“We can’t go to the embassy, Preston.” Macey’s voice was even. “You can never go back to the embassy again.”
Then, for the first time, he looked at me. It was a look that said he thought it might be a joke, that she was teasing. Or just being a crazy politician’s daughter. But Macey was through rebelling, and deep down Preston knew it. “Cammie?” he asked.
“It’s complicated, Preston.”
“Complicated…how?” he asked. His expression grew grave. “Circle complicated?”
“Yeah. We’ll tell you all about it in a little—”
“Are you okay?” Terror filled his eyes. Last summer, he’d been the one I’d gone to when I was on the run. He’d taken me in and given me shelter. He knew what the Circle of Cavan was, but as far as we knew, he had no idea that his father was actually one of the Circle’s leaders—that someday that job was supposed to pass to him.
“I’m okay. I’m safe. But you aren’t.” I stole a glance out the window. I didn’t see Bex and Liz, but they were out there. Waiting. Ready. “Look, we don’t have time to explain it all now, but we need you to trust us.”
“Macey?” He turned to her just as there was a honk in the alley behind the school. Down below, we saw a truck moving to block the narrow passage. Vendors yelled. People on Vespas tried to squeeze around. But the truck didn’t budge.
“Look, Preston, I wish we could explain everything. But we can’t. Not yet. Bex and Liz are outside waiting for us, and we have to go. Now.”
He glanced around, bewildered. “Where are they?”
Just then the truck honked again, as if in answer.
“That’s a bread truck,” Preston said, glancing out the window. “You came here in a bread truck?”
“Do you trust us?” Macey asked. It was the million-dollar question. Without the right answer, everything would have been for nothing.
Preston grinned. “Yes.”
I reached for the window. “Then let’s go.”
I was unlatching the glass when I noticed Preston was no longer beside us.
There was a banging on the door. A deep voice was yelling, “Mr. Winters? Mr. Winters, open the door, sir.” And Preston was halfway there.
“No!” Macey yelled and bolted across the room. She pressed his body against the door, and it looked like Preston couldn’t decide whether to be worried or incredibly happy about the situation.
“Just you,” she explained.
On the other side of the door, the guards banged again. I thought of the men on the motorcycles who had chased me through the streets last fall. Maybe they were the same ones who were in the hallway right then. Maybe this time I wasn’t meant to get away so easily.
“They’re my bodyguards,” Preston tried to explain, but Macey just jerked him by the collar.
“You have new guards now,” she said.
Preston, however, didn’t look so sure.
“My dad said I should never go anywhere without them. There have been a few attacks against some high-profile people in Europe. Not that I’m all that important or anything,” he tried to explain.
“Yeah, well, trust me. You’re high-profile enough,” I said. “That’s kind of why we’re here.”
Down below, Bex honked again.
Outside, the banging grew louder. They were trying to break down the door.
“It’s now or never, Preston,” Macey told him, but he just looked at me.
“I came to you once, Preston. When I had nowhere else to go. I was hurt and bleeding and scared, and you saved me. You saved my life. Now I’m trying to return the favor.”
He turned to Macey then, reaching out to take her hand. And together they climbed onto the windowsill.
And jumped.
Chapter Nine
We were almost to the end of the alley when we heard the explosion. The truck shook. Macey was knocked off her feet, and Bex put the pedal to the metal, laying rubber down the cobblestone alley. When we reached the street, she didn’t even slow down. We shot into traffic, tires squealing, while black smoke filled the air behind us.
“Uh…” Terror filled Preston’s eyes. “I think my school is on fire.”
“We know,” Macey said.
His eyes got even wider. “How do you know?”
“Because we’re the ones who set it,” Macey said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world; but Preston just looked at us all in turn, taking it in. He knew the truth about the Gallagher Academy, after all. He shouldn’t have been surprised. But I guess there are some things you have to see to believe, and it was like Preston was seeing us for the very first time.
“Oh,” he said numbly. “Okay.”
In the front seat, Liz spun around. She had a laptop open and yelled at me, “He’s transmitting!” Then she looked at the boy and smiled. “Hi, Preston!”
“Hi, Liz. How are you—hey—hey!”
He stopped talking. I’m pretty sure that’s what most boys would do if Macey McHenry were ripping off their shirts.
“Macey!” Preston gasped, but Macey didn’t slow down.
“Take it off,” she told him. “Take it all off.”
She had ripped the button-down shirt off his arms and was going to work on his belt.
“No,” Preston snapped. But he didn’t protest long because, if I’m going to be honest—which is kind of the point of these reports—I was already unzipping his pants.
Then Macey started ripping off Preston’s white T-shirt. (Yes, actual rippage.) And I was fighting with his zipper. I wasn’t exactly proud of how we handled the situation, but desperate times call for incredibly desperate measures.
“Give me everything you have,” I told him.
“Really, Cammie. I never knew you thought of me that way.”
Preston’s pants were undone by that point and I ordered, “Step!”
He did as he was told, and a moment later I had the pants in my hands.
Preston just stood there, dumbfounded, in his boxers as I cracked open the back of the truck and hurled the pants into the street. A split second later the rest of his clothes and shoes followed.
“Hey!” he shouted, but right then, through the open doors, I heard the roar of motorcycles. Memory came rushing back. Terror mixed with adrenaline, and I didn’t feel sorry for the mostly naked boy. Not even a little bit. I just wanted us all to get out of this alive.