Galen shakes his head. If Reder truly wanted hostages as Tyrden said, he could have taken me and Emma the night we came to his house for dinner.

“Emma,” he says aloud, changing the subject in his head. The sound of her name sends a refreshing jolt through his body. He thinks of how she must be feeling right now. Confused. Abandoned. Angry. Probably regretting coming on this road trip with him. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.

Trying not to focus on the new, deep ache battering his chest, Galen massages the tip of his tail where the most damage was done by the ropes. The corners are slightly bent and will take some time to fully heal, to take their original shape. It reminds him of how a dolphin’s fin might become misshapen if kept too long in captivity. The bridge where his fin turns into tail is tender; he’s careful not to twist it. In fact, he’ll have to be careful for a long time. He’s hoping Nalia will know how to help it mend faster. If not, he’ll make a trip to see Dr. Milligan after they’ve put all this behind them.

If we put all this behind us.

All at once, there’s a tug on the net, and Galen feels himself being slowly pulled toward shore. Given the lengthy process, he assumes there is only one person on the other end of this line, which would be the best-case scenario. The net drags the bottom through several strong currents, and Galen is tempted to help it by swimming along and keeping it unstuck. But he saves his energy and his fin.

Besides, a smooth transition to shore just wouldn’t coincide with the behavior of the dead body he’s pretending to be at the moment. He shifts from fin to legs to make the haul more realistic. Minutes pass and the net slowly but surely moves closer and closer to shore. Galen nestles into the bottom, going limp as he’s pulled to the surface.

Several maddening seconds pass by as Galen allows his unfortunate fisherman to behold the corpse he caught. He has to wait until his unsuspecting victim actually loosens the net before he can make his move—which means the poor guy will be close enough to touch.

But the net doesn’t loosen. And then there is a sharp pain in Galen’s thigh, so sharp he’s forced to cry out. His eyes fly open and to his leg. A long metal rod protrudes from it, with a red feather at the end.

Galen jerks his head toward the fisherman standing over him with a dart gun. And there stands Mr. Kennedy. His face is blank, calculating, garnished only by the hint of a satisfied smile.

Galen’s vision suddenly swirls into a tunnel, then disappears altogether.

31

FOR THE second time in my life, I find myself in the back of a police car. “Where are you taking me?”

Grigsby barely makes a show of glancing in the rearview at me. I wish I could sit up front; I feel like a criminal all slouched in the back. “We’re going to Reder’s. You need to tell him what happened to Reed.”

What kind of backward country-bumpkin town is this? Shouldn’t the sheriff be hauling me to the station and getting a witness report and calling Reed’s parents and all that? Or am I a victim of watching too many reality shows? But then again, while Grigsby is the sheriff, Reder is the obvious leader.

The car pulls into the driveway of Reed’s house. Grigsby opens the door for me, only to grab me by the upper arm again and all but escort me up the porch steps and to the front door.

“Um. Ow,” I tell him.

He lets go immediately. “Sorry. Habit.” Just how many arrests does it take to make a habit out of grabbing someone’s arm? Neptune didn’t seem like the kind of town that would have need of a seasoned sheriff.

Reed’s mom answers the doorbell. “Emma, so good to see you! Oh. Sheriff Grigsby. Is … Is there a problem? Where’s Reed? Now what has he done?” I can tell she’s trying to discern if Reed is really the problem, or if I am.

Grigsby’s face is grim. “Reder home? We need to speak with him.”

She grabs the dish towel she’d tucked into her apron and wipes her already dry hands on it as she calls over her shoulder for Reder. “You’ve got visitors, honey.” The tightness in her voice is noticeable even to an oblivious being like myself.

Reder’s heavy footsteps fall on the stairs, and when he reaches us at the bottom, he takes one look at me and ushers us into the adjoining living room. The weird thing is, Grigsby’s hold actually gets tighter once we’re seated on the couch. What does he think will happen here? I’ll tell Reder that his son has been kidnapped or worse and then I’ll lunge for his jugular?

But I know it must be nerves. After all, Reed disappeared on his shift, while he was in the woods close by. It’s kind of humiliating, being the sheriff and all.

Grigsby clears his throat when Reder’s heavy glare falls on him. By Reder’s expression, he’s already heard through the radio grapevine what has happened. “We were in the woods looking for the boy,” the sheriff starts. By that, I assume he means searching for Galen, just as we were. “The dogs caught his scent, and we were on him until we got to the river. He wouldn’t stop running from us.”

Reder turns to me, surprised. “Why would Galen run from our search parties?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“He could have been running from Kennedy,” Grigsby says. “Maybe Kennedy got to him first.”

Ohmysweetgoodness. The thought hadn’t occurred to me but makes perfect sense now. If Kennedy has a habit of kidnapping people, and Galen disappeared almost as soon as we came to town …

“Go on,” Reder says.