We reach the front door. The agents are pushing Paul outside when he suddenly seems to snap out of his stupor. Struggling against their hold, his head whips around to find me.
“Shelby!” His wild eyes lock on mine as the agents attempt to subdue him. “Shelbs, listen — if I don’t make it out of this…” He groans as they yank his arms back roughly, nearly pulling the joints from their sockets. “You have torun. They won’t stop looking for it. No matter what. It’s too valuable.”
It?
“What?” My brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”
“If I’m locked up, they’ll come after you again, Shelby!” he calls back to me as he’s shoved roughly through the door, onto the porch. He’s straining to maintain eye contact, now. His tone turns desperate. “Alexei wants it too badly to let it go. Even if you try to give it back, he’ll probably have you killed as retribution for hiding it from him.”
Killed?!
Retribution?!
I’ve gone white as a sheet. My words come out shaking. “Paul, I don’t understand. You’re not making any sense!”
“Your only chance is to run. You hear me?You have to take it andrun.”
“It? What do you mean,it?”
“Nécessaire, Shelby!Nécessaire!”
I tilt my head to the side, more than a little baffled by his sudden switch to appeals in French. Last I checked, Paul doesn’t speak any other languages besides English and the small smattering of Russian he picked up from his parents.
Or maybe that’s just another lie he told you. For all you know, he’s a freaking expert linguist.
“Paul—”
“YOU’RE NOT SAFE AS LONG AS YOU HAVE IT!” His voice has gone ragged, piercing the dark night air. “I’M SORRY, SHELBS! I’M SO SOR—”
“That’s enough!” One of the agents throws out an elbow, catching Paul across the nose. I flinch when I hear his howl of pain. He crumples to the porch, bleeding anew.
“Let’s go,” the agent barks. “Get up! On your feet, right now!”
When Paul makes no effort to rise, they haul him into a vertical position, then strong-arm his limp form down the front porch steps. Shock and horror simmering inside me, all I can do is watch as they drag him across the grass toward the waiting van. He’s still mumbling incoherently, but I can’t make out all his words from this distance. Merely snippets.
Run!
Take it and run!
I’m sorry, Shelby!
Nécessaire!
Nécessaire!
Half of me wants to block my ears, to shut him out before any more of his poisonous lies have a chance to take root in my mind.
This is just some last-ditch effort to sway you to his side,I tell myself.Probably so you won’t testify against him in federal court.
Yet, as I watch him being led across the lawn, I’m uncomfortably conflicted.
He doesn’tseemlike he’s lying or playing any sort of trick. He seems…
Scared.
Genuinely scared.
Not for his own fate — for mine.