Michael actually looked like he was going to get out of the cab and go after him, but Nick grabbed his arm. “I have his keys. Let’s just go.”
Now Gabriel flung the ball at the truck. “Nicky, you suck.” But Michael was starting the diesel engine, and then they were pulling down the driveway.
She stood there for a moment, feeling awkward. She’d flown over here, ready for everything to fall apart at the seams. Finding them doing normal Saturday things left her thrown.
Chris was watching her; she could feel it. Just when she’d worked out how to get back in her car and pull down the driveway without looking like too much of an idiot, he said, “You hungry?”
She hesitated—and it was long enough for him to turn away, for her to realize he expected her to refuse.
“I am,” said Gabriel. He’d reclaimed the ball, and threw from halfway down the driveway for an easy three-pointer.
“Come on,” said Chris, and she wasn’t entirely certain he was talking to her. “Pizza sounds good. Let’s go inside and call.” He reached up and grabbed the garage door, giving it a yank to start it rolling.
Becca was still deliberating whether Chris had issued a real invitation—or whether he was just waiting for her to leave. So she didn’t pay attention to the stripes of red spray paint on the light blue of the wooden panels as they rolled, and she didn’t make out the pattern until the whole thing had slammed to the ground.
But there in the middle of the garage door, as tall as she was, sat a red pentagram.
CHAPTER 19
Becca couldn’t stop staring. “A pentagram.”
Gabriel whistled through his teeth. “Wow, brother, you do pick the Mensa candidates.”
Chris shot him a glare. “Shut up.”
Becca couldn’t even get offended—she was still staring at the garage door. This couldn’t be a coincidence. “But ... what does it mean?”
“It’s a warning,” said Chris.
“Wrong,” said Gabriel. “It’s a target.”
A target. She glanced between them. “I don’t understand.”
Chris came to stand beside her, staring at the door. He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “It means they’ve called the Guides.” He hesitated. “Nick found it this morning. Michael doesn’t know.”
Gabriel snorted and flung the ball at the center of the pentagram. “Like it would matter.”
She bit at her lip. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“They’ve been threatening this for a while.”
“No,” she said, rotating to face them both. Her fists clenched at her sides. “It doesn’t make any sense because there’s one on my door.”
They both stared at her for the longest moment.
Becca didn’t like the way they were looking at her—a little too intensely. “My dad painted over it this morning. Aren’t the Guides the ones who kill people? Who take out the accused and the accusers?”
Gabriel shoved Chris on the shoulder. “I see you held nothing back.”
Chris ignored him. “When did you find it? This morning?”
She nodded. “So ... does that mean Tyler put it there?” That would make sense, since Tyler clearly thought she was involved. It would make her feel better somehow, as if she could extricate herself from this mess with a simple explanation or a written note.
To whom it may concern: I’m not involved. Honest. Hugs, Becca
“It doesn’t have to be Tyler. It could be any one of them.” Chris shrugged. “The Guides come to town in secret, just to observe.”
“Then,” said Gabriel, emphasizing his words with another three-pointer, “they judge.”