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“Okay. I got it.”

But now we were here and I wasn’t turning back. Dad was pretty sure we wouldn’t be hurt. We had measures in place if anyone threatened to harm us, though none of it would matter if Connor wanted us badly enough.

The Branch building had a cover at the front. MESSHAR AND MILLER ASSOCIATES, the sign read in thick gold letters. A red-haired girl at a circular desk greeted us. Behind her, tall windows revealed an expansive view of Lake Michigan, the waves swelling to whitecaps. To her left rose a staircase, the railings glass, too, so as not to obstruct the view. An elevator bank spanned the wall to our right.

“Good morning, Arthur.”

Nick pulled his hands from his pockets, flexing his fingers as if he meant to draw his weapon at the first sign of trouble.

“We’re here to see Connor,” Dad said.

The woman nodded and hit a button on the control panel. “You’re set to go down.”

“Thank you, Marshie,” Dad said. He motioned us over to a door beneath the staircase.

Nick leaned in. “ ‘You’re set to go down’?” he echoed. “That’s comforting.”

The door opened on a stairwell that wound belowground. I tightened my grip on the legal-sized folder in my hand, the one that held all the information Sam had stolen five years earlier. A nervous chill ran up my spine. I didn’t feel great about this, and Nick’s comment only made it worse.

Waltzing in and handing over a bunch of papers in exchange for our freedom seemed too easy, but I didn’t know what other choice we had. I had to get Sam and Cas out. Sam especially, before they broke him.

Our footsteps echoed down the stairwell as the soles of our shoes hit the metal treads on the stairs. We twisted around and around, passing four floors before Dad stopped at the door labeled B5.

Hand on the doorknob, he turned to us, a span of wrinkles deepening on his forehead. “Let me do the talking. Okay?”

Nick grunted. I nodded. Dad pushed the door in. We emerged into a small receiving area, where a man sat behind a mahogany desk, a hands-free phone device latched to his ear.

“Arthur,” he said, smiling. “How nice to see you.”

Dad fidgeted. “Yes, you, too, Logan. Is Connor here?”

“He’ll be right out.”

“We can’t go in?” Dad asked, and Logan shook his head.

So we waited. Nick cracked the joints in his hand one finger at a time. I had to bury the urge to pace. And just when I thought I might go stir-crazy, a door behind Logan swung open and five men entered the room.

“About time,” Nick muttered, pushing off from the wall with one foot.

Dad placed a hand on Nick’s chest, holding him back. “Is Connor ready to see us?” he asked the agents.

The man in the front, who had a scar that ran from his chin to his
ear, smiled. “He’s ready.” He pulled out a gun and hit Dad with a tranquilizer dart. I barely had time to register what had happened before Nick shoved past me and started throwing punches.

The gun flew behind the desk. Scar Man went down, but there were four more men to get through. Nick started for the next agent, but a tall blond guy came from behind and punched him in the right side. Another fist slammed into Nick’s face. His eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled over.

“Stop!” I screamed. “Please, we’re here to see—”

Something heavy and solid whacked me in the forehead, cutting me off, and the light winked out.

The ache in my head reached me first, before anything else. Next came the nausea. I winced and avoided opening my eyes. I touched the spot that hurt the worst and groaned when I felt the lump on my forehead.

Everything came back in a rush, and I snapped my eyes open.

I was in a square room with no windows, one door, a bed. A glass of water stood untouched on a small bedside table. Riley sat in a chair across from me.

“You’re awake,” he said. “Finally.”

The sound of his voice made my head vibrate, and I fought another cringe.

“Why—” I started, but Riley interrupted me.

“Did you set up a media spread of the evidence in case of an emergency?”

I put my hands over my eyes, like shutters, blocking out the glare of the fluorescent lights. I put my feet on the floor.

“Anna. I’ll only say this once more. Did you set up an emergency spread?”

“Yes,” I muttered.

“What are the particulars?”

“Where is he?”

“Excuse me?”

I squinted. “Where’s Sam? Where are the others?”

Riley fixed his hair, taming the front. “In a cell. Where they belong.”

“I won’t tell you anything until you take me to them.”

He crossed one leg over the opposite knee. “That’s rather unfortunate, because I’m not taking you anywhere until you tell me the particulars of the media spread.”

He spoke in slow, drawn-out syllables, as if he wasn’t sure I understood English.

Anger boiled in my chest. “Well, that’s rather unfortunate,” I spit back, “because I’m not telling you anything until you take me to the boys.”

He sighed. “Fine. Then I guess we’ll wipe your memories and hope that Arthur spills the details.” He stood.

Dad. He’d come here to help me, put himself at risk. Would they torture him for the answers? Yes, they would.

“Wait.”

Channel Sam
, I thought.
What would he do?

“Yes?” The line of Riley’s eyebrows arched high on his forehead as he waited.

I had to get out of there. I had to find the others. I had to find Dad. Going to Riley and Connor had been my idea, and I’d put us all at risk. I needed the quickest, safest solution. I needed a plan.

One door. No windows. Bedside table. Glass of water. One chair. One vent in the ceiling. Bed made of metal.

Were there more guards outside? Was there a camera anywhere? I darted a glance around the room. No cameras that I could see. I needed a distraction.

“I don’t have all day, Ms. O’Brien.”

“Is there a bathroom?” I swallowed and blinked back the pain blooming in the center of my head.

“There’s one down the hall, and you can use it after—” As he spoke he twisted slightly, nodding toward the door, and I seized the opportunity.

With my left hand, I wrapped my fingers in the bed sheet. With my right hand, I scooped up the water. I tugged on the sheet until the corners popped off the mattress. I swept to my feet and tossed the sheet as Riley reached for his gun. The sheet wrapped around him. I brought the glass down on his head and it shattered into a thousand pieces. Water ran down to my elbow. Glass sliced through my fingers
so that I couldn’t tell if the blood soaking the sheet was Riley’s or mine.

His legs got caught up in the sheet. I kicked where I thought his knee might be and felt something snap. A hollow cry escaped his lips as he toppled over. I wrapped my hands around the back of the chair, ignoring the stinging in my broken skin.

He pushed to his knees and I cocked the chair back, swinging it upward. It burst on impact, splintering into pieces. Riley went over with a final grunt.

“Sir?” someone said outside the door.

I froze.
Think.

“Sir?”

I grabbed Riley’s gun from his shoulder holster and retrieved the sheet. I hid behind the door, bracing myself against the wall. The door opened and I kicked. It whacked the guard, bounced back. I scuttled around and struck the man’s chin with my open palm. He staggered and I wound the sheet around his neck, giving it a jerk. He fell onto his back. I scrambled on top of him, jamming the gun beneath his jawbone.

“Where are they keeping the boys?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” he said, but his lower lip trembled.

“You think I won’t shoot? You have till the count of three to test that theory. One. Two.”

Would I do it? This place had stolen my life, and anyone who worked here was as guilty as Connor and Riley. I pushed my weight behind the gun. The barrel ground against bone.

“Last chance,” I said. “Thre—”

“Wait!” His forehead glistened with sweat. I let up, but only a little. “Go right. Then left. Down the stairs to the next floor. Go straight. You’ll see the lab on the right.”

“Do you have a walkie-talkie or a phone?”

The man nodded. “On my belt.”

I pushed to my feet but kept the gun in place. I tore off everything that was attached to his belt and stomped it flat, reducing the devices to nothing but piles of plastic and wires.

I backed away, but kept the gun trained on the man. “Don’t move.”

I maneuvered into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind me. The knob twisted as the man tried to escape, but the lock was still engaged.

I looked both ways, tucking the gun beneath my shirt. My head still hurt. The place was eerily silent. I followed the directions the agent had given me and encountered no one. I took the stairs down two at a time, feet quick and light, hand trailing the metal railing. At the next level’s door, I went still, listened.

Nothing.

I edged the door open. The hall looked deserted. I hurried forward, and just when I started to think that I’d taken a wrong turn
somewhere, that I’d been given false directions, I found what I was looking for.

Through a half wall of windows, I saw a lab, and inside were the boys, locked behind another glass wall like at the farmhouse. They saw me, too, and surged to the front, all three of them in a row.

Sam. My gaze went to him first, analyzing him. Was he hurt? Had they wiped his memories?

I found the lab door unlocked and pushed through it. There were counters covered in files and beakers and trays to the right. Several computer monitors lined the back wall, the screens showing they were locked.

Cas whistled. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Anna Banana.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sam said.

I sighed with relief. He knew me. Which meant they hadn’t wiped his memory yet.

“I’m not leaving you guys.” There was a keypad on the wall next to their room. “You don’t by chance know the—”

“Seven-three-nine-nine-two-four-one,” Sam said.

I punched in the numbers. The keypad beeped. The wall slid out and over, and the boys filed out. Sam wrapped me in a hug, taking me by surprise.

“Are you all right?” He scrutinized my forehead and the dried blood I knew was there.

“Are
you
okay? What did they—”

“Shit,” Nick said, cutting me off.

In unison, we turned toward the door, just in time to see Connor enter, a gun in his hand. He pulled the trigger without hesitating.
Thwap.
One bullet. That’s all he needed.

Blood splattered across my face and Sam dropped to the floor.

34

“I AM DONE PLAYING GAMES,” CONNOR said.

I started to reach for my hidden gun, but thought better of it when a line of agents marched in. They were fully uniformed, wearing the same armored jackets I’d seen on the men and woman who died in the lab. Thick bulletproof vests protected their torsos.

Riley, limping and bloodied, shoved Dad in last. I sank down next to Sam and wiped his blood from my face with my sleeve. “Sam?” His eyes rolled around for a second before settling on me. The bullet had hit him somewhere between his shoulder and chest; I couldn’t tell where without ripping off his shirt. There was so much blood.

“Sam?” The terror sent a sharp burn to my eyes. “Can you hear me?” He grunted. Coughed. Didn’t say anything, and that made everything worse.

Riley knotted his fingers in my hair and hauled me back. Cas lurched for him, but he was too weak to fight. Riley knew it. I knew it. Cas knew it. And the gun already pointed at my head didn’t help, either.

“Now that we have everyone’s attention,” Connor said, coming around to face me. Usually tan year-round, he looked paler than when I’d last seen him, and I wondered how he’d fared after the confrontation with Sam in the lab. When he took a breath, it was labored—a weakness I wouldn’t soon forget.

“This is a mistake,” I said and received a swift tug of my hair for the effort. I surged ahead. “We have evidence that says you were taking money from foreign countries,
selling people
. You can’t get away with this anymore. You already know that we have measures in place in case we don’t make it out of here.”

Connor slid a hand into the pocket of his tailored pants. “Oh, you do? Well, in that case, I should simply let you go? Let you saunter right out of here?” He took two quick steps, putting his face inches from mine. When he spoke, I caught the sharp smell of whiskey. “Do you have any idea how much money I’ve dumped into Sam? And then, to have him run away… He’s a million-dollar project with legs, and I am
this close
to shooting them off.”

Something else had changed in Connor since the last time I saw
him. He’d shed his charm. And maybe this was the truer form of him: ruthless, power-hungry, merciless.

“So it’s safe to assume that if I’m this close to terminating
him
”—he jammed a finger in my chest—“then I’ve already exceeded my limit of tolerance with you.”

For once, I was profoundly terrified of Connor. Maybe that was why he had turned on the blindingly white smile all those years—to soothe me, tame me, make me think he was harmless. Of course I knew he helmed the program, knew he could be cold, but I’d never feared for my life around him, not even when he held a gun to my head in the lab. This was different, because now he was losing control of us.