By the end of the session, she had the pool to herself, which was nice. The only noises were hers, and if she didn’t see anyone spitting she could pretend like the water really was clean.
The lifeguard had stepped away for a moment. He knew her as a regular, knew she wasn’t likely to suddenly drown, and must have taken the opportunity for a break while no one else was around. She could pretend she had the whole building to herself.
When she found the locker room empty as well, her neck prickled. Closing wasn’t for another three hours. She’d have heard any announcements in that regard over the PA. She pulled her towel tightly around her, skipping the showers, and going straight to the lockers. She could shower at home. She wanted to get out of here.
Three men in ski masks were waiting for her, standing by the bank of bright orange lockers, terribly out of place. She didn’t scream, didn’t panic. Just turned around and walked out again.
A fourth man blocked the passage that led to the pool.
This is not happening. Even worse than getting kidnapped was getting kidnapped soaking wet, wearing only a swimsuit.
The men closed in, moving toward her from either side. Two of them held handguns. She hadn’t noticed the weapons at first; they were black and blended in with the gloves and jackets.
She looked for anything that might double as a weapon. The hand dryers were heavy enough to clock someone, but were bolted to the wall. She could break the mirror, use a shard as a knife. And what would she use to break the mirror, her elbow? Action-hero Celia?
If they just wanted to kill her, they’d have shot her already and it would have only taken one of them. She just had to take a deep breath and wait for rescue. Again.
The subtle, gurgling noise was barely noticeable—it might have been a shower left running. But the kidnapper in front of her took a step, and his boot splashed. He was standing in an inch of water. It lapped over Celia’s toes, and was pouring in faster. The floor outside the row of shower stalls had a drain in it. The locker area had two more drains. Water started backing up from all of them.
“Come on!” the one in the front said, grabbing her arm.
By then, the water was ankle deep and still rising. No longer just covering the floor, it flowed toward them, in opposition to the law of gravity.
The kidnappers crowded her out of the women’s locker room, to the pool annex, and toward the door to the men’s locker room. That must have been how they snuck in here, and how they planned on spiriting her away.
A tidal wave, a wall of water, rose up from the swimming pool and fell toward them. It might have had a mind of its own, the way it homed in on them.
In fact, Celia was sure it did. Typhoon.
She turned her back to the wave and hunched over, not hoping to keep her feet but trying to protect herself. It slammed into her—and it slammed into the kidnappers. They screamed, she noted. She thought she hit the wall. She hit something, then she was floundering, splashing across the cement of the pool deck, which scraped her up as she tumbled.
The water carried her toward the pool, then set her down at the edge as it spilled away, over the side, back where it came from. The four kidnappers ended up dunked in the middle; every time they tried to swim for the edge, a wave surged over them. The surface of the water churned and thrashed, like the ocean in a storm, and they were using all their effort to keep their heads clear.
Typhoon leaned on the wall near the annex by the locker rooms, arms crossed, admiring her handiwork with a satisfied glare. Her suit shone with condensation, her mask was slick and gleaming, and her hair was swept back, like an extension of her costume. Celia only recognized Analise because she knew what to look for.
Celia stayed sitting on the pool deck, catching her breath, and glowering. Good thing she’d still been wet when this happened. It would have been just her luck to have dried off and dressed, then gotten picked up by one of Typhoon’s waves.
“You okay?” Typhoon said. Her tone was cautious.
Celia supposed she expected a thank you. It had been too much to hope for, to get out of here without talking to anyone.
She said, “How is it I always get caught in whatever offensive you guys use to take out the bad guys?”
“Nonlethal force. You don’t have to be too careful about bystanders.” She shrugged. “And you always seem to be standing in front of the target.”
“They put me there.”
“Kinda dumb of them, trying to kidnap you at a swimming pool,” she said.
“Not really. They knew to find me here. You’re the only one who could have soaked them like that, and what are the odds you would have been within easy range to get here and—”
What were the odds, indeed? The familiar hint of anger crawled through her heart and tightened her gut. “You’ve been watching me. Following me.”
Typhoon looked like she was going to deny it—she set her jaw in a scowl and returned Celia’s glare. But she waited too long to say anything.
Finally, she said, “We all have. We’ve been taking turns.”
Celia’s voice caught, and she had to swallow the lump in her throat before trying again. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t anyone tell me you were … were babysitting me?”