As if he sensed my train of thought, Nick met my stare. The glow of the TV only amplified the brilliant blue of his eyes. “Sam would say it’s a stupid idea. Rescuing him.”

“But what other option do we have? My dad…” Dad shifted beneath his blanket, stirring at the sound of his name. I whispered, “I think I have a plan. I don’t know if it’ll work, but at least it’s something.”

Nick stood. He made his way to the bathroom, his progress slow and stilted. “Whatever the plan is,” he said, “count me in.”

33

THE CLOSEST BRANCH OFFICE WAS IN a shoreline town—Cam Marie, Michigan. That’s where Riley had taken Sam. A chill westerly wind pushed the hair from my face as we strode down the sidewalk, the crosswalk signal beeping behind us.

Next to me, Nick had gone surly. His shoulders were tight, his hands hidden inside the pockets of his jacket. That morning, over a cup of coffee and a bagel, he’d said, “This is crazy. You know that, right?”

And I’d said, “Yes. A new brand of crazy. But what do we have to lose?”

“Well…” He’d taken a bite of his onion-and-garlic bagel. “Our heads. Our freedom. Or something more creative, like our fingers—”

“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.