“Now all we have to worry about is the crazy Texan billionaire with the private army,” I say. “Those had to be his men with Whit.”

“The map Whit gave you pointed to the same area we’re headed to—south of Vaughn—right?”

“Right.”

“And this morning when you Read the river, you saw lions and zebras in the same compound as your clan, right?”

“Right again.”

“And the guy who owns the wild-animal shooting range also keeps a private army, according to gas station man.” Miles shoots me a look like and two plus two equals . . .

“It all adds up,” I agree. “I saw those two military-looking guys with Whit in Alaska the day my clan was kidnapped. And there were more of them at the port in Anchorage looking for me. How many people have their own private army? It’s got to be this Hunt Avery guy. But how in the world would Whit have a connection to someone like that?”

“He was probably offering Avery the same thing he was offering my dad. I’ll bet if we looked into his business interests, he’d be the owner of a pharmaceutical company. Probably one of my dad’s competitors.”

“That would make sense,” I say, and my heart sinks another inch. Why is there still a tiny part of me that hopes Whit is innocent? That this is all a mix-up and that he’s somehow being manipulated? What did he mean when he said, “Things aren’t as they seem,” in the note he sent with Poe?

A squat patch of earth-colored buildings huddles on the horizon, growing gradually bigger and turning into a town. We pass a sign that says VAUGHN, POPULATION 737.

The first building looks abandoned. The next two, with signs reading AUTO REPAIR and GINGER’S GIFTS AND OFFICE SUPPLIES, are empty as well.

“It looks like a ghost town,” says Miles. He takes a right at the main crossroad, and up ahead we see a neon sign lit up with STEVE’S BAR.

“We could stop here and ask about the ranch,” I suggest.

“Or not,” Miles says as two brawny men in a very familiar-looking camouflage uniform walk out of the bar. As we pass, one of them pulls a cigarette pack out of his jacket and offers it to the other.

I look in the side mirror and see them glance our way. “Go, Miles!” I urge.

Miles peers into the rearview mirror. “Right now they’re not paying attention to us,” he says. “But if we speed off, they’ll be after us in a second.”

The truck jerks and slams as we cross over train tracks. I’m so tense, my head feels like it’ll explode. “It’s definitely them,” I say. “I saw them in Alaska. The guy who was smoking is the one who was sitting outside of the boat, checking all of the passengers when I left Anchorage.”

“They’ve got the same uniforms as the two who were with Whit,” Miles agrees.

“No question now,” I say. “We’re in the right place.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Miles eases the truck over another set of train tracks. We leave town and head into the desert. “We located the right group of steroid-fueled weapon-toting giants. Now all we have to do is rescue a few dozen people they’re keeping captive right from under their noses. Easy peasy. Right?”

He tries to make his tone light, but I can see that he finally understands the danger we’re getting into. Miles is scared. And frankly, so am I.

18

MILES

AS WE LEAVE VAUGHN AND HEAD SOUTH, WE drive over a small ridge to find ourselves facing a road that continues straight ahead until it gets so tiny that it disappears on the horizon. The land around us is flat and brown. Off in the distance on one side is a faraway mountain range. The green trees on its slopes make it stand out like an oasis in the middle of sand dunes.

I pull off the road and put the truck in park. “There’s no way we can hide in the middle of this wasteland,” I point out. “They’ll see us coming from miles away.”

Besides getting that wild glint in her eye when she told me to speed away from the bar back in Vaughn, Juneau seems completely unafraid. She’s in leader mode again, 100 percent practical. No room for emotion.

She unfolds the map and points to where we are, a couple inches northwest of the penned-in rectangle. “It looks like the guy’s ranch is mostly desert,” she says, “but over here”—she puts her finger on the green—“it extends to include some of those mountains up ahead.”

“Should we head for those, then?” I ask.

Juneau studies the horizon, and then says, “Let’s think about this like a hunter would.”

“You think like a hunter. I’ll think from a military tactics point of view,” I say. Juneau shoots me a skeptical look. “Remember my skill set? Video games and movies: best tactical training you could ask for!” I wink and Juneau rewards me with a smile.

Then, pressing her lips together, she considers things for a full minute before speaking. “Say that Avery and I are both predators and my clan is our common prey. Avery’s already captured them, but he wants to trap me too. If Whit is working with him and gave me the map, he knows I’m coming. He’s using his catch to lure me in. Daring me to steal it so he can trap me, too. We have to swipe Avery’s prize from under his nose while he waits for us to do it.”

She pauses and looks at me.

“Okay, then,” I say, translating what she’s just said into the storyline of one of the war games I’m so good at. “I can think of two ways to do that: stealth or strength. With the stealth option, we’ll have to somehow trick them or distract their sentries so that we can help your clan escape while they’re not looking. Strength option means that we fight Avery’s army head-on, which would involve surprise, speed, and heavy weaponry.”