifted me—from his face to inspect the lens. And then, in a move that sent chills down my spine, he snapped the delicate frame in two—a vile sound akin to a rib breaking.
“Congratulations, Miss Connelly on being the very first civilian girl who isn’t exactly what she appears to be.” He froze any move I was about to make with his words. “. . . Guess I’m gonna have to get a new nickname for you.”
“What are you doin’ here?” It wasn’t the cleverest comeback, but it got the ball rolling.
Ranger chuckled. “Why to divest you of your gifted brother, of course.”
The unmistakable edge of sarcasm jarred me further. “Isn’t that what Pete’s here for?” Playing dumb, I remained sprawled against Pete’s inert form, not exactly sure whether I should move away; it felt like shielding him was the right thing to do—violence radiated off Ranger.
He laughed without an ounce of humor. “Cut the bullshit, Annie Oakley. The jig is up. You two love birds are in a lot of—”
A whiz of something solid flew past my head, landing with a shattering crash against the wall behind Ranger’s ear. Apparently, Pete had grabbed a picture off my nightstand and hurled it at the intruder in the corner mouthing off. Ranger narrowly—I mean narrowly—missed getting hit in the head with the corner of the gold frame that housed my mother’s picture. He must’ve been expecting it, or else he never would have been able to duck in time. I instantly thought how sad Mama would’ve been that it missed the mark.
A half-second later and both cadets were facing off in ready position— almost laughable in the cubbyhole confines of my room. Having Ranger in our trailer instantly felt like someone just stuck a shark in a fish tank.
“Don’t you think you should’ve removed the chip before you came to get the girl,” Ranger taunted.
“Wasn’t thinking that far in advance,” Pete retorted calmly.
“Not very smart, Davenport. But I always knew you had shit for brains.”
“I have been told I don’t quite have the right character for espionage.”
Ranger barked out a harsh laugh. Hatred crackled the air between them. A few more seconds and they would tear at each other’s throats with their twitchy hands. I had to do something fast, but felt myself slow to catch up to where they already were.
My feet, still tangled in pink gingham, found mattress. “Stop!” I screamed, throwing my arms out like a referee. Not even a single hair on either cadet stirred. I tried again. “My father’s in the next room, and he’s likely gonna be in here with his shotgun in two seconds . . . so I’d leave if I were you!” I threw out the empty threat, for if my father were available, he would’ve already come crashing through that door wielding his shotgun. And we all knew it.
Ranger spared me a quick, smirky glance that managed to convey a lot.
“I mean it,” I said in a voice less weighty than a potato chip. Obviously, Daddy was . . . indisposed. Two sleeping angels in superhero sheets flashed in my mind. “Where are my brothers?” I demanded, refocusing.
Ranger did the maniacal laughing thing.
“Where are my brothers?” I repeated in a deadly voice.
“Which one? The gifted one or the ungifted one?” he inquired pleasantly.
“Both.” I picked up the next frame.
Ranger smiled like my move was cute. “They’re a little tied up at the moment.”
I’m ashamed to say the frame fell from my hand the same time I tigress-leaped off my bed. Landing by the door, I had one hand on the handle poised to dart out, when my flight was stalled by a pair of waiting catcher’s mitts grabbing me around the waist. Ranger crushed me to him as I fought to leave, calling loudly for my brothers.
Why isn’t Pete helping?
Batting away to no avail, I tried my ole standby—head butt to the face, but he twisted my head around in a move my brothers refer to as a headlock. “Lemme go you—” Whatever I was going to say was choked off. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I was no better off than a bunny in a wolf’s jaws.
“Let her go, Ranger!” Pete ordered. “. . . It’s me you want.”
“I’m not so sure, Pete. You’re not exactly my type. She’s not either, for that matter. However, she is a little prettier . . . though not by much.”
The witty one began doling out one cruel squeeze for each useless whap, claw, or kick I landed.
“You know . . .” he started, unfazed by the girl gargling for mercy beneath him. “I’m sure you were probably wondering this whole mission why the hell The Academy is spending so much time and money on young Andrew Connelly. He does of course look the part and almost has all the qualities we’re looking for in young recruits . . . except for the one thing Weston wants most”—he tweaked my nose—“giftedness. I’d already figured it out, of course, a long time ago.”
Ranger twisted my head up so that I was staring into his cold blue eyes. “You see, it’s a classic case of bait and switch: golden-boy Andrew was the bait. Unfortunately for him, he’s not the Connelly The Academy’s looking for . . . so I’ll be making the switch today.” He smiled snake-like at me.
Pete stepped forward. Ranger retaliated by squeezing my head in a boa-constrictor grip that had me seeing stars.
“Careful, Ranger!” Pete quickly warned. “You don’t want to spoil the merchandise. Don’t forget she suffered a concussion a few weeks ago. Think how pissed Weston would be if you brought her back damaged goods.”
“That’s probably just more bullshit you wrote in your reports to throw us off the trail,” countered Ranger, but he loosened his hold. “So tell me, Davenport . . . what’s your exit strategy?”
“Working on one as we speak,” Pete reported mildly.
Ranger huffed out another mirthless chuckle. “You always did go off half-cocked. Speaking of which . . .” He removed the arm clamp from around my head long enough to remove a gun from behind his back.
So that’s why Pete hadn’t made a move.
During this impressive display of showmanship, Ranger’s other arm had remained fastened around my neck, steadfastly tightening. I was dizzy with panic and lack of oxygen. Think! I couldn’t let a monster like Ranger win. I had to do something, so I did nothing. Playing possum, I quit fighting and slumped over. With every ounce of weight I had. It took a couple of moments before Ranger swore and loosened his grip . . . just enough I could gasp for air. Gulping once, I tucked down my chin, and bit into his forearm.