Harley Grimes stepped out onto the front porch, then ambled down the steps and out into the yard. He'd traded in his gray suit for a fresh one in an off-white. A white fedora with a black feather stuck in the brim topped his head, and I could see the shine of his black wing tips from all the way up here. Once again, he was dressed like some gangster straight out of the Prohibition era. According to Fletcher's file, that's when Grimes had grown up. Apparently, he enjoyed clinging to his youth. That, or he just liked his look to match his occupation.
The door opened again, and a woman stepped outside.
She hesitated, then followed Grimes down the porch and out into the yard. I recognized her, but this person was the exact opposite of what I knew her to be.
She wore a short-sleeved white sundress patterned with tiny pink roses - instead of her usual black jeans and T-shirt.
A black ribbon was cinched around her waist, and black patent-leather heels gave her a few more inches of height - instead of her old, battered black boots.
Her black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail tied with a long white ribbon - instead of the colored streaks and glitter that usually highlighted her hair.
Pale pink lipstick covered her lips - instead of the darker, bolder colors that she normally wore.
Grimes held out his arm. The woman hesitated again, then stepped forward and took it.
Sophia.
Chapter Fifteen
I blinked and then blinked again, wondering if I was really seeing what I thought I was. But the picture didn't change, no matter how I much adjusted the focus on the binoculars or how hard I squinted through the lenses.
Sophia standing with Grimes, wearing a dress, dolled up like a gangster's moll from some old-fashioned mob movie. It was bizarre seeing her like this, looking so different and not at all like her usual dark, fierce, Goth self.
It was wrong. Just . . . wrong .
After a few seconds, I lowered the binoculars and passed them over to Owen.
"Is that . . . Sophia?" he asked, peering through the lenses. "What's she doing? Why is she wearing a dress?
And why isn't she trying to get away from him?"
"Look past them," Warren said, using the binoculars he'd pulled out of his own satchel. "There on the porch."
I'd been so shocked by Sophia's appearance that I hadn't noticed that three men had also stepped out of the house behind her - and that they all had guns in their
hands.
"No doubt, Grimes will have them shoot her, but not
kill her, if she steps out of line," I said. "She's still injured, though. See how she's limping?"
Sophia favored her right leg with every step that she
took, dragging her left one along behind her in an awkward shuffle. Her left arm also hung limply by her side, and one of her cheeks was red from where Grimes had slapped and burned her in the salon. I didn't see any blood on her, though, so Grimes must have at least bandaged her wounds. Well, that was something, although he was still going to suffer for everything that he'd done to her and Jo-Jo.
Owen handed me back the binoculars, and I focused in on Sophia again. Grimes squired her around the yard, dragging her over to the picket fence and pointing out the roses to her. Sophia hobbled along beside him as best she could. But through the binoculars, I could see exactly how cold, hard, and flat her expression was and the way her black eyes kept darting around, desperately looking for an escape.
But there was nowhere for her to go.
Even if she could have gotten away from Grimes, there was nothing but clear space all around her, which would make it all too easy for one of the men on the porch to step forward, take aim, and put a bullet in her back.
Still, she tried.
Sophia waited until Grimes turned his head, and then she brought up her good arm and punched him in the face, making his spiffy white hat fly off his head. She kept hold of him, spun him around, and hooked her arm around his throat, using Grimes as a shield between her and the guys with guns on the porch. She also plucked Grimes's revolver out of the holster on his belt, thumbed back the trigger, and held the weapon up to his head.
Sophia didn't say a word, but she didn't have to. Her meaning was crystal-clear. If any of the men followed her, she'd shoot Grimes in the head with his own gun. I thought she should go ahead and do that anyway.
Apparently, Sophia had the same idea, because she pulled the trigger.
Click.
Click. Click.
Click.
I could hear exactly how empty the revolver was all the way up on the ridge.
"Really, Sophia," Grimes drawled, his voice drifting up to our location. "You didn't think that I'd keep a loaded gun anywhere you could get your hands on it, now, did you?"
Sophia growled and smashed the weapon into the side of his head. She shoved Grimes forward, then turned and ran away as fast as she could on her injured leg.
Sophia hadn't gone ten steps before a ball of elemental Fire streaked through the air and slammed into her back.
One second, Sophia was hobbling across the yard as fast as she could. The next, she'd fallen to the ground, rolling around in the dirt and trying to smother the flames that scorched her skin.
Hazel walked out from around the side of the house, where she must have been waiting for Sophia to make a break for it. She had swapped the red wrap dress that she'd had on in the salon that morning for a similar one in the same off-white as Grimes's suit. She stopped in the yard long enough to help Grimes get to his feet and re - trieve his white hat. Then she walked over to Sophia, who was on her back on the ground. Hazel gave her an evil grin, then started kicking her.
Thwack.
Thwack. Thwack.
Thwack.
Over and over again, Hazel drove her foot into Sophia's body. Sophia grunted with every blow, but she didn't give Hazel the satisfaction of screaming. Still, every vicious kick that Hazel inflicted on her was like a knife slicing into my own heart.
"Warren," I asked between gritted teeth. "Please tell me that you can shoot that bitch from here."
He shook his head. "I could, but you know that will give away our position. The second I fire, Grimes will know that we're here, and it'll all be over."
"All right, then. I'll take care of it."
I started to get to my feet, but Owen grabbed my arm.
"Stop," he said. "Stop and think for a second. Warren's right. We need to hold on to the element of surprise as long as we can. Going down there right now is suicide.
We all know it. Grimes's men will cut you down before
you get halfway across the clearing. Or worse, they'll capture you along with Sophia."
"I know," I said, choking out the words. "But I can't stay here and do nothing. Not while they're hurting her - "