“Yeah, Miguel had someone watching you at school, waiting for an opportunity that never came.”

Never came? He didn’t know I’d been attacked? Apparently they weren’t the best-organized criminal cartel. Or maybe Miguel hadn’t been sharing information with his toadies.

Ryan shrugged, as if none of that mattered. “And if you’d stayed put, like you were supposed to, they never would have gotten a second chance.” He smirked, accusation clear in the curve of his mouth. “But you couldn’t, could you? Dad puts you under house arrest and round-the-clock supervision, so you sneak out just to prove you’re stil up to the chal enge.”

Enraged, I jumped to my feet, and he mirrored me from the other side of the bars, automatical y taking a defensive stance. “So it’s my fault I’m sitting in a cage in some filthy basement in Mississippi?” I growled, throwing the blood-smeared napkin at him because I had nothing else to throw. But then I froze, staring at him as the growl faded from my throat. Wait. What was that he’d said?

Ryan caught the napkin in his palm and crushed it, his fist hanging in the air like an unspoken threat. He came a step closer, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “How’d you know we’re in Mississippi?”

“How did you know about the house arrest and babysitting?” I countered.

He dropped the napkin, and it rolled to rest against one of the bars. “You first.”

“Deductive reasoning. It’s a perk sometimes available to those of us on the top rung of the evolutionary ladder.” And you just confirmed it, I added silently.

He cleared his throat, glancing away. “Deductive reasoning for me, too.”

I rolled my eyes. “Bullshit, Ryan. You couldn’t deduce your own name if it wasn’t written in your underwear.” I lunged at him, smashing my chest into the bars. My fingers grazed the front of his shirt, and he backpedaled quickly out of reach. “Who have you been talking to?” I demanded, stepping back from the bars to glare at him.

“No one,” he insisted, but I’d already figured it out. Of the enforcers, only Marc was privy to privileged information about the council’s plans, and he would never talk to Ryan. But there was one other person who had a history of involvement with the council and in whom my father confided…

“How long have you been in contact with Mom?”

Ryan flushed, and at first I thought he’d refuse to answer. Then he hung his head in defeat, a gesture left over from childhood. “Almost eight years.”

“So you’re stil Mommy’s boy.” I couldn’t resist a satisfied grin. For years I’d dreamed of being just like Ryan, gutsy and independent. And he’d been faking it the whole time. Mom had been secretly helping him out. No wonder she wouldn’t talk about him. She was afraid of incriminating herself.

Furthermore, my brother’s admission brought up a disturbing new question: Had Mom known what Ryan was doing? There was only one possible answer. No.

She hadn’t had a clue. Mom was no doubt doing what she thought best for the whole family, trying to convince her second-born to come home. Unfortunately for us al , it hadn’t worked.

Ryan glowered at me. “She sends me money. And she talks, mostly about you and the golden boy.”

I blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the depth of his anger and resentment, stil thriving after al these years. “You’re doing this because of Marc?”

“Marc.” Ryan laughed bitterly and for a moment I thought he’d barked at me.

“This has nothing to do with Marc. It doesn’t even have anything to do with me. I didn’t do this to you.” He leaned forward, overpronouncing each word to make sure I got the picture. “I’m not in charge.”

I stared at him, absorbing the truth of his statement. Ryan, powerless? That was easy enough to believe. “Then help us,” I said, challenging him to take a stand for once. “Open the doors and let us out.”

He flinched, his expression bitter. “I don’t have a key. Miguel won’t give me one.”

Damn. “Okay then, tell Mom where we are. Please, Ryan.”

Behind him, Abby gripped the bars of her cage with tiny, white-knuckled fingers, waiting for his answer just as desperately as I was.

He shook his head. “Dad would put a price on my head. You know he would.

Even Mom couldn’t stop him.”

“What do you think Miguel’s going to do when I tel him you’ve been talking to your mommy?”

Ryan just looked at me, but something in his expression was off, something about the tight line of his mouth…

“He knows, doesn’t he?” I said, my inner lightbulb blinking to life. “You son of a bitch, you’ve been using Mom to spy on the council. And she was only trying to help you, trying to get you to come home.” I rammed the bars again, bruising my shoulder, and Ryan took another step back, farther out of my reach.

“She’s the only reason I’m alive,” he said, his voice calm, resigned. His shoulders slumped as his eyes traveled up to meet mine. “A couple of weeks ago, I ran into Miguel outside a bar in New Mexico. He was about to kil me when I told him I had connections in the south-central territory and a source on the council. I told him they’d miss me and hunt him down.

“He didn’t care about that—wasn’t the least bit worried about being caught.

But he wanted information. He wanted to know what the council was doing, what strays they were watching and who they had patrolling each territory.” Ryan stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged apologetical y. “I had no choice, Faythe. And I didn’t hand you over to him. You did that yourself.”