A Million Shadows
Author: Janci Patterson
Date: 2016-11-10 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Sixteen-year-old Jory escaped from the shifters who killed her father, but her life is far from returning to normal--even by the standards of a shape-shifting spy. Jory’s mother is covering her pain with prescription drugs, leaving Jory alone to hide them both from the murderous shifters who are still hot on their tail. When Jory’s mom lands herself in the hospital, Jory thinks things can’t get any worse. Then she receives an offer from her boyfriend’s mother, Aida--help her track down the man who betrayed them all, and Aida will make sure Jory’s mother stays hidden and safe. There’s just one
Publisher: Createspace
Rights: Copyright © 2016 by Janci Patterson

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Thirty-three

Free Book Offer!

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Thank You from JABberwocky!

A Million Shadows

© 2016 Janci Patterson

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, printing, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author, except for use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons—living or dead—events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Cover by Melody Fender

Cover image from istock.com/Aleramo

Author Photo by Michelle D. Argyle

For James,
Who always knows how the book should end.

One

Wearing Tommy Amato’s pants was an exercise in self-restraint. As I sauntered down the street toward Tommy’s girlfriend’s house, all I wanted to do was hitch them up on my hips so they wouldn’t feel like they were about to fall to my knees. But Tommy never did that, even when his belt was clinging to the lower half of his boxers by static alone. So I swaggered like Tommy, my bones thickened to nearly double their normal size, every muscle packed with extra bulk, which I supposed was to be expected when a sixteen-year-old girl spent her morning in the shape of a large thirty-something-year-old man.

The pants weren’t literally Tommy’s. They were his favorite brand and color, and I’d bought them at a thrift store so they wouldn’t look new, since none of Tommy’s pants were. But the most important and most difficult piece of my cover wasn’t the pants. It was Tommy’s truck, which I could see parked on the curb up the block.

Producing a truck identical to Tommy’s would have taken me a month. The model was rare—the nearest one I could find for sale in the same color was in Fresno, nearly a six-hour drive away. And even that one wouldn’t be perfect: Tommy’s driver’s-side fender had rust spots in a pattern that resembled moldy cheese. His mermaid hood ornament was a collectible that sold for hundreds on eBay. And worst of all, the back bumper was hung with Truck Nutz so greasy I wouldn’t have touched them with two-foot tongs. I really didn’t want to fathom how I would go about making my own.

Lucky for me, I didn’t have to. My current resources were too scant to make what I could easily steal.

I continued to saunter up the block toward the truck. The curtains to Tommy’s girlfriend’s house were all drawn, and I hoped that, inside, Tommy was still fast asleep. It wasn’t unlikely, given the amount of alcohol I’d watched him down the night before. I’d tailed him to his girlfriend’s house, which made it easier to break into his empty place and steal his spare truck key. Then again, the guy was so hammered that I probably could have walked right in his front door while he was home and taken the thing. I could have stolen his truck right then and there, if that’s what I needed.

But Tommy’s truck wasn’t the goal; it was just a piece of the persona, like the wide shoulders, the thick hips, the shaved head, and the peeling scalp that made Tommy look like an oversized onion. Even the cash drop was only half of the real take—though I fully intended to steal that from Tommy’s underdealer, who worked behind the counter at Tommy’s convenience store, hawking cigarettes and overpriced snacks. My mom and I needed cash to stay on the run. The people who were after us were too dangerous, and knew our old habits too well. We couldn’t chance accessing any of our old accounts unless we absolutely had to. It was far safer to live like all we had was what we could acquire now.

Though, at the moment, I was the only one doing the acquiring.

Tommy’s girlfriend’s house remained quiet as I approached, unlocked the driver’s side door, and climbed in. Tommy might call in the theft of his truck before I finished the job, but I didn’t think he would. There were too many gram bottles in the glove compartment. This, Tommy would want to take care of himself.

And by the time he did, I’d be long gone.

I started the truck and drove down the street. Driving to the job decked out in my Tommy persona, I could almost pretend I was in the middle of the kind of mission I used to run—the sort that involved data theft and high-profile clients and a team to watch my back. The old me would have been disgusted to see what I was doing now. I used to be a spy. Now I was nothing more than a thief. I’d told my boyfriend two months ago that I wanted to get out of the larceny business, and yet here I was.

Because that was before. And here in the after, I’d do whatever I could to help my mother survive.

When I drove up to Tommy’s convenience store, I pulled into the parking lot by barreling over the low curb without slowing down. The truck nearly bounced me out of my seat, since I wasn’t wearing a seat belt. It was a stupid thing to do, but it was the same thing I’d watched Tommy do every morning for a week, so it was also a part of my cover.

Though I’d charged into the parking lot like the place was on fire, I slouched into the store like I had all day. That was the one and only thing I liked about Tommy: that contradiction.

I shoved the glass double doors open wide and ambled into the store. I walked right up to the counter, past the cases of smoking apparatuses with their unlikely label: for tobacco use only. Tommy’s drug dealing operation was so thinly veiled it was a wonder they didn’t get raided twice a week. It was all I could do to restrain myself from calling in a tip, but I couldn’t get extra-curricular until the job was done.

Before the doors even closed behind me, I fixed my eyes on Angel, the greasy-haired cashier, who was wearing a tight shirt and baggy cargo pants. I didn’t know what was with Tommy’s operation and pants that were decades out of fashion, but I was pretty sure it had something to do with the ease of hiding stashes of drugs underneath the folds of clothing.

“Hey man,” Angel said.

I grunted in return. Tommy was a man of few words. I knew this exchange because I’d hung out in the snack aisles yesterday and memorized every word.

I watched Angel’s posture as he bent over the safe, pulling out last night’s register haul. Obviously nothing about my appearance had led him to believe that I wasn’t Tommy. Nor should it. I’d done my research, and I was good at this.

Angel withdrew a clear pouch from the safe, full of cash, and offered it to me. I restricted the pores in my palms to keep my hands from sweating as I took it. Not that I wasn’t used to stealing. Far from it. This might be more petty than the jobs I used to do, but I’d helped my parents steal many, many times the amount Angel was handing me, from people who had earned their money a lot more honestly. If anything, robbing drug dealers made me feel slightly better about myself.

Today, though, all of this felt a whole lot dirtier, and not just because the floor in Tommy’s shop was in desperate need of mopping. This time, the cash wasn’t the only thing I was here for.

I took the cash drop and shoved it in my deep pockets, causing my pants to slide another inch down my hips. “Did Julian drop off the tabs yet?” I asked.

Angel shrugged. “Not while I’ve been here.”

I raised an eyebrow and gave Angel my best intimidating glare. “You gonna check?”

Angel rolled his eyes, muttered something about not getting paid well enough to deal with me, and then ambled toward the back room, to the other safe.

And I was glad. Because while Tommy might be fully capable of opening his own damn safe to see if his drugs were there, my profiling hadn’t netted me the combination.

I followed Angel into the back room and watched as he opened it. He stood between me and the dial, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t need the numbers; I only needed Angel to enter them for me. He shoved aside some papers in the safe and pulled out a large Ziploc full of smaller, unmarked baggies. “Yup,” Angel said. “There you go.”

“Give it here,” I said. “I’ve got a delivery to make.”

Angel shrugged and tossed the bag at me, then wandered back up to the front of the store, muttering something under his breath about how I could have gotten them myself.

I stared at the bag in my hand. I might have committed more felonies than all my years of life combined, but possession of this much Vicodin had never been one of them.

I could have taken all the pills. There had to be hundreds of them. But I didn’t want to believe that I needed that many. Just a few. Two bags’ worth ought to be enough. I reached in and pulled out the baggies and shoved them into my pocket with the cash drop. I thought about conveniently losing the rest, but that, too, counted as getting extracurricular. So instead I tossed the Ziploc back in the safe and slammed the thing shut.

On my way out of the store I gave one last disdainful look at Angel, to let him know I found him wanting. Then I barked "later,” and wandered back to where Tommy’s truck was waiting.

I had to force myself not to jitter as I pulled the truck out of the parking lot, holding my knees still to keep them from bouncing up and down, up and down. On the other side of the block, I parked next to a Laundromat. I pulled jeans and a t-shirt in a girl’s size from one of the unattended dryers, then tossed two twenties from the cash drop in with the remaining clothes. The ones I’d taken didn’t look expensive. Hopefully that would more than cover them.

I ducked into the bathroom to get changed. I reduced my body, sucking in all of Tommy’s bulky mass into a wiry girl a few years younger—and several pounds smaller—than my normal self. I pushed several feet of jet-black hair out of my bald scalp, then dulled it a bit. Shiny hair attracted attention.

When I got the pants on I had to lengthen my legs so they wouldn’t drag, since I’d undershot a bit. I stuffed the bags of pills into the pouch of money, and tucked the whole mess into the front of my pants, then sucked in my waist a bit to compensate so it wouldn’t be visible while I walked home.

When I walked out of the bathroom, I stuck Tommy’s clothes in a dryer, inserted a few coins, and let it run.

I left the Laundromat, abandoning Tommy’s truck on the curb. Tommy would find it eventually. He’d go by the store and find that Angel didn’t have the drop. Angel would tell Tommy he’d already been there; Tommy would know that he hadn’t. That was messy, but it wasn’t like they’d want to draw legal attention to their operation. Tommy would probably fire Angel for being a liar and a thief, and Angel would probably think Tommy set him up to be fired for one reason or another. In the worst case scenario, one of them might shoot the other, and the world would be down a drug dealer. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t fall back on me or my mother. No one would suspect shifters were involved, mostly because they didn’t know we existed.

On my way back to our apartment, I passed through an underground parking garage. In a corner, away from cameras, I reshaped my face into the persona I’d been using at our apartment complex—a gaunt girl with thin limbs that made her look frail and unassuming. I tightened my hair into a short bob that made my features appear more severe than they were. I walked the remaining block to our apartment complex the long way around, brushing the cash drop in my pants.

I paused when I saw our new neighbor hovering by her window. She hobbled along with a walker, but she still managed to open her door just as I stepped onto our doormat, keys in hand.

“Amelia,” she said.

I forced a smile at her—one I knew looked natural. I’d called myself Amelia when I introduced myself to her when she’d moved in about a week ago. Before that all our neighbors had been the kind who kept to themselves. I felt bad for trying to avoid her—she was a lonely old woman, after all—but she would keep me standing on the doorstep for hours if I let her.

“Hi, Laura,” I said. “How’s the knitting?” Through the window, I could see every surface of Laura’s living room covered in afghans and doilies and skein after skein of yarn. It was no wonder she never invited me in. There was barely room for Laura to sit, herself.

Which hadn’t stopped me from breaking into her house to watch her sleep the night after she moved in. New people made me nervous; new people with limps made me want to run. But Laura looked like herself in her sleep, and everything inside the apartment checked out.

There were at least four shifters who would be looking for me and my mother, but she wasn’t any of them. Shifters can look like anyone, but we can’t hold on to other personas once we fall asleep.

“Not knitting,” Laura said. “Crochet. I finished another blanket. I thought I might make one for your mother next. How is she?”

I tried not to twitch. “I’m not sure,” I said. “Have you seen her today?”

“No,” Laura said. “That’s why I’m asking. Is she still ill? I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with her face. She’d looked like she was healing so well.”

I cringed. If I wished one thing, it was that Laura’s windows didn’t face our door. It wasn’t healthy to have someone watching us all the time. Someone who might remember details about the cuts on Mom’s face.

“I’d better go check on her,” I said. I took the out, shoving the door open and slipping inside before Laura could protest.

“I’ll see you later, dear!” she shouted as I closed the door.

I locked it behind me. If Laura got any pushier, Mom and I would need to move.

Safely inside, I checked to make sure the curtains were closed. They always were—Mom rarely sought the light of day anymore—but it paid to be careful. Then I relaxed into my home body, the one formed by my subconscious when I wasn’t intentionally forming myself into someone else.

When my dad was alive, we always used our home faces with our neighbors—safer that way, since we reverted to them in our sleep. But now that people were hunting us, Mom said we could only use them inside, where no prying eyes might see. She was recognizable enough as it was, what with the scars on her face.

Even in here, I felt exposed.

I walked through the near-empty living room and kitchen. Usually when we moved to a new place, we decorated right away, so we wouldn’t look as transient as we were. But not here. Mom didn’t seem to care that our empty rooms looked suspicious. This time, she’d only bought two beds and a folding chair. We couldn’t even sit down together. I wondered if, for her, refusing to turn this apartment into a home made it hurt less to have Dad gone.

For me, it served as a constant reminder that nothing would ever be the way it was again.

On my way through the kitchen I pulled out the cash drop and tossed it onto the kitchen counter, then pulled out the baggies of pills. I had the ridiculous urge to flush them.

I’d actually tried that a month ago—the first time Mom came home with pain pills instead of the sleeping pills she’d stolen right after Dad died. I understood that she wasn’t sleeping. Hell, my own nightmares were enough to make me never want to sleep again. But the pain Mom was in wasn’t the kind that got fixed with a pill. I’d flushed the whole bottle, and before I knew it she’d disappeared to get more.

I stuck the pills back in my pocket and knocked on the door to Mom’s room, shoving aside a pile of laundry that had made its way outside the door.

“I’m up,” she called. Though from the scratchiness of her voice I knew that she hadn’t been.

I pushed the door open. Mom sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. The nightstand was littered with prescription bottles. Whether Mom had forged or stolen those prescriptions, I couldn’t tell. I supposed it didn’t really matter. Regardless, she was still leaving the apartment, putting herself at unnecessary risk. She needed to stop taking the drugs, but more than that, she had to stay safe.

I had to keep her safe. At least until she’d had enough time to recover from our loss.

I stepped into the room and Mom stopped rubbing her face long enough to take my hand. Her scars were an angry pink color in the dim fluorescent light. We gave our hand signal—taking turns shifting our palms and responding—our secret code that allowed us to recognize each other.

But then she drew hers away and ran a hand through the tangles of her hair and shifting them straight.

I hesitated, the pills still buried in my pocket. Mom didn’t need more drugs. She needed a miracle

The cuts on her face were healing well, but even with plastic surgery, the scars would never disappear entirely. Even the best laser treatments probably wouldn’t get rid of the scar tissue completely, and any imperfection on her face would be emphasized when she tried to shift her skin tone.

Scars might hurt another person’s vanity, but they threatened Mom’s whole life. Even wearing makeup wouldn’t do the trick, because if she got herself into a pinch, the makeup wouldn’t shift with her.

We couldn’t even get her proper medical treatment to help her partially heal. The Carmines were hunting us, and they were ruthless, and powerful. Doctors kept good records. One note on a computer with internet access that accurately described her scars and the Carmines could search us out, even if we had it done in another part of the world. That’s why they’d given her this particular injury, after all. Scars were precise and specific, and therefore easy to trace. Moreover, they’d know exactly where to find Mom unconscious, if they found out the date of her surgery.

Then she might be kidnapped, tortured, even killed. I had to prevent that—even if it meant running jobs like the one I’d just done.

I still hovered near Mom’s bed, not wanting to hand her the pills, even though I’d gone to so much trouble to get them. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” Mom said. “Just a little tired. I think I’m coming down with something.”

It took all my training to nod sympathetically. I wanted to shake her. She was coming down, all right, but not the kind that was caused by a virus.

My stomach hurt. I never felt Dad’s absence more than when I was with Mom, and I couldn’t help but hate it. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Dad would have known what to do, besides steal her the pills she insisted on risking her life for.

But Dad wasn’t here, and I was doing the best I could.

“Okay,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll feel better.” I took a deep breath and pulled the pills out of my pocket. “You probably don’t need them, but I brought you these.”

Mom’s eyes fixed on the pills. “Thanks,” she said. She snatched them from me and headed into the bathroom.

Thanks. In another life, my mother would have been horrified that I’d been in a position to steal drugs. But today, she didn’t even blink.

I tried to relax, but couldn’t. I just stared at the cracked bathroom door, listening as Mom washed her face. I shifted my body, preventing it from shrinking like a child.

Home used to be the place where I didn’t have to use my acting skills—not the place where I needed them the most.

Through the opening in the bathroom door, I could see Mom opening the bags, pouring a few pills into her hand, turning them over and examining them.

I couldn’t watch her swallow them. Instead I went into the kitchen, ripped the money pouch open, and counted out enough for rent, plus extra for groceries. There was still quite a bit left. I walked down to the rent drop and deposited the cash. I went to the store and bought us cereal and milk. And on the way home, I dropped by the gym and opened my rented locker. Stashed at the back were several disposable cell phones. I reached for a specific one, my stomach twisting, and used it to check an old email account.

And there, right where I expected it to be, was a message from Wendy Carmine—the woman who, as far as I was concerned, might as well be the devil herself.

Jory, it said, I hope you’re considering my offer. We can work with you and your mother. We don’t have to be enemies.

Bring us Mel, or information that leads to his capture, and we’ll consider you both part of our team.

The email was just as polite as the others I’d received, but no less galling. The first message came about six weeks ago through an email address I used to use when my parents and I worked with Mel and Aida—two shifters who ran a theft and espionage ring out of San Jose. That was before Mel framed my parents for his own murders and turned us in to the Carmines, who tried to have them killed for their crimes. Aida called it justice, but even if my parents had committed the murders, it would have been vigilante justice at best.

I should have abandoned all my former email addresses, but I was always watching for communication from Kalif, my boyfriend, who also had the misfortune of being Mel and Aida’s son. And, okay, maybe I’d gotten a little desperate to hear from him and was checking every contact he might use, just in case.

I wouldn’t give away our location just by checking that email. The Carmines wouldn’t know if I’d even received it. But Wendy was persistent. She’d sent one per week, each one pleading with me to bring them the man who turned in my father for his own murders.

Too bad they didn’t figure out my father was innocent before they shot him. The Carmines kidnapped my parents. They killed my dad. They cut on my mother’s face. There was no way in hell I was going to work for them.

But still, I checked the emails. They itched at me, like the bite of a persistent mosquito—one that carried a deadly, untreatable disease.

I couldn’t help but feel like I could use this offer against them, to somehow get them off my mother’s trail, for good. It felt like our best chance—maybe our only chance.

If only I could figure out how.

Two

I was most of the way home when one of my disposable phones vibrated on my hip.

I smiled. I had a lot of burner phones—I marked them for each job and tossed them as quickly as possible, to avoid leaving a trail.

But this one was special. This was the phone with the number I’d emailed Kalif at his alternate email address—the only way I was allowed to contact him. He never checked it from home, or on any device that he carried home with him. And I didn’t contact him any more than necessary. Which, lately, hadn’t been at all.

I put the phone to my ear. “Hello,” I said.

“Seizure ninjas,” Kalif said.

I smiled. In person, we used hand codes to verify each other’s identities—a necessity when your boyfriend can shift himself to look like literally anyone. One of the first things we’d done when we were separated was work out a series of codes that we could use to be sure we were actually talking to each other. We could only use each one once, in case we were overheard, so the list was long and obtuse, but we’d both memorized it and then destroyed it. Good thing we both had good memories—a professional skill.

“Illegal teenage driving,” I said back.

“Hey,” Kalif said. “I was really hoping I’d get to hear your voice today.”

I kept my voice calm, even though my pulse quickened. “Miss me?”

“Like crazy. But I promise I’m not wasting your phone without a reason.”

I wouldn’t have minded if he did—just hearing his voice on the other end was enough reason for me. But this was part of the arrangement. My mom would never trust him. She’d come unglued if she knew I’d given him any way to find us. The less contact we had, the less likely we were to get caught.

But being away from him still made me miserable.

I bounced on my toes. “Tell me you have good news.”

Kalif’s voice dropped. “No. You’re not going to like this.”

Oh. I leaned against the outside wall of the apartment. “Hit me.”

Kalif sounded strained, like he really didn’t want to say this. “My mom wants to talk to you.”

I blinked. His mother had lied to my family, set up my parents to die, and tried to cover it up and keep me in the dark. After Mel and the Carmines, she was the last person on Earth that I wanted to talk to.

Come to think of it, Kalif’s entire family pretty much filled out that list.

“What?” I said.

Kalif drew a deep breath. “I know. I swear I didn’t tell her we’d been in contact. In fact, I told her I couldn’t help her because I didn’t know how to reach you.”

Good on him. “But she didn’t believe you.”

“No. She told me not to treat her like she was stupid.”

If Aida knew Kalif knew how to find me, that made it doubly important that we cover our tracks.

Did she know that the Carmines were trying to get in touch with me? If she did, she could have emailed me directly. Unless she was trying to get at me separately so they could pull a two-man con.

I wasn’t going to fall for that crap. “You can’t lead her to me, because you don’t know where I am, right?”

Silence met me on the other end.

I sighed. Of course he did. It was against Kalif’s nature not to look. “Does your mother know where I am?”

“No,” he said. “At least, I don’t think so.” He didn’t sound as sure as I wanted him to. “If she did, she could just find you to talk to you, instead of trying to set something up through me.”

That was a fair point. “Do you know what she wants?”

“No idea.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. If Aida found us, she might turn my mom and me right over to her parents again. And even if she didn’t, she was still working with them. They might be able to follow her to get to us.

I cleared my throat. “If you want her off your back, you should turn it around on her. Tell her it’s her fault that you’ll never talk to me again, and she should quit rubbing it in.”

Kalif sounded regretful. “Yeah, I did. But she still didn’t believe me.”

I was quiet for a minute. “You don’t actually want me to talk to her, do you? She’s probably trying to lead your grandparents right to me.”

Kalif hesitated.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s just—she’s told me a couple of times that if I’m not careful when I contact you, my grandparents will find you and it’ll be my fault. Not like a threat. More like . . . a warning.”

I paused. That could be just a ploy to get Kalif to admit that he was in contact with me. But if that was Aida’s plan, it didn’t make a great deal of sense to suggest he should be more careful. She’d want him to make a mistake.

“What’s her game?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Kalif said. “But every time she mentions you, she’s careful about it. She never says anything at home. She makes sure we’ve changed clothes, and are in a loud, public place.”

I could read between the lines. “Your apartment is bugged. And your clothes. And your car.”

“Probably,” Kalif said. “I don’t use the internet connection there for anything I don’t want them to see, and I only call you when I’m out and changed into clothes that have never been in the house.”

“Okay,” I said. I remembered the horror on Aida’s face when she’d thought that her parents might get a hold of Kalif. For nearly seventeen years she hadn’t told them that she had a son—that’s how scared of them she was.

Now both she and Kalif were living under their thumb, in a place where their every move was being watched. And the longer I took getting Mom back on her feet, the longer Kalif stayed there, the more likely his grandparents were to pull him into their world—a place where they were so afraid of being exposed as shifters that they’d kill or threaten every shifter who wouldn’t work directly for them. I didn’t know if I was more afraid of what they might do to him, or what they might ask him to do.

Cooperating with Aida might be safer for him than fighting against her. “If I called her on a disposable, would she be able to trace my location?”

Kalif sounded surprised I was even considering it. “The best she could get is the cell tower you’re using. Especially if I’m with her—she won’t be able to start a trace without me knowing. And if you called from someplace far from home, she’d only be able to pinpoint the area of the country you’re in.” He paused. “Do you want to do this?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t like her knowing we’re in contact, and I don’t love the idea of her being able to tell so much as what country I’m in.”

“Especially since you’re still in the Bay Area.”

I sighed. “Okay, for real. How did you find me?”

Kalif sounded embarrassed. “I tracked your emails to the San Mateo Public Library. Hillsdale branch.”

My cheeks burned. Of course he would. I should have known. Better yet, I should have masked the location somehow, the way Kalif always did. But I didn’t know how to do that on a home computer, much less on a public one. Tech stuff was his half of the job.

Kalif cleared his throat nervously. “Was I not supposed to do that?”

I rolled my eyes. This was Kalif. He could no more keep himself from doing things like that than he could keep himself from breathing. “No. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend I thought of that. Do you think she knows, then?”

“Doubtful. I don’t access that email from home, and I do cover my tracks.”

I tried not to take that as a jab. If there was one thing I could trust Kalif to do, it was to handle his electronic footprint. I was much better at the in-person stuff.

I’d feel a lot safer when we could both watch each other’s backs again. And as much as I hated to admit it, whatever Aida had to say might bring us closer to being together again—more so than anything I’d been doing.

I hated that I felt so alone, I was willing to look to Aida for an out. “Don’t give her too much notice. None, if possible.”

“Okay,” Kalif said. “Don’t stay at home, though. If she manages to trace the call, you don’t want to let her know where you’re living.”

I couldn’t call from home for other reasons. There was no way I could let Mom overhear this. “Am I being stupid?” I asked. “Maybe you could just find out what she wants.”

“I tried,” Kalif said. “As much as I could without admitting I’d been in contact with you. She told me she only wants to talk to you.”

That was suspicious, wasn’t it?

Unless she wanted to send me a message she thought Kalif wouldn’t want to pass on.

If that was the case, did I want to hear it?

I sighed. There were no guarantees, but Kalif and I could take reasonable precautions. Plus, the idea of turning her down and going back up to my sparse apartment with my stoned mother and no leads on a better life felt like a death sentence.

“You can think about it,” Kalif said. “Call when you make up your mind.”

He was winding down the phone call, and while I knew that was the sensible thing to do, all I wanted was to reach out and hold him here. If I couldn’t confront my mother, and I couldn’t walk out on her, and I couldn’t go on the way things were, that left Aida.

“No,” I said. “I want to talk to her. Today, if possible.”

Kalif paused, and I waited for him to talk me out of it.

“Okay,” he said. “Give me a few hours to get her alone. I’ll call you at this number. Then you get rid of the phone.”

He’d better believe it.

“And Kalif?” I said.

“Yes?”

“Happy birthday.”

I could hear his smile through the phone. “I didn’t think you knew.”

“You’re six months and six days older than me,” I said. “It’s the kind of thing a girl remembers. Plus, there was the bit about you wanting to hear my voice today.”

“Yeah,” Kalif said, sounding sheepish. “I really need to work on being harder to read.”

For all of our sakes, I hoped he was only transparent with me.

“I love you,” he said.

And then he hung up before I could say it back.

I leaned against the building, wondering if I should just toss the phone now. If I pulled out the battery, smashed the hell out of it, then Aida wouldn’t get through. She wouldn’t track it. She wouldn’t find me or my mother.

Nothing would change.

And while I wanted to keep my mother safe, if I was honest with myself I knew she wasn’t. Not really.

But I didn’t know how to save her from this.

Instead, I hopped the train down to San Jose. When Aida tracked the call, I wanted my location to be as in her face as possible. San Mateo was close. San Jose was closer. I could slip away in an instant, changing my face, my height, my hair, my skin, my gender. But if I was going to talk to Aida, I wanted to send her a message.

Yes, Aida, I’m still here. Right under your nose. I’m not afraid of you.

Even though nothing could be further from the truth.

Three

When I got off the train in San Jose, I found a smoothie place with tables on the sidewalk and went in to use their bathroom. I didn’t change my gender or body size this time, but I lengthened my face and shifted my hair to a blue-black. When I stepped out of the stall and washed my hands, a gorgeous Korean girl stared back at me in the mirror. There was no one else in the bathroom; I thickened my eyebrows a little, and made my eyes smaller and my lips less pronounced. Beauty drew attention, and I’d overdone it.

I was overdoing it in general, just to take a phone call on a burner phone. But Aida knew every trick I did and then some. When dealing with her, I couldn’t be too careful.

I ordered myself a peach-banana smoothie and sat down at a table outside where I could watch in both directions down the street. Sipping slowly, I fiddled with my phone. Hopefully the sugar would energize my brain. I’d need my A game to deal with Aida; she would almost certainly bring hers.

My straw slurped in the bottom of my cup as my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID—it showed a blocked number.

Heart hammering, I pressed it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Nazi Turantuadogs,” Kalif said.

I smiled. I’d been particularly proud of that one. “Sugar kisses.”

“Okay,” Kalif said. “I’m walking over to my mom now, so she’ll hear everything from here on. I’m going to put you on speaker, but we’re clean, and alone, so no one else should hear you.”

“Okay,” I said.

“You can walk away now, Kalif,” she said.

Goosebumps broke out down my arms. Just hearing Aida’s voice was enough to give me the shivers.

“No,” Kalif said back. “I’ll stay.”

Aida sighed, but she didn’t argue.

Even over the phone, I was glad he wasn’t leaving me alone with his mother.

I lowered my voice a bit, making it sound steely and cold. “Hi, Aida. Tracking the call yet?”

“I don’t need to talk to you to find you,” she said. She didn’t sound even a little bit rattled, but though I was good at voices, Aida was the best. She’d never show her hand that way.

“Really?” I asked. “So tell me, where am I?” Pushing her hard might put her on edge, and it would also let her know I wasn’t going to let her shove me around.

Besides, I never felt closer to my father than I did when I was working the way he’d taught me. Start interactions strong, he’d said. Act like you can’t be pushed around, and most people won’t test you.

Aida wasn’t most people. “If I wanted to know, I would,” she said. “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Jory.”

I smiled. She was trying to put me on the defensive, as well. I didn’t take the bait. “Since you’re so on top of things, I assume you didn’t want to talk to me just to insult me.”

I heard another sigh, but I couldn’t tell if it came from Kalif or Aida. Either would have been earned.

“I wanted to talk to you alone, actually,” Aida said. “But this will have to do. I have a job for you.”

My jaw actually fell open. I wished Kalif was there with me, if only so we could share an incredulous glance. Whatever he thought now, though, he was silent.

“You’re joking,” I said.

“I wish I was,” she said.

No wonder she hadn’t been willing to tell Kalif what she wanted. Even she couldn’t have this much audacity.

I let a laugh creep into my voice. Let her know I thought she was ridiculous. “You betrayed my family. Why would I work for you?”

Aida’s voice was matter-of-fact. “Because I can keep your mom safe. I can make sure my parents don’t find her.”

Kalif was supposed to be doing that for me. That was one of the reasons he’d stayed with his mother instead of running off alone to wait for me to get my mom situated. From the inside, he could alert me if any of them came close to finding us.

But I didn’t miss her threat—if I didn’t help Aida, she could also sic her parents on me.

Even Kalif couldn’t protect us from that.

“Let’s pretend I believe that you can help me,” I said. “Why would you?”

“That’s the payment,” Aida said. “For you finding Mel before my parents do.”

My jaw dropped lower. In spite of all my training, I was actually speechless.

Kalif, however, wasn’t. “You did not just ask her to do that,” he said. “He tried to kill her.”

The muscles in my neck tightened. Mel had tried to strangle me when I was in the midst of rescuing my parents.

Before I shot him in the leg.

I closed my eyes. Aida thought her parents were looking for Mel, and unless the emails on my phone in the gym locker were actually from her, she was right about that.

Did she know that they’d asked me to find him? Asking would give her too much information. Still, there had to be a way to use this. I had to keep her talking, get more out of her before I committed to anything. That was another thing my dad taught me. Speaking in absolutes gave away power.

If I wanted to pit them all against each other and get my mom to safety in the process, then this was just another piece in a very dangerous puzzle.

I let my voice drip with sarcasm. “So you want me to find my dad’s murderer. I’ll get right on that.”

“Mel didn’t kill your father,” Aida said. Her voice stayed perfectly calm, but she spoke a touch too quickly, like she was trying to convince herself. Either way, I was pretty sure I’d shaken her.

If I stayed right on top of her, maybe I could maintain the edge. “He set him up to die. Same difference. Also, I think you had something to do with that.”

Aida charged forward—a good move on her part. “My parents will find your mother eventually. If you don’t want that to happen, you’ll take the offer.”

I paused for effect. “I thought you could find us anytime.”

Aida was quiet.

The silence made me nervous. If she got frustrated with me and hung up, I’d have to come to her if I wanted to accept the job, which would give her more power.

And did I want to accept it? Looking for Mel might involve travel, and I couldn’t leave my mother for long.

“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You want to feed me some bogus lead, and then wait for me to follow it so you can bring me in to your parents, is that it?”

“No,” Aida said. “My parents have no idea I’m contacting you. They’re looking for him, and if they find him, they’ll kill him. That’s what I need you for.” Aida paused. “But while you’re suspecting me of laying a trap for you, you might as well know that I’m reasonably certain he’s still in California.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why would you think that?”

“Because Mel is never far,” Aida said. “He wouldn’t leave his family like that.”

I swallowed a comment about how the evidence said otherwise. Mel was probably in Australia by now.

Still, if he was in California, that made looking for him more possible.

“What I want to know,” I said, "is why you want to help him. He murdered a bunch of people and lied to you about it. He tried to strangle me in front of you. He sleeps with everything that moves. I’d think you’d be happy to be rid of him.”

I felt a pang of regret for saying that within earshot of Kalif. He hated dealing with what his dad was, and I didn’t mean to throw it in his face. But while I hadn’t accepted Aida’s job, talking to her was a job in itself. I had to play her if I was going to get anything out of it.

He’d understand that, wouldn’t he?

Aida’s voice was quiet, and if I hadn’t known what a great actor she was, I would have believed her completely. “I don’t want him dead. You shot him in the leg, so he’ll have scar tissue, and possibly a limp. My parents will use that to find him, just as they’ll use your mother’s scars to find you. I want to get to him first.”

My eyes narrowed, and I fiddled with the straw to my smoothie. She’d put up with his philandering for years. Of course she now wanted to save him from her parents, even if he was the murderer she’d thought my parents to be. That was Aida’s thing—she protected her people, no matter how horrible they were.

Except when those people were my parents—some of the only people in her life who’d deserved her protection.

Kalif stepped in for me. “Why do you want Jory to find Dad?” he asked. “You could do it. I could do it.”

“But you can’t,” I said. “Not with Wendy and Oliver Carmine looking over your shoulders. That’s why, isn’t it?”

“You’re clever,” Aida said to me. “That’s why I want you working with me.”

That’s when I saw my opening—the best one I was ever going to get. “I’ll do it,” I said. “But I don’t work alone.”

“I doubt your mother will want to—"

The silence that followed told me she got it, but I continued anyway. “I work with Kalif. He comes with me or there’s no deal.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn’t ready to leave Mom, but this was the best possible way for him to get away from his mother and her parents. If she knew where he was going, she wouldn’t hunt for him. She’d actively keep her parents from following. And once we were gone, Aida couldn’t control what we did. We could look for Mel, or not. We could turn him over to Aida, or to the Carmines. We could work it out together, which was how both of us worked best.

I could hop between Mom and Kalif until Mom was stable, and then we could leave. I could keep up the double life for as long as I needed to. Mom wasn’t exactly with it enough to notice. And we wouldn’t have to stay in California. We could move to France or Barbados or the freaking Arctic circle for all I cared.

This was it. This was the change I was looking for.

“He can’t,” Aida said. “My parents will trace him if he leaves.”

“I thought you were better than that,” I said. “You kept him a secret for seventeen years. You could cover his tracks if you wanted to. Tell them he ran. Tell them you can’t find him. And then make sure they don’t.”

Aida was quiet again. I tucked the phone into my shoulder and leaned my head into my hands. If Aida was telling the truth, this would be perfect. Aida would protect Mom; Kalif would come work with me. We could figure out a plan to stay one step ahead of the Carmines and his parents—especially if we actually could find Mel before he snuck up on us.

Afterward, Kalif and I could walk away from all this, just like we’d planned. If I could get Mom to a more stable place in the meantime, everything would work out. And I’d have Kalif to talk to freely while I did it.

But I had to be careful. If it was perfect, it was probably a trap. And a trap where I’d gotten the upper hand was still a trap.

But if Aida’s silence was any indication, she was actually considering my point. “Agree to my terms,” I said. “And I’ll think about it.”

“No,” Aida said. I cringed. I’d pushed too hard, forced her to refuse. But then she added: “You take the offer now, while it stands.”

I let myself smile. She’d implicitly agreed to let Kalif help me, if only I agreed now.

But again. Trap. I pitched my voice to sound absolutely confident. “You’ll give me time. You wouldn’t be asking me for help if you had another option.”

Then I hung up the phone, to drive the point home.

I got up from the table. If she’d somehow traced the call, it was time to get out. Either way, it was time to get rid of the phone. I’d get in touch with Kalif later, after I’d had time to think about how I really wanted to handle this situation.

Shifters didn’t do rush jobs. If I made a snap decision in a case like this, Dad would have killed me.

I stuck the phone inside my smoothie cup and walked to the end of the block and down the alley that ran along the back of the restaurants. I lifted the lid on one of the Dumpsters and lowered the cup inside.

I was just about to let go when the cup vibrated in my fingers. I stood there for a moment, holding it over the edge. I probably should have let go of it anyway, but I couldn’t—not if this was Kalif.

Instead, I pulled it out of the cup, wiped off the peach-banana residue, and answered it. The receiver felt tacky against my face. “Hello?” I said.

“Poodle armies,” Kalif said.

I smiled. “Rats with swords.”

“Hey,” Kalif said. “I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you before you got rid of the phone, but it took me a minute to shake off my mom.”

I paused. On a disposable phone, with so little time, there was almost no chance Aida could be listening, as long as Kalif had been careful.

But I still didn’t want to talk too long, or say too much. And I wanted a second verification, in case somehow Aida had found out about our code words.

“So?” he said. “What do you think?”

I was quiet. Verifying Kalif’s identity was harder over the phone than it was in person. I needed a question that Aida wouldn’t guess the answer to. “Remember that last night before we rescued my parents?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Why?” Kalif sounded suspicious, like he wasn’t sure where I was going with this. Which would make sense, if he was actually Aida in disguise.

“Tell me about it,” I said.

“We were sitting on the balcony in our hotel room,” he said. “And we decided to run away together. But then later we decided not to, because of your mom. Jory, are you trying to torture me?”

“No,” I said. “Just tell me what we had for dinner.”

“Cold hamburgers,” Kalif said. “It’s really me.”

I smiled. “Took you long enough.”

“You should have started by asking about all the fabulous sex we had. Then I would have gotten it.”

I laughed. After the conversation on the balcony, I’d practically had to force Kalif not to sleep on the floor, and he’d kept his hands strictly to himself, because he was so afraid of taking advantage of me while I was worried about my parents. “I thought about telling you I was pregnant, but I thought that would be too obvious.”

“Or it would have made me insanely jealous, one or the other.”

My whole body ached for him. “Okay,” I said. “So it’s you. I still don’t want to discuss things over a used phone.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Kalif sounded disappointed. “Call me later, then?”

I could feel my resolve weakening. I was already in San Jose. Had I really come down here to bother with Aida, or did I have something else on my mind? With as pretty as I’d made my persona originally, I had to be expecting something.

“Come meet me,” I said. “We can talk in person.”

Kalif was quiet. “Really?” he said. “You want me to meet you where I traced your email?”

At least he was being careful. “No. The place where I bought those hamburgers. Meet me there.”

He sounded as eager as I felt. “Done.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“You’re that close?”

His excitement might have made me nervous if I hadn’t felt the exact same way.

“I am. You?”

“Give me half an hour.”

“You got it.”

When we hung up, I did throw the phone in the Dumpster, and then I slipped behind it to change my hair and face again.

And as I left the alley and headed for the hamburger place, for the first time in ages, I felt like a spy.

Four

The burger place was in a strip mall down the street from one of the hotels where Kalif and I had stayed when we were planning to rescue my parents. I arrived five minutes late, because I wanted Kalif to already be there. Call me paranoid, but even with him, I wanted to stroll by and observe before I approached.

I didn’t have to look long. A man walked out of the bakery next door and set a cardboard box filled with two big cinnamon rolls down on a bench. He had red hair and pale skin, unlike Kalif’s dark hair and olive complexion, and he looked several years older than Kalif, but his jawline was an exact mirror.

This was what happened when I wasn’t around to critique him on his shifting.

I maintained an even step as I walked up to the nearest light, crossed the street, and approached his bench from the other direction, even though I felt like skipping. Kalif looked me over as I approached, but then pulled out his phone, as if checking the time. I was tempted to walk right by and make him sweat.

Instead, I offered him my hand.

Kalif broke out in a grin before our palms even touched. He grabbed it with a firm grip, and I could have just let him hold it if we didn’t need to verify each other’s identity. I shifted my hand warm as he shifted his cold; then we swapped. Our signal, the one only he and I knew. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. Kalif’s whole face lit up and he wrapped me into his arms. It made no difference that we didn’t look like ourselves; I squeezed into him, surprised by a cue I hadn’t known I knew.

He smelled like home.

When I looked up at him, his mouth closed over mine, and my body tingled from head to toe. When he broke away, he looked down at me and shook his head. “Why are we always someone else when we do that?”

I laughed. “Because you’re impatient.”

He pulled me down beside him on the bench. My persona looked about four years younger than him, so we didn’t exactly match, but the gap wasn’t big enough that we were drawing tons of attention.

“So,” he said, "how are you really?”

The last thing I wanted to do in my first minute of seeing him was get into that. I smiled—and for the first time lately, it felt genuine. “A lot better than I was a minute ago.”

He grinned like an idiot. “Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”

Being this close to him again made my head spin. It would be all too easy to get totally distracted. “Does your mom know you’re gone?”

He shrugged. “Probably.”

A heavy set woman with a flowered blouse passed us on the street. Hairs rose on the back of my neck. Aida could be anyone. “Do you think she’s tracking you?”

He leaned close and shook his head. “No. I cleaned the bugs out of my phone, so we’re good.” He pulled out his phone and flashed the screen at me. “But I planted one on her today, so I can watch her.” He squinted at the screen. “She’s ten miles away, and not coming toward us.”

I smiled. “Good work,” I said. “And your grandparents?”

Kalif shook his head. “Mom and I are careful. We cycle out everything regularly—computers, phones. These clothes haven’t ever been in our apartment. We’re fine.” Kalif ran his fingers over the back of my hand, and then took it in his. The pull between us was magnetic.

I shook my head to clear it, trying to pull us back on the subject. “Your mom really put trackers in your phone.”

Kalif rolled his eyes. “And my laptop, and my external drive. I got them all. I was thorough.”

I squeezed his hand. “Sure there’s not one hidden under your skin somewhere?”

Kalif laughed. “No operations lately, though I wouldn’t put it past her to try that when the others don’t work.”

His face dropped close to mine, and he rubbed his nose against my temple. “I probably shouldn’t go to your house, just in case.”

I stiffened. That wasn’t even on the table. “You can’t anyway. My mom thinks you’ll betray us.”

Kalif hesitated. “And you?”

I squeezed his hand and turned my head to whisper in his ear. “I think if you’re working against me, you’re the worst spy ever.”

Kalif smiled. “That’s what I’ve been missing. Nobody puts me in my place like you do.”

I smacked his shoulder. “That was only an insult if you’re double crossing me. And if you are, I haven’t insulted you enough.”

Kalif laughed. The sound made my stomach ache. I wanted to stay here with him all day—to drag out each moment and make it last forever.

Kalif dipped a finger in the frosting of one of his cinnamon rolls and licked it off. His face turned serious. “I’m so sorry about what my mom said. If I’d known that’s what she wanted, I never would have told you about it.”

“And then we wouldn’t be sitting here,” I said.

Kalif put his other hand on my arm. “You know I don’t regret that.”

I smiled. “I know.”

“So you think it’s a trap?”

I fought off a shiver. “I never can tell with her. I don’t trust her.”

He nodded. “Me neither.”

My heart ached for him. Mom was a mess, and I couldn’t depend on her, not like I did before. But I did have autonomy—more than I wanted. I didn’t have to worry about Mom watching my every move when she couldn’t even leave the house to pay the rent. We didn’t own a computer right now, much less tracking devices. I didn’t want to send him back to that alone.

Especially when his mother still wanted to protect his father, even though he was a liar and a murderer and a cheat.

Kalif ran his hand under my chin and moved my face up to look at him. I looked into the eyes that weren’t really his.

“I want to see your face,” he said.

And though it shouldn’t have mattered at all, the feeling was mutual.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go someplace private, and we’ll talk it all through.” Just for the moment, I wanted to walk with him, to go somewhere we could drop our personas and be in our home faces, to pretend that if we talked about Aida’s offer, we’d find a course of action that didn’t put us all in more danger.

One that meant we could be together.

Kalif’s eyes flicked up to the hotel balconies, and my face flushed. We couldn’t spend the night together. The magnetism would turn into gravity. I’d never escape.

“Um,” I said. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

Kalif’s cheeks blushed for a brief moment before he corrected them. He hung his head. “Sorry. I . . . have no excuse for myself.” He cleared his throat. “What did you have in mind?”

I picked up the box of cinnamon rolls and handed them to him. “Come on.”

I waited for him to ask where we were going, but he didn’t. Kalif just handed me one of the cinnamon rolls, picked up the other, and threw away the box. He took my free hand with his and walked with me while taking a bite of his pastry.

He wasn’t very dexterous about it, though. He ended up with frosting down his forearm. This was the thing about making fun of Kalif—I could never resist.

I nudged him, pointing at his arm. “I’d lick that off,” I said. “But I wouldn’t want you to take it the wrong way.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Which way is the wrong way?”

Now it was my turn to blush.

Kalif shook his head. “What are we doing?”

“Foreplay?” I said.

Kalif choked on his cinnamon roll. Then he spoke with his mouth full. “Okay, now you’re just messing with me.”

I smiled. “Only now?”

He let his face turn red. “Fine, fine. Enjoy your spoils.”

I laughed, and hoped he couldn’t hear the hesitation in my voice. I didn’t want to leave him behind again. I wanted Aida’s offer to be the change that we needed.

But we couldn’t make snap decisions based on what we felt. We had to talk it through. And that meant the path forward was uncertain.

I led Kalif to the movie theater—the easiest access to a dark, private space that wasn’t too private. I bought us a pair of tickets to the show that was starting next and we slipped into the theater. It was four in the afternoon, and the place was empty except for a pair of thirty-something women sitting near the center. I pulled Kalif up to the back row, where we could slouch behind the high-backed seats in the dark corner. We waited for a minute, until we’d checked for both security cameras and ushers, and then let our faces shift back into ourselves.

Kalif watched me intensely. His hair and eyes looked even darker in the dim light. It was Kalif, for sure, but he looked to be four or five years older than the last time I’d seen him, even though it had only been two months. His features were more defined, his shoulders broader.

He looked like a guy who had his whole life under control. Our home bodies were based on our self-images—our subconscious minds formed our faces literally in the way that we saw ourselves. I wasn’t sure how different I looked, but for the first time since I’d met him, that six month age gap felt bigger, as if we really were four years apart.

If Kalif noticed my hesitation, he didn’t show it. He ran a hand through my hair, which curled around my face just like my mom’s. “Good to see you,” he said. He leaned closer to me in the dark.

“You, too,” I said. “But you look older.”

He looked at me uncertainly. “Does it bother you?”

I tried to relax, so he wouldn’t see that it did. “No. I’m just surprised.”

He seemed to buy it. “You look older, too,” he said. “Maybe by a year or two.”

“Yeah, well, you’re seventeen going on twenty-five.”

He laughed. He looked into my eyes, and we just sat there for a minute, staring. It felt so good just to be with him that I didn’t want to think about anything else. So instead, I kissed him.

I flipped up the arm rest between us as our mouths moved together. It was dark enough in here that the women in the center of the theater probably wouldn’t see us. I ran my nails down the back of Kalif’s neck. When we came up for air, he gave me a look. His voice was raw. “If you wanted to do that, we should have gone to the hotel.”

I pulled back, trying to focus. “Okay. Right. Talking.”

Kalif groaned and buried his face in my shoulder. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

I whacked him on the arm and pushed him back in his chair. The movie was starting, and I scanned the theater one more time to make sure no one was paying attention to us before turning my back to the screen. The noise would keep us from drawing attention, and the rows around us were still empty, so our talking wouldn’t catch us trouble.

“So, your mother,” I said.

Kalif rolled his eyes. “You don’t want to help her protect my dad. I get that. What happened to your family was his fault.”

I nodded. It was true that I didn’t want to find him. But I still thought there had to be a way to pit all of them against each other, to work things so that the Carmines took care of Mel and left us alone.

I rubbed my palm against the raised arm rest.

I was thinking about setting up Kalif’s father, of using him as a pawn. And murderer or not, he was still Kalif’s dad. I wasn’t sure what he’d think of the suggestion.

But there was only one way to find out. I had to tell him everything.

“Your grandparents,” I said. “They’ve been contacting me.”

Kalif stiffened. “They know where you are?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. They used one of my old email addresses, and I haven’t replied. I always use a burner phone to check them. They shouldn’t even know I’m receiving the messages, right?”

Kalif nodded slowly. “It’s plausible. Besides, if they knew where you were, they’d have brought you in by now. I’ve hacked into their system, and I’ve been monitoring what I can. I haven’t seen anything that points to them knowing where you are.”

I nodded. This was one of the benefits of having him inside. “That’s good.”

He looked at me with concern. “What did they say?”

I swallowed. “That they want me to work for them. That they’ll give my mother and me safe harbor if we’ll bring them your dad.”

Kalif sat back in his seat. “So they do want him,” he said. “And my mom wants to protect him. And everyone wants you to help.”

I nodded. “Or it’s a trap. That’s more likely. You know more about them than I do. Do you really think they’d let my mom and me go free?”

Kalif shook his head. “But they’d probably let you work for them. If you were willing to prove yourself to them by bringing in my dad, and then live under their thumb, I don’t think they’d kill you. They’re dangerous, but they live by a sort of . . . code I guess. They eliminate shifters they can’t control. But those they think they can control, they’re happy to use.”

“Like they’re using you now,” I said. “Or at least, they think they are.”

Kalif nodded. “My mother keeps me away from them as much as she can. But there’s only so much she can do.”

“She’s afraid of them,” I said.

He nodded. “Aren’t we all?”

I sighed. I hated that he was right. “The only reason they would ask me to do this is because they think they can recruit me. So unless we want to help them hunt, control, and kill other shifters for the rest of our lives, it’s a trap. But the jaws of a trap can swing both ways. I don’t want to discount an opportunity if we can work it to our advantage.”

Kalif nodded, and I could tell that he understood. I held my breath, waiting for his response.

“That’s smart,” he said finally.

I took his hand and squeezed it. “But what about you? What do you want to happen to your father?”

Kalif sighed and closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

I nodded. Given the situation, that was more than reasonable. “If you want to find your dad yourself, I’ll help you. You know that, right?”

Kalif looked surprised. “Why would you do that after what he did?”

“I’d do it for you. If that’s what you need. I’m guessing from your mother’s offer that you guys haven’t heard from him at all?”

“Not a word,” Kalif said. “And I don’t want to.”

“What do you think about bringing him to justice?”

Kalif winced. “There’s not a lot of that available.”

He was right. There was no legal authority for shifters.

“Why would your mother want to protect him?” I asked. “He betrayed her, too.”

“I don’t know,” Kalif said. “Maybe she loves him.”

I cringed. “I can’t imagine why.”

Kalif was quiet.

“Sorry,” I said. “He’s your dad. I shouldn’t say things like that.” Things between Kalif and me would be better if I didn’t hate his entire family.

Too bad they made it so easy.

Kalif stared up at the movie screen, but I wasn’t sure he was seeing anything. “Don’t be sorry. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

That seemed to be Aida’s thing, though—protecting people who didn’t deserve it. But I understood one part of her messed up mind.

Neither of us wanted to be alone.

“So we don’t want to work for your mom,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t pretend to.”

Kalif nodded slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

“We tell your mom we’re working for her,” I said. “If the Carmines do manage to track us, let them think I’m doing what they asked. We look for your dad—which is made easier if he’s still in California. And if we find him, we use him as leverage to get ourselves free.” I looked him right in the eye. “We’re con artists. We could con them all.”

Kalif looked skeptical. “I’m not sure how we could do that. But doing what they want for now will buy us time.”

I nodded. “We can decide what to do with your father if we find him. It won’t be easy. He’ll have covered his tracks well. We might not be able to trace him at all, and then none of it matters.”

I gripped Kalif’s hand harder. If we couldn’t find Mel, we had no more leverage than if we chose not to look for him.

The only way forward seemed to be to look, and wait for our moment.

“Okay,” Kalif said. “I’m in. And you? You’re ready to leave your mother?”

My stomach sank. Behind me on the movie screen, I heard a horrible crashing sound that might as well have been my plans screeching to a halt.

I was so ready. I wanted to tell him to come right now, and we’d walk away from all this and never return.

But I’d left my mom half stoned, unable to keep herself out of the hands of people who would imprison and kill her. I’d already saved her from them once. I couldn’t let them get to her again.

“Jory?” Kalif said.

“I can’t,” I said. “Not totally. But we can work together on the side. I can sneak off and meet you, and we can—"

Kalif shook his head. “What if she catches us? I thought that was the plan—you were going to get her back on her feet, and then we were going to leave.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. He was right, and I was the one not holding up my end of the bargain. “I’m just . . . not ready yet. I’m sorry.” I gave him a pleading look, but he was already waving away my apology.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Take the time you need. But if we’re going to work together again, I want to do this right.” He winced. “I don’t want to mess things up when it comes to you, you know?”

I knew. I felt exactly the same. “So I can look,” I said. “But I have to do it alone.”

Kalif nodded. “I can do what I can from where I am, but it won’t be much.”

I nodded. That made sense—if Aida thought she could look for Mel under the Carmines’ eye, she would have done it herself.

So I was back where I started.

“How is your mom doing?” he asked. “If I can come with you, if I can help . . .”

My heart squeezed. I wanted him there, more than anything, but bringing him into it would be the opposite of helpful. “She doesn’t trust you. She’d flip if she knew I was even talking to you.”

“I know,” Kalif said. “I just want you to know that if you need me, I’m here.”

We were both quiet.

“Thank you,” I said.

He nodded. “Of course.”

I melted against his shoulder, wishing the conversation had come to a different conclusion.

Kalif whispered in my ear. “We’ll talk again in a few weeks. Maybe then, your mom will be ready.”

A few weeks. Part of me thought that was nothing—such a short time left to be apart. But another part of me knew it was too short. I couldn’t get my mother stable in that time. I didn’t know how to get her stable at all.

But I had to. I couldn’t waste any more time dancing around the issue. When I got home, I’d be straight with her. I’d tell her I couldn’t live like this anymore. I’d have her make a plan to get herself healthy.

And if she refused, that was her choice. If she wouldn’t help herself, I’d have to walk away. I couldn’t give up everything for her if she wasn’t willing to at least try.

I pressed my face into Kalif’s shoulder, breathing him in. The previews were ending. “Can we stay here a little bit longer?”

Kalif wrapped his arms around me tight. “We have a whole movie. If you’re sure I can’t get us a room somewhere.”

He sounded like he was joking, but I knew he wasn’t. Not really. And why should he be? We should be able to be together.

So why was I still so much of a mess?

“I love you,” I said. “But sometimes you drive me crazy.”

“Believe me,” he said, "it’s mutual.”

We didn’t stay for the entire movie, but Kalif did ride the train north with me on my way home. He promised to continue north for another several stops, so if he was wrong about his mother tracking him, she’d think he dropped me off elsewhere.

He held me tight as the train pulled up to my stop, and I closed my eyes and breathed him in. I tried to soak up that moment, to make it last however much longer it would be before I saw him again.

I hugged my arms as I walked from the train back to our apartment complex. It was literally colder here, so close to San Francisco, and I had to send more blood to my arms, even though it was summer.

In the underground lot a block over, I changed into Amelia. When I got to our place, I snuck up from the side to see if I could spot Laura through the window. Her curtains were drawn.

I breathed a sigh of relief and slipped through our front door. The apartment smelled of sour milk, and I was surprised that we had enough food in the house for anything to go bad.

And then I walked around the corner into the kitchen, and my heart stopped. Mom lay on the linoleum floor with one arm folded underneath her, and the other splayed out to the side. Her mouth hung open, vomit pooling where her collarbone met the floor.

My body reverted back to myself and then shrank further, like a child’s. The vomit was mostly pills, dozens of them, in several different sizes and colors.

My skin went cold. No one took that many pills by accident.

My eyes darted around the apartment, hoping this was a trap. Someone had gotten to my mother. Someone else had done this to her.

I shook myself, bending over her body. Was she dead?

No. If she were, her body would have reverted into its genetic self, her face melting away, leaving nothing but flat skin.

Like my father.

As I stared at her, I could see her chest rise and fall with each breath, though she was clearly unconscious, reverted to her home body.

Did someone do this to her? Had the Carmines caught her? Was I even now standing inside a trap?

I listened carefully to the apartment, but heard nothing. I took one step into the hallway, and found no one waiting for me.

My heartbeat pounded in my skull.

Unless. Unless that wasn’t my mother lying on the floor. Unless it was one of the people who were after us, staging everything. Wanting me to believe she was dying. Could one of them have faked the scars with makeup? It wouldn’t shift, but would create a ruse.

I moved back to my mother. Her head lolled to the side, bile running across her cheek, coating the scars.

Not makeup. And if this was someone else pretending to be her, I couldn’t imagine what their game would be.

I reached for her wrist. Her hand was cold, but I could feel her pulse. I shook her, shouting at her. “Mom,” I said. “Mom. Wake up.”

She didn’t. I dropped her wrist, stepped rapidly backward and slammed into the wall. Saliva curdled in my mouth.

It wasn’t a trap. It wasn’t staged. Any of the people after us would have taken her away, or lay in wait here for me to find her. They would have pounced on me when they had the chance. When I was bent over the body. When I was reeling in panic.

No.

No one else had done this.

I drew a deep breath, trying to block out the thought, but only gagged on the foul smell in the air.

My mother tried to leave me here.

Alone.

Five

I stood frozen against the wall of the kitchen, my body suspended, unable to move, unable to feel. Unable to decide what to do next.

Mom was alive. But how much of the medication was still in her system? Did she need an ambulance?

Did I dare call one, and risk her dying in the hospital, her face washing blank and featureless?

I managed to pull a phone out of my pocket. A normal person would call 911.

I took a step toward her. Pills. So many pills.

Even if she lived through this without medical help, what would we do next?

I don’t know how long I stood there, frozen. Long enough to know that I wasn’t thinking right, so I did the only right thing I could think of, reached for the only help I knew I could count on.

I dialed Kalif.

“Pumpkin patch owners,” he said.

My mind blanked. What was the next code word?

“Embroidered—" Was it petals? No. "—embroidered stamens.”

He paused. “Jory?”

I wanted to sound calm, but I couldn’t even fake it. “It’s my mom. I just got home, and she’s on the floor.”

He spoke slowly. “She’s on the floor. Did someone hurt her?”

I could barely breathe. “There’re all these pills,” I said. “I think she took them. Lots of them. And then she—"

His voice rose in alarm. “She’s unconscious?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

“You’re sure it’s your mom. She still has her face.”

I couldn’t breathe. “Yes. It’s her, and she’s alive. But there’re a lot of pills, and her hands are cold, and—"

Kalif drew a sharp breath. “Did you call an ambulance?”

My voice pitched upward. “Can I do that? I can’t, right? They’ll take her to the hospital. They’ll take notes and put her in the system. And what if she dies there? They’ll know about us, they’ll dissect her, and, and—"

“I’m getting off the train,” Kalif said. “I’ll get back on one going the other direction and come back to you. But if your mom is dying, you have to get her help. You can’t pump her stomach, can you? You have to call someone.”

My heart pounded. If he came here and he missed a tracker, he’d lead Aida right to us.

Was that what she wanted? Did she do this to my mother?

No. That made no sense. If she’d found Mom to do this to her, she wouldn’t need to track Kalif here. I was spinning in paranoid circles.

I leaned against the wall and knocked my head back. Think, I told myself. Think.

“Jory?” Kalif said. “You still there?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you know what she took?”

The tabs I’d gotten for her—that was for sure. But there hadn’t been this many, and there were so many different kinds. I looked around. It wasn’t like Mom had left the pill bottles lined up on the counter. Plus, she’d stolen a lot of these drugs. There was no guarantee she’d ever had the original labels. “Not all of them,” I said. “There’s no way to tell.”

His voice was firm. “You have to call an ambulance.”

My voice squeaked. “I can’t.”

“I know it’s dangerous, but if she’s overdosed, she needs a doctor. If she’s still alive, that’s a good sign, right? A lot of people survive drug overdoses.”

I heard what he was carefully not saying.

A lot of people survived this kind of suicide attempt.

“If she wakes up in the hospital,” I said. “She might be disoriented. She might shift in front of the doctors. And then they’d have her alive when they dissect her, and—"

“Jory,” Kalif said. “Your mom is a professional. You’re going to have to trust that she can handle it. And if it all goes wrong, we can work the job. We can break her out; we can cover it up. But right now, you have to get help. Some things require doctors. Even for us.”

I sputtered over my words. “Maybe she’ll be fine,” I said. “Maybe she’ll wake up on her own.”

He didn’t falter. “Jory, call now. Or you can give me your address and I can do it.”

My head pounded. She was my mother. She was my responsibility. “No,” I said. “I’ll call.”

“Do you have a second phone so I can stay on the line?”

I moved back into the hall. I had more phones stashed under my bed, but I could see one on Mom’s floor from the hallway. “Yeah,” I said.

“Okay, call. I don’t think I can make it back before they get there, but I can meet you at the hospital when you know where they’re taking her.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I put down the phone and picked up Mom’s, dialing 911. My heart beat in my ears with each digit: trap, trap, trap.

But that didn’t make any sense. Who would be setting me up? Kalif?

No. I’d finished doubting him long ago. He’d proven over and over again that he was on my side, and that was the way it was going to stay.

“What is the nature of your emergency?” the operator asked.

“My mom took these pills,” I said. “Now she’s unconscious.”

I realized too late I should have disguised my voice. Calls to 911 were recorded, weren’t they? As I gave out our address, blood rushed in my ears so loud I almost couldn’t hear her repeat it back to me. I sat down on the bed. I was the traitor, for doing this. I was the one setting her up.

I could hear Kalif calling my name from the other phone, so I switched him onto speaker, so he could hear my end of the 911 call.

The operator told me an ambulance was on its way, and I had the presence of mind to pull my body together, aging myself to look eighteen or nineteen. Old enough to take care of myself. Old enough they wouldn’t call in a state worker for me.

The operator peppered me with questions about Mom. What pills did she take? Could I find the bottles? Did I know how many? I paced through the house, finding a bottle here, a label there. Some of them had prescription information on them. I read them to the 911 operator, stumbling over the long names.

Pull it together, I told myself. But my head swam. “Shouldn’t I do something for her?” I asked.

“You said she’s breathing?”

I forced myself back in the kitchen. Mom hadn’t moved, but her face was still intact. “She’s still alive.”

“Wait for the ambulance.”

When the paramedics came through the door, the frozen moments thawed to a drip. I was aware only in flashes: two men lifting Mom onto a stretcher. One of the paramedics loading the pill bottles into a plastic bag, another urging me to come downstairs and join them in the ambulance.

I gripped my phone in my hand. Kalif was still there, on speaker, waiting quietly.

The paramedic gave me the name of the hospital, and I read it to Kalif. This was the same disposable he’d been using all day, wasn’t it? Could there have been a bug in it he missed? Was this the moment when I’d get Mom killed?

“Hang on until I get there,” Kalif said to me. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay,” I said, though I didn’t really believe him. I shivered as I hung up.

As I moved for the stairs to climb into the ambulance, Laura’s curtains flung aside. She looked through the window at me, and toward the stretcher the paramedics were easing even now down the switchback stairs to the ambulance.

Damn. I stepped between her and them, so that she wouldn’t see Mom’s home face—complete with scars she’d seen on a neighbor with a different face. Laura hobbled over to the door on her walker at record speed and threw it open.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Is Amelia all right?”

I stuttered. Crap. I was supposed to put Amelia’s face back on before the paramedics showed, not an older version of my own.

The paramedics reached the bottom of the stairs. Two of them wheeled the stretcher to the ambulance while the third headed back for me. I pulled the door to our apartment closed. “Amelia’s fine,” I said to Laura. “I have to go.”

Laura scooted the walker toward me. “Is it her mother? Are they taking her to the hospital?” That was a stupid question, and I didn’t grace it with a response.

The paramedic was at my arm. “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” I said. I followed the paramedic, turning my back on Laura. “Where’s Amelia?” she called after me.

The paramedic must have heard her. I couldn’t use that name at the hospital now. Was I supposed to? Should there be new names everywhere for security or the same ones for consistency?

Smart Jory would know. I hoped she showed up soon to hold my hand and tell me what the hell I was supposed to be doing.

The ambulance ran the sirens all the way to the hospital, which was farther away than I would have imagined. Cars parted before us, and the ambulance wove between them, honking at stop lights. I tried not to imagine what was happening in the back, what they were doing to my mother. What would happen if she died on the way, if she lost her face, and I was the one they detained for answers?

We’ll handle it, I told myself. That’s what Kalif said.

For the moment, I had to believe him.

When we got to the hospital, a nurse took me by the arm and led me to the waiting room while the paramedics loaded my mom through a big set of double doors and down a hall. Soon she was out of sight.

“Shouldn’t I stay with her?” I asked the nurse.

She put her hand on my shoulder. “We just need to ask you a few questions,” she said. “Is she your mother?”

“Yes,” I said. Now I was two daughters. Amelia with one face, and me with another. This older version of me didn’t even have a name yet. I hugged my arms across my chest. I picked out the locations of cameras focused on the doors. I looked too much like my home face, and anyone might be watching.

The nurse brought over a clipboard. “What’s your mother’s name?” she asked.

Crap. I didn’t even remember what name Mom used on the apartment contract, though I was sure I should know. My brain swam, refusing to produce the information.

I had to make up a new one, then. I needed something common, but also something she hadn’t used before.

“Anne,” I said finally. “Anne Smith.”

As if that didn’t sound like the fakest name ever. I might as well have called her Jane Doe.

The nurse wrote the name down, though she’d surely noticed my hesitation. This was a hospital. They probably got a lot of people giving fake names when they couldn’t pay. She wouldn’t jump to any crazy conclusions from just that.

My jitters, too, wouldn’t be out of place.

As long as the staff attributed it to nerves and didn’t think I was also on drugs.

Get a grip, I told myself. Work with what you’ve got.

“I just need to know what medications she was taking,” the nurse said. “And if she has any medical conditions. Seizures? Heart problems? Allergies to medication?”

She was a perfectly healthy shifter who just happened to have torture scars on her face.

That would be noted in her medical records.

That would go in the system for the Carmines to find.

How were Kalif and I going to cover that?

“No,” I said. “And I don’t know about the pills. The paramedics collected the bottles.”

“Okay,” she said. She slipped the top page off the clipboard and handed it to me. “This is a medical history form. Fill out everything you know and then bring it up to the front desk.”

I held the clipboard by the corner. “Okay.”

The nurse gave me a sad smile. It looked genuine, but she probably had a lot of practice, working in emergency. “The doctor will come talk to you as soon as he’s checked on her.”

She talked like Mom had a twisted ankle or a stomach ache. I had no way to know how long she’d been lying there. If she didn’t die, would the drugs have done something horrible to her? Messed with her body, or her mind?

I stared at the clipboard. The top sheet was a long list, with little boxes next to them to check yes or no. The words shuffled as I tried to read them. I couldn’t get more than a few into my head before they’d slipped back out again.

I didn’t see Kalif come in. I didn’t even notice him until he was kneeling right in front of me, still wearing the persona he’d used to meet me in front of the bakery. He put a hand on each of my arms. “Hey,” he said. “Are you okay?”

I put my hand in his, and we exchanged signals. Then I shook my head and handed him the clipboard. “I have to fill this out. But I can’t read it.”

He sat down next to me and rubbed my shoulder.

I should have felt glad to see him. But the pull between us was gone, and I was just floating in space.

“I said Mom’s name was Anne,” I said. “She might have used that before, but I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay,” Kalif whispered. “Anne is common.”

That was true. If anyone was looking for Anne Smith, they’d be wading in a deep pool. Plus, if I gave myself another A name, people would get them confused, which would add to our cover.

Maybe I wasn’t sucking so bad after all.

Kalif looked down at the clipboard. “This is just a medical history.”

I nodded. “I told them she wasn’t sick.”

“Okay. I’m just going to check no for everything.” He flicked the pen down the list, marking each of the boxes. When he finished, he just set the clipboard aside on the chair, like it didn’t matter. It wasn’t until then that I realized it didn’t.

Kalif took my hand again.

That’s when I remembered who I was. I twisted around in my seat, studying the nurses’ station. “Can you get into the system from here?” I asked. “We’re going to have to delete Mom’s medical records. Otherwise the Carmines will find them, and they’ll note the scars on Mom’s face, and they’ll find her, and—"

Kalif’s hand squeezed mine. “Jory,” he said. “Think about it. We can’t go erasing medical records while your mother is still here. The doctors will notice. They’ll re-enter them. They’ll flag it as suspicious which will make it even easier to find.”

I corrected my face as it flushed. There was no way they wouldn’t mark the scars in her chart. She was a mental patient with no previous medical records. For all they’d know, she’d been cutting on herself.

I nodded slowly. We’d probably been right to send her here. Mom needed immediate medical attention. But once they had her stable, I’d have to get her out of here, stat. There was no way to keep her safe here. The Carmines would find her.

I scanned the front exits. There were cameras everywhere, and probably live people watching the feeds. A hospital had a lot of assets to protect—the most important of which were their patients. That meant good security.

This wouldn’t be easy.

I leaned over to Kalif. “I’m going to go scope it out.” There had to be a locker room nearby, a place filled with scrubs and off-duty clothes and maybe a lost and found bin of stray items. I could fit into anything I could find—literally—so as long as I found clothes that roughly matched, I’d be set.

Kalif’s hand gripped my arm. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

I looked at him, confused. Of course it was a good idea. My mom couldn’t stay here. I might think a lot of hospital security, but I didn’t think so much of it that I expected she’d be safe if our enemies came for her.

Kalif looked at me warily. “Think about it,” he said. “You’re a mess. If you make a mistake, you put her at even more risk.”

My stomach turned, but I steadied myself. “I’m just going to look,” I said. “That’s all.”

Kalif still didn’t look convinced, and for the first time, all I wanted was for him to go away, if only so he would stop looking at me like that.

The room spun around me. “You have to get out of here. Your mom could follow you. You’ll lead them right to us, and then they won’t even have to spend time searching for the medical records.”

My heart raced, and I reached for the arm of the chair to steady myself, and caught Kalif’s arm instead, which wasn’t helping my case any.

What would my dad say? Keep your head. Think through contingencies. Do what you can to prevent them.

First, I had to get rid of Kalif. And then I had to somehow get into the computer system and change my mom’s chart, or make it so that no one could get into it remotely.

Which was really his specialty.

Damn it. I needed him. Why did I suddenly hate that?

Kalif pulled out his phone. “I can tell you exactly where my mom is, if that’ll make you feel better.” He poked at the screen, pulling up his tracing app. His program searched for Aida, about to load her location.

As much as it always bothered me that Aida had a habit of tracking her own son, at the moment, the tactic seemed brilliant.

The phone loaded up a GPS map, pinpointing Aida’s location.

“There,” Kalif said. Then his face went pale. I dug my fingernails into his shoulder, but he didn’t even flinch.

The map showed a corner three blocks south of us. As we watched, Aida’s blip moved up the street.

She was coming right toward us.

Six

My first impulse was to run, but I couldn’t leave without taking Mom with me. I couldn’t see far past the nurse’s station, but given the condition in which she’d come in, they were probably still working on her.

And what if she died? What if something happened in there that caused the doctors to realize they weren’t working with a regular person? What if they called in the NSA, or the FBI?

I couldn’t be far away. I had to be right here, running surveillance, making sure she was okay until I could sneak her out.

Which needed to happen as soon as possible. Getting her out of the ER would be much harder than a regular hospital room, but I imagined neither would be a job I could accomplish easily on the fly.

That meant we had to intercept Aida and buy ourselves some time.

I smiled. My brain was coming back to me. I could do this.

I turned to Kalif. “You could meet her,” I said. “She won’t be able to track me. Lead her away from here. Come up with a story.”

Kalif looked down at his phone, biting his lip like there was something he really wanted to say.

The little blip moved closer.

“What?” I asked. “You don’t think it will work?”

“Maybe it would,” Kalif said. He shook his head like he really hated what he was going to say. “Or maybe you should really take her up on her offer.”

Blood drained from my face.

“Think about it,” he said quietly. “If your mom tried to kill herself, then she needs to stay in the hospital. I don’t know exactly what’s been going on, but I know you can’t handle that by yourself. No one could. How will you stop her from trying this again? And you’re right, because of the hospital records—"

My hands shook. “They’re going to find her.” I hated him for being right. Besides, I had no idea what kind of medical problems she might have as a result of this. What if she couldn’t eat?

What if she didn’t wake up?

I shook my head. I couldn’t think that way. When my parents were kidnapped, Kalif had insisted that I tell myself we’d find them alive until I was proven wrong. That kind of thinking was the only way to keep my brain clear enough to keep working.

The hospital could be a safe place for Mom, if someone was protecting her. Aida might have the resources to keep the Carmines from finding her medical records. She’d kept them from finding out about Kalif for years and years, after all. Mom could get the help she needed, the help I obviously couldn’t give her.

Finding Mel would be a small price to pay if it kept Mom safe.

The blip paused briefly, probably at a light, then continued on again.

First things first. “She still has a tracker on you,” I said. “You need to find it. We need to scope her out first, in case she’s not alone.”

Kalif opened his computer bag.

I looked over at the wide glass windows surrounding the emergency room. As soon as Aida got close, she’d see us, and I looked way too close to my home face. She’d recognize me.

“Not here,” I said. “The bathroom?”

Kalif nodded, and we both ducked into the women’s room, which was thankfully empty. We went into the handicapped stall, where there was plenty of room for us both. Kalif searched his bag while I looked at his phone.

Aida was moving toward the parking lot. “If her tracker has the same precision as yours,” I said, "she’ll know which section of the building we’re in, but not exactly where, or which floor.”

Kalif cracked open the back of his laptop, scanning the contents.

“Not here,” he said. “It’s too obvious, plus I found one here before. She’d pick something else.”

I scooped up the bag itself and started running my nails over the seams, searching for lumps. “I’m not finding anything here.”

Kalif ran his hands over the hems of his pants. “I trade my clothes out all the time,” he said. “None of these have been in the apartment. I wouldn’t risk my grandparents tracking me.”

I finished with the bag and looked up at him. “But your mom? Has she had access to any of them?”

He shook his head. “Not the clothes, but—" He swore, and pulled off his shoes.

I looked them over as he lifted them. The leather seam lines all looked uniform and intact, but there was a scratch in the arch of the left one, a line so thin it might have been a scuff mark.

“There,” I said, pointing. Kalif pulled, and the rubber separated, leaving behind a sticky residue, like it had been glued back together. There, tucked between the layers, was the black tip of a tracking bug.

Kalif went pale. He swore again. “I missed it.”

I shook my head. “Your mother’s good, and she missed the one you have on her, right? We can’t all catch everything all the time.”

I pulled the tracker out with my fingernails.

“We can plant it on someone,” Kalif said. “Lead her away from us, and tail her.”

I looked at Kalif’s phone again. Aida’s tracker was in the building. She could be right outside the door for all we knew. If we moved with the thing, even as far as finding a mark to stick it on, she might be able to match our movements and figure out what personas we were using.

Speaking of, I definitely needed a new one.

“There’s no time,” I said. And, cliché though it was, I dropped the tracker into the toilet and flushed it.

“It’ll take her thirty seconds to figure out you did that,” Kalif said. “Which will also pinpoint where we are. Let’s shift and get out of here.”

I nodded, unlocked the stall, and checked the bathroom. There were still no witnesses, so I moved the garbage can in front of the door and then stood in front of the mirror. I aged my face twenty years, adding crow’s feet, forehead wrinkles, and a chin mole. I adjusted the angles of my face to look severe and unapproachable. That was as much for Aida’s benefit as the other people at the hospital. In all cases I wanted to look like the sort of woman who made others get out of her way.

Kalif came out of the stall twenty years older and forty pounds heavier, straining the buttons on his shirt. I smiled.

“Thought you’d like that,” he said. “I couldn’t go any heavier in these clothes.”

He was getting better at moving naturally with the extra weight. He must have been practicing.

I squinted at his clothes. “Those aren’t the clothes you were wearing when you were with your mom earlier, are they?”

“I changed again before meeting you. But she must have had access to the shoes at some point. I must have mixed them up with another pair.”

It would be easy to do that, with as often as he’d had to change clothes and as thoroughly as he’d been bugged.

I hesitated by the door. If Aida knew what I’d done with the tracker, she could catch us in these personas. I needed some way to know I was looking at her before she knew she was looking at me.

“What’s her number?” I asked.

Kalif rattled off the digits.

I dialed the numbers into his phone, moved the garbage can aside, and stepped out into the hallway as the phone began to ring. No one was waiting in the hall, so I scanned the emergency waiting room. There were two new people: a black-haired woman in a muumuu filling out intake paperwork, and a redhead in a blue blazer and black slacks, hugging her stomach and toying with her phone. Aida could be either of them, or neither.

Then the redhead frowned, reached into her pocket, and put a different phone to her ear. I could see her mouth moving, in sync with the voice in my ear. “Hello?” Aida said.

She looked around, but turned first toward the windows. I slipped back into the bathroom. There was no second exit, and no windows, either.

We were trapped.

I pointed out the door and nodded, so Kalif would know what I’d found. Then I spoke in Kalif’s voice. “Mom?” I said. “I was running a job at a hospital in San Mateo. Do you think you could pick me up?”

Kalif cringed next to me. He spoke in a whisper. “Is that really what I sound like?”

He pressed his cheek against mine, listening to her response.

“Please,” she said. “I know you’re with Jory. Why are you two at a hospital? And what the hell is she still doing in California? When we spoke earlier she was right here in San Jose.”

I bit my lip. She was trying to get me to confirm information, and wanted us to believe she was still in San Jose, which meant she didn’t know about Kalif’s bug. “I’m not with her,” I said. “I was just—"

“Looking for Dad,” Kalif whispered.

"—running some surveillance, looking for Dad in the medical records. I’d been doing it for a while, but the conversation with Jory this morning reminded me to follow up. And since you wanted to find him—"

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she said. “Is Jory hurt?”

She was still fishing. She sounded sincere, but Aida always had, the scores of times she’d lied to me before.

“I told you I was running a job,” I said.

“Don’t play games with me,” Aida said. “I just want to talk to her in person. We got off on the wrong foot. You know I won’t hurt her.”

I filled my voice with scorn. “I think you got off on the wrong foot when you tried to kill her family. She’ll never agree to that.”

“Okay,” Kalif whispered. “That did sound like me.”

“Convince her,” Aida said.

I shivered. Something about the way she said that made me feel like a cornered mouse. This could all be a setup. My mom. The pills. Even Kalif. They knew I would call him when I found her like that, didn’t they?

Kalif squeezed my arm, bringing me back to reality. If this was a setup, it was stupidly elaborate. It would be easier to take my mom hostage than it would be to shove pills down her throat. If they had my mom, they wouldn’t need to send her to the hospital to manipulate me.

No, the simpler answer was that Mom was just a mess.

My stomach dropped. Such a mess that she tried to kill herself, just to escape. And I knew about it. I should have helped her out of it. I should never have gotten her those pills. The edges of my vision went black, and if Kalif hadn’t been holding onto me, I might have slid to the floor. I hadn’t been back to talk to the doctor. I’d just disappeared, before they could tell me anything.

My mother might already be dead.

Aida continued. “I’m done playing games. I take it you called because you already know that I’m here. Congratulations, you found my tracker before I found yours. I’m going to go sit in the café near the main entrance and drink a coffee for my headache. I’ll see you soon.”

Then she hung up.

Either she had known about the tracker, or she’d guessed. I should have thought faster. Now if I wanted to meet her, we were on her terms.

I looked at Kalif. “Convince me?”

Kalif shrugged. “Do you want me to, or are you asking why she thinks that I can?”

I hesitated. Too long.

Kalif put an arm around my shoulders. “It’s not a setup. I’m not working with her.”

I believed him. “I hate this,” I said. “I hate everything about this.” Because even I could see that I was backed into a corner, and bargaining with Aida was the best way out. “I can’t focus on her right now. I need to get back to see my mom, to find out if she’s even still alive. Because if she dies back there, we’re all in a hell of a lot more trouble than—"

Kalif pulled out his laptop and motioned for me to follow him back into a stall. “I can check on her from here,” he said. “Give me a minute.”

I stood outside the stall, in case anyone came in. “Please tell me the hospital security isn’t so bad that you can hack into the medical records in minutes.”

“No,” he said. “But I can look at them because I’m already in the system.”

“In the system,” I said, "at this hospital.”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s part of what I’ve been doing for the last two months. My grandparents are tracking medical records, looking for someone with those scars they gave your mother so they can find you two. I’ve been trying to stay one step ahead of them, so I can try to cover anything that would lead them to you. If they’d gotten close, I could have warned you. But now that she’s been admitted . . . I won’t be able to fix all the records, and if even one gets by me, they’ll be on her before I can throw them off the trail, and you won’t be able to move her fast enough to stop them.”

I gripped the stall door. “If you’re in the system, can you fix her record? Make it so they can’t see it?”

“Maybe,” he said. “But if I’m going to make it invisible only to them, so that the rest of the doctors can still access it . . . that would take time. Lots of it.”

I nodded. Time was one thing it seemed we never had enough of.

“Okay,” he said after a minute. “I found her record. She’s alive, and stabilizing. They’re starting the process to transfer her to the psych ward.”

My knees went weak.

She was stabilizing. Stable meant alive.

“She’s okay,” I said.

Kalif scanned the record. “She is. For the moment. No notes about shifting faces, or calls to the police, or anything. They’ve noted the scars, but hopefully my grandparents haven’t picked up on it yet. Their trace will hopefully take some time.” He cringed. “But we don’t know how much.”

“And not as long as it would take you to cover it up.” We needed to act fast, which meant it was time to make a decision.

“You want me to talk to your mother,” I said.

Kalif stepped out of the stall and put a hand on my shoulder. “Think about it. Security is tighter here than most places. She’s not going to be able to kidnap you, and she may be able to help. I think we should hear her out.”

“Okay,” I said. “But if this backfires, I’m going to punch you.”

Kalif nodded somberly. “If this backfires, I’ll deserve it. Right in the face, okay?”

My whole body ached. “Okay,” I said. “You’d better believe that I will.”

Seven

Together Kalif and I walked around to the main doors of the hospital, him with his gained weight, me with my no-nonsense persona I’d cooked up just for Aida. I didn’t want to reuse it in case she’d seen me from the waiting room, but I couldn’t hide from her and work with her at the same time. That was the thing about cooperation. Some level of risk was unavoidable.

This will be fine, I told myself. But I didn’t believe me. The best of bad options was still a bad option.

Kalif took my hand in his. It wasn’t until then that I realized my fingers were shaking.

“It’ll be okay,” he said.

I didn’t believe him, either. And even now that I was aware of it, even with all of my practice at muscle control, I couldn’t get the trembling to stop.

Logically I knew I should feel at least a little bit better, knowing Mom was stable enough to be transferred out of emergency. But I felt instead like I’d tipped face-first over a cliff. What if I’d stayed to watch that whole movie with Kalif? What if I’d run a job before going home? Would Mom have come to on the kitchen floor, safer and better off than she was now?

Or would I have found her body, cold and faceless?

My mouth watered. I was going to puke.

Kalif jerked on my arm, pulling me to a stop. There, through the glass doors of the main entrance, sitting at the café in the hospital lobby, was Aida, still wearing the redhead persona. She sat at a two-person table, but had already dragged over a third chair. She didn’t appear to be watching for us, focusing instead on her phone. As if she didn’t have to be nervous.

As if she was in complete and total control.

Through the glass, I scanned the exits. There were the doors we were looking through. There was an elevator, and a stairwell near it, and four hallways stretching out of the lobby like spokes on a wheel.

Kalif was right. The hospital had security. Aida wasn’t dressed as law enforcement, and even if she had a hidden badge, I would have plenty of opportunity to undermine her persona. If she wanted to nab me, there were easier places to do it. But she’d come here, probably to help me feel safe.

And no doubt also to find out what we were doing here.

Kalif held his grip on my hand as we approached. When we arrived, Aida looked casually up, and put out her hand.

I hadn’t used my signal with her in a while, but I remembered it. I’d remember it until the day I died—my body became so familiar with patterns it shifted often that it could recall them from muscle memory.

I pulled my hand away from Aida as quickly as I could and took the seat across from her, leaving the one next to her for Kalif.

Aida’s eyes flicked back to her phone. “Your mother is stable,” she said. “That’s good news.”

My stomach dropped. “You’re in the system, too. You have access to her records.”

Aida looked straight at me. “We’re in all the systems. Your mother’s medical condition is the easiest way to identify you.”

I shoved my hands under the table so Aida wouldn’t notice the shaking. “Have your parents seen them?” Kalif had said that they hadn’t. But that could change in a heartbeat, and once they knew where Mom was—

“Not yet,” Aida said.

I stared at her, and she stared back with a calm, even gaze. The message was clear. If I didn’t cooperate with her, she’d lead them right to us. I wouldn’t even have time to run a con to get my mother out.

They’d be on us immediately.

“Can you stop them from finding her?” I asked.

Aida nodded. “I’m the one they have looking for you. I can control what they see; even if they do find the lead, I can show them evidence that they’re looking in the wrong place.”

“They trust you to do that?” I asked. “They won’t come themselves to check up on you? Or send someone else who works for them?”

Aida shook her head. “My parents may be tracking our every move,” she said, "but they have no reason to believe that I won’t lead them right to you. I did it before.”

My hands tightened on my knees. I didn’t miss the threat.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Aida smiled. “I already told you what I want. I want to help you hide from my parents long enough for you to find Mel. Maybe longer, if you show me you’re willing to work with me.”

I looked down at the table. We were no longer talking about a bargain, and I didn’t have leverage to negotiate the terms. Unless I could do something about it quick, my mother was her hostage.

But Kalif was right. She was a hostage currently getting the medical care that she needed—the help I could never give her. I could fight against Aida, I could try to get my mother away before she brought the Carmines down on us.

And maybe find her on the floor tomorrow. Dead. Or, just as bad, get her killed in the escape plan.

Like my father.

I tried to keep my face from betraying emotion, but Aida must have known her threats were working. She gave me a look of practiced sympathy. “I’m sorry about your mother. But in a way this is good news. Security in the psychiatric ward will be the tightest in the hospital.”

I wanted to punch her right in the throat. In no way was my mother’s hospitalization good news.

Aida continued. “If she can’t leave, it’ll make it easy for me to protect her. I can monitor the hospital security in person. I can obscure all the leads that would draw my parents to you, and feed them information that leads them away. She’ll be safe and contained. It won’t be hard to slip them a false lead here and there, while closing off any possibility of them looking where they’d actually find her.”

I nodded. If there was anything I could trust Aida to do, it was to lie to people’s faces.

Though that included my own.

Kalif and I could try to manage this by ourselves—he’d be better at monitoring the computer records than she would be—but even if we could handle it without her, we couldn’t stop her from turning us in.

We needed her, because she already knew too much.

The corner of our table had a chip in the enamel, and I ran my nails over the semi-circular groove. Much as I didn’t want there to be anything good about Mom’s situation, Aida had a point.

Except maybe the part about containing my mother.

“My mother won’t stay,” I said. “As soon as she wakes up, she’s going to start plotting a way out.” Security might be tight for regular people, but that wouldn’t stop Mom. She could impersonate a doctor, a nurse, a janitor. She’d get out of there.

And then she’d be looking for me, wondering why I wasn’t by her side, why I put her in danger and then abandoned her there.

Aida tapped her nails on the table. “You’ll need to convince her to stay.”

I sat back in my chair. Me. I was the one who would convince her to stay in this trap.

But what Kalif said rang true. I’d do it if I didn’t want to be back in an empty apartment, watching her kill herself slowly—or worse, quickly.

“And I’ll find Mel,” I said. “That’s the deal.”

“If you lead me to him,” Aida said, “I’ll even help you disappear, so my parents never find you.”

That was a grandiose promise, and one I didn’t expect she’d keep, even if she had the power to. She just wanted me to have an incentive to succeed, so I wouldn’t simply say I was looking and bide my time.

It was time I took control of this situation. I would have done that right from the start if I hadn’t come into it so shaken. “Fine,” I said. “We’ll look. But Kalif still comes with me.”

Aida opened her mouth, probably to protest, but I cut her off. “We’re a team. We’re most effective together. So if you want me to find Mel, you’ll let Kalif help me. But I’ll be watching my mother as well. At the first sign that something’s wrong, the deal is off, and you’ll never see any of us again.”

I looked sideways at Kalif. He was nodding, backing me up. I was so grateful for that, I could have thrown my arms around him right there.

But I kept my focus on Aida. I expected Aida to laugh at me—to tell me I didn’t have a shred of a bargaining chip. And for a moment, she did look at Kalif, as if trying to read how far she could push him without losing him forever.

He took my hand above the table, and Aida sighed.

“Done,” she said.

I squirmed in my seat. I should have presented more bravado. I should have made it sound like I was doing her a favor. There were a lot of things I would have done, if I wasn’t an hour away from finding my mother in a pool of her own vomit.

Pull it together, I told myself. “So,” I said. “Can you give us anything to go on, or are we starting the search from scratch?”

Aida jabbed at her phone, and inclined it toward me. “This is the best lead I have.”

I looked at it. It was a medical record of a man with a festering gunshot wound, only a week and a half after Mel escaped from the basement of the Carmine’s tech building.

Just a week and a half after I’d shot him in the knee. Long enough for a wound like that to get infected, if he hadn’t taken care of it properly. And more evidence that Mel was probably still walking around with at least a bit of a limp.

“That’s it?” I asked. “The trail goes cold after that?”

“I don’t know,” Aida said. “I haven’t had a chance to follow up. Not with my parents watching.”

I studied her, but she said that without emotion. I wasn’t sure how she could willingly work with them when she knew they watched her every move—when they might be willing to throw their own daughter into their dungeon to torture and mutilate.

“He could have left the state after this,” I said.

Aida shook her head. “He won’t have left us here. He’ll be close by. Watching.”

The thought that he was watching was somewhat less comforting to me than it clearly was to her. I bit back a comment about how if that was true, he clearly hadn’t made contacting them a priority.

Aida looked at Kalif. “Don’t come home. We can’t risk them discovering what you’re doing. I’ll make it look like you ran away.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Kalif said.

“I will worry,” Aida said quietly. “About both of you.”

I stared straight at her, one eyebrow raised.

I couldn’t believe her. Aida was a liar and had always been. This was her MO—she pretended to be your friend, and then she stabbed you in the back. I wanted to shake her for sounding so sincere. I didn’t want her to believe for a second that I trusted her.

“You leave first,” I said.

I waited for Aida to argue, to lecture me about how she was in charge here.

Instead, she nodded. As she stood, she put a hand on Kalif’s shoulder. “You know how to find me,” she said. Then she looked down at me. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. I’d like my son back in one piece.”

Ha. She was the one asking us to look for the murderous megalomaniac. “You don’t need to worry about Kalif. He’s not stupid.”

Kalif rolled his eyes. “He’s also sitting right here.”

Aida looked right at me and kept talking as if he weren’t. “He loves you. And love makes everybody stupid.”

Then she turned and walked out the revolving glass doors. I watched her go. “I’ll say this about your mom,” I said. “She’s got nerve.”

Kalif let out a long breath. “No kidding.”

Aida didn’t look back at us once before she disappeared into the parking lot. I’d always assumed that Aida thought of Kalif and me as infatuated children, and maybe she did. But the way she said that he loved me made me think that she understood how serious we were about protecting each other. I couldn’t imagine that Kalif had told her that, since he’d been pretending that he’d left me behind for months, so she must have put it together by observation. I shivered, wondering what else she knew that we hadn’t told her.

Knowing Aida, it was probably a lot of things.

Eight

When Aida was gone, I put a hand on Kalif’s arm. “Before we can leave, I need to talk to my mom.”

Kalif gestured to his bag. “Let me see if I can tell where she is. If she’s checked in to psych, we can go straight there.” Kalif broke out his laptop on the café table, and started to work.

As I waited, I counted cameras. There were two on the front doors, and three pointing down the various arteries into the hospital. At least three of those were currently capturing Kalif and I sitting at the table. But Kalif had a privacy screen on his laptop, and the cameras weren’t the kind that could pan or zoom, so his operation should be safe from security eyes.

“She’s still in emergency,” he said after a minute. “They’re working on her intake.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to talk my way in to see her.”

Kalif nodded. “I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t come in with me to see her,” I said. “Even in persona, she’ll know it’s you.” Who else would I be with? Knowing I was cooperating with Kalif—that he knew where she was—might be enough to send her running that instant.

Kalif put a hand on my shoulder. “Of course not. I’ll just stay with you until you get in to see her, and then meet you after.”

I nodded. That made me feel better—and not just because I didn’t want Mom to know I was with him. I hadn’t told him anything about what had been happening these last weeks. And though I knew it was stupid, I still didn’t want him to see in person the way things had spiraled out of my control.

I put my older home face back on in the bathroom before returning to the emergency room, since that was the one the nurses and paramedics had already seen. Kalif changed in the men’s room back to his redhead persona, then held my hand as we approached the desk. The nurses at the emergency desk looked relieved to see me. “You’re Anne’s daughter,” one of them said to me.

I nodded. “Is she okay?”

One of the nurses nodded. “She’s hanging in there. Let me show you back. The doctor wants to talk to you.”

I dropped Kalif’s hand. “So I can see her?”

“The doctor will talk to you about that,” she said.

I shot Kalif a look, but since I wasn’t going to see my mother directly, I let him come back with me.

The doctor showed us to an exam room with walls made of accordion divider. Kalif and I both took seats in the chairs covered in worn flannel upholstery, leaving the exam table empty.

Kalif wrapped an arm around me and squeezed. “I know it doesn’t seem like it,” he said. “But it’s going to be okay.”

That sentiment made me want to cry more than anything. I took a deep breath, tucked in my tear ducts, and shrugged. “We’re going to do our best,” I said. “Isn’t that what we always do?”

Kalif nodded at me, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced that I meant it.

It was probably a good thing that he couldn’t be taken in by my act, but at that moment, I couldn’t help but wish he was, if only because if he believed me, I might have been able to follow.

The door to the exam room opened, and a Hispanic woman in a white coat walked in. She smiled at me—and she must have had a lot of practice, because it looked genuine. “I’m Dr. Rubino. Anne is your mother?”

I nodded. “That’s right.”

“Her blood work looks like she’s going to be okay,” she said. “But she swallowed a lot of pills. This could easily have been lethal.”

“But it wasn’t,” I said.

Both she and Kalif gave me looks. I probably sounded too quick to make the best of it, like I just wanted it to all go away.

I totally wanted it to all go away. I wanted my mother back.

“No,” the doctor said. “She was lucky this time. But we’re admitting her to the psych ward. Since this looks like attempted suicide, we need to hold her for seventy-two hours.”

I nodded. That might not be enough time to find Mel, but it was definitely enough time for me to come up with another plan.

“Okay,” I said. “Can I see her?”

The doctor shook her head. “She’s still unconscious. And we want her to talk to a social worker before she receives visitors—"

“Please,” I said. I released my hold on my tear ducts and squeezed, forcing my eyes to fill. “I don’t need long and it doesn’t matter if she’s asleep. I just want to see for myself that she’s okay.”

My acting skills did apparently work on doctors, because she nodded. I couldn’t congratulate myself too much, though. That particular bit of manipulation hadn’t been far from the truth. I did want to see her, and not just because I needed to convince her to stay.

My mother could have died. And while I knew I would be having a very different conversation with the doctor right now if she had, a part of me just needed to see her face with my own eyes.

“Just a few more questions. And you’ll only have a few minutes. We’ll be moving her upstairs soon.” She sifted through her papers. “I think you missed some of the intake papers,” she said. “Does your mother have insurance?”

I sat up straighter in my chair, and Kalif squeezed me tighter.

Of course they were going to ask all sorts of identifying questions.

Crap.

Would they kick her out if she didn’t have insurance? Hospitals had to treat people regardless in situations like this, didn’t they?

“I don’t know,” I said.

She nodded. “Well, I’ll just need you to fill out these papers as best you can.” She extracted them from her clipboard and handed them to me.

I took one look at the top one and knew that I couldn’t fill them out. Who was Mom’s employer, they wanted to know. Insurance company. Address. I could lie, but if I came back to visit again, I didn’t want them confronting me with the false information.

“I’ll work on it,” I said. “Can I see her now?”

The doctor nodded, and fortunately didn’t look too worried about babysitting me with the paperwork. Processing the papers was probably the job of one of the receptionists. I made a mental note to dodge them on my way out, and followed the doctor as she led me to another room.

Through the doorway, I could see Mom lying on a wheeled hospital bed. A monitor to her right showed all sorts of colored lines and numbers, though I didn’t know what any of it meant.

Except the heartbeat. That I could make out. And, of course, Mom’s home face, grey and pale though it was.

She was alive, and if they were processing her into psych and not intensive care, they must have been pretty confident she was going to stay that way.

I left Kalif in the doorway and stepped closer. He moved out of view—probably a precaution in case Mom happened to wake up, for which I was grateful.

That’s when I found a good use for the papers the doctor had left me. I tore one of the pieces in half, pressed it to the wall, and wrote Mom a quick note.

Mom, It’s safe to stay in the hospital. I have your back. You’re better off here than at home. Please get better. I’ll see you when they let in visitors. Love, Amber.

It might not be enough, but it was the best I could do. The A names were seriously going to kill me, but I needed to tell her what to call me, so I could call myself that same name when I could get in to see her legitimately.

Amber, I repeated to myself as I walked up the hallway. I am Amber, she is Anne. When I went back to the complex, I’d be Amelia.

This was either turning into a trackable habit, or a whirlwind of names other shifters wouldn’t be able to make sense of.

I really hoped it was the latter.

I slipped my note under Mom’s hand, where her fingers would press it against the sheet. It would be there when she woke up. I couldn’t guarantee no nurse would find it, but when they read what it said, they’d probably leave it for her.

They’d want her to stay willingly, too.

My hands were shaking as I returned to Kalif, leaving my mother alone in the hospital bed, unsure what she would think or feel when she woke. I couldn’t help but imagine what she must have been thinking in those last moments, after she swallowed all the pills.

Did she regret what she’d done? Did she imagine me finding her? Was she too stoned to even fully realize what was happening?

I found Kalif waiting just outside the door. He smiled softly at me, and I took his hand. “Let’s go,” I said. “Before someone else bothers me to fill out paperwork.”

He nodded, and we headed for the exit. No one stopped us.

And though it made me feel like the worst daughter in the world, now that I’d seen my mother alive, I couldn’t get away fast enough.

Kalif and I headed out of the hospital and into the parking garage. In a dark corner, out of sight of cameras and passersby, we shifted again. This time I changed into an African-American woman with deep-set eyes and long, sleek hair. That kind of hairstyle took real girls hours with a flat-iron, but I produced it in three seconds flat.

This was why I couldn’t be friends with normal girls. They’d hate me for my hair.

I altered my face to make it pudgier, and my complexion less even. That was the secret to blending in; never be too thin or too pretty. In our screwed up, Photoshopped culture, people who don’t look like models are invisible.

Kalif darkened his skin and his hair, though not as dark as his home body.

We paused when we reached the street. “Where to now?” Kalif asked.

“My apartment,” I said. “We can’t stay there, but we’ll want to pick up some things.”

Mostly what was left of the cash drop, my collection of disposable phones, and my mother’s tablet. But the clothes we’d gathered would be helpful, too. Kalif and I couldn’t rely only on them, but it would give us a good start.

“Plus,” I said, “I want you to change your clothes again. Especially your shoes.” We’d gotten one bug, but I wasn’t going to take chances.

“Fair enough,” he said.

As we walked out to the street, I looked up at him. “Tell me the truth. Do you know where my apartment is?”

“I don’t,” Kalif said. “That’s the truth.”

I sighed. “Me, neither. Not from here. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to directions in the ambulance.”

Kalif smiled, pulling out his phone again. “Give me the address. I’ll put it in my GPS.”

I eyed his phone. Until I got the spares from home, there was no way to guarantee that they weren’t bugged. “Just call a cab,” I said. “I’ll give the driver the address.”

The cab felt like it took forever to come. I bounced up and down on my heels, and paced back and forth, even though I knew being still was less conspicuous. Kalif watched me like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

Which was smart. Breaking down here on the street wouldn’t help anyone. I had to hold it together. I had to believe that my mom would stay in the hospital, that Aida would really protect us. This was the course we’d chosen. I had to trust in it or I was going to go completely insane.

Though I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever be able to trust anyone again.

When the cab arrived, I gave the driver the address. It wasn’t until we were climbing out of the cab in front of my apartment building that I thought about what I would find upstairs.

My stomach turned. Were there still pills on the floor? Had anyone cleaned up the vomit?

Almost certainly not. That wasn’t the emergency workers’ job.

They’d have left it for me. “It’s still a mess,” I said.

“I don’t care about that,” Kalif said.

He hadn’t understood, but I didn’t want to describe it. When we opened the door, though, the smell of bile had grown pungent.

As I walked into the kitchen, I expected the bile that was smeared across the floor. But the cabinets were all open and what few dishes we had were littered about the counter in heaps, like someone had tossed them there in a hurry. The refrigerator door hung ajar far enough that I could see the scant contents piled in the bottom. One of the paramedics might have swept up the pills for examination—I couldn’t be sure. But the rest of this had been done by someone else.

For the second time that day, I stood frozen in place.

Someone had been here, had gone through the apartment.

Looking for what? My mom’s drugs?

Or something else?

I grabbed Kalif’s hand, and he squeezed it tight. Could the intruder still be in the apartment? I listened, but heard nothing.

“You weren’t kidding about the mess,” Kalif said. His voice was tentative, waiting for me to affirm that this was what I expected to find. It might have been, I supposed. A person who was ready to swallow all those pills and die might have searched the house first, trying to scrounge up enough.

I shook my head. “No. Someone else has been in the house.”

I might be frozen, but Kalif wasn’t. He swept past me, carefully treading around the smear on the floor and into the back rooms. He shifted as he went, taking on a form that was taller and blonder and much more imposing than his home body.

I stumbled after him. I might feel like a child, but I wasn’t one. This was my apartment. I couldn’t let him take point and protect me. That wasn’t how we worked.

But I only managed to follow on his heels.

The bedrooms were even worse than the kitchen. Blankets had been stripped from the beds and lay in heaps. All the clothing from the closets and the floor were piled together in the centers of the mattresses, like someone had meticulously checked each piece.

Kalif looked around. “Can you tell what’s missing?”

I stepped over to my mother’s nightstand. The drawer lay flat on the floor, empty. “Her tablet’s gone, maybe some phones.”

Kalif finished his sweep of the apartment. “There’s no one here,” he said. “But we need to go.”

I looked around at the disheveled room. There weren’t any drugs in here. Had I gathered them all up for the paramedics? Every bottle? The tablet and phones could have been stolen by a common thief.

Or . . .

Kalif swore. “It was probably my mother.”

I stepped toward the door, but Kalif already had his phone in his hand. He pressed it to his ear. I heard Aida’s voice start to say "hello,” but she didn’t even get through the whole word before Kalif started talking over her.

“What were you doing in Jory’s apartment?” he asked.

A pause.

“Put it on speaker,” I said.

Kalif clicked a button, and held the phone out between us. "—on my way back home, now,” Aida said. “I have no idea where Jory’s apartment is, and I’ve certainly never been there.”

My arms broke out in goosebumps. “We need to get out of here,” I said to Kalif.

“Swear to me,” he said to the phone. “Swear it wasn’t you.”

“It wasn’t me,” Aida said. “I swear. But if you’re there now and someone else has been—"

Kalif hung up the phone.

“As of this morning,” he said, "my grandparents didn’t know where you were.”

“Can you be sure?” I whispered.

He looked at me. We couldn’t be sure. When it came to them, none of us could ever be sure.

Enough. I grabbed Kalif by the arm and hauled him through the apartment to the front door. I threw the door open and nearly knocked right into Laura, who stooped outside with her walker.

“Hey!” she shouted. If she hadn’t been supporting herself with both arms, she looked like she might have grabbed me. “Who are you? What are you doing in Amelia’s apartment?”

Ugh. Once again, I should have put on Amelia’s face. I held up my hands. “It’s okay. She’s my cousin.”

My very white cousin.

And just like that, my persona became adopted. I opened my mouth to explain, but Laura was already charging ahead.

“Have you been to see her mother? Is she all right? I’ve been so worried about them. That other girl was so rude. Is she also a cousin? She did call you, right? You do know what happened?”

“She’ll be all right,” I said. “I was just on my way to see her now.”

Laura looked over my shoulder at Kalif, and I forced myself not to cringe. He’d walked in with one face and was now wearing another. I didn’t even try to introduce him. My brain was too panicked to make up good lies.

Laura squared her walker right in the middle of the path, between us and the stairs. I couldn’t get past her without physically moving it. Trapped as I felt, I wasn’t ready to knock over an old lady to escape. “You just missed her father,” Laura said. “It’s a shame. He seemed really worried, and I didn’t know which hospital to send him to. I told him to try the one over on Elm.”

Her father.

“What did he look like?” I asked.

Laura shrugged. “A lot like that other girl,” she said. “The one who was here with the ambulance. Is she a sister? She didn’t look a thing like Amelia, but neither do you.”

She gave me an accusing glance, but I was already stumbling back.

Amelia’s father. Who looked just like the home face I’d accidentally shown to Laura earlier.

I heard a roaring in my ears so loud I was sure a train was about to come through the wall. I backed right into Kalif, who put a hand on my waist to steady me, and it wasn’t until then that I realized I was swaying.

Of all the people to impersonate. My father? There was no reason for anyone to do that.

No reason at all except to mess with my mind.

Aida would have harassed me at the hospital if she meant me harm. The Carmines would have gotten the job done, not bothered with mind games. They could have come here looking like anyone and pretended to be Amelia’s father.

No. Mind games smacked of Mel. Was Aida right about him? Was he still skulking around, watching us, waiting for his chance for revenge?

It might make him easier to find, but not if he already had the upper hand.

“We need to get going,” Kalif said.

Damn right, we did. But Laura was still standing squarely in our way.

“I hadn’t seen him before,” Laura said. “Does Amelia talk to him much? Because it’s so important, dear, to have a good relationship with your parents.”

Kalif stepped into Laura’s personal space and she reluctantly scooted her walker out of the way.

She put a hand on my arm as I moved by. “If you run, dear, you might catch him. He walked in that direction. He can’t have been moving terribly fast, what with that limp.”

All the blood had drained from my face. A limp. A man who claimed to be my father, walking on a damaged leg.

I was right. It was Mel. Or another shifter who wanted us to think it was Mel.

Either way, we’d stood here for far too long.

Kalif hauled me toward the stairs at the back of the building, opposite of the way we’d come. That was smart. I was glad one of us was thinking. I could feel my feet moving, but they seemed to be doing that on their own.

“Bye, deary!” I heard Laura yell.

I didn’t look back. And when I got to the bottom of the stairs, Kalif’s footsteps still reverberating behind me, I saw him. My father, standing next to an open car door across the parking lot. Favoring his left leg, like Mel would be, if the bullet had jacked up his knee.

And though I was supposed to be looking for this man, supposed to be leading Aida right to him, all I could feel was the way his hands had closed over my throat at our last meeting.

If this was Mel, what was he doing here? Did he have the same offer from the Carmines as I did—bring us in, and they’d forgive him? Or did he just want revenge on me for shooting him, on my mother and me for breaking up his perfect life?

Either way, he had the advantage here. Kalif and I weren’t prepared; we didn’t have the upper hand.

The man with my father’s face looked up at me, his eyes narrowing. Panic clawed at my chest and I reached for Kalif.

What should we do? Run?

Kalif took me firmly by the arm, and tugged me gently toward the alley at the back of the parking lot. My skin crawled at putting my back to Mel, but when we were facing fully away from him, Kalif whispered to me.

“He won’t know it’s us unless we give ourselves away. Walk slow. Look natural.”

I was pretty sure that, even with all my training, I couldn’t pull off natural today. But I did lean closer to Kalif, putting my head on his shoulder as we walked, like we hadn’t noticed my father. Like we didn’t think anything of it.

I heard footsteps behind us, and my heart pounded so hard I was afraid I would faint.

We entered the alley, stepped around the corner. And then we did the only thing we could do.

We ran like hell.

Nine

Kalif and I raced down the alley, our shoes pounding against the asphalt. I clung to his hand as the edges of my vision started to go white. This was both a good and a bad idea; the alley was thin and concealed, so no one could watch us, but there were a limited number of entrances and exits, making us easier to track.

I listened behind us. Mel might have had a camera on my apartment; he could already know it was us. But I didn’t hear footsteps anymore. If that had been Mel, he probably couldn’t run after us with his leg injury.

If it was one of Kalif’s grandparents who only wanted us to think it was Mel, they’d be able to follow along just fine.

I glanced around. The apartment had probably been bugged, at the least. The whole complex might have been riddled with hidden cameras. What if even this alley was monitored?

Kalif pulled me up beside him, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we slowed. “Jory,” he said. “I need you to focus. Are you with me?”

I took a deep breath. “Yes,” I said. “Hide first; think later.”

“Exactly.”

The alley behind us was still clear, but that only meant Mel could approach us from any direction. I started to run again, sprinting down the alley as fast as I could go.

Before we reached the end, Kalif pulled me through a back gate, down a walkway that wound through another apartment complex.

“We need new clothes,” Kalif said. “Something no one has seen us in before. Something no one has had the chance to bug.” He paused at the bedroom window of a basement apartment. Someone had left it cracked open, but the inside of the apartment was dark. The sun had sunk behind the apartment building.

“People will be home from work,” I said. “This isn’t a great time.”

Kalif glanced around, surveying the area. “Check the other window,” he said.

I moved to the front of the building, scanning the windows. Whoever lived here wasn’t concerned about closing their blinds. The view to the other apartments was blocked by a long row of thick hedge. I checked all three basement windows, but didn’t find anyone home.

When I got back to Kalif, he already had the screen popped out.

“It’s clear,” I said.

Instead of climbing in the window, Kalif leaned the top half of his body in so he could reach the drawers of a dresser a foot below. He leveraged the drawer open and pulled out a woman’s blouse and a tank top. I took them from him and stuffed them under my shirt, so that anyone who saw me wouldn’t immediately be able to identify the new clothes I was going to change into. Kalif stretched for the second drawer, but couldn’t reach.

“We could keep our pants,” I said.

Kalif shook his head. “That’s sloppy.”

So was this impromptu break-in. I didn’t argue, though. It would be easier to deal with whoever lived here than to fight off Mel.

Kalif pulled his head out of the window and then lowered himself through feet first and dropped down into the room. He reached for the floor, then tossed me a pair of jeans and a pair of slacks, followed by some Chucks and a pair of pink high heels.

Good thing I had lots of practice running in those.

While I waited for Kalif to hoist himself onto the dresser and out the window, I moved along the building, looking for somewhere out of sight where we could change.

Around the back of the building, two rows of privacy shrubs met, shielding the corner from view. I scanned the tops of the buildings, looking for cameras, but saw none. For most apartment complexes, outdoor surveillance wasn’t a big priority. And Mel couldn’t have covered every surrounding building with cameras.

Could he?

If he wanted to play games, I had no way to know how long he’d been watching.

I climbed back into the shrubs, easing behind them as gingerly as I could. Once I’d climbed in, I realized my mistake. I couldn’t see the apartment window from here; that was kind of the point. But I also couldn’t see Kalif. I’d expected him to be right behind me, but he wasn’t.

I listened, but didn’t hear any talking or shouting—just a TV going in an apartment over my head and a car pulling in to the parking lot on the other side of the building. I could go looking for Kalif, or I could change first.

I decided to trust Kalif; he’d handled himself better today than I had. Instead, I stripped off my jeans, narrowing my hips to squeeze into the pair Kalif had handed me. I hunched over in the shrubs and stripped off my shirt, pulling on the tank top. I rubbed my arms, wishing I’d thought to tell Kalif to find me a jacket as well.

As I fitted my body to the clothes, I also fitted myself with a new face—a small Hispanic girl with a trendy bob cut. I shoved all my clothes under the edge of the shrubs and out of sight, then slipped into the heels. I didn’t know if Kalif had practice running around in pumps, but this wasn’t the moment that I wanted to find out.

I was just about to emerge from the bushes when I heard footsteps on the sidewalk, coming from the direction of the apartment we’d robbed. I peered under the hedge and saw Kalif’s shoes, paused in the walkway.

“Back here,” I whispered.

Kalif pushed his way through the shrubs, reaching for my hand and waiting for our signal before he climbed fully in behind me. He was carrying a large bag that he hadn’t had before.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Cover for my computer,” he said, taking the clothes I’d left for him. “Plus a second change of clothes for each of us. Including shoes. We’ll want to change and move, and change again before we find a hotel.”

The mention of a hotel made my pulse race. Our meeting this afternoon felt like a year ago. If we’d gotten a room then, would my mother be dead?

From overdose, or by Mel’s hand?

The bushes squeezed closer.

What did he want from us?

“Are you sure there aren’t any more bugs in your computer?”

“I’m sure,” he said. “I completely disassembled it after I found the first one. Twice. But you were right. It was too obvious. The bug in there was probably just to put me off the trail of the other one.”

He flipped the blouse over in his hands, finding the front before he hung it in the bush and pulled his own shirt off over his head.

If changing in front of me made him feel awkward, he didn’t show it, but I was grateful in retrospect that I was already in my new clothes. Not that I didn’t want to take all my clothes off with him, but this was neither the time nor the place. As he kicked off his shoes, I knelt over the new bag, in theory to look at the clothes, but also to give myself something to look at while he changed his pants.

I expected to find more impossibly tiny women’s clothes inside, but instead I found a pair of flannel pants with the bottoms rolled, a set of grey slacks that were pilling all over, and a cardigan.

“Who lives there?” I asked.

“Judging from the pictures,” Kalif said, “I think it’s a girl and her grandparents.”

“So next change we’ll be old. Nice touch.”

“I thought so. Okay. Critique me.”

I should have been prepared for the change, but I wasn’t. I turned around to find a girl with thin hips and black hair standing where Kalif had been. The neckline of the blouse showed off her collar bones, which looked a little large for her frame, but not impossibly so. The blouse hung loose on the front, because he hadn’t given her enough cleavage to fill it out, but that wasn’t really a problem. Better to undersell her curves than to make her look like a Barbie. Besides, he hadn’t thought to grab himself a bra.

“Not bad,” I said.

He coughed once, changing his vocal cords. “How’s this?”

“Too falsetto.”

He deepened the tone. “Better?”

I grimaced. Women had never been Kalif’s specialty. “Just . . . don’t talk.”

He rolled his eyes at me and picked up the sack of clothes, his messenger bag tucked safely inside. “Let’s go.”

I nodded. “There’s a mall about a mile away. We can walk through it and change again there.” We might have already lost Mel, but it was better to leave a long, unnecessary trail than to be followed because we were careless.

I stayed a pace behind Kalif as we moved into the complex parking lot and then to the street. He walked slowly and a little bit stilted, like his hips weren’t rotating as much as I’d expect them to for their frame. That meant he’d made a mistake somewhere deep in the anatomy—one that wasn’t physically impossible, but subverted my expectations. It might draw a little attention, but it wasn’t egregious enough for me to correct him on it right here.

I caught up to him, careful to match my speed to his. He walked like we weren’t in a hurry, which was the opposite of what my body wanted to do. My feet itched to walk faster—to put more distance between myself and the break in, and whoever might be watching us. My eyes wanted to flit around nervously, looking to see who might be paying a bit too much attention to us. Mel could be that man in the business suit, talking on the phone in his car. Or he could be the child playing with a bouncy ball in the corner of that parking lot. That couple waiting for the bus might be Wendy and Oliver.

They could be anyone, anywhere.

“You okay?” Kalif asked quietly.

“Not really,” I said.

He frowned. “I want to hold your hand, but I don’t think we want to draw that kind of attention.”

I nodded. Whether his body was female or male, he was still Kalif underneath. I wouldn’t have minded holding his hand in these bodies, but he was right. Two young lesbians walking down the street would draw an unfortunate amount of attention. I couldn’t help but feel bad for normal people who had to deal with that, who couldn’t just shift their bodies to fit in.

The rest of the walk, I paid close attention to my body language toward Kalif. Holding hands wasn’t the only social cue for attraction. I had to watch the way I looked at him, the way I smiled. This wasn’t just about avoiding the attention of passersby; if Mel was following us, he’d be looking for inconsistencies in behavior to identify us. He’d be looking for us to mess up and act like ourselves.

When we got to the mall, we slipped into the family bathroom, which was bigger and open, with no stall divider separating the sink from the toilet, but wouldn’t cause us to draw attention when one of us walked out of it as an old man. I locked the door behind us and pulled the old lady clothes out of the bag and turned around to change. I took my time adjusting my body; I’d done old people before, but not often. I stooped my frame at the shoulders and hips, making my elbows and knees loose and wobbly. Then I loosened my skin over my entire body, so it hung limp over my bones. I darkened my veins, so they showed through, and crinkled my face so I could place the wrinkles exactly where the laugh lines would form.

When I turned back around, I found Kalif looking about ten years younger than I now did; his face a bit fatter, so he didn’t have to line it with so many wrinkles.

“Now you’re robbing the cradle,” he said.

“Or maybe I’m your mother. Can you get wi-fi in here?”

Kalif pulled out his phone. “Probably,” he said. “You want me to check on your mom?”

“Please,” I said. We needed to replace that phone as soon as we could. In fact, we needed to buy all new phones. Make a clean break. But for now, just a quick check.

He pulled up an app and started looking.

“What do you think your dad was doing?” I asked. “Do you think he went there to kill us?”

Kalif shook his head. “He’d have made sure you were there. That looked like he was searching for something.”

“For proof it was us? That’s what I’d have been looking for if I got into his apartment.”

Kalif nodded. “Probably. He must have wanted you to know he was there, or he wouldn’t have used that face, or left a mess.” Kalif pulled up Mom’s chart. “A nurse just checked on her. She’s still unconscious, but she’s doing okay.”

I shook my head. “Why would he do that?”

Kalif shrugged. “To scare you into running? Or maybe he intended to wait for you until you came back, so it didn’t matter if you did try to run.” He looked up at me. “Obviously to scare you, though.”

I nodded. He’d succeeded on that count. “Do you think—"

Kalif looked up at me.

“Do you think that your dad has the same offer from your grandparents that I do?”

Kalif turned off his phone and rubbed his forehead. “What, turn you and your mother in and get away with murder?”

I swallowed. It made a sick kind of sense. “Like they have us each looking for each other. It’s a race to see who will sell out the other first, who’s the better shifter, who’s more useful in the long run. Who gets to live and work for them and who has to die.”

Kalif shoved his phone into his pocket. “That sounds like them.”

I shook my head. “Aren’t they supposed to abide by some code of justice? The murderers must die? The rebels must be punished?”

Kalif nodded. “Unless we work for them. Think about it. Even real police make those kinds of compromises. They work with some criminals so they can catch others.”

I shivered. Everyone wanted something from us. And as much as I didn’t want to work with the Carmines, I’d rather have seen Mel face Carmine-style justice than get away with what he did to my family.

“We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

Kalif gave a sharp nod. “And get food. I’m starving.”

My stomach growled in response, and I nodded. “Dinner,” I said. “Then a decision.”

We both took a deep breath, and though I had no idea what we were going to do next, I was just glad to be in it together again.

Ten

As we left the bathroom, Kalif pulled off the old man shuffle with style. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been pulling off a variety of personas with style all day. He’d grown a lot in the two months we’d been apart.

We moved even slower in these personas than we did as the teenage girls, but Kalif offered me his arm, and I held onto it.

My stomach growled again. I hadn’t had anything to eat since that cinnamon roll.

Kalif glanced over at me. “I know someplace quiet where we can get dinner and go over the job.”

I shook my head. It wasn’t smart to go places Kalif normally went. Those were the first places everyone tracking us would look. “If you’ve been there before—"

He shook his head. “I haven’t. It’s just a place I saw one time and wanted to take you. It’ll be safe. We’ll get some nice clothes and make an evening out of it.”

I gave him a skeptical glance. “After all that’s happened, you want to take me on a date?”

He grinned at me, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. “Technically our first, right? Maybe one piece of this day can go the way I pictured. If you’re up for it.”

Honestly, dinner and conversation sounded like a nice change of pace, even if the talk was all about hunting down Kalif’s father. “Okay,” I said. “But only if we can wear these.” I motioned to our shuffling bodies. “And say it’s our fiftieth anniversary.”

Kalif grinned, his face folding naturally into itself. “Done,” he said. “Come on. Let’s go shopping.”

When we reached the restaurant—which took a while at less than half our normal walking speed—I could tell that Kalif hadn’t suggested the new clothes at random. The sky outside was completely dark, and the lighting inside was dim, but it was enough to see the three tables immediately inside the door. Each table was set with crystal goblets and napkins folded in fans that stood eight inches off the table. At the center of each table was a candle in a wine glass. The restaurant was built in an old Victorian-style house, and the whole place screamed dress code.

I clung to Kalif’s arm, my back stooping slightly, and smoothed the loose silk of my skirt with my free hand. “This looks expensive,” I said.

Kalif gave a startlingly good impression of a full-bodied old-man shrug. “Don’t worry about it. I have some money.”

I sighed. “I really don’t feel right about being so frivolous with your mother’s stolen money.” The money we spent on the clothes had been bad enough.

Technically my parents could have taken me to places like this all the time when my dad was alive, and in their wilder days, I knew they’d lived the high life. But after they’d had me, they’d pared down and lived more simply, I guess to raise me with middle class values, or something like that.

It had worked. Being around people with money always felt more like work than play to me.

Of course, we were here to work. And I had to give him this—a nice place like this would give us a whole lot of privacy.

Kalif ducked his face close to mine, which didn’t take much in our stooping bodies. “Don’t worry about the money. Really. It’s not stolen, and it’s not hers.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, giving him my best withering old-woman glare. “Explain,” I said.

Kalif laughed. “Let’s sit down first, okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “But if it’s more bad news, I’m going to throw my false teeth at you.”

Kalif laughed. “Good thing for me those babies are real.”

The greeter smiled at us, and she and Kalif made pleasantries about our anniversary as she led us through the restaurant. The lateness of the hour worked in our favor, and the weeknight probably didn’t hurt either. I could hear some glasses tinkling in one of the rooms at the back, but otherwise, the place was empty.

As we followed the greeter up a narrow set of stairs, Kalif put a hand on my back. The hostess led us to a table in one of the rooms on an upper floor, with a view of the small garden below covered in winding ivy.

“Is this all right?” the hostess asked Kalif.

He looked at me.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said.

She smiled, and left us with our menus.

When she was gone, Kalif took my hand across the table.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I feel like I need a fancier persona for this,” I said.

He nodded. “You’re right. Your real face would be much better.”

I smacked his arm across the table. “Cut that out,” I said. “Or I’m going to ask you what you did with my boyfriend.”

He held out his palms. “What? I can’t be nice?”

I rolled my eyes. “I feel like you’re buttering me up. Where’d you get the money?”

He ducked his chin sheepishly. “So about finding my dad—"

I whacked him harder in the arm, which now that I thought about it, probably would have bruised an actual old man. I needed to watch it, or the waitress was going to report me for spousal abuse.

“Seriously, though,” he said. “Are we going to look for him, or are we just going to pretend?”

I took a deep breath. “If he found me and my mom once already, I think we have to look. We can’t let him sneak up on us, and Laura told him my mom’s in the hospital. We need to be the ones watching him.”

Kalif nodded. “It’s a shame he saw us at the apartment, because now he’s not likely to come back. But we can follow up on my mom’s lead. And I have one other. Someone accessed my server three days after your dad died, from Sacramento.”

Kalif’s server had the assembled information for all the jobs my parents had run while they worked with Kalif’s family, as well as all Aida and Mel’s professional files. “You still have the server? Isn’t that dangerous?”

He nodded. “But I’m careful. It’s offline, now, and I’ve hidden it. Even my mom doesn’t know where it is. She said it was better that way.”

I shook my head. I wondered if there was enough evidence in there to make Aida’s parents want to punish her for her sins, along with my mom. “The hack, though. That happened before you unplugged it. And you think it was your dad?”

He nodded. “I do. He deleted a bunch of files that had data about where Dad was and when around the time of those murders he framed your parents for. I’m not sure who else would care enough to get in and do that. Plus, he had the passwords for remote access. Those can be obtained other ways, but the easiest is if the hacker already knew them.”

“You recovered the files he deleted, of course.”

He smiled. “Of course. That’s how I know what was in them.”

Mel had done that before; after he framed my parents for his murders, he’d deleted the mission files that gave them an alibi. That was how Kalif and I had caught him the first time. “So your dad was in Sacramento.”

Kalif nodded. “And here’s the thing. That medical record my mom found? In Rocklin.”

“Outside of Sacramento.”

“Right. And here’s the kicker. Remember when I told you that Dad disappeared when I was a kid, and didn’t come back for six months?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“That job was also in Sacramento.”

I leaned back in my chair. “Are you sure your mom isn’t setting you up? She’d know you would put that together.”

Kalif nodded. “I know. But it’s all we have.”

A bad lead wasn’t made better by being the only lead. “We’re lucky, you know. If your mom had thought about it, she might have realized she didn’t need me. She could have just sent you after your dad.”

Kalif scrunched his eyebrows together. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Your shifting is improving, and you’re a genius with tech—"

“Jory,” Kalif said, “I can’t do this by myself.”

I shrugged. “Name one thing I can do that you can’t.”

“You tell me when I’m wrong.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Fantastic.”

Kalif grabbed both my hands. “No, really. You’re the one who first suggested I should get out of the crime business. Was I going to think of that myself? No, I was going to take any job that paid me to play with other people’s security, legitimate or not, and never wonder about it. You’re the one who pointed out that maybe that wasn’t a great thing to do with my life. And you were right.”

He made a good point. Which reminded me that I was in the middle of calling him on his crap, if he’d quit interrupting. “Okay. So if you’re not stealing the money, where are you getting it?”

Kalif sighed. “We came back around to that fast.”

I shot him a pointed look. “And I’m not going to forget about it, so you might as well spit it out. Otherwise I’ll have to tell you how wrong you are, which is apparently my main role in this partnership.”

Kalif gave me a sheepish smile. “Okay,” he said. “So I kind of . . . well . . . I started a business.”

I leaned toward him. “You did what?”

Kalif rubbed his palms together nervously. “I thought a lot about what you said, about wanting to find something positive we could do, instead of hurting people. And I still don’t know what the answer is as far as the shifting, but I have these skills, as a hacker, you know?”

His nervousness was kind of adorable. “I’m familiar.”

He nodded quickly. “So I dug into our parents’ files, and I targeted some of the companies I’d already hacked, and then I contacted their security officers and asked them if they were looking for someone to test their systems for them, as a freelancer.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. “You asked people if they’d pay you to hack them.”

He sat back in his chair, the loose skin of his forehead tightening. “It’s a real job. Other people make a living at it.”

His defensiveness was really adorable. And what had I been doing with my time? Robbing drug dealers. “I wasn’t doubting you. So how many companies did you hack?”

“Just a couple,” Kalif said. “But they paid well. And they’ve started recommending me around, so I’ve gotten a few more requests. There was only so much work I could do with Mom and her parents looking over my shoulders, but I took what I could.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You used a persona for all this, I assume.”

“Of course. I was careful, since I wanted to build something I could take with me when I left. I even registered the business with the state. It’s legal. I’m set up to pay taxes and everything.” He cringed. “Under an assumed identity, that is.”

I squeezed his hand. “I didn’t know I was dating a legitimate businessman.”

Kalif rolled his eyes.

I cleared my throat. The dryness that produced the old woman rasp was starting to chafe. “So why didn’t you tell me you were doing all this?”

“I didn’t get to tell you much of anything.” He fidgeted with his napkin. “I guess you didn’t get to tell me much of anything, either.”

My face burned, and I corrected the color. I looked down at the lacy tablecloth. “We both left a few things out.”

“Besides, I wanted to surprise you. It’s not that often I get to tell you good news.” Kalif sighed and hunched forward. “I was hoping,” he said, "that it would make things easier for you.”

I looked up at him. “For me?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You wanted to find something constructive to do with shifting, right? Well, this way there’s no pressure for you to figure out what that is right away. And when you do figure it out, it doesn’t have to be something that makes money. ’Cause . . . I can support us. You know?”

He looked at me like he’d just said something offensive, and was waiting for my reaction.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” I said. “Am I supposed to be upset about this?”

He shook his head. “I just don’t want you to feel . . . insulted.”

Yes. I had definitely missed something. “Insulted. That you have a job.”

He cast his hand around in the air, like he was searching for something. “That I’m trying to . . . that I’m suggesting I could take care of you. It just seems so . . .”

Ah. “Gender typical?” I suggested.

He nodded miserably. “Sexist, even.”

I smiled across the table. “Well, I certainly don’t expect you to provide for me, if that’s what you’re saying.”

He sighed. “But I want to. I mean, I don’t want you to feel like I don’t think you can take care of yourself, because obviously you can, but . . .” I sat back in my chair, waiting for him to finish, and he sighed. “I just want to make things easy for you for a while.”

Easy.

How long had it been since anyone tried to make things easy for me? My face grew hotter, and tears threatened the corners of my eyes. Kalif noticed; I recognized his look of panic—I’d seen it from him once before.

I waved my free hand at him, closing my tear ducts to prevent more fluid from escaping. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m happy.”

Kalif shook his head at me. “I’ve seen you happy. You don’t cry.”

I laughed, then, and between that and what was left of the tears I probably needed to add dementia to the persona.

I sniffled. I should have been more open with Kalif all along. He was only trying to help me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the whole truth about my mom. I feel like an idiot, because I obviously should have, but I guess—"

Kalif opened his mouth to interrupt me, but the waitress chose that moment to walk in and ask if we wanted anything to drink and if we’d decided what we wanted to order.

Maybe there were drawbacks to an empty restaurant. “I haven’t even looked,” I said. “Sorry.”

The waitress shrugged one shoulder. “It’s no problem. Take your time.” She ducked back through the narrow doorway, leaving us alone again.

Silence hung thick in the air. I wondered how much longer the restaurant was even open. Were we bothering the staff as well as each other?

Kalif squeezed my hand. “How long . . .” He cleared his throat and tried again. Maybe I wasn’t the only one overdoing the dry voice. “How long had your mom been like that?”

I looked at the table, at the napkins, at the freaking crystal goblets—everywhere but at him. “The whole time,” I said.

He let out a long breath, like if he just kept breathing out he wouldn’t have to react.

The tears pushed at my eyes, making my closed ducts ache. “I wasn’t trying to lie to you,” I said. “I just didn’t want to tell you everything.”

Kalif hesitated. His voice broke a little as he spoke. “Why not?”

My heart sank. Oh. That was the part that bothered him—not that I hadn’t told him the whole truth, but that I hadn’t gone to him for support, even though I technically could have. Maybe I’d been justified because of the security risk, what with his whole family after us. But I was a better shifter than that. If I’d wanted to, I could have found a way. “I thought I was handling it,” I said. But Mom’s hospitalization was glaring evidence that I hadn’t been doing it very well. “I guess if I told you about it, then I had to believe it was all real. And I definitely didn’t want it to be real.”

Kalif’s fingers squeezed mine. “Did you suspect she was going to do that?”

“The pills?” In retrospect it seemed so obvious. “I should have. But no. I didn’t see it coming.”

Kalif closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. I told you I wouldn’t abandon you, and then that’s exactly what I did.”

I shook my head so hard that my jowls wobbled. “That’s not how it was.”

“But you had to deal with your mom by yourself. I should have been there.”

I shook my head. “That would never have worked.”

Kalif flinched. “Because she blames me for your father’s death.”

I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb. “No.”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I blame me, too.”

I reached up and covered my ears. “Stop.”

He gave me a look. “Come on. You blame yourself, admit it. You’re every bit as illogical as me.”

I lowered my hands and shook my head at him. “No, wait,” I said. “You’re right. It is all your fault. Why didn’t I see it before?”

Kalif cracked a smile. “Fine,” he said. “You win.”

We were quiet for a moment.

“It may not be your fault, or my fault,” Kalif said. “But it is my father’s. You can’t deny that.”

I couldn’t. Even Aida wasn’t to blame as much as Mel. He was the one who framed my parents for murder.

I looked Kalif straight in the eye. And though the ones he wore tonight were a lighter brown than his normal, I could still see my Kalif looking back at me. “So when we find him, are we going to help your mom protect him? Or turn him in to be executed?”

Kalif let out another long, slow breath. “If we hand him over to my mother, she’ll just get all tangled up with him again. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, why she just won’t walk away.”

“She was raised by monsters,” I said. “She’s more screwed up than my mother.”

Kalif raised an eyebrow at me.

Crap. “She’s more stable, though,” I added. “I have to give her that.”

Kalif smiled grimly. “You’re right, though. Her parents are terrifying.” He leaned across the table, speaking softly. “They’re in hardware development, right? And they’re geniuses.”

I squeezed his hand. “Must run in the family.”

He shook his head. “No, really. They do all this contract design work for all the big companies in the valley. A lot of the big companies in the world, actually. And in every piece of design, they slip in a little something extra.”

I sat back in my seat. “Like a back door.” Kalif looked pleased that I was following him, but that, I hated to admit, didn’t actually take a genius. “They can hack everybody’s tech, because they’ve designed it.”

Kalif nodded. “So what takes me days to break into takes them hours. What takes me hours takes them minutes.”

My limbs went cold. “And they’re in everything.”

He nodded. “Just about.”

Hell. “What about your stuff? Your computer? Your phone? Couldn’t they be watching you then?”

Kalif shook his head. “I did some research—built a computer that has components Systems Development never touched. Everything else I cycle out weekly. I use different devices at home than I do in the field, and I never take my clean computer back to the apartment. I’m careful. They’re not tracking me.”

I nodded. “But they’re trying, and if you don’t keep doing that, they’ll succeed.” Kalif nodded, and I sighed. “You should have led with this. After that bomb, the news that you’re a chauvinist would have been like a cherry on top.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Ha. Ha. But seriously, turning my dad over to them isn’t justice. Nothing they do is just. They’re only trying to control everyone. Including us.”

I thought about those emails, about how tempting it was to try to play them, to try to at least pretend to go along to protect my family. I shivered. “They’re failing at that now. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Deal,” Kalif said.

I took a deep breath. “But if we don’t turn your dad in to them, and we don’t give him over to your mother . . .”

Kalif nodded. “Then maybe he finds you again. He already did it once.”

I saw motion at the corner of my eye. The waitress was back, hanging in the door, waiting for some sign that we’d come here with the intention of eating actual food.

Which we needed to do, because we were going in circles.

I put my arms on the table and rested my chin on them. “You order,” I said. “It’ll fit with your new big shot persona.”

Kalif looked up at me uncertainly, but his face softened when he saw I was smiling at him. He smiled back. “Have you ever had lobster?”

“No,” I said. “My dad always said it was too much work.”

He bit his lip. “Want to try it?”

I didn’t even want to know what a lobster cost in a place like this. But Kalif had done all that work, so if he wanted to spend his money on lobster, I wasn’t going to stop him. “Okay,” I said. When the waitress left, I added, “Since you’re apparently dripping in money that’s all, you know, legitimately earned.”

Kalif rolled his eyes. “It’s not like we’ll be able to do this all the time. I’m not making that much.”

“Yet,” I said.

He broke out in a full smile, and I was pretty sure that in my whole life, I had never seen anything so welcome or so beautiful.

“I missed you,” I said.

His eyes fixed on me. “You, too. So much.”

We sat there under the dim lights, holding our wrinkled hands across the table and smiling at each other.

“Happy birthday,” I told him.

And his eyes widened for a second, like he’d forgotten. But then he smiled. And with everything else that had gone wrong today, at least I got that one thing right.

Tomorrow still ate at me, though. I hated to bring us back to reality, but we weren’t exactly finished with work. And though it seemed like we’d hit a dead end, there was one more desperate thought I had to share with him.

“I want to con your grandparents,” I said. “And your mom. And your dad. I want to play them all against each other the way they played my parents. The way they played me.”

Kalif’s eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. “That’s ambitious.”

I nodded. “And it targets your family, which I feel terrible about.”

Kalif held up his hands. “Hey, you didn’t ask them to kidnap your parents. You didn’t ask them to frame your parents for murder. And you sure as hell didn’t ask them to stalk you.”

I nodded. “But they’re still your family, and—"

“Stop,” Kalif said. “They’re trying to hurt you. And I know whose side I’m on, okay? So let’s not even talk about that.”

I stared at him, but he didn’t even look a little bit hesitant.

“Okay,” I said.

Kalif raised an eyebrow at me. “I don’t suppose you have a plan to go with that ambition of yours?”

I wobbled a wrinkled hand at him. “The first step is to find out where your dad is staying. Corner him, the way he tried to corner us. And then, once we have him, we can start maneuvering everyone else into place.” I cringed. “And hope for a stroke of brilliance?”

Kalif nodded. “That’ll be complicated. Even if we figure out how to do it, it could backfire, big time.”

I nodded. “And I won’t insist that you help me if you think it’s too big of a risk.”

Kalif studied me. “You’re doing that thing again.”

I blinked at him. “What thing?”

“That thing where you’re going to do the stupid thing anyway, even if I don’t help you. And I can only choose whether or not to watch your back and try to keep you alive while you do it.”

I held perfectly still. “Does that bother you?”

“Hell yes,” he said. “But I knew that you pulled crap like this before I fell in love with you. So lucky for you, I’m an understanding guy.”

I breathed out. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”

“Jory,” he said. “If I have to choose between being beside you while you do the stupid thing, and being far away, I’m always going to be with you. Always.”

He squeezed my hand from across the table, and despite the events of the day, at that moment, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

The waitress interrupted the moment by sliding through the door, carrying a tray with two lobsters and an array of sauces. Kalif just shook his head as she applied plastic bibs to us and then slipped away again.

I poked at the lobster with one of the utensils that came with it—a nutcracker in the shape of a lobster claw. The lobster stared up at me, accusingly.

“This was a terrible idea,” I said.

He looked down at his own lobster. “See,” he said. “That’s what you’re here for.”

I laughed, and tugged at one of the lobster’s claws. There was no doubt some proper way to eat this, but I wasn’t sure what it was.

“After this,” I said, "you owe me that hamburger.”

We both laughed, and I felt my shoulders relax deeper than they had in months. Kalif and I were a team. Whatever was coming, we were going to figure it out.

Even the lobster.

Eleven

When we left the restaurant, we ambled the long blocks to the nearest hotel. I was half afraid that some opportunist would decide to mug us—the old, well-dressed couple who looked like they could barely hobble along, let alone fight back.

That idiot would have been in for a surprise.

But soon the hotel came into view, with no muggers in sight. I couldn’t help but think of the last time Kalif and I shared a hotel room. We’d had some . . . disagreements about sleeping arrangements. “So,” I said, “Are you going to insist on sleeping on the floor again?”

Kalif looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

I squeezed his bony arm. “It’s a valid question.”

He was still looking at me, almost suspiciously, like he was trying to decide if his hang-ups about taking advantage of me still applied.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“What?”

“Evaluate my mental state. I’m fine.”

He shook his head. “Since when are you a mind reader?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so obvious. But really. I’m okay.”

My stomach squeezed, counting how long it had been since we checked up on my mom. I took a deep breath to steady myself. I would be okay.

Kalif shot me another sideways look. “Jory,” he said. “I love you. But you’re a mess.”

I had to fight back the urge to insist that I wasn’t. I shouldn’t want to lie to Kalif. He was only trying to protect me. I sighed. “Yeah, okay. But in case you haven’t noticed, my life is full of things that upset me. I’m going to be eighty before you decide I’m stable.”

His eyes slid down my geriatric body. “Hey, eighty is sexy on you.”

I elbowed him with my bony old-lady arm, letting my flabby bicep jiggle below the bone.

Kalif gave another of his old-man shrugs. “Maybe I have a thing for octogenarians. You don’t know.”

I cracked a smile. “I’ll keep this body, then. Just don’t break my hip.”

Kalif faltered. His tone fell serious. “About sleeping on the floor, though. Much as I hate to admit it, it might be a good idea.”

I elbowed him again. “You’re going to sleep on the hard floor at your age? You really will break your hip.”

“Jory,” he said.

“It’s never a good time,” I said. The words came out more harshly than I had intended. We truly sounded like a grouchy old married couple sniping at each other. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

Kalif was quiet for a moment. “Let’s just get checked in, and then we can talk.”

I sighed. We could talk about how I was always a mess. About how worried he was about taking advantage of my state, as if I were helpless, incapable of making my own decisions. “What I meant was, if you’re going to stress out about it, you might as well get us two rooms.” Even in one room with two beds, we’d still end up having this conversation again. And much as I wanted to fall asleep in his arms, the last thing the two of us needed was more stress.

Kalif was silent. As we shuffled forward, his face gave away nothing.

“Don’t tell me that now you’re suddenly worried about money. The lobster wasn’t that expensive.”

“No,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Even in his gravelly old-man voice, it was clear that it was not fine. I’d really meant to be kind to him; he’d always had issues with taking advantage of me when I was upset. But now he wouldn’t make eye contact with me.

I bumped my bony shoulder against his. “I’m making an effort to respect you, here. I can’t win, can I?”

Kalif sighed and smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Two rooms is a good idea. It’s just been a long day.”

“Tell me about it.”

His hand reached up to cover his face. He swore. “I didn’t mean it like that. Obviously it’s been worse for you.” He groaned. “I really am a selfish bastard.”

I pulled his hand away from his face, taking it in my own. I wanted more than anything to kiss him, but I had a bad track record of throwing myself at him every time things got bad. I didn’t want to do that to him now, not when I’d just said I was trying to respect him.

Kalif pulled me to a stop, though, kissing me firmly on the mouth, locking me in an embrace that in these bodies had to be either adorable or disturbing to watch. My body responded to his, my arms shifting naturally to fit around his too-thin waist. My head began to clear, every movement coming into sharp focus.

My heart throbbed with terror. I needed him.

What was I going to do if all this stress ripped us apart?

In the late morning when I knocked my bony knuckles on Kalif’s very-separate, not-even-adjoining room door, I was met with a long silence, and I worried for a moment that he’d run a job without me. But then he opened the door, standing to the side in his home body, all groomed and ready for the day. I checked his hand.

“Hey,” he said. “You just woke up?”

My rumpled clothes proved that. Sometime today I needed to acquire some decent pajamas.

“Yeah,” I said. “Why did you let me sleep so long?”

Kalif shrugged. “You needed it.”

I rolled my eyes, even though he wasn’t wrong.

He pushed the door open wider to let me in. “I didn’t waste the time,” he said. “I picked up my secure laptop. And I checked up on your mom. Take a look.” I had to push the rumpled covers aside to sit down on the edge of his bed, where he’d set the laptop. After I picked up the computer, I dropped my old woman persona for my home body.

He’d left the screen open to a window showing my mom’s medical records. About an hour ago a doctor had noted that Anne Smith was awake and talking to them, but was being somewhat resistant.

I still breathed a sigh of relief. She might be resistant, but she was still there, and that meant that she hadn’t immediately fled upon waking, and also that Aida must be doing her job protecting her.

“I need to get in to see her,” I told Kalif.

He sat down next to me. “The security there is tight. Maybe wait for visiting hours?”

I looked up at him, and he pushed my hair back over one ear. “I know,” he said. “You want to see her.”

That wasn’t it at all. I didn’t want to see her. I didn’t want to face what she’d done, or talk about it, or figure out where we stood now.

But that sounded awful, even in my own head. Who didn’t want to see their own mother in the damn hospital?

“I’m going to have to,” I said. “But you’re right. There’s not a lot I can do for her before then besides keep my bargain with your mother.” Or the first part, anyway.

Kalif reached for the laptop. “I also dug into that lead my mom gave us. I didn’t find anything more at that hospital, but I ran a search through all the hospitals I was watching, and I found another patient with a wound just like it.”

He clicked over to another set of medical records, this time for a Reuben Ramirez who had been treated for a gunshot wound with an antibiotic-resistant infection just last week. This was a different hospital than the records Aida had found, but San Ramon wasn’t so far off from Sacramento. And all of it was within a two-hour drive of San Jose, which meant Mel could have easily been there and still have been conducting his search for us.

“Is this the same wound as the other records?” I asked.

I don’t know all the medical terminology,” Kalif said. “And there aren’t any scans, or pictures. But it seems plausible.”

“What was the name on the one your mom found?” I asked.

“Chie Sugiura,” he said. “A woman.”

That made no difference. Mel could still change his race, gender, and appearance. He just couldn’t shift the bullet wound off of his knee, or heal it supernaturally, and without really good laser surgery and a little luck, the scar tissue would always remain.

“So this is the best part,” Kalif said, scrolling down. “Reuben has a return appointment this afternoon.”

I shook my head. “If he’s a shifter, he won’t keep a return appointment.”

Kalif shook his head. “I ran a search on those antibiotics. They’re pulling out the big guns, and if we’re right, this wound is two months old. If the infection is bad enough that he went to a second doctor, he might have to.”

I nodded. Mel could have stolen the drugs—my mother was evidence enough of that. Either Reuben wasn’t Mel, or Mel was desperate for actual medical help.

I had to admit I liked the idea of Mel being desperate.

“It’s a lead,” I said. “If it’s not him, we’ll still have something to report back to your mom. We can see if he shows up to the doctor’s office, and then if he does, track him home.” I looked at the medical record again. “But once we do that, how will we be sure it’s your dad? There’s no way he’ll show up to the appointment with his home face.”

Kalif nodded. “We could search his place after he leaves. Look for evidence.”

That was a good idea, and more or less the one Mel had used against me. “Perfect,” I said. “Let’s pick up new phones and some headsets to go with them. That way I can go in, and you can listen in case I need you to bail me out in a hurry.”

Kalif shifted uncomfortably. “He’s my dad. Shouldn’t I be the one to go in?”

I squinted at the screen. Kalif had a point. Mel might be less willing to hurt him than me—and last time I’d been in the same room as Mel, he’d tried to strangle me.

But I still hated the idea of sending Kalif in alone and hiding, waiting for something to go wrong. Knowing that that something might be Kalif being abducted, or even killed, dad or not. Just the thought of it made my palms sweat.

But of course, that was exactly what I’d be asking him to do for me.

“I’ll have a palm code,” he said. “I might be able to diffuse him better if I get caught. I’m his son. He’s not going to hurt me.”

I bit my lip. Kalif could teach me that code, and then I could pretend to be him.

But asking for someone’s palm code was a complete invasion of privacy, even if that shifter was now the enemy. And asking Kalif for his code with his own father was even more inappropriate. If it was a necessary element of the plan, I could ask. If it was just to make myself feel better . . .

“We can decide what to do when we get there,” I said.

Kalif didn’t look thrilled about that, but he nodded. “That appointment is in two hours. Let’s get moving.”

In addition to picking up the phones and some new clothes, we used some of Kalif’s legitimately-earned money to rent a car for the day, using an old fake ID of my mom’s. We could have used fake credit, but that would have added an additional layer of complexity. This was one of my dad’s old habits: he never stole what he could easily pay for. It greatly lessened our chances of getting caught.

The clinic in San Ramon was in a building across the parking lot from the hospital itself. We parked close to the hospital emergency room, out of sight of the clinic waiting room. Kalif went into the office ahead of me and when I followed, I spotted him in a seat that was out of the direct eye line of the receptionist, drawing as little attention as possible.

I walked right up to the desk and picked up the sign-in sheet. Reuben hadn’t signed in yet, so I wrote down the name of my shiny new persona—Rachel Davis, a first-time patient whose appointment was a week from now near this same time. I had no idea what the real Rachel looked like, but it was a pretty safe bet that I wouldn’t run into her a whole week in advance.

I took a seat across from Kalif, but didn’t look directly at him.

Reuben was a thirty-year-old male, who I presumed to be Latino. As we waited for the receptionist to call Rachel’s name, only one patient walked through the office doors: a twenty-something woman with a baby in her arms and a little girl in a pink tutu toddling along behind.

Not exactly the kind of patient you expect to come in for a gunshot wound.

The clock ticked past his appointment time. The receptionist explained to the mother that a child with an earache didn’t qualify for a well-child co-pay, even if that earache ended up being imaginary.

I tried not to stare at the door. Reuben was only five minutes late, but it was also possible that he’d been early, and we’d already missed him. Maybe he walked straight up to the counter and never wrote down his name. If he did, he might already be in an exam room. The office was fairly empty; it didn’t look like they were behind, so they might have gotten him straight back. If he really was Mel, that would have been a good plan to keep someone from doing exactly what we were trying to do. He might even leave through a different exit, although I hadn’t seen any other obvious ones from outside.

“Rachel?” the receptionist called.

I walked up to the desk. “Hi,” I said.

“Hello,” she said. “Did you have an appointment?”

“Yeah,” I said. “At one-twenty. I’m a little early.”

“What’s your birth date?”

I gave her the date I’d memorized from the office records. If she wanted, I could give her Rachel’s mother’s maiden name, her social security number, her insurance number, and her phone number and address. I figured every bit of information the hospital had on Rachel was something they might ask to verify her ID, so I’d learned it all.

The receptionist frowned. “I’m not seeing that on the schedule. Let me check.” She typed something in, and then her eyebrows raised. “It looks like I have you down for next Wednesday at one-twenty.” She gave me an apologetic glance.

“Oh, no,” I said. I needed to not raise too much of a fuss, so the receptionist would be less likely to remember me next week. “I must have written it down wrong on my calendar. Is there anything we can do?”

“Let me look at the schedule,” she said. “Since you’re already here.”

The front office door opened behind me, and I forced myself to stay focused on the counter. If Reuben was really Mel, he’d know how dangerous it was to keep a return appointment on record when he knew the Carmines, at least, were looking for him. He’d be watching for people who took undue notice of him, even if the receptionist didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said. “We’re already a little behind today, so I’m afraid I can’t squeeze you in.”

That was actually ideal, but I needed her to let me sit in the waiting room a little longer, so I could identify Reuben. Then I saw an opening. “And everyone’s shown up for their current appointments?” I asked. “Because if there’s a no-show, maybe you could fit me in?”

The receptionist went over the schedule again. “We have one patient who’s late,” she said. “If you want to wait a few more minutes, maybe.”

I smiled. Nice people were crueler to scam, but also easier.

I spun around just as the newcomer reached for the sign-in sheet. At first glance, I could tell he was a wiry man with dark hair and tan skin; I looked past him and walked so fast that I nearly barreled into him.

He gave me a sharp look as I waved both hands in the air.

“I’m so sorry!” I said. “I am such a basket case today.”

He shrugged and shuffled past me.

My heart pounded in my throat.

He favored his left leg.

I leaned toward him just slightly, trying to see if he smelled familiar. A shifter could alter his scent superficially, but most of us didn’t, as people’s smells were incredibly hard to replicate.

He smelled only like apple shampoo, which didn’t ring any particular bells.

The man reached for the sign-in sheet, and I allowed myself one glance over his shoulder as he wrote down his name.

Reuben Ramirez.

I forced myself not to look at him again until I’d sat down—this time across the waiting room from Kalif. Then my eyes went straight to his knees. Reuben was, of course, wearing long cargo pants. No chance of stealing a glance at his wound in those.

Kalif and I both sat in silence while the receptionist checked Reuben in. As he sat down on the other side of the room, nearer to Kalif, she waved me over with an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Our possible no-show has arrived.”

I forced myself not to react as Reuben turned toward me. I smiled at the receptionist. “It’s fine,” I said. “My own stupid fault for writing it down wrong.” I turned to walk out.

Reuben stared at me on my way to the door, but I didn’t make eye contact. Mentally, I went over my persona. No part of me looked like my home body—which Mel would easily recognize—and I hadn’t used this face before. If this was Mel, he shouldn’t be able to recognize me.

But that wouldn’t stop him from being suspicious.

I walked across the parking lot to our car—parked safely out of view—and waited.

It took Kalif ten full palm-sweaty minutes to follow me. I was definitely not cut out for the role of waiting.

I scrutinized him closely as he approached, checking over his persona. It looked the same as it had in the waiting room, which meant it wasn’t likely that Mel was using Kalif’s cover as a hasty disguise to get at me. But when Kalif did reach the car, I rolled down the window and made him palm-check with me before I let him in. When Mel was involved, we couldn’t be too careful.

His hand checked out, but I waited until he got into the car to speak. I also didn’t want to be overheard.

“Do you think that’s him?” I asked.

Kalif shrugged. “He has a leg wound, but we knew that already.”

I nodded. “Did you check the exits?”

“I waited until he went back to his exam, so he wouldn’t realize I was with you. I think if he was going to flee, he’d have done it before he went back.”

I nodded. “Unless he’s going to climb out a window while they leave him to undress. Drive around the building once to check?”

Kalif nodded. I climbed into the back seat, ducked low, and changed while he drove. I swapped my slacks for jeans and a t-shirt, and then lay down on the back seat and turned my hair into a curly mess and made my skin pale and blotchy.

“I don’t see him,” he said. “I don’t want to go around again, in case he’s watching out the window.”

“My turn, then,” I said. I put my hand on the door handle. Kalif passed me a disposable phone, and I kissed him on the cheek over the back seat before I got out.

“Stay close,” I said.

He nodded. “Very.”

After he drove away, I slouched toward the building, dialed Kalif on my cell phone, and put my ear bud in.

I sat down under a tree on the far side of the parking lot. I was just a girl, sitting on the grass, talking on her cell phone. There was nothing suspicious about that.

Except that this was Mel. Like me, he would suspect everybody.

“Jory?” Kalif said over my headset.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful, okay?”

“I’m just watching,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” Kalif said. “But I just keep picturing my dad with his hands around your throat. Just remember that’s who you’re dealing with, okay?”

I paused. I hadn’t told Kalif exactly what Mel had done to me. I’d never had the chance. “Did your mom tell you about that?”

He was silent for a second. “I saw the footage. In the Carmine’s security archives. They showed every second of it to my mom and me, like they wanted to really make a point of how nice they were being not executing me after I helped you break in.”

I swallowed. Thinking about Mel’s hands on my neck made me feel lightheaded. The bruises had taken a week to fade. He would have killed me. I had no doubt that he’d meant to. And I had equally no doubt that he’d try again, if he thought it was to his benefit.

But Kalif had been in even worse danger, living with his mother while she was working directly with her parents. We’d believed she’d protect him, and she had, because he was still here.

But now, if they’d learned he’d run off with me again?

This time they’d probably do a lot worse than show him video of his own betrayal.

It took half an hour for Reuben to come out of the doctor’s office, and when he did, he still looked like himself. I got a better look at his limp as he ambled across the parking lot. It wasn’t as noticeable as it had been when he backed away from me in the doctor’s office. If I were Mel, I’d have trained every day to walk normally, even if the bullet had shattered my knee cap. Any unavoidable tick could mean death for a shifter—especially a wanted one.

A limp was almost as bad as scars across the face.

I twirled a blade of grass around my finger and studied my cell phone. I’d have expected Mel to be nervous about his surroundings, but Reuben barely glanced in my direction.

For some reason, that pissed me off. If this was Mel, I wanted him scared—as scared as I’d been after he and Aida made my parents disappear. I wanted him to sweat every second he was evading us.

When Reuben had his back fully turned on me, I spoke to Kalif. “He’s headed north.”

“ID his car and I’ll come pick you up.”

But Reuben didn’t get into a car. When he reached the sidewalk, he turned and kept walking.

“He’s headed west on foot,” I said.

“I see him,” Kalif said. “I’m parked on the far side of that street. Give him a minute to pass me up and then you can come meet me and we can follow.”

“No,” I said. “You’re still in the same persona. I don’t want to risk him seeing you. I’ll follow at a distance. You drive around the block and pick me up without passing him, okay?”

Kalif paused. “I’m less conspicuous in a car.”

I sighed. Dad always said it was important to determine ahead of time who was taking point on an individual mission, so you didn’t end up arguing about what to do and wasting precious time, or worse, exposing yourself.

I’d just assumed I was the one calling the shots here.

“Please do it,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

Kalif paused, and in my mind, I could see the way his eyebrows would press together.

“Really,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m moving.”

I sighed. We could have it out later. Right now, the important thing was not to lose Reuben.

As it turned out, I didn’t have to follow him far.

Reuben ducked into the hospital’s underground parking garage through the street entrance. My pulse picked up. There was no reason for him to park there when there were plenty of open spots around the clinic, and there was no reason to walk there via the street, instead of one of the closer entrances on the parking lot side.

But it was also exactly the sort of place we frequented to change our faces, since the security cameras usually pointed at the entrances and exits, leaving lots of space in between where we could change without being seen.

I stood, brushing off my jeans, and looking at the place where Reuben had disappeared from sight. There wasn’t time to send Kalif after him. If I didn’t follow immediately, we’d lose him. “Reuben went into the parking garage,” I said. “I’m on it.”

And then I strode across the parking lot and followed him down the ramp.

Twelve

The parking garage was full of places for Reuben to hide. It was also full of cars and concrete pillars, which made it easier to follow him without being seen.

I caught sight of him again as I reached the bottom of the ramp, and skipped from car to car, watching him through tinted windows.

Reuben moved to an area of open rows, and I paused behind the last row of cars and lay down on the concrete, watching his feet from between the wheels. His feet limped to a shadowed area behind a large van, and then moved without pausing toward the far exit to the garage. I wondered if his face had already turned.

In my pocket, my phone vibrated. I must have lost reception when I came down into the parking garage, and I was glad I’d remembered to turn the ringer off.

I reached in and pressed the talk button as, beneath the car, I saw Reuben’s boots pace to the ramp on the far side.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey,” Kalif said back. “You about gave me a heart attack. I lost the connection and then couldn’t get you back.”

That’s what I hated about being the one who was waiting. There was no way I was letting him go into Mel’s apartment alone. “I’m in the parking garage, so I might lose you again. But he’s leaving the garage on the south side.”

“I’m moving that way,” Kalif said. “But I might miss him coming out.”

“I’ll follow from here.”

Kalif sounded even more worried. “If he went through the garage without getting in a car, he’s either a regular guy who knows he’s being followed, or a shifter. Either one is dangerous.”

I stood up from behind the car and moved toward the exit ramp. “I know,” I said. “But I can’t stay here anyway. Security might have already seen me skulking around. I’ll keep an eye on him until you can pick me up.”

Kalif probably wasn’t thrilled with that plan, but he didn’t argue further.

I hurried up the ramp and reached the top just in time to see a man with Reuben’s shoes climbing into a dark green Suburban across the street.

“You still there?” I asked Kalif.

“Here,” Kalif said. “Headed toward you now.”

“Slow down,” I said. “He’s climbing into a car. We don’t want to pass him.”

“Slowing,” Kalif said.

I waited behind one of the concrete pillars until I heard the Suburban start, and then peered out to watch as it drove away, making a mental note of the license plate. A second later, our rental pulled up at the top of the ramp.

I walked to our car as quickly as I dared and climbed into the passenger seat. Ahead, Reuben’s car stopped at a light. We were separated by five or six cars, but could still see him well enough. At least his vehicle was tall.

I pushed my seatback down far enough that the headrest hit the back seat. If we needed to follow him again, we’d need new faces. I noted Kalif had already changed his—he must have had a good opportunity while he was driving around.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Kalif asked. “Reuben might have seen you get into the car.”

I righted my seat. “Yeah, okay,” I said. “Good point.”

Kalif tailed Reuben from a distance, and only had to run one red light to do it. After about four blocks, he pulled into another parking garage—this one above ground.

“This has got to be your dad,” I said. “Only a shifter would have these places memorized.”

“We can’t just watch the exits,” Kalif said. “Not if he means to shift inside. But I’m going after him then. Not you.”

My fingers twitched. “I shift better than you.”

“Sure,” Kalif said. “But he may have already seen us following him, and if he has, he’ll kill you.”

“He might kill you, too.”

Kalif pulled the car over and climbed out, leaving the keys in the ignition. “I’m his son. If he does decide to kill me, he won’t do it on sight.”

I couldn’t be sure that was true, of course, and neither could Kalif. He wasn’t wearing his home face, and even if he was, Mel might kill first and identify the body later. But it was plausible, and that was the best we were going to get.

Plus, if Kalif followed him now, it would be my turn later, when it was time to case Mel’s apartment.

I moved into the driver’s seat.

“I’m going to circle,” I said. “Please be careful.”

Kalif nodded and headed into the parking garage. I hoped I hadn’t delayed him too long by arguing.

Next time, we definitely had to choose a point man. And if I wanted to emerge with my sanity intact, I had better make sure it was me.

As I circled, I counted four exits to the garage—two driveways and two stairwells. I cut through an alley along the back side of the garage, and there I changed my hair to a pixie cut and tightened my frame, altering all my features so they were smaller and daintier. I flipped down the mirror on the sunshade to check myself, and had to make my jaw more square and my nose more hooked to avoid being too beautiful; it was always my impulse to be pretty, which was probably social conditioning.

My phone rang as I hit the alley the second time, and I answered.

“Hello?” I said.

I could hear Kalif’s voice but not make out his words.

“You’re breaking up,” I said. My heart pounded. Damn garages. This hadn’t felt as horrifying when it had been Kalif on the outside, not me.

This time I caught the words "street" and "gone.”

I sped up, driving faster than was safe to the end of the alley, and pulled out onto the street. Ahead, I could see someone descending the stairway from the second floor of the garage. I passed by, looking up at him. This man looked younger—maybe mid-twenties—and wore baggy sweats and a hoodie.

He was white, now, but he was wearing the same work boots Reuben had been wearing. That might mean he was unprepared, or that he didn’t think anyone was following, or that he just couldn’t find anyone at the moment to bribe to swap shoes with him.

Even better, he was limping

I put the phone back to my ear. “I see him,” I said. “He’s on the staircase, and he’s definitely shifted.”

“Good,” Kalif said. “I’m on the east side of the building.”

I pulled around the building and found Kalif on the sidewalk. Now it was my turn to park the car and leave the keys.

“I’m going to follow,” I said. “You take the car.”

Kalif didn’t argue with me, which saved me from having to point out that he’d just lost his mark in a contained space, or try to find out if he was absolutely sure he hadn’t been seen.

I ran to the corner, then corrected myself to a casual walk before I moved out into view of the staircase.

The man in Reuben’s boots had already hit the street, and was waiting for cars to pass so he could jaywalk. I was already at the corner, so I punched the crosswalk button. By the time the light chirped for me, my mark was already ahead of me. He didn’t look back over his shoulder, but sauntered down the street away from the hospital like he didn’t have a care in the world. Besides his bum knee, at least.

I followed, matching his meandering pace. I pulled out my phone and fiddled with it, sending Kalif a text message about the direction we were going. Park and wait, I wrote. I’ll tell you where to come when you follow.

K, Kalif texted back.

I only had to follow Reuben four blocks before he walked into an apartment complex. As I cruised by, I saw him slip a key into the lock of a basement apartment and disappear inside.

“Gotcha,” I whispered, and texted Kalif the address.

I walked around the complex, studying the exits. The apartments were lined up in rows, so the doors all faced one direction, and the back windows another. The windows to the basement apartments were set deep into window wells, which would make them easy to climb into, but possibly noisy to open, since debris tended to settle in the bottom of the wells. But the entire back part of the complex was lined with a chain-link fence, so unless Mel felt the need to jump the fence, the only way out was the way he’d come in.

Our rental car pulled up on the street, and I joined Kalif in the front seat.

“If you pull back a little, we’ll be able to see his back window,” I said. “Or we can watch his door from the corner. But if we want to watch both, we’ll have to split up.”

Kalif surveyed the apartment building. “We need to watch both, if we want to be sure he’s gone before we go in.”

Which we did. “Okay,” I said. “You stay here and watch the window. I’ll scope out the corner and find an inconspicuous place to hide. When he leaves, I’ll call you on the headset before I go in.”

Kalif put a hand on my arm. “I should do it.”

I cringed. I couldn’t wait outside while he walked into that apartment alone. I could not.

“It’s my turn,” I said. “I took point, then you did, so . . .”

Kalif glared at me. “You set me up for that,” he said. “But you followed him to the apartment, so technically it’s my turn.”

Damn it. I had, and it was. “Let me do it,” I said. “I have more field experience than you.”

“Barely,” he said. “And that excuse isn’t going to hold up for much longer.”

He was right, it wasn’t. I forced a smile and elbowed him in the arm. “Don’t tell me you’re not going to let me go into danger because I’m a girl. I put up with the chauvinism, but that’s taking it too far.”

Kalif didn’t return my smile. “You know that’s not what this is about.”

I took that for a concession, even though it wasn’t one. I kissed him on the cheek. “I love you. Call if you see anything.”

And then I got out of the car and moved toward the corner, to case the apartment of just one of Kalif’s relatives who would most definitely kill me if I gave him the chance.

Thirteen

I camped out in the bus stop down the street from the apartment building, waiting for a bus that never came. I kept up appearances by checking the schedule, and growing increasingly fidgety and restless as time went on.

That wasn’t hard to fake. Forty-five minutes and three grumpy bus drivers later, it occurred to me that Mel might not leave his apartment again today. He might have cameras mounted on the building. He might be watching me wait for him right now.

I stood up, looking at the bus schedule again, and started down the street in a huff. At the very least, I needed to change my clothes and my persona before continuing the stake out. And I needed a better excuse than hanging out on the corner.

I had almost passed the apartment building when I saw a door open out of the corner of my eye.

My heartbeat quickened. The open door was Mel’s. The person who stepped out didn’t look like Mel or like Reuben or like the man I’d tailed out of the parking garage—he was tall and dark, with his hair slicked back against his scalp. He might have been a roommate or a partner of whoever lived there.

Except that he, too, was limping.

I didn’t take too good of a look beyond that, though. I kept walking down the street, past the car where Kalif was watching. I made eye contact with him without making any other physical sign that I recognized him, and passed him by.

Kalif was behind me now, between me and the man who had to be Mel. Sure, Mel had gone in the other direction, but if he doubled around, at least Kalif had my back.

I allowed myself one glance over my shoulder, and found that Kalif had climbed out of the car and was jogging after me.

It was the speed with which he approached that made my heart hammer. Stop, I told myself. There was no way Mel had stolen—or matched—Kalif’s clothes that quickly. This wasn’t him. I didn’t see Mel at all.

The prickling on my neck intensified. That meant he might be anywhere.

“Jory,” Kalif said. Then, before waiting for a response, he held out his hand.

I didn’t relax, even after I received his signal.

“Was that him?” he asked. “The guy with the dark hair?”

I nodded. Kalif pointed down the street. “He went the other way. We should move. We don’t know how long he’ll be gone.”

The man who might be Mel had kept going in the other direction.

He wasn’t coming after me at all.

I took deep breaths, and tried to stop acting like a psycho. “Okay,” I said. “Pretend I wasn’t running away like an idiot.”

Kalif rested a hand on my shoulder. “We can leave if you want.”

But we couldn’t. Not really. Aida hadn’t asked us to find more leads to Mel. She’d asked us to find him.

If we were going to turn him over to her, we had to get into the apartment, to verify his identity. And then, once we’d done that, we could camp out, wait for him to come back, and then call her and tell her we had him. Giving him over to the Carmines would require the same steps.

A lump formed in my throat. Once we had the verification we’d come here for, Kalif and I had a decision to make.

One I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

But first things first. We had to get into the apartment.

“I’m going in,” I said. I paced back to the car. I had my phone and headset in my pocket, but I didn’t put it in. I didn’t want to talk inside if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, in case Mel was recording. “From here you can see him if he comes back, right? So watch the front of the building.”

Kalif hesitated. “I really think I should—"

“Don’t argue,” I said. “Arguing costs us time. Besides—"

Kalif shook his head. “Besides, you just can’t stand being the one watching while someone else does the point work. I get it. Now finish it before he comes back. But if my father kills you, I’m never going to forgive either of you for it.”

That should have been a joke. I wanted to laugh, and bump shoulders with him, and remember what life felt like when I wasn’t being constantly strangled by panic and fear.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and Kalif didn’t look like he was joking, either.

“I’ll be careful,” I said.

Kalif opened the door to climb back into the car. “If I thought you wouldn’t,” he said, “I’d argue some more. No matter how much time it cost us.”

I shivered as I paced up the sidewalk toward Mel’s apartment. The trouble with the approach was that it was wide open to the street, which meant that without a plausible cover that would physically screen me, I couldn’t pick the lock without risking a neighbor calling the police. Between my loitering at the bus stop and our discussion on the street, we were already risking attention, even if Mel didn’t have a camera pointed at us.

I searched the building as I walked up, but I didn’t see any evidence of security cameras. The ones that were installed at the corners of the buildings had birds’ nests obscuring their lenses, and had probably always been for show.

I had to make this fast. Get in, get the evidence, make it look like a regular break in instead of a shifter after him, and get out before he could come back for me. I gave myself two or three minutes, tops.

But first I had to be sure that the apartment was empty, so I didn’t encounter any nasty surprises.

For that I used one of the easiest tricks of home invasion—one so basic, it was employed even by teenage thieves. I knocked once on the door, and then tapped my nails on my jeans, waiting. I listened carefully for footsteps, but heard only silence.

If there was someone else inside, they might come to the door, or they might ignore it. So I knocked twice more, and then pounded on the door with all my might.

Unless someone was purposefully lurking in there, the apartment was empty.

I stood in front of the doorknob to block it from view of the street, and then tried it.

It was locked.

I walked around back and lowered myself into the window well of Mel’s apartment. My feet crunched on the bed of leaves collected in the bottom, and I crouched down, out of sight of the street.

The blinds were closed, so I couldn’t see into the room without getting the window open. The frame was old and rusting at the corners, so I applied force to the pane, pushing it upward to jam it off of its track. The metal popped, and the sliding pane came free. I moved it an inch to the side and rested it against the other half of the window. Then I slid my fingers through the crack, reached under the corner of the blinds, grabbed the cord, and hauled them up.

No alarms sounded, but if I’d triggered one, it would almost certainly be silent, meant to alert Mel rather than deter me. I didn’t see any wires around the window frame, but the alarm sensor might be motion-sensitive, which meant it could be planted anywhere in the room that faced the window.

From the window I could see a shoe sticking out from beneath a leather jacket that lay rumpled near the end of the bed. A red patent-leather high heel. The bed was a twin, but now that I looked closer, about half of the clothes on the floor would fit a woman—including something draped over the back of a chair that I was pretty sure was a muumuu the size of a tent.

My chest tightened. This looked very much like a shifter horde—a collection of clothes that would fit many different people, all piled up in one room like they’d been worn recently.

I’d always thought that Mel was as fastidious as Aida—their house had always been bare and immaculate, hardly lived in, all necessary objects kept in their places. But this room looked like a tornado had ripped through. Clothing coated the floor. Empty paper coffee cups and soda cans collected on the nightstand. Blankets piled up on the bed in a disorderly heap.

I tried to imagine Mel keeping his room like this, and failed. Besides the mess, the room was tiny. Mel must have come on hard times if he’d settled on an apartment this small—even smaller than the one I’d been sharing with Mom. I kind of wished I could rub that in, except the idea of being face to face with him made my arms break out in hives.

Also, Mel didn’t drink drive-thru coffee—not if he could help it. And I’d never seen soda in his house. Was that Aida’s thing? I hadn’t thought so. Mel liked expensive things—I’d always thought it was because they fed into his delusions that he was better than other people.

I worried for a moment that I’d gotten the wrong apartment, but there, in the corner, lay the boots Reuben had been wearing. I paused. Maybe we had the wrong guy.

But how many shifters could there be in the Bay Area with gunshot wounds to the knee?

No. This was more likely an elaborate cover. A persona Mel used, even for his apartment, so if one of us came here, we’d dismiss the lead.

Still, it was enough of a discrepancy that I needed further proof.

Which meant I had to go inside.

Fourteen

I braced myself against the back of the window well. I’d probably passed a minute since I’d forced the window open—I could afford one more. I moved the window pane the rest of the way to the side and lowered my feet past the sill and dropped down onto a pile of t-shirts.

Something crunched underneath, and I hoped it was a soda can and not an alarm plate. No matter, though. If there was a motion sensor alarm in this room, I’d already triggered it.

Now was the time to move fast. I dropped the blinds again, so the open window wouldn’t be as obvious.

The contents of the closet confirmed my suspicions about the apartment’s occupant. Only a few pieces of clothing still hung in it, but at the back was a shelving unit stocked with handcuffs, disposable phones, a cell phone jammer, a Taser, and a bin of lock picks.

My eyes caught on a metal cylinder—the kind for compressed gas. I gently lifted it off the shelf and brought it toward my face, looking at the label in the light.

Sevoflurane, the label said.

I raised my eyebrows. Here’s the thing about unconsciousness; it’s not as easy to produce as the movies make it seem. Knocking people on the head will kill them as often as knock them out. Chloroform can take up to five minutes to work on humans. If tranquilizer guns were effective, your friendly neighborhood cops would already be carrying them, but alas, it’s impossible to know how many darts it will take to drop a person without killing them. There are plenty of date-rape drugs that will make a person disoriented, but disorientation isn’t enough to turn off the shifter’s ability to create a persona. You can never be sure whether a drugged shifter’s face is their own—and that includes drugs like laughing gas, which are easy to come by, but definitely shouldn’t be given in high enough doses to knock a person out.

So that left anesthetics. The only reliable chemical method of knocking a person unconscious was the way they did it in the hospital—with carefully regulated drugs. Most of those were given intravenously, and therefore weren’t easy to inflict on unwilling shifters.

For cases when that was impossible, there were a few inhalation sedatives—ones that could be given to sleeping people without waking them.

The one Mel and Aida kept on hand was Sevoflurane.

Next to the canister was the mask and hose attachment used to administer the drug. I had no way of knowing if this was the exact same canister Mel and Aida had kept, but Mel could easily have acquired another one. They’d been particularly concerned about defending themselves against other shifters, about being able to hold and detain them if they needed to.

At the time, I hadn’t understood why.

If I was already making this look like a break in, might as well help myself to the more useful things. One of the first things common thieves would go for were the drugs and the more interesting items, like the handcuffs. I picked up the cuffs and stuck them into my back pocket. They wouldn’t do me a lot of good in a scuffle, since I knew from past experience that Mel could overpower me, but they were better than no tool at all.

I reached for the Taser next, but bumped the bin of picks with my wrist and tipped it. The lockpicks tinkled into the bottom of the closet, scattering among the clothes. I cringed at the noise, even though it couldn’t have been as loud as opening the window.

I took a step back.

And that’s when the key rattled in the front door.

I dropped the drugs and bolted for the window, but my foot caught in the strap of a cocktail dress and sent me down on my knees in the mess. My heart pounded so hard I expected Mel could hear it, but the clothing had cushioned my fall, silencing it.

As I scrambled to my feet, I heard the refrigerator open, and something heavy settle inside.

Crap. Had he only gone for beer? Why hadn’t Kalif alerted me? I reached for my phone. Had I silenced it? I couldn’t remember.

As I got back to my feet, heavy footsteps pounded toward me. My stomach squeezed. I wanted to sprint for the window, but the footsteps were coming down the hallway so fast that even if I hurried, I’d get caught halfway through, and Mel could pull me back into the room from behind, leaving me completely defenseless.

I stepped behind the closet door and stood as still as possible. Half a second later, the footsteps rounded the corner, and I could hear breathing.

My hands shook with adrenaline. I wanted to claw my way through the closet wall, beat down the doors so they hit him right in the head, and throw his dumbbells after for good measure. But instead I froze, not a muscle twitching, listening to Mel breathing just feet away, with nothing but cheap particle board doors between us.

But instead of coming for me, he banged around the room, like he was looking for something. Something smaller than the person standing in his closet.

I steadied my hands. Had he not noticed the open window? The closed blinds should have helped, but if Mel had the place alarmed, if he knew I was here, he’d have come straight for me.

Wouldn’t he?

I took stock of the closet. The sedation drugs would only be useful if I already had Mel incapacitated, to give them time to take effect. I reached for the Taser again, this time with both hands. My dad had taught me how to use one once—it was one of the few weapons he approved of, since they were designed not to kill people. But this one was a different model than the one I was used to, and there was no guarantee that it would work.

Like a cornered mouse, I waited for the closet doors to open—waited for Mel to pull me out by the throat with a smug look on his face and tell me he’d been expecting me.

Seconds ticked by. The door between us didn’t move. Something crinkly dropped onto the floor, and then the footsteps headed out the door again, and into the hall bathroom.

I let out an imperceptible breath. He’d gone into the bathroom across the hall, and left the door open. I heard the pouring sound of urine hitting the toilet.

Mel wasn’t killing me. He was peeing, not ten feet away, with his back to me.

I drew in a breath, just as slow.

He couldn’t know I was here, then, could he?

I peered around the corner of the closet door, through the six-inch space that remained between the door and the frame. I could see the back of the head of the man in the hall, who was wearing the same clothing I’d seen Mel leave in, and the same hair and build as well. He was facing a mirror, and while I couldn’t see his face now, he’d definitely see me if I moved toward the window, and there was no way I could get a jump on him.

Stupid bathrooms. Stupid mirrors.

Why couldn’t he have shut the door?

I let go of the Taser with one hand and reached for the phone in my pocket. If I texted Kalif to tell him his dad was here, he might panic. Instead, I opened a message. I’m inside, but okay so far, I wrote. Then I double checked that the phone was silenced, the vibrate function turned off. The last thing I needed was for Mel to come investigate a vibrating object inside his closet.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket.

The toilet flushed, and I positioned myself behind the closet door. Heavy footsteps returned to the bedroom.

I gripped the Taser with shaking hands. If I used it on Mel, it might give me the edge I needed to get away.

But if I used it wrong—if it had some kind of safety mechanism I didn’t know how to use, or was out of juice, or just didn’t work quite the same as the one I’d used—then it might just make him mad.

The footsteps paced across the room.

My heart beat in my throat. This was it. He had to be making me sweat—more mind games. He knew exactly where I was, but was tormenting me, waiting for me to make a bad move, because he already knew I was cornered and had no good options.

The blinds were closed. No one would see him kill me.

A rustling followed, and the sound of soft things being dropped to the floor. Then the mattress groaned, and everything went silent.

I held onto the Taser, not daring to lean around the door. My vision swam; a part of my brain couldn’t quite grip the fact that I wasn’t dead. I didn’t move; I barely breathed. The man on the mattress tossed once, twice, three times. And then his breathing grew slow and even, like he was settling into a late afternoon nap.

Or faking one very, very well.

Fifteen

For a moment I just stood in the closet like an idiot, trying to process. The room felt cold; time seemed to slow to a crawl.

I pulled out my phone. Okay, Kalif had texted back. If he’d known what was happening in here, he surely would have said more than that.

Kalif was supposed to warn me when Mel returned. He hadn’t been facing the door—just the street side of the apartment complex. Had Mel come back another way, maybe from the back side of the complex? That was the sort of paranoid thing that I did—made sure not to take the same path all the time, so as not to be predictable. Mel had every bit as much cause to be paranoid as I did.

But it didn’t make sense. If this was Mel, he would be more paranoid inside the apartment as well. He would have alarms. He would have sensors. He would have come into the apartment knowing exactly where to find me.

And he wouldn’t have gone to sleep right in front of me. I peeked around the closet door again.

The man in the bed lay still. He might have had his eyes closed, but it was hard to tell when all I could see of him was his tan forehead, and his hair braided in cornrows back over his scalp.

This wasn’t the same persona I’d seen in the bathroom. It was the same guy, but he’d shifted—if he was asleep this would be his home body, the one constructed by his subconscious when he wasn’t focusing on being someone else.

But if so, this couldn’t be Mel.

He had a blanket tangled around his midsection, but I could see his bare, muscular shoulders, and his knee peeking out from beneath the covers, wrapped in a bandage and held with medical tape.

If this wasn’t Mel, who was it? How many shifters could there be in the Bay Area with a bullet through their knee? The coincidence was just too much.

But if it was Mel, what the hell was he doing? Waiting for me to move so he could jump out and yell boo?

Not unless I’d injured his brain as well as his knee. This felt like a trap, but it seemed like a stupid one.

I checked my phone again. Almost done? Kalif had texted.

I still didn’t want to panic him. Give me a minute.

I looked toward the window. The blinds were still down, which might have worked in my favor so far, but would be noisy if I tried to lift them. I’d never be able to get out the window without waking him. Plus, I’d have to walk right by his bed, which might be what he was waiting for, if he was faking.

Maybe Mel had gone insane.

I edged the closet door open inch by inch. If I could ease myself around him, I could move up the hall and leave by the front door.

Then, from the outside, Kalif could help me figure out what to do next.

I startled, watching helplessly as the guy on the bed tossed a bit and rolled so the blanket slipped down around his waist. He snorted once, and then lay still.

I stood frozen in place. I tried to breathe, but the edges of my vision blurred. I waited for his eyes to open, but they didn’t.

I could see the man’s face now—he looked young, with olive skin just lighter than Kalif’s, and a fine dark stubble along his jaw line.

Even with his eyes closed, I could tell he was hot. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his chest bulged with muscles worthy of a body builder, or at least a career gym rat.

He was acting perfectly asleep, and if he was, then he definitely wasn’t Mel, unless Mel had developed amnesia and now self-identified as a stud muffin.

Given the number of forms I’d seen him take, this had to be a shifter, but seriously. Who thought of themselves that way?

My phone screen lit up. Time to go, yeah?

I was making him nervous. If I was waiting outside, I’d have been having a complete spaz attack by now.

Then: What’s going on? You were supposed to be in and out.

I looked at the man on the bed. I knew I should be leaving right now, but something held me there.

How could there be another shifter with the same injury as Mel, right here in the Bay Area?

You there?

Yes, I answered. I’m okay, but in a bit of a situation. Hang on.

I looked over the contents of the closet. I could question this guy, but to do so I’d have to incapacitate him. The handcuffs were still in my pocket, but I’d likely wake him before I got him chained down, plus I’d be right there in grabbing range. This guy looked strong; he might also be fast.

I reached again for the drugs, for the container of Sevoflurane. An anesthetic, and a sedative.

If I wanted to know for sure if he was asleep, the answer was right here in my hands.

Do you need help? Kalif asked.

I held my breath. I needed something, but more noise in the apartment wasn’t it. And Kalif would hate what I was about to do next.

No, I texted back. Then I grabbed the cylinder, which clinked slightly against a stray lock pick.

I froze, but the man on the bed didn’t move.

Dad? Kalif texted. Is that you?

My heart skipped a beat. He might not have seen Mel come in, but it wouldn’t take him long to jump to conclusions. Putting him off the way I was seemed like exactly the sort of thing Mel would do if he’d gotten a hold of me and therefore my phone.

Girls in trees, I texted back. Another code word. Still me, but a little busy.

I had to work fast. Once the man was chemically unconscious, I’d be able to fully explain without fear that Kalif would intervene.

Or try to talk me out of it.

I untangled the sedation mask and connected it to the cylinder. A quick internet search on my phone gave me the dosage instructions. Mel had shown me how to work one of these once.

If I was about to sedate him, that would be ironic. But if this was Mel, there was no way he’d let me get that close.

I shook my head. This was too silly a game of cat and mouse, even for Mel.

Be smart, Kalif responded.

Damn. He knew me too well.

Got it covered, I answered.

Then I pocketed the phone and stepped toward the bed, easing each footfall so it wouldn’t make a sound. My heart pounded as I reached over him, sure this was going to be the moment when his eyes would pop open, his huge hand would lock around my throat, and Mel would finally finish strangling me while Kalif waited outside.

But the man in the bed didn’t so much as twitch.

I could try to leave now, but if this wasn’t Mel, I had to know what the hell was going on. Between the sedative and the cuffs, I could incapacitate him enough to question him.

I’d never met a shifter who wasn’t working with me, or trying to kill me. But the same injury to the same knee was just too much to ignore.

I heard the slamming of a car door outside on the street.

Please, I thought. Just another few minutes. I held the mask close to the man’s face, not making contact, so I wouldn’t wake him. I leaned far back so I didn’t catch any of the leaking vapors and turned the valve on the cylinder, releasing the gas.

The man didn’t move. I was afraid that the gas would burn his nostrils, or smell strange, and that would wake him. If I awoke to a mask of gas in my face, I would react in a panic, and I didn’t want to see what panic looked like from a man with arms the size of my thighs.

I counted down the seconds, carefully watching the gauge on the cylinder, so I wouldn’t overdose him. His head leaned slightly to the side, and I locked my elbows in place to keep from jerking my hands away. Then he lay perfectly still.

When I was certain I’d given him a big enough dose to knock him out, I reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, making sure to keep my feet under me, so I wouldn’t be caught off balance if he woke.

He didn’t react. I pulled on his arm, shook it, and finally pinched the skin on his firm shoulder.

But he didn’t wake.

He was out—and this definitely wasn’t Mel.

I’d just sedated a random shifter in his own bedroom. If he woke up, he was probably going to want to kill me.

If I hadn’t just killed him with a sedative overdose.

I pulled the mask away from the man’s face. I should have ten minutes or so before he came out from under the sedation. If I’d accidentally overdosed Mel on respiratory sedatives, that would have been one thing. But this was, as far as I knew, a totally innocent person who’d done nothing to me.

Besides, if he didn’t wake, I wouldn’t get to question him to find out who he was.

I had to prepare as if he would wake up. I grabbed the handcuffs from my pocket and hauled his wrists up to the headboard, chaining his wrists together around the pressboard wood. I sized the cuffs down as small as they would go, locking them so they dug deep into his wrists. He could shift his wrists thin as soon as he woke, which would make him more comfortable, but the cuffs should still hold him at that size. He might be able to break the cheap headboard eventually, but by the time he did, I would be long gone.

I paused after locking the cuffs. I didn’t have the keys, or know where they were. Even if he woke, I might still have to call 911 for him.

For the moment, though, I dialed Kalif.

“Mistborn llamas,” I said. After all this time, he’d want to be sure it was me.

“Rod of Immolation,” Kalif said. “Jory, what the hell was that? Where are you?”

“I’m inside,” I said. “I sedated the guy we followed. He’s a shifter, but not your father.”

Kalif paused, like my announcement had stunned him. “He came home? And you sedated him?”

I moved toward the window. “Yeah,” I said. “With drugs he kept in his closet. He’d already gone to sleep, but I wanted to be sure.”

Kalif swore. “I didn’t see him come home. I don’t know whether to be mad at you for trying that, or glad it isn’t my father.”

“I’d go with both.”

“I know we’re supposed to be finding him, but that’s actually a relief.”

No kidding.

“Did you get out of there? I didn’t see you leave.”

“No,” I said. “I’m still in his bedroom.”

“Why?”

Good question. “This guy is a shifter, and he has the same injury as your dad. What do you think the odds are that’s a coincidence?”

Kalif paused. “You think my dad shot some random sucker, just so we’d trace him?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “That seems like the most plausible story. Which means this guy would have had contact with your dad. Might even know where to find him.”

Kalif cleared his throat. “If my dad shot this guy, and he knew where to find him, my dad would probably be dead.”

I reached up and opened the blinds again. “I’m at the window now. I just want to stay until he stirs. I cuffed him, so he can’t get at me. I sedated him. If he ODs, it’s my fault.”

“Leave a note and a cell phone number. We can talk to him after we’re hell and gone. When he calls, you’ll know he’s still alive. Or we can call 911 and have them harass him, just to make sure.”

I paused, and Kalif heard the hesitation. “Just get out of there, Jory. He’ll be fine.”

“Probably,” I said. He was breathing, but his breaths seemed shallower. Slower than they had been before.

Crap.

Maybe I had given him too much.

“Jory,” Kalif said. “Come on.”

“He can’t move,” I said. I climbed up into the window well. “I’m outside the window now. I’ll be able to escape long before he can get to me.”

I heard footsteps in the grass and looked up to see Kalif standing above me. We checked hands.

The man on the bed still wasn’t moving. I couldn’t be sure if I’d got the dosage exactly right. He could wake up in the next few minutes, or never. If his breathing stopped, what would I do? CPR? Call an ambulance and split?

Kalif hung up the phone. “I still think we should go,” he said above me.

He was probably right. A shifter whose cover is compromised can be more dangerous than a cornered bear. And a guy who thought he had muscles that big probably had the body density to back it up.

But even a body builder would take a while to break through the bed and get out of those cuffs. I was already through the window. We had a car right behind me. I had plenty of time to run.

When I didn’t move or respond, Kalif sighed. “You think he’s going to talk to us, after you did that to him?”

He wasn’t likely to be forthcoming, that was for sure. But I’d only tied him to the bed; it was Mel who probably shot this guy in the knee. Maybe he’d be willing to team up against him. Maybe we’d finally have someone else who’d work on our side, besides Kalif and me.

And all logic aside, I wanted to talk to this guy.

Stupid as it might be, I was curious.

“I’ve got to find out who he is,” I said.

Kalif gave another belabored sigh. “I’m starting the car,” he said. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

It took five more agonizing minutes before the man stirred. His good leg kicked in the air, tossing off more of his blanket, revealing his boxers beneath. He sighed and deflated again, and I was worried he might just go back to sleep.

But he pulled his arm toward his face, and met resistance from the cuffs.

And his eyes popped open.

Sixteen

The man in the bed squinted at the window. And though it was senseless—he was chained to the bed, for goodness’ sake—I still felt like climbing out of the window well and running.

“Hi,” I said. “I, um, know this looks bad. But I swear I’m not here to hurt you.”

The guy on the bed looked confused, and then he pulled harder on his arms. The definition of his muscles stayed the same, and there was a grace to his movements that I wouldn’t have expected from someone that buff. His eyes were dark to match his hair, and even confused, he sort of smoldered.

This guy wasn’t just ripped. He was seriously hot.

And he might have been disoriented, but not confused enough to shift right in front of me. When the cuffs didn’t give way, his eyes widened. I could tell he was trying to get out of them by adjusting the size of his wrists—a detail so subtle a normal person would have missed it—but to no avail. Then he looked down at the cylinder of sedation drugs, still resting on the edge of the bed.

His voice was thick with sleep. “If you wanted to hurt me,” he said. “I’d already be dead.”

That was the truth.

Then the guy on the bed did something I didn’t see coming.

He cracked a smile. “So,” he said. “Is this your personal fantasy, or are we waiting for someone else?”

Fantasy? My cheeks burned. “Um, no,” I said. “It’s not like that.”

His smile faded slightly. “Aw. You sure know how to disappoint a guy.”

I bit the inside of my lips. The seductive commentary smacked a little of Mel. If I hadn’t been absolutely sure I’d rendered this guy unconscious, it would have terrified me.

I caught a glimpse of movement above me and looked to find Kalif pressed against the wall, out of the guy’s eye line. I could still hear the car running behind me, but Kalif had no doubt had enough of waiting. I couldn’t blame him for that, but the timing was unfortunate. One glance at the sour look on his face told me he’d heard exactly what the guy had said to me.

I couldn’t blame him for being pissed, either. Not only was the guy propositioning me—a bold move for a shifter who was already handcuffed to a bed—but a move like that echoed all the things Kalif hated about his father.

I turned my focus back to my captive. Now that he was awake, it was time to question him. But if he was going to start friendly, I was going to follow his lead.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He actually looked amused. “You chained me to a bed to ask me my name? Ever try a knock on the door?”

He kicked the rest of the blanket off the bed, lying back in just his boxers. If I hadn’t been certain he was unconscious before, I wouldn’t have believed his physique could be real. His muscles were perfectly sculpted beneath his bronze skin.

I didn’t even know it was possible for a self-image to be that exaggerated.

He rolled his shoulders and lay back on the pillow, relaxing like he was keeping his arms up over his head by choice. His posture screamed casual so loudly that it had to be forced. No one was that comfortable while meeting a stranger mostly naked and chained to a bed.

Plus, by getting rid of the blanket, he’d freed up his legs for kicking if anyone came close enough. Which I wouldn’t.

I relaxed back against the window well, trying to match him, though it turned out to be somewhat more difficult to look comfortable while crouched inside a window well than while lying on a bed, handcuffs or no.

“Maybe I’ll try the knock next time,” I said. “But here we are.”

“Tell me your name and I’ll give you mine,” he said.

Kalif leaned over the window well as far as he dared without coming into view of the bed.

“This is useless,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

But I was just getting started. First I reached for a name. “Alice,” I said. Dang it. The “A" theme was definitely a habit. My dad would be so disappointed.

“Call me Damon.” He gave me a smile that looked both practiced and seductive. I was glad Kalif couldn’t see that.

I didn’t have to look up to feel Kalif glaring at me. There was value in playing Damon’s game, but he was right to be worried. The longer I let him toy with me, the more time I gave him to turn the situation to his advantage.

“Damon,” I said. “I’m sure that’s not your real name, but at least I know that’s your real face.”

Damon’s smile faltered and his eyes darted back to the container of anesthetic. “Yeah,” he said. “About that. Leaves a guy to wonder why he hasn’t been gagged and thrown into the back of a van.”

I swallowed. That’s exactly what the Carmines had done to my parents.

But then, it was probably what a lot of kidnappers did. His bringing it up was a coincidence.

“I just want to talk,” I said.

Damon shook his head at me. “Tell Wendy Carmine I don’t care how many of her goons she sends after me. I wouldn’t join her before, and I won’t join her now. Throw me in a van if you wish. Nothing is going to change.”

My eyes widened. Damon knew the Carmines? And he didn’t want to work with them? If he’d already refused them once, he must be on the run, like us. “I don’t work for Wendy Carmine either,” I said.

Damon smiled. “Are you sure? She’s got other names and faces. Did you knock her out?”

I’d known Aida long before Wendy, and Kalif knew them both. I might be cooperating with Aida, but that wasn’t the same as working for the Carmines.

“I don’t work for them,” I said again. “You’re running from them, too?”

Damon rolled his eyes. “Obviously not very well. This has Carmine written all over it.” Damon looked at me, his face guarded. He’d probably always felt that way, but now he was showing it.

One of us had to drop the act, or we were never going to get anywhere. And since I was the one who’d chained him to a bed, the onus was on me.

I had to share something, but nothing that he could use to get at me, Kalif, or my mom.

“I would never work for the Carmines,” I said. “They killed my father.”

Damon chuckled. “Prepare to die.”

My heart skipped a beat. I started to stand, but he waved his fingers at me. “Sorry. The Princess Bride? Ever seen it?” He hesitated, and then his smile faded. “Never mind. It wasn’t a threat. Though you drugged me while I was asleep, which means if it was, you’d have deserved it. Am I right?” He waited for me to respond, and when I didn’t, he sighed. “The joke would have been funnier if you were lying about your old man.”

I crouched back down, and then stuck my legs back inside the window and sat on the sill. Damon couldn’t reach me from here, but hopefully I looked friendlier.

Damon’s face grew serious. “If you’re not working for them, what are you doing here?”

Valid question. “I was looking for someone else, and I found you, instead.”

He nodded, openly studying me now. At least we were moving past the pretenses. “You followed me from the doctor’s office.”

“I did.”

He swore. “I knew that was going to come back to bite me.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “But that was the point, wasn’t it? You jack up my knee and then you use it to trace me. Did you give me the infection, too? Some kind of contaminated bullet?”

I stared at him. So we were right about Mel. I wondered if Mel had engineered a way to infect Damon with the antibiotic resistant bacteria, or if that had just been a stroke of good luck. It seemed like the friction from the gun would destroy anything that could breed inside the wound, but I was no expert.

I looked down at Damon’s bandaged knee. It relaxed against the mattress, but I bet even with the infection he could kick me in the face. A shifter didn’t have to work out to look like they had muscles like that, but they sure did if they wanted their body to think they had them, and if they wanted to build enough muscle density to make them more than a facade. “I know who did that to you,” I said. “But it wasn’t me.”

Damon rolled his eyes. “Right. And next you’ll tell me that’s your real face.”

“Of course it isn’t,” I said. “And if you think I’m going to get close enough to you to get drugged to prove it to you then you must be new at this.”

Damon’s smile returned. He cocked his head at me. “Aw, come on? Pretty please?”

I considered him. The teasing was probably a ploy to put me at ease. I’d already seen his home body, so he couldn’t use his persona to fool me into thinking he didn’t look dangerous, so he was going to do it through demeanor instead. He was trying to play me in a way that I hadn’t even begun to play him. I’d drugged the guy, and he was still one up on me.

On the other hand, anyone who pictured themselves with that much muscle was probably chronically overconfident. Maybe I could use that against him.

“Why are you running from the Carmines?” I asked. “You look like you could take them.”

Damon rolled his shoulders back, displaying his chest. I was extra glad Kalif was staying out of sight. “Why?” His body shifted slightly, in a way that would have been imperceptible to a person who didn’t know what they were looking for. “You like what you see?”

Ugh. Kalif might not be able to see, but he could hear. He shifted impatiently above me, but he didn’t hiss at me to leave again. Maybe he saw where I was going with this, or maybe he was just waiting to yell at me later.

Either way, I had to make this count.

“You’d better hope you can take them,” I said. “Because if I can follow you, others will, too.”

Disappointment crossed Damon’s face, and he scowled down at his leg. “Yeah. Whose fault is that?”

“The man I’m hunting,” I said. “I’m guessing you tried to track him yourself, after he shot you?”

Damon winked at me. “Of course,” he said. “Unlock the cuffs, and I’ll show you everything.”

I rolled my eyes. If every shifter had one strength, this guy’s would be innuendo.

Trouble was, there was no way to be sure that he only had one.

“Tell me where to find him,” I said.

Damon flexed his arm muscles, which bulged against the headboard, though I noticed he was leaving his wrists slim. “Honey,” he said. “If I knew where to find him, do you think there’d be anything left of him to find?”

I was pretty sure he was shifting his muscles to be even bigger than his subconscious built them, but I got the point. Either he didn’t have any information for me, or he was being evasive.

Two could play at that game. “Oh,” I said. “Well, thanks anyway. Good luck getting out of those cuffs.”

I stood up and began to climb out of the window well.

“Wait!” he called.

I smiled, and crouched back down. “Remember something?”

Damon gave me an earnest look. “I have an address. But he hasn’t been there in weeks.”

I pretended to consider that. “Hmm. I don’t think it’s enough to get you out of those cuffs.”

Damon gave an exaggerated shrug. Or maybe it really took that much effort, with his arms chained over his head. “That’s what I’ve got. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” I said. “And I’ll call you an ambulance once we’re gone. You can figure out how to explain the sedative.”

Damon rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell them some crazy girl drugged and chained me. It’s close enough to the truth.”

“What makes you think I’m a girl?” I asked.

Damon smirked. “What makes you think it matters?”

My cheeks turned pink, and above me Kalif gave another exaggerated sigh. We could all shift our genders, of course. So literally, it didn’t matter. But those first years of life when we couldn’t shift gave us basic gender identities.

That mattered a lot. To some of us, at least.

“Give me the address now,” I said. “Or this crazy girl is going to leave you here to rot.”

Damon smiled. “I don’t have it memorized. It’s in my phone.” He gestured toward the floor with his good foot. “Black jeans. Back pocket.”

His phone. I should have searched for and taken that while he was still unconscious. I looked down at the black jeans. They were tucked under the edge of the bed—if I wanted to reach them with my hands, I’d have to come within range of his feet.

Damon smiled at my hesitation.

“What?” he asked. “Scared of me?”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Wouldn’t you be?”

He feigned innocence. “I’m entirely at your mercy.”

I rolled my eyes. “Where’d you get the ego?”

Damon’s smile widened. “What ego?”

I shook my head. “Look at you. You’re built like a Greek god. What’s up with that?”

Damon looked down at his body, and I swear his muscles got even bigger. “I appreciate the admiration.”

I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t appreciate it too much. I could be a fifty-year-old man, for all you know.”

He laughed. “Like I said. What makes you think it would matter?”

Above me, Kalif basically growled.

I sighed. This was getting me nowhere, except in deep trouble.

“How do I know your phone is even in those pants?” I asked. “It’s probably a ploy so you can kick me in the face.”

Damon shook his bad leg. “Hey, I’m wounded. An invalid, even.”

I snorted. He was far from it. “I saw you walking around earlier, even with your festering wound.”

He grunted. “It’s not festering. You make me sound repulsive.”

This had moved past strategy. I couldn’t help baiting this guy. He practically begged for it. “Infected then. That’s just as bad.”

“Hey,” Damon said. “Not my fault you attacked me before my knee healed. But, hey. Whatever you’re into.”

“I’m into not getting kicked in the face.”

Damon laughed. “Honey, I’m not a monster. I wouldn’t mess up a face like yours.”

I smirked. “You already know it isn’t my real face.”

Damon pretended to consider that. “You’re right. If your real face is half as attractive as that one you’re wearing, I will never let you go.”

“Come on,” Kalif whispered. “Let’s go.” He was getting louder, like he cared less and less if Damon heard. But I didn’t dare look up at him. I still didn’t want Damon to know he was there, in case things got complicated and we needed to take him by surprise.

If he did hear, Damon didn’t let on. “Hey, if you want the address, come on in. It’s not like I can do much to you—I’m sure you’ve got a cell phone full of pictures of my home face that you’re just waiting to shove at me when it suits you. They’ve got to be backed up in six places by now, am I right? Available to all the people you work with. So come on in and get what you came for.”

I hesitated. Pictures of his face was another precaution I’d missed. “I can take the lead and go. Unless—"

I could see Kalif shooting me dagger eyes in the corner of my vision.

He wasn’t going to like this next part, but Damon was looking at me with what might be interest.

“Unless you’re looking to team up against the Carmines.”

Kalif slumped against the side of the building, like he was giving up on trying to whisper sense into me.

That was probably good, all things considered.

Damon gave a loud laugh. It didn’t sound bitter or rehearsed, so he was either a really good actor, or he actually found that funny. “Girl,” he said. “If you think you can beat them, you’re welcome to try. But now that you’ve found me I think I’ll watch the train wreck from the Caribbean.”

“I thought you were worried about them tracking you down.”

Damon snorted. “A mouse might worry about the local cat. But he doesn’t try to stage a rebellion. It’s suicide.”

“Ah,” I said. “So it’s a delusion, then.”

He gave me a sharp look. “What?”

I gestured the length of him. “The body. Your subconscious is exaggerating your physique because you’re convinced you’re so tough, but it’s just denial. Deep down, you’re a coward. That’s fine. Run then.”

I turned, but I didn’t even make it out of the window well before Damon responded.

“Girl!” He still wasn’t calling me by the name I’d given him, probably to let me know he didn’t believe I’d given anything away.

I turned around. “Yes?”

He looked at me with convincing alarm. “Are you serious about taking them out?”

I wanted to be. And gathering a team—especially with experienced shifters who could really help—was a good first step.

“I was serious about my father,” I said. “I was serious about looking for allies. Besides, if you were really that scared of them, why aren’t you in the Caribbean already?”

“Maybe I should be,” he said. “But I didn’t think it would matter. Every shifter who doesn’t work under their safe little umbrella is a threat. They can’t let me go, for fear I’ll undermine their operation when they’re not looking. That’s as true here as it is anywhere.”

I tensed. “They’re always watching, aren’t they? That’s why you thought I worked for them. You know they’ll find you eventually.”

“They probably already have,” Damon said. “If they didn’t send you, then they just aren’t ready to make their move.”

“Why are they after you?” I asked. “You refused to work with them?”

Damon shook his head. “They contracted with me. I do hired muscle, mostly. Mercenary work isn’t always legal, so you can imagine how beneficial it can be to have a brand new face for every job. I thought they were just looking to do some intimidating under the table, but it turned out they’d pinpointed me as a possible shifter. I wasn’t covering my tracks as well as I should have been, I guess.”

“So why aren’t you still working for them?” I asked.

Damon’s face was serious. “We had a falling out.”

I waited for him to elaborate. “What was the argument about?”

Damon smiled. “I took some pictures of their home bodies. A kind of collateral.”

I nearly fell through the window.

I’d seen pictures of the Carmines’ home faces. That’s how Kalif and I had originally figured out they were Aida’s parents. It was how we’d found out they were shifters to begin with. “Those pictures. You posted them to a message board.”

Now it was Damon’s turn to look surprised. “Yeah. Just a conspiracy forum. Nothing big. I did it as a warning.” He squinted at me. “You heard about that?”

“I saw them,” I said. We’d found them on one of the sites Kalif frequented—places where regular people who believed in shifters went to trade stories. A lot of it was obviously made up, and all of it sounded insane, but Kalif liked to go on them and bait the crazies. “You’re Hunter,” I said. “The photos are still there, but we assumed you were dead.”

Damon smiled. “The photos were Hunter’s swan song, but they weren’t mine. I have more handles than faces, and a fresh IP address for each one.”

“I’m surprised the Carmines didn’t take out the whole forum,” I said.

Damon grinned. “The guys who run it had my back. The Carmines couldn’t complain directly without legitimizing my claim, but I can’t even count the number of hacks that tried to take those pictures down. Those dudes were right on top of it.”

I nodded. “They were probably thrilled to have an actual conspiracy for a change. Did you read the one where they thought we could turn invisible?”

Damon looked proud. “Those are my boys.”

I allowed myself one glance in Kalif’s direction. He knew more about the forums than I did, but he stood with his arms folded, like he didn’t want to join the conversation, even if it had been wise.

I turned back to Damon. “We’re watching Wendy and Oliver from the inside,” I said. “We can find out if they know where you are.” Though, if they did, I couldn’t imagine why they were leaving him alone.

Damon looked amused. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re now claiming you’ve infiltrated them and are actively monitoring.”

He made it sound a lot more clever than it was, but I wasn’t about to divulge that I knew their daughter and grandson. “That’s what I’m saying.”

Damon laughed again. “You’re an idiot.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I’m not the one chained to bed. Practically naked, as you pointed out.”

Damon ignored the jab. “If you’re monitoring the Carmines, it’s because they’re letting you, waiting to give you a false lead. They’re just reeling you in. It’s how they work.”

My skin went cold. Listening to Damon did nothing to quiet the fears I still had about my mom. But there was a lot to the situation he didn’t know. “Maybe so,” I said. “Or maybe we’re the people who can keep you safe from them. You can wait around here for them to catch up to you, or you can partner with us and take the chance.”

Damon gave me a long look. I didn’t know him well enough to read his tells, but I was pretty sure he was actually considering it.

“All right,” he said. “In that case, you’ll need the address, and one more thing.” He waved his fingers at me.

A hand signal.

It had been so long since I’d made one with a new shifter—since the first time I met Kalif.

But even if we didn’t work together, if I ever saw Damon again, we’d need one.

I heard Kalif’s feet edging toward the window well. He hadn’t seen the gesture, but I already knew he didn’t want me going closer.

Cover me, I thought at him.

And he would. I didn’t even have to ask.

I dropped down into the room, then worked my way toward the edge of the bed. I grabbed his chair and used the legs to fish out the jeans, bringing them over to me without getting my head within range of his legs.

There was a cell phone in the back pocket.

“It’s in the contacts,” Damon said. “Under A for Asshole.”

I found it, literally right where he said. “Fitting,” I said.

Damon’s eyebrows went up, and I realized that he hadn’t known what I thought about Mel until that moment. For all he knew, Mel was my best friend. My boyfriend. My mom.

Of all the things I could have given away, that was probably the least dangerous.

I dropped the pants, and put the cell phone in my own pocket.

Damon’s wrist strained against the cuffs, inclining toward me. “Well?” he asked. “Partners?”

I met his eyes. They were amber at the centers and charcoal at the edges, like a gemstone charred in a fire. They almost looked airbrushed.

This guy really did think a lot of himself.

“I’m not alone,” I said. “There are others waiting for me outside. And if I so much as squeak, they will all come down on you, guns blazing.”

The corners of Damon’s mouth ticked up. I could tell that he thought I was lying, and I was about the guns. I was sure that Kalif was about ready to kill me for this risk.

But he was also no doubt ready to kill Damon, so it wasn’t a total bluff.

I edged around the bed and picked up the Taser from where I’d dropped it on the floor. I held it in my left hand—the one that wouldn’t be holding on to his.

“One wrong move,” I said, “And I’ll fry you. Then I’m out the door. You can starve to death there for all I care.”

Damon’s eyes crinkled. “Your fantasies are hardcore.”

Ack. It was time to get this over with.

I waded toward the bed, watching my feet to avoid a repeat of the cocktail dress incident. I held the Taser out in front of me, firmly, so he wouldn’t be able to snatch it away.

I moved closer, inch by inch, working my way around the bed out of range of his legs. I approached next to the nightstand, reaching over the mountain of soda cans.

From the farthest angle possible, I took his hand.

Damon smiled, his grip relaxed. His palm was rough and callused. If that was real, and not just part of the signal, it would be a liability for him, since the calluses were essentially scars and couldn’t be shifted away. His hand enveloped mine, but he didn’t tug on my wrist to pull me down. Instead he adjusted his muscles, so that the tendons attached to his thumb bulged, while the ones controlling his pinkies shrank. I softened my own palm, still looking Damon in the eye.

He established the second part of the signal—the part we’d give after receiving the confirmation of the first—by reversing his muscles’ growth and atrophy; I stretched the skin across the center tighter, so it slid subtly against his.

And then his hand went limp against mine.

He let me go.

I stepped quickly backward, edging my way back around to the window.

Damon nodded down at my pocket, where his phone stuck out. “If you’re going to take that, let me give you another number to reach me at. Since you’ll need it.”

I took out my own phone and looked at him. He rattled one off, and I put it in. I wondered if it was a disposable, or if he’d given me something traceable. I didn’t usually have my own disposables memorized. I went through too many, too fast.

In Damon’s line of work, I imagined he did, too.

As I moved for the window, he didn’t even ask me to uncuff him. “I hope you find the bastard who did this to me. And if you do, let me have a piece of him, would you?”

I looked down at my phone. This could be a trap, but it could also be a lead.

We’d have to approach it carefully, like always, but it was something. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll call 911 for you as soon as we’re gone.”

“Good thing,” Damon said. “I have an apartment to pack.”

I nodded. Of course he wouldn’t stay in that apartment, now that I’d tracked him there, even if he was planning to work with us. He might be hiding from me, but definitely from others who might have followed me here.

I could watch, of course, and see where he went, but he’d be trying to lose me, so it would be tough. The number he’d given me might be fake, but he hadn’t tried to hurt me when I’d gone for the hand signal.

If I wanted him to be of use later, I could minimize my risk, but I had to extend at least a tiny bit of trust. Damon could be a resource for us, but only if he wanted to be.

I climbed back into the window well.

“Later, Alice,” he said, winking at me again. “You could have used the door to leave, you know.”

I turned around and rolled my eyes at him. “Maybe I have a thing for windows,” I said.

As I hoisted myself back onto the grass, I could hear Damon behind me, laughing.

Seventeen

As I walked away from the window, I didn’t speak to Kalif. I didn’t want Damon to know he’d been there. Instead, I transferred the address from Damon’s phone into mine, then dropped his phone on the grass. I couldn’t take it with me—too much chance he could trace the thing. Leaving the apartment with it had mostly been for show.

I moved toward the car, and Kalif followed me, but I still didn’t have to look at him to know that he was glaring. I finally looked up at him, giving him half a smile, but he didn’t return it.

Crap. I couldn’t exactly blame him, but I also didn’t want him to be mad.

Kalif held his tongue until we got in the car. He climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on me. “What the hell was that?”

I held up my hands. “I know. I took some risks. But I got us this address and a potential ally, so it wasn’t for nothing.”

Kalif’s hands were shaking, and I hoped that was from nervousness and not from anger. I reached out and took one of them in mine. It really hadn’t been fair of me to leave him outside helpless like that. If I’d been in his position, I would have come unglued.

He squeezed my hand tight, and I counted myself lucky he didn’t pull away. When he spoke, I could tell he was trying to hold his tone even. “What we’ve got,” he said, "is another person who’ll probably stalk us.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But everyone else who’s after us wants us dead or worse, so this guy might be an improvement.”

Kalif let go of my hand to start the car and stared straight ahead.

I put a hand on his arm. “I know you don’t like me taking risks. But think what we could do with three people. That’s why my parents agreed to work with yours, remember? Because four shifters were better than two.”

Kalif bristled. “And that worked out great for your father, right?”

My stomach dropped. I pulled back my hand.

Kalif winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. There’s no excuse.”

“I met you because they worked together,” I said.

He knocked his head back against the head rest. “Okay,” he said. “That’s officially the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m sure if I thought hard enough, I could come up with something stupider.”

The corner of Kalif’s mouth quirked up, so he must not have been totally livid.

“I get what you meant,” I said quietly. “We have to assume all shifters are dangerous. But what about our plan? We were going to find other shifters and build a network, remember? How are we going to do that if you won’t give anyone a chance?”

Kalif shook his head. “I just don’t get why you want to work with him. We know nothing about him. It seems like an unnecessary risk.”

He was right it was a risk, but it didn’t feel unnecessary. Wendy and Oliver had so many assets on their side. Yes, I had Kalif. But the two of us against everyone else?

We needed help. “I just think the more people we have on our side, the better. And this guy has already defied the Carmines. That makes him a great potential ally.”

Kalif gripped the steering wheel. “And I think the more people we have on our side, the more likely it is that someone will turn on us.”

I could see his point, but I still hated it.

“So what do I do?” I asked. “Never talk to anyone but you?”

He gave me a hurt look.

“Argh,” I said. “Don’t take it like that. You know that’s not how I meant it.” But he had a point. Two days ago I would have died to be able to spend time with Kalif, and only Kalif. So now that I had him here, why was I trying to bring on someone else?

Kalif just looked at me, like he was measuring my soul and finding it wanting.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if this was all because Damon’s psyche built him the body of a Greek god turned rock star. Kalif hadn’t seen that—had he? How close had he been watching when I went inside? “I’m not interested in him,” I said, "if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Kalif didn’t miss a beat, so he must have been thinking it. “Then what’s the attraction?”

I closed my eyes. I didn’t love his phrasing, but I understood what he meant. But how could I find the perfect words to express what I could hardly explain to myself?

And then I knew.

“It’s because of my mother,” I said.

Confusion etched across his face.

“No, really,” I said. “It’s because I don’t want to be her.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching. “And by that you mean . . .”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “I just don’t think it’s healthy for you to be the only person I know.”

Kalif’s face softened, and he let go of the steering wheel to cover my hand with his.

I spoke softly. “I don’t think anybody should have one person who is their whole entire world, because then if that person disappears, you’re just falling without a net.”

He stiffened, looking up at the ceiling of the car. “And this guy is the net.”

Ugh. No matter what I said, I was just digging a deeper hole. “He’s a potential net, okay? A new person I might be friends with, if he turns out not to be a psychopath like everyone else we know. Everyone can’t be evil, can they? Can’t we have any friends?”

“Yeah,” Kalif said. “We can have friends. Of course we can.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

He held up his hands. “I’m just saying, on principle, obviously having friends is a thing we can do. I’m not going to stop you.”

“So you’re okay with working with Damon, then.”

Kalif cringed. “It has to be him? Really?”

I sighed. “Can you name any other shifters who aren’t trying to kill us?”

Kalif couldn’t, and he didn’t look happy about that. I wanted to point out that he’d just said we didn’t know a thing about Damon, so this shouldn’t be an issue until we learned something about him that was an actual problem. But I’d just seen Damon’s internal vision of himself, and his overblown ego was literally etched into every muscle in his body. From Kalif’s reaction, I guessed he’d caught a peek.

While I couldn’t admit this to Kalif, I kind of liked Damon. More than the physical thing, Damon carried himself with confidence, and I liked him for that alone.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to date him.

“We should be careful,” I said. “More than careful. Paranoid and skeptical, like always, all right? But even so, I want to give him a chance.”

Kalif frowned. “The guy just rubs me the wrong way, is all. And I still don’t trust him. But I have to admit, the Hunter stunt was impressive. Taking pictures of the Carmines’ home faces? The guy has balls.”

I winced at the reference. That was the one part of him I hadn’t actually seen, thank goodness. “I won’t trust him,” I said. “Not until we both agree he’s safe, okay?”

Kalif hesitated, rubbing the steering wheel with his thumb. And then he nodded. “Fine,” he said.

He still didn’t look happy, but grudging agreement seemed like the best I was going to get.

I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thanks,” I said. And then I pulled out my phone to dial 911.

As we drove away from Damon’s apartment building, I used the GPS on my phone to find the address that Damon had given us. It was for a house in a suburban neighborhood in Woodland.

“Still in the Sacramento area,” I told Kalif. “It fits.”

Kalif shook his head. “It fits with the data points we had before, but two of the three were probably Damon.”

I settled into my seat. He was right. We’d had the hospital in Rocklin and the doctor’s office in San Ramon, but at least one of those wasn’t Mel, and we couldn’t be sure about the other. All that was left placing him in the area was the job where Mel had disappeared all those years ago.

Not exactly compelling evidence.

“So you think this is a trap,” I said.

Kalif sighed. “I think everything is a trap. You?”

I set down the phone. “Same here.”

Kalif sighed. “I don’t want to follow that lead,” he said. “But it’s our only one, isn’t it?”

I nodded. My gut said that Damon had been telling the truth, but the secret to being a con artist was knowing what cues spoke straight to other people’s guts. My parents had preyed on people that way all the time.

So did I.

I looked over at Kalif. If he noticed, he didn’t glance at me. I knew I’d bothered him already with the risks I’d taken with Damon. I owed him this one.

“He’s your dad,” I said. “It’s your call.”

Kalif nodded. “My dad has to be involved somehow, right? Because someone shot that guy in the knee, and he must have done it for a reason.”

“He was diversifying the trail,” I said. “So we’d find Damon and not him.”

“And if we drive by the house right now, Damon can’t beat us there. It’ll take at least half an hour for him to get out of that apartment. And you took his phone. Did you see if he had another one on him?”

I shook my head. “If there was one in reach, I didn’t see it. So he shouldn’t be able to call anyone else down on us either, if he has partners.”

“Though if he did,” Kalif said, "he probably would have had someone watching his back at the doctor’s appointment.”

He was right. That’s what we’d have done for each other.

I shivered. I felt alone enough as it was, and I had Kalif, and technically also my mother. Was Damon really all alone? And would that make him more likely to betray us, or less? “We don’t have to do anything,” I said. “Just drive by.”

Kalif gave a decisive nod. “Let’s do it.”

And he pulled onto the freeway in the direction of Woodland.

The house was in a quiet neighborhood, bordering an apartment complex with rows of silver mailboxes lined up by the curb. A big willow grew in the front yard, shading the house and draping over the driveway and fence. That was exactly the type of house I might choose, if I were Mel; the tree blocked visibility to the windows of the house, and even the walk and driveway were partially obscured. That meant we’d have to get pretty close to observe, making casual spying impossible.

But as I watched the house recede in the side mirror, a car pulled into the driveway. “Go around the block,” I said to Kalif. “Take one more pass.”

Kalif looked over at me. “Why?”

“Someone just pulled into the driveway,” I said. “If we’re not too late, we could get a look at them.”

Kalif turned to drive around the block, but he didn’t look convinced. “If it’s my dad in persona, looking won’t tell us anything.”

“I know,” I said. “But Damon said that your dad hadn’t been here in a while, which means he may not be the one who actually lives here. I want to know who does.”

Kalif nodded and drove us around the block. I bounced my knee up and down, sure we were taking too long and we were going to miss whoever it was.

But when we drove by again, a woman with curly blond hair stood at the back passenger door of the car, resting her arm on it. A boy climbed out, hauling behind him a backpack and a pile of papers. As his feet hit the driveway, one of the papers broke free and fluttered toward the curb. The little boy chased after it, his mother calling for him not to run into the street.

At the end of the road, Kalif turned to drive out of the neighborhood. “I didn’t recognize them,” he said. “Either my dad is the woman and he’s working with a shifter disguised as a kid, or it’s just a random address. Another dead end.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But we won’t really know unless we do better than just drive by.”

Kalif rolled his eyes. “I should have known. You can never just look.”

He was right. I’d thought driving by was a good idea, but really I was just trying to ease myself closer without committing to what I already knew I was going to do. “I don’t like leaving the job half done,” I said. “We’ve come this far looking for your dad. I at least want to get a look inside the house. If Damon has never seen your dad’s real face, how does he know he’s not there?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking of doing,” Kalif said.

“Nothing,” I said. Too quickly. Crap. Talking to Kalif always sent my scamming skills out the window. Not that I wanted to lie to him, but I did want a complete plan in my head before I pitched it to him. Carefully. In a way he couldn’t refuse.

Kalif gave me a wary look. “Don’t hold out on me now.”

I looked back over my shoulder. No one appeared to be following. “I just think we need to get a better look at the house, is all. I want to see that woman sleep, to make sure she isn’t your dad. And the kid, too, for that matter.”

Kalif groaned. “Okay. I’ll agree to that on one condition.”

I didn’t even need to hear it to know what it was. “You’re not staying behind this time.”

“Damn right. You are not doing that to me again. If you’re going in, I’m going with you.”

After this afternoon, I could hardly blame him. “Okay,” I said. “So what’s our angle?”

Kalif smiled. “I don’t know about you, but I think that tree out front needs toilet papering.”

I nodded. “That’ll do it.”

We found a corner store several blocks away, and walked through the line dressed like a pair of teenagers to buy a twenty-four pack of toilet paper rolls. The clerk gave us a knowing look. We smiled back.

We had enough time to grab dinner and check in with Aida to make sure my mom was okay before the hour got late enough to expect that the people in the house would have gone to sleep. We told her nothing of our lead, and she didn’t push us too much, which I hoped meant she underestimated our ability to work quickly and not that she was tracking us and already knew what we were up to.

At one AM our teenage toilet-papering selves parked the car across the street from the house. The street was still. Kalif carted the case of paper across the street and dropped it at the base of the tree. We each pulled out two rolls and moved around the house.

If I were Mel, I’d have kept a great big dog in the yard. My parents did that sometimes, so that anyone who came looking wouldn’t be able to case the house effectively. The dogs were always mean—as much to keep us from getting attached as to keep other people away. We couldn’t take a dog with us when we split, since it couldn’t shift appearance.

But as we moved into the backyard, I saw a fluffy white cat bolt over the fence, but no other signs of life.

The backyard was small, mostly just a concrete patio with some bistro furniture and a planter full of bare dirt. The windows back here were small, but through a sliding glass door I could see the red digital numbers of an alarm clock.

I could tell through the glass that the sliding door was locked, but through the blinds, I could see a sleeping woman in the bed, her blond hair poking over the edge of the comforter. The bed was large, probably a king, but at least from this angle, she appeared to be alone.

Kalif moved to the corner of the house, stepping carefully over the planter, and returned. “There’s a small window open on the side of the house,” he whispered. “It’s probably the bathroom, but it’s out of sight of the neighbors’ windows.”

“Do you think we can fit?”

He nodded. “If we squeeze.”

I hefted one of the toilet paper rolls in my hand. I really did want to paper that tree, and it would be good to keep up our cover. But if a neighbor saw us and decided to confront us or call the cops, then our operation would be over before it began.

“Show me,” I said. I followed Kalif around the house. The smoked-glass window was only open a crack, and it was five feet above the ground. I silently lifted one of the chairs from the bistro set and hauled it to the window, and Kalif stood on it, loosening the screen from the frame. I crouched in the corner of the yard and watched through the sliding glass door as he worked. The woman inside didn’t move.

I told myself that was good. If she wasn’t waiting for us, then Damon probably hadn’t alerted anyone we were coming. And that meant maybe he’d been telling the truth.

Unless she was Mel, lying in wait for us.

I was getting really tired of scrutinizing people to figure out if they were really asleep.

Kalif lifted the screen free and inched the pane open. It made a soft grinding noise; no one had cleaned the track in years, but still the woman didn’t stir. Once it was entirely open, he waved for me to come over.

He stepped off the chair, letting me climb up and look in. The window opened into a bathtub, hung with a white shower curtain liner. The door to the bathroom was open, but through it I could see a narrow hallway. At least we weren’t trying to climb through the window and into the master bedroom.

“Boost me up,” I whispered down to Kalif. “I’ll go in and report back.”

“Yeah, no,” he said. “I’m going first. You can follow if you want.” He raised his eyebrows at me, daring me to argue with him.

“Fine,” I said. “But this is the last time you get to pull the Damon card.”

“Not a chance,” Kalif said. “That card is good for at least two more punches.”

I rolled my eyes, but boosted him up. Kalif had to shrink his body to the size of an eight-year-old to get through the window—which was nearly as small as our shifting would allow. It didn’t help with his weight any, though, and as I boosted him up, I wished we could alter our mass along with our shape.

I was glad we were in the shadow of the building. All we needed was a neighbor to call the police and announce that there were shrinkable people breaking into the house next door.

With no one to boost me through, I tightened and lengthened my body, making myself as tall and skinny as genetics would allow. I stepped up on the bistro set and pushed one leg through, straddling the window sill and curling my spine forward to duck my head through. As I did, I pulled my body in, shrinking it as small as I could. My clothes hung limply around my body, and I moved slowly, watching to be sure they didn’t catch. I rested my forward leg on the ledge of the bathtub, twisted around in the window and lowered myself down, letting the other leg follow me in. Kalif stood in the bathtub, his hands at my waist, lowering me down. My feet made a soft tapping sound when they hit the tub, and our breathing suddenly felt loud.

The rest of the house was silent.

“Okay,” I breathed. “Let’s go.” I climbed out of the bathtub and walked over to the open bathroom door.

I moved through the house, taking stock of the rooms as I passed. Through one door I could see the corner of a refrigerator, and through another the arm of a couch and the side of a TV. The doorway to that room was littered with Legos—I made note not to step on those. At the end of the hall was one more closed door, with a paper sign attached to it, declaring in crooked letters, “No Momz Alloud.” Around it, he’d drawn what might have been dinosaurs.

Crumbs had been ground into the corners of the carpet, and gathered around the baseboards. This house wasn’t a front. It was a place where a woman lived with her little boy. Mel had slept with enough women that it wasn’t exactly unlikely that he’d have spawn running around—especially since he liked to sleep with people when all he wanted from them was information.

I rounded a corner and nearly ran into Kalif, who was standing in the doorway to a family room, eyes fixed on something beyond the TV. I was about to step back when Kalif’s hand locked onto mine and squeezed it, tight. I passed him our signal, thinking that was what he wanted, however briefly we’d been parted.

But when we finished, he didn’t let go. Then he looked down at me and pointed.

And I saw it. There on the far wall was a wedding photo of a man in a white tux and a woman in a lacy, draping dress, that same frizzy hair flowing over her shoulders. The man was turned into her shoulder as if whispering in her ear, his face partially concealed by her hair. But he was definitely, unmistakably Mel—in his home body no less.

I took another few steps toward the picture, and Kalif stepped with me, like he couldn’t stand to let go of my hand. Next to it was a collage photo frame with pictures of the three of them. In most of the photos, the man was turned away, or wearing a pair of large, dark sunglasses he must have bought in 1985.

In one particular photo, his face behind the glasses was stern, his expression clearly stating he didn’t want his picture taken. On his lap, the boy grinned, chin lifted up toward the camera, a dark hole gaping in place of his two front teeth.

I froze.

I hadn’t noticed in a glance from the street, but now, looking at so many pictures of the boy, it was obvious: the face shape, the spread of his forehead, even the color of his hair.

The kid looked a lot like his mother—a stronger resemblance than I would have expected from a normal child’s genetic face. The curve of his cheeks, the set of his eyes, and the pale shade of his skin all came from her.

But his jawline, his hair, his nose, his smile . . .

Kalif stared at the photos, and I knew he was thinking the exact same thing.

The child looked exactly like Mel.

He looked about six, which meant that if he was a shifter, he would be right at the cusp of developing powers. Or, he could just be a normal kid—when shifters had children with normal people, the kid’s nature was a toss up.

“He’s got to be a shifter,” Kalif said. “To look that much like his parents.” His voice was calm, but hollow.

I stepped closer and squeezed his hand. “But for him to look that much like him, your dad would have to have been around a lot. And he couldn’t have been . . . could he?”

Kalif took a step back, his fingers crushing mine. “He certainly didn’t explain to his wife the need not to be featured in family photographs.”

I looked at the wedding photo again.

Kalif was right. If that little boy was a shifter, the woman who lived here must have no idea what she was married to.

Or what she was raising.

Eighteen

“Let’s go,” I said, tugging on Kalif’s arm. He needed to get out of here, someplace he could react without putting us in danger.

“No,” he whispered back. “We need to find out if he’s been here recently.”

He stared at the pictures, his eyes hard.

“You wait outside,” I said. “I’ll do it.”

Kalif still hadn’t torn his eyes from the photos. He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you in this house.”

“Don’t move, then,” I said. And I swept through the house, looking for evidence of a third person.

I found a pile of mail on the kitchen counter. It had been piled into three stacks—advertisements and junk mail in one, opened letters and bills in another, and a third, unopened pile, all addressed to someone named Bruce Vermeer. I rifled through them. The postmarks went back three weeks.

I moved silently through the house and returned to Kalif. “His mail’s here for the last three weeks. So he’s been here, but not recently. If we can find the woman’s phone, we could look in it for the number she uses to reach him.”

“It would only be a burner,” he said.

I hated to admit he was right. We’d be able to do little over the phone besides alert him that we knew about his double life, decreasing the odds of him coming back here.

Kalif gritted his teeth. I put a hand on his arm. All his muscles were tense.

“Let’s go,” I said. I pulled him toward the hallway, but he walked instead to the front door and quietly unlocked it.

The door. Of course. This wasn’t a place of business, where we had to worry about leaving the same way we came. It was likely Mel had cameras around, so he could keep an eye on things here, but if that was the case, he would already know we’d been here.

All the more reason to go.

We walked onto the porch and I closed the door quietly behind us, not bothering to lock it. Kalif made a bee line for the car, leaving the toilet paper under the tree, and I had to jog to keep up with him.

My heart pounded, and not just from the exertion. We should be taking the case of paper. We should have closed the bathroom window, moved the chair. We should have erased all evidence that we’d ever been in the house.

But something about the purposeful way that Kalif was walking told me the risk of hanging around was far greater.

He needed to get out of here, before he lost it and did something stupid.

When we got into the car, Kalif swore under his breath.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe it’s not him,” I said. “It could be a setup.”

He shook me off. “Yeah. Want to bet?”

I sat back in my seat. I already knew a setup didn’t make sense—what were we being set up for, exactly? If we were being pinned into a corner, that house should have been it.

I searched for something comforting to say as Kalif started the car and pulled off down the street. I realized immediately I shouldn’t have let Kalif drive. His hands wrapped so tight around the steering wheel it might have been Mel’s neck.

“Talk to me,” I said.

He blew air out his nose. “What is there to say?”

“Well, your father’s an asshole. There’s that.”

He grunted. “That’s not news.”

I leaned forward, trying to get him to look me in the eye, but he kept his eyes on the road. “Maybe not. But him having a second family is.”

He shrugged. “Maybe to me.”

“You don’t think I knew.”

He sighed. “Of course not. But my mother was so sure he was still in California, you know? It’s like you said. Why would he stick around? It sure wasn’t me and my mom keeping him here.”

I hadn’t thought about that. “What a douche.”

Kalif’s eyes closed for half a second. “How old do you think that kid was? Six? Seven?”

“Something like that,” I said.

“So I would have been ten when he was born.”

My stomach sank. “Your dad disappeared . . .”

“When I was nine. For six months.”

Now I felt nauseous. “You think your mom knew?”

He gave a violent shake of his head. “Not then. She was terrified while he was gone. By now, she must at least suspect.”

“Or she wouldn’t have thought he’d stick around the area. But why would she still want to protect him, if she knows he did this?”

“I don’t know,” Kalif said. “I guess sometimes when you love someone, you don’t want to see them hurt, even when they’ve earned it.”

I shivered. “Newsflash. I would not put up with that from you.”

“Good,” Kalif said. “And I’ll never put you in that position.”

“It’s a deal.”

He spoke through his teeth. “This is ridiculous. If we can do better, why can’t they?”

I shook my head. “It’s not your mother’s fault.”

He pounded his fist into the steering wheel. “It is. She sticks around, letting him do this to her. We could use this to find my dad, you know? He’ll come back to the house eventually. We could bug the house and find him through the tap. But I don’t want to tell my mom where he is. I don’t want her to tie herself to him again.”

I closed my eyes. That was exactly what Aida was doing—tying herself to Mel like he was a tree in a storm. “We could always turn him in to your grandparents instead. They’ll kill him, though.”

Kalif’s voice was low. “I know.”

Tiny raindrops splatted against the windshield, and I imagined the bag of toilet paper melting into a paper pulp beneath the tree. “And that’s what you want?”

He was quiet for a long time. “If I don’t want that,” he said, "does that make me just like her?”

My shoulders relaxed. “No. He’s your father. I’m more worried if you do want to kill him.”

Kalif nodded. “Tell me what the healthy option is. I want to do that.”

“We keep looking,” I said. “We keep working until we’re holding all the cards. And then you and I will figure out how to play them.”

The windshield wipers squeaked in rhythm with the humming of the tires on the pavement. I reached over and put my hand on Kalif’s wrist until he took his right hand off the steering wheel and let me hold it.

“And we’ll win,” he said.

But he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

When we reached our hotel rooms, Kalif paused on his doorstep. His key card shook in his hand. “Can I,” he said. “Would you . . .” He cleared his throat, but he didn’t continue.

“You don’t want to be alone,” I said.

He looked up at the ceiling. “I really don’t.”

I stepped into him and slipped an arm around his waist. “You could just say so, dummy.”

He ruffled my hair and slid the card into the door. As we passed through the doorway, guilt settled over me. If the situation was reversed, Kalif would have insisted that we stay outside and talk, or go to our separate rooms—not because he didn’t want to be there for me, but because he was kind of obsessive about not taking advantage of me.

I felt torn—was I supposed to take care of him the way he wanted, or the way he would have taken care of me? As Kalif closed the door behind us, I shook myself. That obsession was his hang up, not mine. And while I could physically turn myself into him, copy his voice and movements in every way, I couldn’t be him. I could only be me. And I didn’t want to leave him alone with this.

When Kalif turned around, he still wouldn’t look me in the eye. I looked around helplessly for somewhere to sit, but the only comfortable surface that would fit us both was the bed.

Because, you know. Hotel room.

Kalif looked up at the ceiling. “I shouldn’t be upset. I already knew he was a dick. And a murderer. And he tried to kill you. That was worse, right? So I shouldn’t be upset about this.”

“You already said that,” I said. “Obviously you’re upset.”

Kalif set his jaw. “I know. And it’s pissing me off.”

“Hey,” I said. “Lie down, okay? Relax.”

Kalif looked at me warily, and I waited for his argument. But instead he kicked off his shoes and threw himself onto the bed.

I lay down next to him and rubbed his shoulders. He buried his face into a pillow.

“Can you even breathe like that?” I asked.

The pillow muffled his answer.

I worked my hands down over his shoulder blades. “You could shift this tension out.”

He turned his head to the side. “If I did that, would you stop?”

I laughed. “No.”

His muscles went soft under my hands. I continued to rub down the sides of his spine, scratching gently with my nails. Kalif closed his eyes.

I was suddenly aware of my hands, easing along his body. The air buzzed around us. Even through his shirt, I could feel every tiny shift he made, trying to ease out the knots. I wondered how long they had been there.

We should have done this ages ago.

He turned his neck far enough to look up at me, and my body caught fire.

Right. That’s why we didn’t.

I pulled my hands away, and Kalif rolled over. I was sure he was going to tell me to stop, ask me to go back to my room, but instead he pulled me onto him, and our mouths crashed together. His hands worked at my waist, drawing me closer. His hips ground against mine, and I felt my body reacting to him, my waist narrowing, my shoulders and hips widening into an exaggerated hourglass.

I pulled back half an inch, just enough to be able to speak. “Hey. Aren’t you supposed to tell me to stop?”

His voice was rough in my ear. “Why was that, again?”

Then his mouth closed over mine again, like he didn’t want me to answer. Our hips pressed together, my knees digging into the sheets on either side of him. His mouth wandered down my jaw line to the tender spot beneath my earlobe.

My back arched involuntarily, and my whole body broke out in chills. “Mmm,” I said. “I don’t remember.”

Kalif wrapped one arm tight around my waist, the other hand weaving through my hair. His fingernails scratched my hip, and I could feel his heart pounding with mine.

If the situation was reversed, he would have stopped. I should do that for him, shouldn’t I? I should protect him, like he protected me.

But I didn’t like it when he did that to me. And I loved him. I loved him. And more than anything, I wanted him to feel it.

I reached my hands under his shirt, working over the muscles on his back, the ones I’d been touching only moments ago through the layers of fabric. His skin burned beneath my hands. My breath caught, and I wanted to look him in the eye, to see his face. The one I didn’t get to see nearly often enough.

I pulled back.

And found myself looking into a face that was a near-exact copy of Mel.

I screamed.

Kalif flew back, nearly falling off the bed. “What?” he said. “What?”

I scrambled backward toward the headboard. Kalif stared at me, wide eyed and confused, and his features slipped back toward himself, but the resemblance to his father was still stronger than usual.

He’d done this before, when he felt guilty about taking advantage of me. When he was thinking too much about his dad, like his mind was caught in the maelstrom of his family’s issues, and not fully here in the moment with me.

I caught my breath. “Okay,” I said. “I cannot make out with you if you look like your dad. I love you, but ew.”

Kalif hunched over and buried his face in his hands. Then he swore. A lot.

Giggles welled up inside me, and I struggled to smother them. It was a totally inappropriate reaction, like laughing at a funeral.

Kalif hunched over further. “I hate my life.”

I crawled toward him and knelt beside him on the bed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” I said. “It’s okay.”

He groaned. “It’s not. I can’t even look at you right now.” He stood up, face still covered, and stalked across the room. Laying his hands on the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror and pushed at his features so he looked more like his mother. “Whatever I do,” he said, "they’re always staring back at me.”

I perched on the edge of the bed. “You’re not them.”

He leaned forward, both palms on the counter, and closed his eyes.

I stood and leaned against the wall near him. “You’re not him.”

His face crumpled, and he took deep breaths, like he was holding on by a thread.

I closed the distance and wrapped my arms around him. “You’re not,” I said.

Kalif turned around and buried his face in my neck, his hands raking through my hair and holding, like I was the only thing anchoring him in place. But instead of feeling his warmth, my whole body went cold.

I loved him, and I wanted to hold on forever, but I didn’t want to be the only thing standing between him and the abyss.

Because if my mother had taught me one thing, it was this: no one person should be the whole world to another.

Nineteen

I woke up fully clothed under Kalif’s comforter, my arms tangled around his neck. He breathed softly and evenly into my hair. I couldn’t see the clock, but even with the heavy curtains drawn, cracks of light shone in.

I wished I could have stayed asleep forever. I closed my eyes, hoping to return to blissful oblivion.

Then Kalif’s phone rang.

Kalif jumped. He looked over his shoulder, disoriented, and then extracted himself from me and reached for his phone.

“Who is it?” I asked.

He looked down at the screen. “It’s my mom’s number.”

I curled up tight. We should have called her after we left the house last night, but Kalif hadn’t been in any shape to confront her. “Are you going to tell her what we found?”

Kalif’s eyes hardened. “No need to keep from her what she already knows.” He answered his phone and put it to his ear. “Hello?” He walked closer to the windows, and the volume was low enough that I couldn’t hear Aida’s side of the conversation.

“How many?” Kalif asked. He paused for her answer, then said, “Hi, Mom.”

I lay back on the bed, wondering if he’d intentionally walked far enough away that I wouldn’t be able to hear her side of their verification phrases. It would be smart of him to do so—and I would have done the same. But somehow, it still felt like he didn’t trust me.

I dug my nails into my palms and closed my eyes. Sometimes, paranoia turned me into such an idiot.

“We found Dad’s kid,” Kalif was saying.

I heard nothing but silence on the other end, but Aida must have responded, because Kalif paced across the hotel room, continuing. “His son,” Kalif said. “My brother. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

Kalif stopped suddenly. “You expect me to believe—" His face went pale. “But you were so sure that Dad was still in California. Why would you think that if—" He rubbed his forehead. “Okay. Yes. I’m sure.”

I sat stiff on the bed. After everything Aida had done to my family, I shouldn’t care that she got news of the extent of her husband’s philandering dropped on her like that.

But Kalif leaned against the wall and dug a hand through his hair. His eyes stared straight ahead at nothing.

My heart broke in half.

I did care, because Kalif did.

“How—" he asked. He paused and swallowed, as if adjusting his vocal cords to hold them steady. His tone was kind. “How could you not have known?”

I walked over and took his free hand in mine.

“I can’t—" he said. “I have to go.” I heard Aida protest on the other end, and he shook his head and handed the phone to me.

He’d expected to call and be mad at her, only to have to deal with her reaction to the whole thing, on top of his own. If she was only pretending to be clueless, then she was completely heartless. I hoped for his sake that she wasn’t.

“Aida?” I said into the phone. “I think Kalif needs a minute.”

Aida’s voice wavered. “It’s okay. I was calling for you anyway.”

My skin went cold. “Is my mom okay?”

“According to the medical records, she’s awake now,” Aida said. “But I’m concerned.”

I narrowed my eyes. A part of me couldn’t see concern on Aida’s part as anything but disingenuous. Even when I was supposed to be cooperating with her, I couldn’t help but wait for her to stab us in the back.

Aida went on. “There are some notes in her chart that say she’s resisting the psychologists.”

I took a deep breath. I should have anticipated that she wouldn’t talk. My mother wasn’t used to talking to anyone but my father about important things; that had been a survival skill for most of her life.

But she was a shifter, a practiced spy. How sick was she that she couldn’t even pretend enough to fool the doctors? “You think I should try to visit?”

“You’d have to break in,” Aida said. “She’s told the doctors she doesn’t want any visitors. There’s an official order in her chart.”

That, at least, made sense. If she let me come visit officially, any shifter we knew might use my face to get at her.

I hoped it was a reflection of her estimation of my skills—that she knew I could get around the order, not that she didn’t want me to.

“It’s not just that I’m worried about,” Aida said. “Apparently she made some comments about getting out of there as soon as she could. They’ve flagged her as uncooperative, but—"

“But she’s probably planning to escape,” I said. I’d hoped my note would be enough, but of course it wasn’t. If Mom wanted to justify leaving, she could cook up all kinds of conspiracy theories about who had left that note and for what purpose. Just like I could question Aida’s motives, or Damon’s. Or even Kalif’s.

“That’s my worry,” Aida said.

I looked over at Kalif. He was lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. We should have been monitoring the charts ourselves; we should have seen this first. But with everything else—we just hadn’t had the time to comb through every note the doctors made.

I’d have to confirm it, though. Aida wouldn’t dare mess with the charts too much, because someone on the inside would notice.

“I need to talk to her,” I said.

Aida hesitated. “If you want, I could try—"

“No,” I said. “She’s my mother. I’ll take care of her. You’ll only make it worse.”

Silence rang on the other end. Aida had to understand. She and Mel were the reason Mom was in this mess to begin with. “She can’t know you’re watching her,” I said. “Or she really will run.”

“I understand,” she said.

She’d better. If Mom chose not to get help, there was no reason for me to leave her in the hospital—and no way for me to force her to stay. That meant I wouldn’t need Aida to protect Mom from the Carmines, and there was no reason for me to continue to track down Mel for her.

I bit the inside of my cheek. To keep him from coming after us again—that was a different story. But if Mom left the hospital, it would also mean I’d need to be by Mom’s side again.

Right back where I started.

“Jory,” Aida said. “About Mel. Are you sure . . . ?”

“Yes,” I said. “We’re sure. We saw wedding pictures with his home face. And his kid, he’s about six. Kalif said that’s in line with the time when he disappeared on you guys for months.”

Aida was silent. I looked over at Kalif, but he wasn’t moving, just staring.

“Do you still want us to find him?” I said. “Because if you don’t—"

“Yes,” Aida said. “The plan hasn’t changed.”

I closed my eyes. Someone needed to smack some sense into Aida, but Kalif wasn’t going to, and I wasn’t in a position to do it. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll check in on my mom and get back on the job. We have a few leads.”

I waited for her to ask what they were, but she must have rightly assumed they had to do with tracking the other wife, because she just said, “Thank you,” and hung up the phone.

I lowered the phone and sighed in Kalif’s direction. I moved toward the bed, intending to flop down next to him, but he stood before I could get there. “I need to work,” he said. “We need to get you in to see your mother.”

I tried to get him to meet my eyes and failed. Instead, he stalked over to his computer and booted it up.

Fine. I got it. He’d had enough emotional crap. I couldn’t blame him for that. Pushing away everything he felt about his parents probably wasn’t the best coping strategy, but it definitely mirrored mine.

Sometimes work was good therapy. Maybe if Mom could have kept working, she wouldn’t have gotten herself into this mess.

Mom might have been showing confidence in me when she told the doctor no visitors, but it still didn’t make my life any easier.

“You can’t break in,” Kalif said. “Security is crazy.”

I paused. “I can’t get in. But that doesn’t mean I can’t get in as someone else.”

Kalif shook his head. “These people will all know each other. You’d have to profile one of them, and by the time you finish, your mom will be long gone.”

He was right, but I had another idea. “What if I was her shrink? One that she’d been going to before she was hospitalized.”

Kalif thought about that. “Do you think they would let you in?”

I shrugged. “It’s the best I’ve got.”

Kalif nodded. “It’s worth a try. Let’s find a likely candidate.”

It took us half an hour to find a lead: Mary Castillo, a cognitive behavioral therapist in Burlingame. She was new to the area—the blog post announcing her addition to the clinic was less than a month old. We couldn’t get a formal appointment with her without a referral, but she did take crisis appointments for a cash fee.

A five-minute talk with the secretary scored me a crisis appointment at noon, which was normally Mary’s lunch hour. I adopted the persona of a woman who had recently lost her husband, because that was immediate, unavoidable, and terrifying, so the secretary could hardly say no.

I hated scamming saps, but they really were the easiest.

I wore a drapey shirt and a long skirt to the appointment, with a shawl wrapped over my shoulders that I found in the clearance section of the discount store down the street. I wanted to look weepy in dress and demeanor. As Kalif drove me over, I drummed up tears while watching myself in the rear view mirror. The easiest way to ruin an upset persona was to overdo it—it’s easy to put people off with overblown shows of emotion, instead of drawing them in.

As I watched myself cry, I stared into my own eyes, older, with crow’s feet in the corners. They looked exactly like my mother’s.

I covered my eyes with my hand, and shifted them to be rounder. Perhaps I shouldn’t have picked a persona I identified with. It would help me with the acting, but it also made it easier for me to delve into patterns that were familiar, but also unwise.

Kalif dropped me off in front of the office. There was no reason to think anyone would note our car, or follow him, when we were so far removed from the people we were tracing.

When Mary called me back into the office, I focused on the way she angled her head as she smiled, the creases in her face as the corners of her mouth tipped up, the pace of her gait as she led me back to her office. A person’s presence is composed of a thousand little mannerisms that come together to paint a picture. Observers learn so much from watching a person move, even if they don’t know they’re remembering it.

Doing it on purpose was my job. Even though the people at the hospital probably wouldn’t know Mary, they might run into her sometime at a conference, or call her in to consult about a patient. If the general picture they formed when meeting her was the same as the one I’d given them, they probably wouldn’t even bring up their previous encounter, or think anything of it.

As she sat me down on the couch, I focused on my second task: procuring her ID. Her purse was tucked under her desk, and I scooted toward it under the pretense of adjusting my chair.

Mary listened as I put forward my story—my husband was gone, my life so empty. Everything reminded me of him. What was I going to do with the rest of my life? I didn’t see a point in living. I delivered the tale with only a slight tremor in my voice, so as not to overdo the act, but I activated my tear ducts as I spoke, squeezing the corners of my eyes so that drops leaked into my lower eyelids. I grew my eyelashes slightly to hold them in, hovering there like little glistening pools.

The trouble was, Mary listened with her total attention focused on me. She had a pen and paper on her lap, but she didn’t write, only looked me straight in the eye and nodded understandingly, punctuating my story with questions and little bits of advice. That didn’t give me a lot of time to lean toward her purse and extract her wallet.

Instead, I listened. “It’s normal to feel like this,” Mary said. “Despair is a part of grief. Your world was so wrapped around his, it’s normal to feel off-balance while you learn to live on. It’s okay to hurt.”

As she spoke, I could feel a burning rising from somewhere deep in the back of my mind. I hadn’t realized the ocean of grief was there until the tide started coming in, and all I wanted to do was hold back the waves.

Focus, I thought. Work. I was supposed to be studying Mary’s face and body movements, but I felt the exact moment when my tears tipped over the waterfall from acting to real. They slipped past the fence of eyelashes and slid down my cheeks, and I felt my face crumple, even as I tried to keep it straight. My shoulders shuddered, and I wished it was Mom in my place, hearing these words.

Dad was gone, and the mother I’d known was gone, too. It was normal to feel like everything in the world was different.

Though if this was normal, I didn’t like it one bit.

Mary’s face creased in sympathy, and I memorized the lines. She reached for a box of tissues, and pulled out the last one. She handed it to me. “Hang on,” she said. “I have some more in my cabinet.”

I looked down at her purse, and could feel the waves receding. This was good. This was right. Who needed to talk about my feelings when I could stay on my feet and function?

Better to hold it together than to fall apart. I couldn’t be like my mother. If we both fell apart, what would become of her?

Mary dug through a cabinet behind her desk. While her back was turned, I plucked her lanyard and work badge from her purse and tucked it into my pocket. Since she was already here, she wouldn’t likely find it missing until the end of the day, at which point I’d already have been in to see Mom. Besides, there was no logical reason she’d look for her ID in a hospital in San Mateo.

As I left her office, I shoved back the feelings I’d had talking to Mary. There wasn’t time for this now, and if I failed, there never would be. I had a job to do, and crying didn’t play into it.

If I could just keep her words out of my head, Mary’s persona was going to work fine.

Twenty

Armed with Mary’s identity, a brand new outfit, and a tiny pinch of guilt over scamming the shrink, I breezed into the psych ward. I gave my ID to the nurse at the front desk, and he paged the psychiatrist on duty to clear me to go back and see Mom. I wasn’t a visitor now, but a medical professional, and since Mary’s clinic didn’t share a records database with the hospital, they had no way to know that I’d never been “Anne’s" therapist. Once I had the clearance, he marched me down the hall, opened Mom’s door, and ushered me in, closing the door behind me.

Mom sat on the bed with the sheets gathered up to her waist. Her eyes looked sunken and her skin was pale and translucent, revealing every vein, like an exaggerated image of a woman who felt like she was disappearing. Against her sallow skin, the scars stood out, looking more pink and angry than ever. Other than that, she looked like herself. She wore a plain t-shirt instead of a hospital gown, which I figured the hospital must have provided because the shirt she’d come in with had been stained with bile.

I scoured the walls, trying to decide if we were being recorded. There’d been cameras in the hallway and the door in this room had a large Plexiglas window, but the room was so bare, there was nowhere to hide a camera.

Mom looked up at me, her face blank. I didn’t say anything, just offered her my hand.

After we exchanged signals, Mom’s eyes widened. She kept her voice quiet, probably to avoid being overheard from the hall. “Jory,” she said. “Where have you been staying? You can’t go back to the apartment. It’s not safe—"

I knelt by her bed and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not staying there. I’m staying in a hotel.”

Mom leaned back on her pillow and squeezed my hand. “Of course you are. You’re a smart girl. I just wish I’d been there to help you find a place.”

I tried not to visibly react. Mom hadn’t helped me do much of anything for weeks. If I could handle stealing all the money we needed for food and rent, not to mention the drugs, I could get myself a hotel room. Besides which, since she didn’t know about Mel’s break-in, as far as she knew, if she’d been with me, I wouldn’t have needed the hotel room to begin with.

But that was beside the point. Bringing it up now wouldn’t help either of us.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “When they said it was my therapist, I hoped it was you.”

Of course she had. If she’d thought otherwise, she’d have run before I entered the room.

I squeezed her hand. “I’m glad I could get in to see you. Are you doing okay in here?”

Mom looked around at the room, her face focusing. “I can’t stay. I’ve been working on a plan.”

I refused to let myself cringe. She had a plan that she’d been careless enough to let slip in her refusal to work with the doctors. If she were on top of her game, that would never have happened. “I think you should stay. Let the doctors take care of you—"

“I’m fine,” Mom said. “The doctors say I should be able to eat normally. There’s no lasting damage.”

I froze my face muscles in place. No lasting damage? To her stomach. Because she’d swallowed half a freaking pharmacy.

“But Mom,” I said. “This isn’t about—"

“Jory,” Mom said sharply. “I realize that you panicked when you found me like that. I understand. But you have to recognize how much danger you’ve put me in. Calling 911? What were you thinking? You should have been able to tell by my face that I was fine.”

I held perfectly still. A part of me argued that she was right. I’d called the authorities. I’d gotten her locked up here. I should have helped her myself, or waited for her to come out of it.

But the other part of me wanted to scream. She’d done this, not me. I didn’t make her swallow one of those pills, let alone all of them at once.

“I thought you were dying,” I said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Mom took my hand again and squeezed it. “Don’t be silly. I made a mistake. I’m fine now.” She looked around her and shivered. “Or I will be as soon as I get out of here.”

A mistake? I lowered my voice. “No one takes that many pills by accident, Mom. I just think—"

“Jory,” Mom said. Her voice grew sharper by the minute. “Obviously you’re not thinking. Do you think the Carmines aren’t combing the medical records? It’s a miracle they haven’t found me already.”

Telling her Aida was looking out for her would be the quickest way to get her out the door. Saying Kalif was doing it wouldn’t be any better. “I know,” I said. “But you were in danger at home, too.”

Mom shook her head. “I know. We should have been more careful. Staying so close was a mistake. And we should have been moving more often.”

I clenched my teeth. She was still going on like she hadn’t been a danger to herself.

A part of me wanted to let it slide. She knew she’d gone too far. Did I have to rub her nose in it?

Except I’d done profiles of addicts before. They’d go to rehab, sometimes over and over. They’d always promise things would be different, but they wouldn’t be.

I wanted Mom to be the exception, because she hadn’t been taking the pills for that long, but I couldn’t imagine that the path to being exceptional was lined with rugs to brush things under.

I didn’t know why I hadn’t realized that before. It seemed so obvious now.

“Mom,” I said. “I’m tapped into the hospital records. I’m keeping the Carmines from finding you. We both know they can’t hold you if you don’t want to be here, but I’m glad you’ve been choosing to get help. For both of us.”

Mom gave me a sharp look and dropped my hand. “You’re tapped into the system?”

My shoulders sank. That was a stupid thing to say, wasn’t it? She knew I couldn’t do that without Kalif’s help. “Yes,” I said. “So you don’t have to worry.”

“What do you think they’re going to do for me in here?” she asked. “I’m not crazy. I just got carried away. Once the stomach pains and the dizzy spells go away, I’ll be fine.”

I sat up straighter. Dizzy spells? She’d played it off like there wasn’t any physical damage, but the drugs must have messed with her system.

At least stomach scars wouldn’t show.

I tried to speak firmly. “I just think you should talk to them about Dad.”

“No,” Mom said. “How can I? We have no death records, no certificate, no grave, not even any pictures.”

They didn’t have a name to investigate. The person she claimed to be didn’t exist, and I imagined hospitals saw a lot of people like that—people who couldn’t pay, or got hurt doing things that were illegal. “They’re not going to investigate you. They’re going to try to help you.”

Mom looked angrily down at her sheets. “Still.”

I tapped my fingers against the cold bed frame. I was probably right. They probably wouldn’t do any research into who Dad was. But if they did, the story wouldn’t add up. Even undocumented immigrants had death records, and that created the kinds of red flags we were trying to avoid. It was paranoid, but we had to be paranoid to survive.

“I know we have to be careful,” I said. “I didn’t even call 911 as soon as I should have, because I was so worried about what would happen to you. But if you come home without getting treatment, what’s going to be different?”

“Everything,” Mom said. “I’ve scared myself straight, okay? No more heavy pills. I’ll just take the bare minimum of what I need to get some rest and get by.”

My heart sunk. The bare minimum. As much as I wanted to believe her, I knew Mom wouldn’t get by on just that. Or, if she could, our definitions of "minimum" were clearly very different. “That’s how this started,” I said. “You were just trying to get some sleep. I get that. But it slipped so easily into more, and pretty soon the pills were impairing you more than they were helping.”

Mom grit her teeth. “Stop it. This has been so hard on you, with your Dad’s death. You’re remembering it worse than it was.”

It was all I could do not to raise my voice. I wasn’t remembering it wrong. If anything, I was understating how bad things had been. I knew it, but I couldn’t tell if Mom believed the crap story she was giving me, or if she was just trying to get me to drop it.

Or worse, trying to make me believe things really would be better, when there was nothing to indicate that this was the case.

I held my breath. More than anything, I wanted to help her. But I didn’t have the first clue how. And if the doctors in here couldn’t help her, either . . .

A cold hand seemed to grip me by the throat.

I couldn’t lose my mother, too.

My hands tightened on the edge of her mattress. I had one last card to play. “I need you to get help, Mom. Because if you die of this, then it won’t matter that the Carmines never found you.”

Mom gave me a disgusted look. “Don’t be dramatic.”

I could feel my persona faltering, growing smaller and younger. I corrected, holding onto Mary with every muscle. “I mean it. I need to be able to leave the house, and know that you’re going to be okay. I need to be able to . . . I’m not going to be right there with you forever, right? I have to know you can hold yourself together, even when I’m not there.”

Mom narrowed her eyes at me. “So you can run off with Kalif. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? He’s helping you now. You ran straight to him, and it’s only a matter of time before he betrays you.”

I stood up. The urge to scream at her, to throw things, to generally behave like a child was so overwhelming that I had to back away. “It’s not about him,” I said. “I’m growing up. It’s not like you still live with your parents. I would have been moving out in a few years anyway, if we were a normal family.”

Mom shook her head. “But we aren’t.” Her eyes shifted to the Plexiglas window. Outside, I saw a nurse pass by. Was I looking anything like a therapist? Was I being impartial enough? Or was I completely blowing my cover?

“It wasn’t the same for me,” she said. “My parents weren’t shifters. When they realized what I was, they locked me in the basement. My father called me a freak.”

My gut wrenched. I didn’t know that. Mom never talked about her family.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Mom might have been a mess these last months, but she’d never do anything like that to me. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to say that you need to get stable because—"

Mom’s eyes turned to steel. “Because you have better places to be.”

My body shrunk, literally. I cut my eyes toward the door, afraid that someone would have seen, but the window showed only the wall beyond.

“It’s not like that,” I said. My voice had shrunk to match my body. I was holding onto my persona, but only barely.

Mom waved at the door. “If you want to go, go. I left home at fourteen, and I survived fine then.”

A wave of terror washed over me. I backed up against the wall. Dad was gone and he’d been the only stable thing she’d ever known. Now I wanted to leave, too. How could I even suggest such a thing?

But the months in the tiny apartment, watching her drug herself nearly to death, aching for Kalif . . . I couldn’t go back to that. Even now she was pushing me, manipulating me into doing what she wanted.

I should be angry. I should be pissed at her for saying these things to me.

But all I felt was terrified, and she was using it against me.

So how could I stay?

Mom looked at me and she must have seen something that mattered, because her face softened. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. Of course you called Kalif. You must have felt so scared and alone.”

The ocean that threatened to drown me back in Mary’s office began to lap at me again. I couldn’t let it pull me under. One of us had to hold it together.

“You’re safe here,” I said. “You know I can handle this, right? You know I would never put you in danger.”

Mom thought about that, and my chest tightened. She must be thinking about the last time I tried to protect her.

The time I let my father die.

But Mom smiled softly and nodded. “Yes. I believe that. But you can’t go back to Kalif. You see what a risk that is, right? It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s you. When I think about what will happen if his family gets ahold of you . . .”

My heart wrenched. “I know, Mom.” I rubbed my forehead. I’d never be able to convince her that Kalif was only trying to help. If I wanted to convince her to stay, I had to try something else. “But if you’re the only person in my life, and you aren’t even healthy—"

Mom looked up at the ceiling, and I thought I saw tears in the corners of her eyes. “I’m going to be fine, honey. I know I dropped the ball. I haven’t been there for you like I should have been. But I’m going to be, from now on. Things are going to be different.”

But Mom’s face stretched gaunt. Even she didn’t believe that. I was sure things were going to be different, but not in the way she wanted them to be.

Still, if she could hope for it, that would be something. “Make it different,” I said. “Stay in the hospital another few days, and really talk to the doctors about why you’re here. You can treat it like a job—make up the details, but at least hint at what’s really going on. I’ll watch your back. I promise.”

That had worked for me with Mary—maybe too well. But Mom looked down at her hands, and I swear her own body shrunk, if only by millimeters. “It’s not safe.”

I stepped closer and put a hand on her arm. “Nothing is. Every choice is a risk. But this is the best one. Trust me on this.”

Mom wavered. “I’ll think about it.”

My shoulders sagged. I didn’t love leaving it like that, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“Think about it and stay,” I said.

Mom nodded, but I wasn’t sure that she actually agreed.

That wasn’t exactly confidence inspiring, but it was the best I was going to get.

Twenty-one

After leaving the psych ward, my whole body felt hollow. I grabbed smoothies for Kalif and me on the way back to the hotel, hoping to fill up the emptiness with sugar. But the cold rush only made my hands quake.

When I knocked on the hotel door, Kalif answered and took my hand, passing me his hand signal. Then he put his other hand on my shoulder. “You aren’t going to like this.”

My limbs went cold. “She’s gone already?”

“No. But I found something else. There’s a security report here saying that someone has been impersonating workers at the hospital. First a nurse in emergency, then a janitorial worker in records. Several people claim to have seen each of the workers at their jobs, when they were clocked out and off duty.”

“That’s sloppy,” I said. “Even if your mother got caught once, she shouldn’t have done it twice.”

Kalif gestured toward his phone. “I just hung up from talking to her. She says it wasn’t her, and she’s certain it wasn’t Wendy or Oliver, either.”

I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Does she know who it was?”

Kalif shook his head.

I swore. “It’s her job to know. You shouldn’t be the one bringing these things to her. What are we working with her for if she isn’t aware of what’s going on?”

“She said she’s looking into it. But if it wasn’t you or me, or Wendy or Oliver or my mother—"

“That leaves your father,” I said.

Kalif grimaced. “Or someone else working for the Carmines.”

I nodded. We knew they liked to control shifters, which meant they might have any number of us under their employ. But Kalif’s fingers twitched, and he looked down at the carpet, like there was something he really wanted to say.

I sighed. Might as well say what he was thinking and spare him from being the one to bring it up. “Damon.”

He shrugged at me. “I’m not happy about it, but he’s an unknown element. It could have been him.”

I hated that Kalif was right. There were so few shifters—if one had been stalking the hospital, it was probably one that we knew, or at least someone cooperating with one of them. It was probably his father, but I couldn’t rule Damon out. “Are the reports time stamped?”

“Both happened this afternoon, one right before you went to the hospital, and one right after.”

“So they probably didn’t follow me there.”

Kalif nodded. “Not unless you went to the hospital half an hour before I dropped you off.”

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll concede it could be Damon. But it’s more likely that your mother is lying. Or that it was your father, who could have tracked us from the apartment. Laura would have told him everything she saw, if he didn’t get the whole thing on camera to begin with.”

“You’re right,” Kalif said. “I just want to think about every angle.”

I couldn’t blame him for that. I looked over the report again, and my heart squeezed. The most likely scenario was still that Mel had found her. Again.

But then again, if Mel knew where she was, she was in the best possible place. Security in the psych ward was better than in most places, and I’d already taken away the shrink persona—they’d ask questions if a second therapist showed up. Profiling the nurses would take time. Now that Aida was aware he might be skulking around, she’d be on the lookout for him as well. After all, she was the one who wanted to track him down to begin with.

“I think our best bet is to go after your father,” I said. If Mel was after my mother, then the best way to protect her from him was to find him.

Kalif shook his head. “We don’t actually have a lead about where he’ll be.”

“The hospital,” I said. “If that was him, that’s a lead.”

Kalif shook his head. “My mom’s following up on that now, but the trail looks like it goes cold pretty quick.”

I nodded. Stealing clothes in a hospital—where doctors and patients alike changed frequently—would be no problem. And with the person in question using so many different personas—there was no way for us to know who he might impersonate next.

He’d expect us to be watching my mom, so no doubt he would have been extra careful. It would be smarter for us to divide and conquer, to come at the problem from another angle entirely. And that meant I needed to trust Aida to follow that lead.

Much as I hated it.

“Let’s back up,” I said. I sat down on the edge of the bed. Starting over could take time, but I had an idea. “You’ve been monitoring the Carmines in their search for me, right?”

Kalif nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “So if I were them, I would have been monitoring the hospitals for records of Mom’s scars, and Mel’s knee wound. But also watching the financial news for mid-scale embezzlements. The kind our parents are so good at fixing.”

“I hid them from my grandparents in case any of them were you.”

But none of them had been. That was another reason I’d been scamming low lifes and thugs—jobs like that didn’t immediately flag themselves as our kind of work. “That means there were leads for you to hide. Do you have a record of them?”

Kalif smiled. “You think some of them might have been Dad. That I was inadvertently protecting him when I was trying to keep Wendy and Oliver from finding you.”

“It’s possible,” I said. “It’ll be faster to follow up on those leads than it will to troll the newspapers for new ones.”

Kalif nodded. “I can find the records. Give me a minute.” He accessed a cloud account to retrieve the information and emailed it to me, and I began to pour over it on my phone. I was immediately glad we hadn’t tried to start from scratch; it came as no surprise that there’s a lot of news in California. Even limiting the result to the Northern half of the state, we were still dealing with reports from half a dozen major newspapers and many, many minor ones.

It took us a few hours to narrow it down to the most likely leads. “This sounds like Mel,” I said. “It’s an embezzlement in Rocklin, at a software company called CareWare. Could have been Damon, but if he was telling the truth about working as hired muscle, it probably wasn’t. The next most likely candidate is your father.”

Kalif looked skeptical. “It could have been someone else entirely. Or not a shifter at all.”

I held up my hands. “I’m trying to work this through. You could help.”

“I’m pulling it up,” Kalif said.

We combed over the article Kalif had flagged—from the financial section of the Sacramento Bee. A Rocklin company had lost a lot of money in an untraceable wire transfer that originated from the CEO’s computer. He’d sworn that he hadn’t done it, and there was one witness who said he’d been elsewhere at the time of the crime, but twelve people put him in his office at the time of the transfer. With those kinds of odds, it was easy to see who the police would believe.

“That could be shifter work,” I said.

“Could be,” Kalif said. “Look at this.” Kalif pulled up another article. “When things started looking really dire, the man supposedly fled the country, taking his lover with him—a woman who’d been working as the company’s head of HR.

“It’s like your dad to sleep with someone for information,” I said. “But not to run away with her.”

Kalif shrugged. “Looks like they both had a long work record, so they’re probably real people. Maybe they split because it was clear they were being set up to take the fall, and they couldn’t prove their innocence.”

I glared at the article on my phone. That was exactly the sort of thing that our parents did to unsuspecting people. It was one of the main reasons I wanted to get out of the scamming business. The police had done a lot of investigation, but if it was a shifter, they wouldn’t know what to look for. But we would. Mel had left behind tells before that we’d been able to trace.

“We could break into the company,” I said. “Look for traces that might help us follow your dad. Though they may have increased surveillance since this happened.”

Kalif clicked through the articles. “Because he’s a fugitive, it’s an open case. The police station would definitely have everything we need, including anything they seized from the company.”

He was right, but a nervous pit still knotted in my stomach. Dealing with the police was always a risk; if they discovered that shifters existed, our lives would go from hard to hellish.

“That sounds dangerous,” I said. “You’ll probably need me inside so you can get into their system, yeah?”

“That’d help,” Kalif said. “But we’ll probably need to get you in anyway, because it’s possible that not all the evidence is digitized.”

That was a good point. Besides things that couldn’t be, like clothes and shoes, police departments didn’t necessarily digitize every surveillance tape they cataloged. Without casing the company, we didn’t know what form they’d have collected it in.

But a police station was a complicated con. I didn’t want to do it alone. And it presented an opportunity to test Damon—to see what he’d do when he wasn’t chained to a bed. I couldn’t think of a safer place to do that than a police station.

“Okay,” I said. “You can back me up on the computer, and Damon can back me up in person.”

Kalif gave me a hard look.

“Come on,” I said. “You can’t let your personal feelings get in the way of finding your father, right?”

“For all you know, this was his job.”

“And if it was, better to know sooner than later. If we don’t bring him in on this, he can’t tell us what he knows.”

He turned his glare on his computer screen. “I just don’t love bringing other shifters into this mess, that’s all.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Especially ones that are male and hot, right?”

“So now you think he’s hot,” Kalif said. “Good to know.”

I rolled my eyes, but he didn’t look up from his computer to see. “I think you’re hot,” I said. “So obviously there’s no accounting for taste.”

That got a ghost of a smile, and I figured if he was smiling at my insults, even a little, he couldn’t be too angry with me.

“I know,” I said. “It’s a risk and you don’t like it. But this is a job that won’t lead him back to my mom or yours. I don’t particularly care if we lead him to your dad, you know? He has as much reason to want to find him as we do. And if we’re hunting your father, I really wouldn’t mind having some muscle on our side.”

Kalif looked down at his own forearms. “I can bulk these up, you know.”

I bumped his shoulder. “Not exactly the same as mercenary experience.”

A shadow passed over Kalif’s face. “This isn’t a physical confrontation. It’s a police station. You can handle this alone.”

I smacked him. “You’re always telling me not to work alone.”

Kalif raised his eyebrows. “And you think that sending you in with him means I’ll worry less?”

I flopped back on the bed. He had a point, but I still wanted to see what Damon could do in the field. I’d taken a big risk, exchanging hand signals with him.

But I didn’t think that reminding Kalif of that risk was a great way to convince him to play along. “You’re always fretting about how you want to go with me to watch my back, but you’re more useful somewhere you can be online. This way, we can do both.”

He shut his computer screen. “I can’t do both. That’s what I want.”

I took his hand. “I know. But if you have to choose between sending me alone, and sending me with someone who can bail me out if I need it, what do you want then?”

Kalif was quiet.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

I tackled him, slamming him shoulder-first into the mattress. He rolled underneath me, wrapping both arms around me as the springs bounced once, and we lay tangled together. “I’m trying to respect your hang-ups,” I said into his ear. “But if you keep up the jealousy act, I’m going to have to convince you that you’re the only one I want.”

Kalif turned his head to kiss me, his lips devouring mine. That wasn’t how this was supposed to go; he was always the one who said this wasn’t about proving anything. That he wanted us to really be free of our parents and their assorted problems before we were really together. We were always teetering on this edge, him and me.

I pinned him to the bed. “You really want him to be the thing that pushes us over?”

Kalif groaned and rolled over, knocking me off him. “Did you really have to say that?”

I smiled. “That’s my job. Destroyer of romantic moments.”

“Speaker of truth,” Kalif said. “Same damn thing.”

I straightened my hair with a shift. We had to get to work, or we were going to drive each other insane. “So here’s what we need,” I said. “Covers that will get us into the police station. Keys to the evidence room. Access to the computer files. Passwords or whatever to get us into the building, computers, what have you.”

Kalif stared at the floor. “You could get Damon arrested. That would probably help.”

“Right,” I said. “Very helpful.”

Kalif held up his hands. “Hey, if he turns out to be a traitor, it’d be a great move.”

“I’m going to call Damon,” I said, "to see what he has to add.”

I turned my back on Kalif while I dialed, so I wouldn’t have to see the sour look on his face.

I was afraid that Damon had given me a fake number. No doubt he was out of his apartment by now. He could be halfway to China. But he answered on the second ring, using the same voice he’d used when he first woke up in his room—as close to his home voice as I was likely to hear.

“Hey, lovely,” Damon said.

Kalif must have heard, because he sighed heavily behind me.

I pitched my voice higher than normal—the same tone I’d used at Damon’s apartment. “Did you know it was me?” I asked, "or do you always answer your phone that way?”

“I gave you this number,” Damon said. “I saved it specially for you.”

Of course he did. I’d do the same thing with this disposable.

“Did you find him?” Damon asked.

“He’s been gone for weeks, just like you said.”

“So I take it you’re calling to pump me for more? Sorry, sweetheart. You took me for everything the first time around.”

“No, actually,” I said. “I need to get into a police station. Got anything for that?”

Damon didn’t miss a beat. “I have some badges we might be able to use. San Francisco Police department. Sacramento Fire Department. FBI.”

“Useful,” I said. “But we’re going to the Rocklin police station. Maybe we could be visitors from the FBI.”

“And you think I want to help you? What’s in it for me?”

“The pleasure of my company,” I said.

Kalif gave another belabored sigh behind me, and this time I turned to him and mouthed: Sorry.

Damon laughed. “Fair enough. What is it that we’re looking for? That’ll be important to our angle.”

I held my breath. He’d agreed quickly—probably too quickly. Either he really wanted to see me again, or he was agreeing to get more information out of me. I could hardly fault him for the latter. That was what I’d have done, in his position. “We’re investigating an embezzlement incident at a software company in Rocklin. That wasn’t you, was it?”

“No,” Damon said. “Embezzlement really isn’t my style. We’re hoping it was the asshole?”

“Exactly,” I said. I wanted to ask him about the hospital job, but I couldn’t without letting him know that there was someone in the hospital who was important to me. I might be willing to try running jobs with him, but until I could be absolutely sure he didn’t work for the Carmines, I didn’t trust him near my mom. Not for a second. “If we suspect that the money was routed across state lines, or out of the country, that would be FBI jurisdiction.”

He had a point. “We’d need some kind of warrant, wouldn’t we?”

“Not to ask questions. And not if the police station wants to cooperate with us.”

Kalif fiddled with the hotel-provided pen, punching the clicker up and down, up and down.

My body deflated. I usually had these conversations with him. If I wanted him not to hate Damon, I wasn’t helping. But we still needed to run the job.

“Who does your badge belong to?”

“I lifted it from an FBI agent on a job.”

“I thought theft wasn’t your style.”

“I said embezzlement wasn’t my style. I mostly steal things I can’t buy.”

“Like ID for government workers.”

“Strangely, they don’t sell those at Wal-Mart.”

I laughed. “He must have reported it stolen.”

“It’s a copy. I dropped the real one back in his car.”

“You’re a forger?”

“I know a guy.”

I chewed on my lip. Damon probably knew a lot of people. His resources could be useful to us, but they could also potentially be dangerous. If I interrogated him, though, we might lose his cooperation. Better to let the information about his contacts come out naturally over time.

“Hasn’t this guy noticed you using his ID?”

“I haven’t used it yet. These badges are strictly one-use things, you know? If we use this one, I’ll have to lift another one.”

That was smart, always having a stash of badges to use. We should be doing that, but first we’d need to find ourselves a forger, or one of us would have to become one.

Which, of course, would be the opposite of getting out of the crime business. I paused. “That badge is valuable to you, then. Why would you be willing to use it for me?”

“Gorgeous,” he said. “No one can say no to you.”

I turned around and rolled my eyes so Kalif could see. He rolled his back, which I took as a sign that he didn’t hate my guts for what I was doing.

After all, he was the one who usually said there was no saying no to me. Though I suspected that Damon’s reasons were more complicated than Kalif’s.

“Or,” I said, "could it be that it’s worth it to you to get revenge for your knee?”

Damon laughed. “Revenge is for suckers.”

“Aw,” I said. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

Damon laughed louder. “Girl,” he said. “You are so much fun.”

My knees locked in place. Kalif had said that to me once, too, after we’d run a job together.

“Tell me where to meet you,” I said. “We’ll stop by a store and put some personas together before we go to the station.”

“Done,” Damon said. He gave me the address of a street corner.

“Okay,” I said. “How will I know you?”

“Girl,” he said. “Trust me, you won’t be able to miss me.”

I almost didn’t want to believe him. “Okay,” I said. “Give me two hours.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said. And then he was gone.

I turned back to Kalif, whose whole appearance had become more disheveled. His hair drooped onto his forehead. His eyes were slightly swollen and his posture slouchy. He was a computer geek channeling a sullen stoner.

I didn’t mention it. He was embarrassed enough about his unconscious shifting. Better to stick with business and let him get over it. “Damon will do it,” I said.

“Joy,” Kalif said.

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Don’t make me tackle you again.”

“We do have some time to kill before you meet him, right?” He gave me a look that told me he was only half joking.

“Easy,” I said. “I have more awkward analyses just waiting to ruin the mood.”

Kalif groaned. “You have to run out of those eventually, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “It’s my other super power.”

He pulled me into him and buried his face in my hair. “I love you.”

“You, too,” I said. “But I think you’re getting a little too used to being the only person in my life.”

“Ugh,” he said. “I don’t want to be a possessive jerk.”

“Then don’t be. Trust me.”

“I do. You know I do.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “You’re the one who’s forgetting.”

He sighed. “Fine. You win. Maybe working with Damon will get us out of this whole mess faster. Like the freaking wind.”

I couldn’t have been more on board with that.

Twenty-two

Damon wasn’t kidding when he said I would recognize him. When he showed up on the corner, I knew instantly it was him, even though he didn’t look a thing like his home body with his oversexed hourglass figure, his red cocktail dress, and his thigh-high boots, which neatly covered his knee injury.

And the motorcycle. No sane person would wear that outfit while going forty miles an hour on the thing, even in the summer in California. If he crashed in that getup, there was going to be nothing left of him. And I wasn’t talking about just his face.

Damon parked the motorcycle on the curb and hopped off, giving me a flash of the pink thong he was wearing under the super-short skirt. He sauntered toward me.

“You must be warming your whole body,” I said. “Or I hired a hooker I don’t know about.”

We checked hands.

“Hey,” he said. “You have to admit I look hot in this.”

If you were into size-two women with bobbed hair, he was right. I clearly should have stepped things up; I’d come in the face I used to break into his apartment.

I opened the car door for him. “If we get picked up for prostitution,” I said, "it’s your fault.”

Damon climbed into the car and looked at me sideways. “If we’re going to work together,” he said, "you need to show me your real face.”

I tried to keep my expression casual, though my limbs wanted to lock up. That hadn’t taken him long. “Who says this isn’t my real face?”

“If it is, you’re terrible at this, and I should just do the job myself.”

I sighed. “Fine. So it isn’t. And you’re not seeing it, either.”

“Think about it,” Damon said. “What if you get knocked out on the job? I’m supposed to back you up and save you, but I won’t know who to look for, and you won’t be conscious to give me a signal.”

I chewed on that. The request was incredibly invasive—even when my parents started working with Kalif’s, they kept their home faces private for the first month or so. Obviously Damon was playing at scenarios to get what he wanted, but he was right that shifters who worked together were better off knowing each other inside and out, because of all the things we couldn’t communicate in persona. I knew our parents’ team had gotten a lot tighter after they shared everything.

Until Kalif’s parents betrayed us.

“You know what I look like,” Damon said. “And I didn’t even complain about you using my drugs to knock me out. I’m guessing you don’t have a medical degree. You could have killed me, you know?”

I knew. But Damon didn’t look angry about it now. “The drugs were yours,” I said. “Are you a licensed anesthesiologist?”

He just gave me an amused smile.

I shook my head. “You don’t even take your own death seriously?”

He laughed. “Life is short and brutal, more so for a shifter.”

“All the more reason to be careful,” I said.

“All the more reason to relax. Things are hard enough for us without tying ourselves into knots.”

I wanted to believe he was right.

“Take you, for example,” he said. “You’re wound tight enough to snap.”

My back stiffened, proving his point. I made myself shrug it off. “I just get tense before a job is all.”

“Right,” Damon said. “And the way you were twitching at my apartment was just a coincidence.”

I held a finger in the air. “Also a job.”

“Riiight,” he said. “You keep telling yourself that.”

I sighed. I was glad Kalif couldn’t hear this conversation. I seemed to be thinking that every time Damon opened his mouth. “You’re just trying to get me to drop my guard,” I said. “It won’t work.”

“I don’t care what you do,” Damon said. “As long as it isn’t getting me killed. But going into a job with you without a relationship of trust . . . I’ve done it before. It’s a bad idea, and definitely the kind of thing that could put one or both of us in danger.”

I nodded. That was one reason Kalif and I worked together so well; I was willing to put my life, my mother’s life, everything I had to risk right in his hands. It didn’t matter that technically he could drop me, because I trusted he wouldn’t.

I didn’t have to ask Kalif to know that he’d hate me showing my face to Damon. He didn’t want me exposing myself to risk, but more than that, he’d hate the intimacy of Damon knowing my home face. He didn’t need to worry—I wasn’t going to trust Damon the way I did him, not for a long time and maybe not ever. But if I wasn’t willing to give Damon at least a little faith, I should have just walked away in the beginning, like Kalif wanted me to. “I’ll think about it,” I said.

Damon smiled. “So these people you work for.”

“With,” I said. “Not for.”

Damon nodded, like he was filing that away. We were both maneuvering each other, trying to be the one who got more and gave less.

“Family?” he asked.

It was a good bet. I imagined most shifters worked with their families, if their relatives were shifters as well. Other people were harder to trust.

“And my boyfriend,” I said.

Damon gave me a dubious look. “Riiight.”

“What?” I asked. “You don’t even believe me about that?”

“It would make for a good cover story, if you didn’t want me hitting on you. Most of the shifter teams I’ve met are related.”

“You’ve known a lot of teams, then,” I said.

Damon shrugged. “One that got captured by Wendy Carmine. Another couple who disappeared after that.”

The message was clear. No one he could contact for help, now. I wondered if that was true, or if he was just trying to disabuse me of the notion that I could enlist the help of his contacts.

“Well my team isn’t entirely related,” I said.

“Not into commitment?”

I wasn’t going to tell Damon how young I was. “It’s a relatively new thing.”

“Ah, so I can seduce you away.”

“No, you can’t,” I said. “And do me a favor. Don’t say things like that in front of him.”

“Only when the boyfriend isn’t around, then.”

“That’s not what I—"

Damon held up a hand. “Hey, hey! Whatever you’re into is fine with me.”

“Monogamy,” I said. “That’s what I’m into.”

Damon laughed. “Hey, I was just trying to say it doesn’t have to be a competition. But if that’s what you like—"

I glared at him. “What are you, twelve?”

He smiled at me and his eyes danced. “Would you be able to tell if I were?”

I wouldn’t. He had to be old enough to have a fully-developed self-concept, so preteen at the least. But he could be fourteen or fifty-five, and if his self-concept was warped enough, it wouldn’t show in his home body’s appearance.

“Seriously, though,” Damon said, "tell me about this boyfriend of yours. Are you sure you can trust him?”

I sighed. “Yes, I’m sure. No, I won’t tell you why.”

Damon tugged at the bottom of his mini-skirt. “I figured you wouldn’t give me the details, anyway. You don’t trust me yet.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Am I wrong?”

“I figure some of what you say is true, and some of it isn’t,” I said. “I’m sure I’m not wrong.”

“No,” Damon said. “You’re not. And I imagine the same could be said about you.”

I didn’t have to ask him why he asked questions, even though he knew I might lie. The pattern of people’s lies could be used to trace the truth. He probably knew that better than I did.

I just needed to play the game better than he did, so I could maintain the upper hand.

“Are we done?” I asked. “Because there’s actual work waiting for us.”

“You don’t trust me enough to talk candidly, but you do trust me to watch your back as you risk your life. You’re a strange girl.”

“I’m a shifter,” I said. “Same difference.”

We stopped at the local Wal-Mart, where I picked out a passable outfit for an FBI agent—shirt, slacks, and shoes. I considered a gold paisley tie, but Damon advised against it.

“You don’t want to overdo it,” he said.

“You’re one to talk,” I said.

Damon just smiled.

“Okay,” I said. “So you’ll be the FBI agent, and I’ll be . . . who?”

“This is your mission,” Damon said. “You play the agent. I’ll play your daughter.”

“And what is it? Bring your daughter to work day?”

“Okay, maybe not. It’s your job. Assign me something.”

“You could be my informant,” I said. “That way you wouldn’t have official ID.”

“Done,” Damon said. “I’ll make her tiny and cute as a button. That’ll help us get in.”

“If the person at the desk is into women,” I said. “Don’t you ever use male personas?”

“All the time,” Damon said. “But I like the look on your face when I don’t. Haven’t you ever seen a man turn into a beautiful woman before? Is your boyfriend insecure in his manhood or something?”

I shook my head. “He’s just not so insecure in his skills that he needs to show off.” Kalif didn’t do women because he kind of sucked at it, but I wasn’t going to talk about his weaknesses with Damon, in case Damon was only cooperating with us to scout us out. Now that I thought about it, maybe Kalif’s problem wasn’t as much anatomy, as that he lacked Damon’s audacity.

I wasn’t going to say that out loud, either.

“Touché,” Damon said. “Didn’t know I was that transparent.”

He actually sounded impressed. “Do you think the car is okay?” I asked.

“Should be fine,” Damon said. “Though Agent Getty drives a Volvo.”

I’d need to cycle it out after this, anyway. “We’ll park around the side of the building,” I said. “And hope that Agent Getty doesn’t have friends in Rocklin. Now we just need something for you.”

I frowned as Damon led me to the tween girl’s section. “You’re there to back me up,” I said. “Shouldn’t you at least look like you’re capable of that?”

“Does that matter?” he asked. “I can knock a guy out looking like a twelve-year-old as easily as I can looking like myself.”

“You confuse me,” I said. “You like dressing like a woman, but obviously you don’t see yourself that way.”

Damon shrugged. “My clothes aren’t who I am.”

“I’ve got to know, where do you get your self-image? No one’s muscles are that big.”

Damon’s shoulders shook with laughter. “Guilty,” he said. “But I do spend a lot of time at the gym. I can bench as much as the big guys, so who’s to say I don’t look like them?”

“So you’re full of yourself.”

“Would you rather I looked like a wimp?”

“Probably,” I said. “I’m not into muscles.” I forced my face not to cringe. I wasn’t trying to sound like I could even potentially be interested, but I did.

“Fine,” Damon said, redirecting himself to the men’s department. “I’ll look like a man, if that’ll make you feel more secure.”

He made me sound like a damsel in distress at best and a sexist at worst. But I had to admit, I did feel better when he reached between his breasts and pulled out a driver’s license for a twenty-something guy with broad shoulders and a buzz cut.

I wondered how many IDs he had stashed beneath that tiny outfit of his.

We paid for the clothes, then slipped into the family bathroom so Damon could teach me the FBI persona. I half-expected him to harass me, but he turned away while I changed, and not even at an angle where he could watch me in the mirror.

“What’s the matter,” I said to him. “Never seen a naked girl before?”

“I’ve been a lot of naked girls,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to be a jerk about it.”

Damon assumed the persona of the agent whose ID he’d stolen—a young guy, clean cut and lanky. Matching his stature and frame was easier standing across from Damon than it would have been from a picture—even the detailed 360 views that my parents kept in their digital files.

“Not bad,” Damon said. “Doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Unless someone knows him,” I said.

“Let’s hope not. But just in case, you better learn the voice.” The tone of his voice switched mid-sentence, lilting higher without becoming effeminate. Damon looked impressed when I echoed the voice right away. I didn’t tell him that I didn’t even have to try. That part came naturally.

“So, the asshole,” Damon said as we drove to the station. “You think he ran this embezzlement job?”

“I think there’s a good chance,” I said. “That’s what we’re going to find out: if he did it, and if he left a trail we can follow, even if the cops can’t.”

“I hope you can tail him,” Damon said. “Dude has to pay for what he did to my knee.”

“Trust me,” I said. “That’s not the only thing he’s going to pay for.”

Damon looked a question at me, but I just smiled.

When we got to the police station, we parked at the far end of the empty parking lot, so the people inside wouldn’t be able to watch us get out of the car.

The station lobby was empty except for a man standing behind the desk, leaning over a computer. I walked up and handed him the badge. “Agent Getty, FBI,” I said. “I’ve been working on an investigation and we’ve run into a possible connection to the CareWare case. I’d like to get a look at those files, if you don’t mind.”

The man behind the counter examined the badge, and typed something into the computer. “Looks like we’ve already shared our files with the FBI,” he said. “Was something missing from your records?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” I said. “I’ve got the digital files, but not the physical evidence.”

“Ah,” he said. “Looks like we’ve been fully cooperating with you, so I can get you in to see those immediately. You should have had our write-up of everything we found, though.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn’t been sure what attitude I would find, but it made sense that they were already cooperating, and that made things easier on us. “Maybe something got lost. I just want to double check.”

He looked over my shoulder at Damon. “And this is?”

“This is Cody Jones. He’s cooperating with us on the case.” I mentally cursed Damon for getting an ID in what sounded so obviously like a fake name, but the officer didn’t blink. He just nodded and made a note on the computer. He checked Cody’s ID, then led us down the hall to what looked like an interrogation room, with three folding chairs and a wide table. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll bring you the files.”

I sighed, checking the corners. I should have expected that he wouldn’t just leave us alone in the evidence room, and I was sure we were on camera now. No matter, though. We didn’t need free reign of the place—just the full police records for the CareWare case, which our personas had every reason to pour over in detail.

The officer brought us several folders and plastic bags with the combined evidence of the case.

“Do you have the computer records as well?” I asked. “I’d like to look at them side by side.”

The officer gave me a funny look, but he came back with a laptop, logged me in, and gave me access to the files. I had no doubt that they would track everything I did on this computer, so giving access to Kalif from here wouldn’t be easy. I might need to come up with an excuse to access another part of the building.

While Damon looked through the paper files, I looked over the computer records. I expected to need to give Kalif access to the files, so he could run traces on the bank accounts, but as I scanned down, I saw that the cops had already done the hacking for us. They’d found that some of the money—though not all—had been routed through a foreign account and then deposited in a bank account back in the US. The address on that account was an apartment in Sacramento, but the police had been by the house several times, and the man who the account was registered to seemed to never have lived there, and indeed, never to have existed.

That sounded like a shifter, but also like a con man.

I memorized the address. The account had probably been owned by a shifter, so that address might be random, but it also might represent a mistake on the part of the shifter. The police hadn’t found anything at that address, even though they’d talked to the residents several times, but they probably didn’t know what they were looking for.

Damon swore.

“What?” I asked.

“Look at this.” He handed me a report that had been written up by one of the investigating officers. The officer had tracked every move that the supposed embezzler had made during the week when the money disappeared. And there were several places where he’d noted that the man seemed to be in two different places at the same time—here he’d been at work, documented by a security camera, but he’d also been at a restaurant, seen by three different people, and corroborated by his credit card records. In another place he’d been caught on camera both at a gas station and in the parking garage at work, simultaneously. The officer had attached stills of those two images, side by side, and even to my trained eye, they looked like exactly the same person.

But the worst part was the analysis of the evidence, where the officer postulated about prosthetic makeup and plastic surgery. He didn’t sound certain in his analysis though, and there at the end of the report was the single, worrisome sentence. This may represent a new trend in criminal impersonation tactics, and warrants further investigation.

I noted the name on the report: Officer Brian Lee. Our job as shifters was to keep a low profile, and when we failed that, to always leave enough doubt that a skeptic could assume we’d performed our cons using traditional methods. If this officer was doubting that in this instance, he might start looking harder, with an open mind. I just hoped he was a Skully rather than a Mulder—skepticism was our friend, and the only reason we were able to operate under the radar of the general public.

At any rate, I wasn’t about to let Kalif into their system and give them more evidence to trace.

We needed to check on that house—if we were dealing with Mel, we might pick up all kinds of things the cops missed, but first—

“We need to go,” I said.

“Yeah,” Damon said. “Like, yesterday.”

I packed the files back into the folder. I could try to steal the records, but there wasn’t much point—if Officer Lee was still keeping any kind of an eye on this case, I didn’t want to do anything to draw his attention.

We left through the front of the station, and the cop at the desk waved to us as we passed. “Find anything?” he asked.

“Looks like a dead end,” I said. “I’ll let you know if we learn otherwise.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he said. And he didn’t look twice at us as we walked through the doors and back to the parking lot.

“Thanks for your help,” I said to Damon as we walked across the parking lot, Damon showing only the barest hint of a limp. That was a reasonable thing to say in character, as well as out.

“Sure thing,” Damon said. He waited until we’d climbed into the car to continue. “Seriously, you’re going to need someone watching your back on this one. When do you plan to follow up on that lead?”

“Probably tomorrow,” I said. There was no point trying to leave him out of it. He’d seen the address as well as I had. “You want to come?”

“Yeah,” Damon said. “If there are cops poking around who are getting dangerously suspicious about our methods, you shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

It was starting to get eerie how often I was glad Kalif couldn’t hear the way Damon spoke to me. This time, he sounded protective.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “If you wouldn’t work for Wendy Carmine,” I asked, "what are you doing working for me?”

He shrugged. “Who says I’m working for you?”

“I had a job to do,” I said. “And you came with me, even though I didn’t tell you entirely what it was. Now you’re all worried for my safety, and don’t want me following up on a lead without you.”

“This isn’t safe. That’s all I’m saying.”

“But what’s it to you?”

“You’re right,” he said. “What am I doing here?” He reached for the door handle, but hesitated when I didn’t stop him. “Come on,” he said. “It’s no fun if you call my bluff.”

“Cut the crap,” I said. “And answer the question.”

“And give up my sense of boyish mystery? Never.”

I rolled my eyes, but the back of my neck prickled. Damon didn’t want me working alone, and didn’t want to tell me why. There could be any number of reasons for that, but most of them weren’t friendly. “Where do you want me to drop you off? Back at your motorcycle?”

“That’ll work,” Damon said. “Unless you want to come over.”

“Are you going to show me where you live?”

He considered that. “I can move again. Might be worth it.”

I snorted.

“Fine,” he said. “I could get us a hotel room.”

He sounded serious. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and he wasn’t laughing.

“Boyfriend,” I said.

“Right,” Damon said. “So, rain check.”

“Ugh,” I said.

That time he did laugh.

We drove to a gas station with an unattached bathroom area, and changed back into the personas we’d met in. Ten minutes later, I pulled up to the corner where I’d dropped Damon off.

Damon climbed out of the car, then leaned on the door, looking at me. “Hey,” he said. “Did you still want an answer to your question?”

“Which one?” I asked.

“About why I’m here.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But I’ve given up hope that you’re going to tell me. Besides, you’d just lie.”

“I like to subvert expectations,” he said. “So I’ll tell you the truth. It’s because you asked.”

I rolled my eyes.

Damon grinned. “I’m serious,” he said. “Wendy Carmine thinks she owns the world. Most shifters are like that. You do what they say, or else watch your step. You could turn me over to the Carmines to plead for your own life. Don’t think I don’t know it. If you demanded my help, I wouldn’t have a lot of good options.”

“But instead I asked,” I said.

“I like that about you,” Damon said. He winked at me. “Just don’t tell your boyfriend.” And then he turned and walked off into the night.

Twenty-three

It wasn’t until I was walking through the hotel parking lot that I realized I’d never contacted Kalif. I’d had my phone on silent, and when I pulled it out, I found a string of text messages asking me if I was in yet, and what was going on.

I’d meant to text him when I let him into the system, but when I’d decided not to, I hadn’t sent him any kind of message to let him know that I was okay, to tell him what was going on.

I’d run that job like Kalif wasn’t even there.

I thought about texting him then and there, if only to take the edge off his reaction when I walked in the door. But it would only take longer than telling him in person.

So I walked up to the door and knocked.

Kalif opened the door with the chain still in place and stuck out his hand. We exchanged signals. He banged the door shut, jerked off the chain, and threw it open again. “Where have you been? I never heard from you. I didn’t get into their system.”

I moved into the room and shut the door behind me before answering. “I know,” I said, speaking too quickly. “The police on the case were already noting signs of shifters. I don’t think they’d let themselves believe it yet, but they’re already looking into new technology that might let a person appear to be in two places at once. We couldn’t risk the tap. We could lead them right to us.”

Kalif didn’t relax. “And you didn’t think to maybe let me know that you weren’t dead? It’s been hours. I thought Damon must have stabbed you in the back, for sure. Or given you to my father. Or—"

I held up a hand. “I know. I should have texted you. I’m sorry.”

He slouched into a chair. “Why didn’t you?”

I hated that the whole truth felt like the wrong answer. He didn’t want to hear that I’d forgotten him because I’d been distracted with Damon. I shifted from one foot to the other. “I just forgot. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Kalif sighed. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

That made me feel even worse. All this time I’d been refusing to let him take risks, but I didn’t even give him a backseat to mine. I left him completely out of the car. “Damon was actually helpful,” I said. “So that’s good, right?”

“That’s exactly how I would be,” he said. “If I were trying to gain your trust. Nice people are—"

“I know,” I said. “They’re the most dangerous, because you don’t want to see the knife behind their back. Fine. What do you want me to do?”

He gave me a tired look. “Let’s just leave Damon out of it, okay? Did you find a lead? Or did you have to split too early?”

“I found one,” I said. “But Damon knows about it.”

Kalif sighed.

“He was right there! He saw everything. What did you want me to do?” Stupid question. He wanted me not to work with Damon in the first place. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

His face folded with exhaustion. “So what’s the lead?”

“It’s an address,” I said. I grabbed the hotel notepad and wrote down what I’d memorized. “The police did some pretty thorough tracking of where the money went. They couldn’t account for all of it, but some of it was put in an account belonging to someone here. But according to the police records, no one by that name lives there, or ever has.”

“You think the person was a shifter.”

“I do.”

Kalif nodded. “So Damon could have called Wendy with that intel already.”

Ugh. “It’s possible,” I said. “Or maybe he’s doing what he said he would do, and waiting for me to contact him so we can go run reconnaissance.”

He picked up the hotel pen and started clicking again. “You already told him you wanted him for the job.”

“He was there,” I said again. “What did you want me to say?”

He gave me a tired look. “Maybe that this time, you could take me with you on your reconnaissance run? That you don’t need him for absolutely everything?”

I sighed. I hadn’t thought about that. Why hadn’t I thought about that? “So come,” I said. “We’ll just have Damon run backup.”

“Perfect,” Kalif said, clicking his pen again. “So he’s right on our heels, pinning us both down while he calls Wendy and Oliver.”

I took the pen away from him. “You want him to be working for them,” I said. “So you can be rid of him.”

His thumb kept clicking, even without the pen. “You don’t really think I want that,” Kalif said. “Because if he’s with them, we’re all in very deep trouble.”

I closed my eyes. He was right.

“Okay,” I said. “You’re just being smart. I get it. I’m taking a risk, and you have every right to hate it.”

We looked at each other.

I didn’t want to argue with Kalif, and I could tell he didn’t want to argue with me. But we still didn’t agree.

So where did that leave us?

“I don’t want to fight with you,” I said. “So if there’s something bothering you, go ahead and say it to me straight.”

He leaned back in his chair, and for a second I thought he was going to tell me to forget it. “Is something going on with you and him?” Kalif asked.

A weight fell over me. My whole body seemed to be coated in a lead blanket. “What?” I asked.

His shoulders hunched further. “With Damon. Did something happen between you tonight while you were out?”

I wanted to be angry at him for thinking such a thing, but if the situation was reversed, I’d probably be worrying the same. I’d asked him to be straight with me. At least this way, I could put his worries to rest. “No,” I said. “We worked together. He helped me gain access to the police station and look at the evidence. That’s it.”

Kalif was quiet for a minute. And while maybe I should have been mad, I wasn’t. I got it. I knew what it was like, wondering if someone you loved was lying to your face. And if they were, if every piece of your relationship to that point had also been a lie.

“I love you,” I said. “But I can’t prove it to you. You have to decide if you’re going to trust me.”

Kalif looked out the window, at the flickering reflective dots passing by on the road.

“Okay,” he said. “I trust you. I just don’t want to lose you to him.”

I spoke quietly. “I don’t want to lose you at all.”

“Yeah,” Kalif said. “That too.”

I reached for his hand. The mess we were in just kept getting bigger, and we were only making it worse by doubting each other. “We’re going to figure this out,” I said. “Just watch my back, and most of all, watch yours.” I paused. “But not from me, because I’m with you. Are you with me?”

He took my hand. “I’m with you.” His fingers laced through mine, holding them tight, but his eyes still looked worried.

He was as terrified as I was, and he wasn’t the only one who’d been holding things back. I kept putting us off, trying to get us to a place where we could be safe and together.

But maybe that day wasn’t coming.

Maybe this frenzied, terrifying rush of a life was the only one we’d ever have together.

If it was, I had to be sure that he knew how I felt.

“We haven’t talked much,” I said, "about what happens when all of this is over.”

Kalif nodded. “We just need to get through it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But I want to make sure that we’re on the same page. That we both know what the hell it is that we’re fighting for.”

Kalif looked up at me, and I saw something there in his eyes.

Hope. His lit a match under mine, and I could feel my flame rekindling.

“When we’re done,” I said, "when we’re really free, I want to be married to you.”

His lips parted, and he watched me silently. Doubt tingled in the back of my mind, but I pushed it away.

This was Kalif. I loved him. I’d give my life for him. If he knew how I really felt, he wouldn’t worry so much about Damon. But he could never be sure what was going on inside my head. So I wanted to give him every bit of evidence I could to fight back against the paranoia and the doubt.

“We don’t have to,” I said. “But that’s what I want, and I thought you should know.”

Kalif smiled. “Was that a proposal?”

I laughed. “It doesn’t have to be. You can do the honors if you want. I know how attached you are to your stereotypical male roles.”

He laughed. “We’ve been talking about this for a while, more or less, right? Every time we talked about running away together, I thought that’s what we meant.”

I nodded. Kalif had never been someone I’d thought of as just a boyfriend, as just for now.

“So,” he said, "would you actually marry me, formally? Like for real?”

I blinked at him. “Like, in a church?”

Kalif’s face grew sheepish. “I don’t know.”

I pulled my hand away to smack him on the shoulder. “Oh, please,” I said. “This sounds like something you’ve put some thought into.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to look like I desperately hoped that he had.

Kalif climbed out of his chair and sat down next to me, taking my hand again. “Fine,” he said. “When we were apart I might have looked into falsifying marriage licenses, okay? It’s not like we have legal identities, but we could fake it for a day. It wouldn’t be that hard.”

My whole body shivered, and for once it wasn’t from fear. “My parents didn’t get married like that,” I said. “Mom said they’d been together a couple of years, and then one day Dad proposed. Mom said yes, and after that, they decided they were married. She said that’s as good as it gets when you don’t exist on paper.”

Kalif looked over at me. “I don’t think my parents even did that much. I’ve never even heard them use the word married. So the only wedding my dad’s had that I know of was to that other woman. Technically, I suppose she’s his only wife.”

Ugh. The last thing I wanted was to end up like any of them. But when everything in our lives was so ephemeral, all I wanted was for the two of us to create something real. “Okay,” I said.

He hesitated. “Okay?”

I took his hand again and squeezed tight. “That was my answer. Okay.”

Kalif smiled, even though his fingers were trembling. “Okay,” he said. He paused. “If you couldn’t tell, that was mine.”

I smiled. “We should have talked about this a while ago.”

He shook his head. “We haven’t exactly had a moment to breathe, have we?” His face turned serious. “Did you want that formal proposal? Because I can’t give you a ring.”

That was true. Identifying jewelry was definitely out. I couldn’t afford to own something like that, under any circumstances. Even if I never wore it, it was too much of a risk.

Kalif ran his hand over the back of mine. “Here,” he said. And with one finger, he traced a circle around my ring finger, leaving a warm, tingly feeling in its wake. “It’s not physical, but it’s there.”

Tears stung my eyes. Even with our lives coming to pieces around us, he could always find the romantic thing to say.

“You aren’t going to hassle me about Damon anymore?” I asked. “Make me promise never to speak to him again after this?”

Kalif shook his head. “No. You’re right. I trust you. I just forgot for a while. I figure I can get used to him, if he turns out not to be a psychopath who’s in on the plot to execute us all.”

“And if he does,” I said, "at least I have you to watch my back.”

“Ditto,” he said.

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “You better survive this,” I said. “Or I’m going to kill you.”

“Deal,” he said. And I wished that, like the stories, true love really did conquer all.

In real life, though, I knew we were going to need a hell of a lot more.

We sat there like that for a few blessed minutes before Kalif’s phone rang. My stomach sank as Kalif reached for it. What would it be this time? More mysterious people watching my mother?

Kalif looked at the caller ID. “It’s my mom,” he said. He didn’t sound thrilled to hear from her, and I couldn’t blame him.

But he answered it. He had to. “Hey,” he said, and listened for a second. He stepped away and went through the steps of their verbal ID. I should have been piecing it together in case I ever needed to fake it, but with things as they were, I couldn’t bring myself to use my spy training as a weapon against Kalif.

“She’s right here,” he said. “I’ll put you on speaker.”

He punched a button, and I heard Aida’s voice, fuzzy and distorted. “I can’t talk long,” she said. “But I was looking through my father’s email and I found something.”

I sat down on the end of the bed. Kalif put his hands on the back of his chair.

There was no way this was going to be good news.

“What did you find?” Kalif asked.

“They’ve been reaching out to their shifter contacts,” she said. “They sent out five emails that I could find, asking their people to look for you two, your father, and Jory’s mother.”

I dug my nails into my palms. Aida shouldn’t know about Damon, and I gave Kalif a warning look. I didn’t want him to tell her.

“Okay,” Kalif said. “We’ll be extra careful.”

“Could you tell where any of the contacts were?” I asked.

“I can’t,” Aida said. “Kalif?”

“I would only be able to tell from replies. Did anyone answer?”

“Yes,” Aida said. “A few of them did. Do you want me to send them to you?”

“Don’t do anything,” Kalif said. “I’m mirroring all their email offsite already. It’s more secure than your position, and I can access it from here. I’ll take a look.”

I put my hands on my knees. Knowing where the shifters were coming from might not help much, but at least it would give us an idea of how many people would be circling in on us immediately.

“Is that it?” I asked. “Nothing new on the lead at the hospital?”

“No,” Aida said. “I haven’t turned up anything yet. I need to go.”

And we needed to move. Staying in one place too long was just asking for one of the many people on our tail to find us. We still hadn’t cycled out that rental car. “Thanks for the heads up,” I said. “And watch my mother. Because if anything happens to her, the deal is off.”

“I know,” Aida said. “I’m doing what I can.”

I took the phone from Kalif. “Make sure it’s enough.”

It didn’t take long for Kalif to track the emails to general geographical sources. Two of the responses came from the east coast, and two more of the emails had no replies. The last came from an ISP in Sacramento.

Kalif looked at me, letting me say it first.

I sighed. “Could be Damon. We know he was in the area around the time this was sent. What was the reply?”

Kalif pulled it up. The response was brief.

I’ll look into it. Might have a lead for you in a day or two.

“Doesn’t look good,” Kalif said.

This time, he didn’t sound jealous, just honest. And he was right. “I’m going to try something,” I said. “Don’t freak out.” And I pulled out my phone and dialed Damon.

He picked up immediately. “Miss me already?” he asked.

“Desperately,” I said, voice full of sarcasm—and back to my higher-than-normal pitch. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kalif mouthing the word, but he smiled, like it was a joke.

Which it was, and I was glad he could see it.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something. I heard that Wendy and Oliver have been trying to get other shifters to look for us. Did they contact you?”

“Yes,” he said.

I blinked. I hadn’t expected him to admit that, even if it was true. “They . . . did?”

Smooth, Jory. Way to sound like you’ve got it all together.

But Damon didn’t mock me. For once, his voice was serious. “Yeah, I got an email from an account they’d traced before. I still watch it, in case they contact me again. I got an email basically offering me safe haven for bringing you in.”

I looked at Kalif and nodded. He stood and leaned closer to the phone, to listen.

“It’s a trap, right?” I wasn’t entirely sure that I wasn’t walking into one right now. “For both of us, I mean. They wouldn’t really give you—"

“They probably would,” Damon said. His voice turned wry. “Why, worried I’m going to turn you in?”

“Always,” I said.

“Ah,” he said. “Now you’re thinking like a shifter.”

Now. Implying that I hadn’t been before. “Hey,” I said. “For all you know, I’m casting my net to bring you in. Had you thought of that?”

The laugh fell out of his voice. “Sweetie,” he said. “Of course I had. That’s their goal, you know? Make it so none of us trust each other if we’re not already on their side.”

I took a deep breath. “So they’re winning?”

“Depends,” Damon said, "on what’s going on inside your head.”

I let my breath out as slowly as I could. It made sense—the Carmines were fighting a psychological war. If they isolated all of us, we’d be much easier to capture and kill, or force to work only for them.

That was true. If my parents had been alone, they’d have died in the Carmines’ basement. But instead they had someone to look for them.

They had me.

I shivered. I didn’t want to be alone in this. But I would be if I let them scare me out of trusting the people by my side.

“Thanks for being honest,” I said.

Damon laughed. “See? Maybe they’re not winning, after all.”

But an evil voice in my head whispered: if he’s working for them, then they just did.

Twenty-four

Kalif snapped his laptop shut. “Let’s go,” he said. “We need to move. All this bad news is making me nervous.”

We switched hotels, this time using personas of a middle-aged couple who bickered about whether they wanted a room with a view close to the elevators, or an isolated room overlooking the parking lot. For once, it felt comfortable to argue with Kalif—part of an act we were performing together.

“The traffic will keep you up all night either way,” I snapped at him. “Pick your poison.”

“If you’re so worried about it,” Kalif said, "you pick.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “You’re not going to blame me when you can’t sleep.”

“I’ll blame you anyway,” Kalif said, slouching with his elbows on the counter. “We’ll take the one by the elevator.”

“Done,” the clerk said, typing something into the computer.

When we got up to the room, neither of us even bothered undressing. We just dumped our clothes on the floor and fell asleep in a tangle on the hotel bed.

I woke up in the morning, clothes wrinkled, but mind clear.

We had work to do—lots of it. I elbowed Kalif.

He groaned and rolled over, rubbing sleep from his eyes. While he used the bathroom, I pulled our phones out of Kalif’s computer bag and laid them on the table, taking inventory. We still had several new ones yet, so we didn’t need to replenish.

If the Carmines were looking for Kalif and for me, they might have emailed me again. I picked up a fresh phone and used it to log into the email they’d used to contact me before.

They’d sent me a single message.

Jory, it said. You don’t have to run. You don’t need to be afraid of us. Bring our grandson back and we’ll add you to the fold. Despite what you think of us, you’ll find safety here, and work worthy of your talents.

It was signed by Oliver Carmine.

Kalif stumbled out of the bathroom and I showed him the email, then powered down the phone. The GPS was off, so even if they could somehow trace the fact that I’d checked the email, they shouldn’t be able to find me here.

But I still wanted to get rid of it. “I’m going to find a Dumpster,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I put on my middle-aged persona and took the stairs down, running them to burn off fear. If Damon was right, the Carmines might be serious about their offer. They wanted to punish and eliminate shifters who broke the rules—who killed normal people or who risked exposing our kind. They knew I hadn’t done that. The gravest sin I’d committed against them was to break my parents out of their custody.

Maybe they saw me like they saw Damon—as a questionable agent who might still be brought under their control. Life might actually be safer working for them. But I couldn’t live with them looking over my shoulder. I couldn’t work for the people who killed my father. And I doubted bringing Kalif back would be enough for them. They’d try to use me to get to my mother.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I found a set of Dumpsters in the alley behind the hotel and dropped the phone in, listening to the satisfying clunk as it hit metal at the bottom.

I paused there, leaning against the stucco wall next to the Dumpster, catching my breath.

The goal of everything I was doing wasn’t just for me to be safe. It was to find safety for all of us. To do that, we had to get away from the Carmines, not work with them. Damon was right. They wanted us to distrust each other. They were trying to sow seeds of doubt and fear, to pit us against each other to make their shelter seem like the only safe option.

But it wasn’t a safe option, and it never would be. I had to stop being so afraid all the time. I was playing right into their hands. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t stop mine from shaking.

I took the stairs slowly on the way back up to the room. When I opened the door, one of Kalif’s cell phones was ringing again.

I shut the door behind me quickly. It had to be Aida.

But Kalif squinted at the phone. “That’s the number I gave the hospital when I filled out your mom’s paperwork.” He handed it to me. “You remember your name?”

“Anne is my mother,” I said. “I’m . . . Amy? Amber?” This was the A names, coming back to bite me.

I answered the phone.

“Hello,” a male voice said. “I’m trying to reach Amber.”

Bingo. “This is she,” I said.

“Hi, Amber. This is Dr. Park, your mother’s physician.”

“Hi,” I said. “Is my mom okay?”

“She was admitted for a seventy-two hour stay,” he said. “But your mother decided to leave early. Have you heard from her?”

My breath caught. Heard from her? If she escaped, where the hell was Aida? “No,” I said. “You just let her check out?”

“She disappeared from her room,” he said. “We were hoping she would contact you, and you could bring her back in.”

My vision spotted. Kalif stood right next to me, steadying me with a hand under my arm. “I will if I hear from her,” I said. If my mother left the hospital, did that mean she’d given up on treatment, or was her safety being threatened? I needed to know more about the situation. “You really have no idea where she went? Don’t you have security cameras?”

“We do,” Dr. Park said. “But I’d really rather not discuss . . .”

He’d rather not discuss how his hospital screwed up and lost my mother. How the footage he was looking at made no logical sense. To be fair to him, it was a miracle she’d stayed this long. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll let you know if I hear from her.”

I hung up and leaned one hand on the table in front of me, using the other to check the email address where my mother knew how to reach me. Even if she didn’t have a phone number for me, she should have tried that, but the inbox was empty.

Had she just ditched me? Or had she gone to the apartment building where we’d agreed to meet up if we were ever separated?

Or did someone else catch up to her?

The room tilted. Kalif took my hand. “Your mom?”

“She’s gone,” I said. “What happened?”

“She may have just left. You said she didn’t feel safe in the hospital.”

“I know. But if she’d left, don’t you think she would have contacted me?”

“She has a way to reach you?”

I nodded.

“Okay, so if she left the hospital, what would be the first thing she would do, if it wasn’t to reach out to you?”

“I don’t know,” I said. She might go to our meet up spot, but why would she resort to that when she could just use the phone? “She told me she’d stay there, so there has to be a reason she left. Either someone took her, or someone threatened her and she split.”

Goose bumps broke out on my arms. Where the hell was Aida? “Get your mom on the phone. She must know something.”

Kalif pulled out the correct cell phone and dialed. Once. Twice. Three times.

Aida didn’t pick up. Kalif sent her a text message, but minutes ticked by, and she didn’t answer.

I swore. “She was supposed to be looking for that person who was skulking around the hospital. We shouldn’t have trusted her to do that. We should have followed up ourselves. I should have—"

Kalif’s hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Stay calm. If my mom wanted to hurt her, she would have done it before, right? My mom might just be tracking her, and can’t pick up because she’s in a sensitive position. Or she might be in the middle of following our mystery person. We’ll follow up on it now. Let’s start with the hospital security. They might not be able to track her on the security tapes, but we probably can.”

He was right, but my mind flashed with images from the last time my mother disappeared—the security tapes we’d seen of her being blindfolded and gagged, the cuts on her face that told an even darker story.

If any of the people after us had her, she might already be dead. And I was the one who begged her to stay in the hospital. I should have known it wouldn’t help. I should have been there for her. I should have taken care of her, instead of ditching her for Kalif and running around chasing Mel.

This time it was her I was going to get killed.

“I wanted her to get help,” I said.

Kalif squeezed my hand. “I know. And we’re still going to help her, okay? But first we have to find her.”

“And make sure she’s okay,” I said.

He nodded. “Just like when your parents were missing,” he said. “You have to hope for the best.”

I tried to grasp that hope, but it slipped through my fingers. This one thought clouded my mind: the last time I had to rescue my parents, only one of them made it out alive.

Twenty-five

I wasn’t sure how long it took Kalif to isolate the security videos on his laptop, but it felt like an eternity. If he hadn’t already had a way in, I would have gone completely insane.

“Here it is,” he said finally. Kalif played the security video backward from the minutes before the nurse found my mom missing. Three people left her room in that time—all nurses, but I only counted two nurses going in. When Kalif slowed down the footage of the three exits, I noticed that two of the nurses appeared to be the same person—a Hispanic woman with floofy hair and wide hips.

The second time she left, she was wearing a hospital mask across her face—the kind doctors wear for surgery.

I scrutinized the image, trying to see the bit of a scar that stretched over her eyebrow, but the nurse’s hair hung down over her eyes in exactly the place that mark would have been.

I had no idea where Mom had gotten the mask, or the scrubs, but I wasn’t going to search through the tapes to find that.

“Makes sense for your mom to be the one who left second,” Kalif said, “Because otherwise the first nurse would have noticed she wasn’t there.”

“As long as they weren’t both shifters,” I said. “Someone could have come in after my mom.” The possibilities were the same as ever: Damon, Aida, Mel, Kalif’s grandparents, the other contacts the Carmines had reached out to. For a moment, I understood the impulse to cut into shifters’ faces, to mark them. I wanted to put house arrest anklets on every last one of them, to track every movement they made.

“Where is your mother in all this?” I asked. “It has to be her. She finally double-crossed us.”

Kalif sat back in his chair, speaking quietly. “Or someone else got to her.” He dialed his phone one more time. I could hear it ring over and over again. Aida didn’t answer. She still hadn’t responded to the text, either.

Kalif put a hand on my arm. “Let’s keep our minds open, okay? My mom could have grabbed her immediately if she wanted to. Your mom could have left at any time. Something changed. We have to figure out what that was.”

I nodded. “Find the tapes of the exit to the psych ward. We need to figure out where they went.”

We traced the nurse we thought was my mother through the hospital, and out the doors into the parking garage. I swore. “She could have gone anywhere from there. That tells us nothing.”

Kalif checked some records. “It tells us that she left before her shift was over. The real her clocks out hours later, after your mother’s disappearance has been discovered.”

I nodded. “Okay. Okay. So that nurse really was there, on duty. Or else the second shifter waited around and finished up her shift, and that nurse is dead in a ditch somewhere.”

It could go either way. Nurses’ movements would be easy to track, because they made notes on computerized charts as they went from room to room, plus they were rigorously scheduled. Impersonating her during her shift would be a risk, but not a ridiculous one.

Kalif searched through the security vids. “Let’s see if we can find when she arrives. If we can track her backward we can see if she did anything suspicious before going to your mother’s room.”

He started another tape, one that showed an image of the checkpoint that led in and out of the psych ward. The receptionist behind the desk had to buzz people in and out. A few visitors went in, and I took mental note as they came and went. I was so focused on looking for the nurse that I didn’t notice the woman with the walker at the security desk until she hobbled out of the frame.

“Back it up,” I said.

Kalif paused, and then reversed.

My eyes widened as Laura shuffled back into the frame, scooting her walker along as she went. In one hand she held a bouquet of lilies. I’d always thought of them as funeral flowers.

Kalif swore. “That’s your neighbor.”

“When is this?” I asked.

“Half an hour before your mother was found missing.”

I watched as Laura talked to the woman behind the desk. She gestured toward the door to the ward a couple of times, and the woman shook her head. In the end, Laura left the flowers and moved away.

I hadn’t told the real Laura what hospital Mom was at. She might have figured it out, but there were more likely possibilities. “Your dad met her,” I said. “He talked to her. He could easily have worked up a persona. He’s using the walker to cover his limp.”

I wondered if he’d done something to get Laura out of the way, or if she’d been home bound enough to satisfy him that he wouldn’t get caught in the act.

“Those flowers she left,” I said. “I wonder where they are now.”

Kalif paused. “You’re worried about a note?”

“If your dad sent a threatening note to my mother, she’d have split. There’s no question. She probably found a way to get a nurse’s uniform and a mask, so she’d be able to get out in a hurry if she needed to.”

Kalif stood. “That’s our lead, then. We need to get our hands on those flowers.”

When we arrived at the hospital, Kalif assumed a nervous persona and set up his laptop one waiting room down from the psych ward, where he could continue to look through the security records and still be nearby if I needed him.

I found a bathroom whose door wasn’t in the direct line of the security cameras and changed into my apartment persona—the one that had been seen by the paramedics, and the doctor in the ER. I worked some tears into my eyes, then checked under the stalls for listeners before I practiced straining my voice to sound like I’d been recently hysterical. It would be a careful balance, being upset enough to garner sympathy but not so upset as to put the receptionist off.

I walked to the psych ward slowly, taking several deep breaths near the security cameras so anyone watching me would think I was steeling myself to deal with family drama. Probably no one would be paying attention, but after seeing Laura on those tapes, I couldn’t be sure.

I walked up to the receptionist—a man this time. It was probably good it wasn’t the same person who was here when my mom turned up missing. The less connected this guy was with the drama, the more likely he was to help me out.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Amber. My mom left today, but I thought she might have abandoned some of her things here.”

He nodded and asked me a series of questions—last name, Mom’s birth date, the day she’d checked in. When I passed his quiz, he didn’t even bother looking up Mom’s records in the computer.

“Your mom didn’t check out,” he said. “Did you receive a phone call?”

“I know she’s missing,” I said. “That’s why I thought she might not have taken her personal things.”

The receptionist made a note. “Have you heard from her?”

“No,” I said. “I told the doctor I’d call if I did, but I haven’t been able to reach her.”

He looked apologetic. “A police report’s been filed. It’s mandatory, because we were required to hold her for seventy-two hours.”

“I understand,” I said. “I know it’s serious, and believe me, I want her to get treatment more than anyone.”

He nodded. “Security is still trying to figure out what happened.”

I hoped they didn’t try too hard. If Aida was no longer throwing the Carmines off the hospital trail, they wouldn’t be able to miss an escaped mental patient with a hospital record of scars exactly like Mom’s, and they wouldn’t be quick to forgive the potential exposure.

I really hoped Aida’s frantic cover was the reason she wasn’t answering her phone.

“I’m not here to accuse anyone,” I said. “Can I just have her things? Unless the police needed to take them for evidence?”

“No,” the receptionist said. “Let me just check with the nurse, and then I’ll get them for you.”

“Thanks,” I said.

It took long agonizing minutes, but then a nurse—not the double my mom had used—came out with an opaque plastic bag. Sticking out of the top was an array of baby’s breath and lilies.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll call when I hear something.”

The nurse looked like she wanted to talk, but I took the bag out of her hand and turned around quickly, and she didn’t stop me from leaving.

I made myself return to the bathroom before I inspected the bag. Inside were Mom’s jeans and her shoes, though her shirt was gone. I remembered her sleeve soaked in bile, and hoped they’d just thrown it away. I wondered if they’d had to cut it off her in order to pump her stomach.

Attached to the lilies was a small card, in an envelope that had already been opened. I pulled it out and looked at the tiny handwriting.

See you soon.

The note was signed Shanna Remorre. I squinted at the card. That name didn’t mean anything to me. I carried the bag down the hall to ask Kalif if he recognized it, but found him rushing toward me, his laptop tucked under his arm. “We have to go,” he said, beckoning me toward the front of the hospital.

Against my will, I froze in place. “What’s going on?”

He stepped close, speaking low in my ear. “The computer activity,” he said. “Your mother accessed the internet from the nurses’ station.”

“And?” I asked.

“She looked up my mother’s address.”

“What?” I asked. “How would she know where she lives?”

“I don’t know,” Kalif said. “But she had the name that my mom’s using as an alias.”

My skin went cold. “Shanna Remorre.”

Kalif shot me a look. “How did you know that?”

“It’s the way Laura signed the card.”

Kalif’s grip grew tight on my arm.

“Ouch,” I said.

He let go. “Sorry. But Laura had to have been my father.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Why would your father lead my mother to your mother?”

“I don’t know,” Kalif said. “But her phone just keeps ringing and ringing. I can’t get through.”

A dull ache formed at the top of my spine. “I don’t know who’s setting up whom here,” I said. “But we need to get to your mother’s apartment. Now.”

Twenty-six

We reached the parking lot and ran for the car. I took the driver’s seat so he could try calling Aida again. Her phone rang and rang. The disposables didn’t go to voice mail.

He hung up the phone and sent another text message, but still she didn’t respond.

I pulled through the parking lot. "“Give me the address,” I said. Kalif sat with his smart phone on his lap, the GPS giving me directions. I glanced down at the phone. Aida lived forty minutes away, which meant that anything could happen to her before we arrived.

As I pulled onto the freeway, Kalif tried her number again with a different phone, but she still didn’t pick up. “I can try texting again,” he said.

I nodded. “Or emailing? Maybe she had to ditch the phone.”

He nodded and plugged away at the phone.

I put a hand on his elbow. “Do you think something already happened to her?” I asked.

He dug his fingers into his hair. “I don’t know.”

As I drove, I realized we didn’t even have a plan, beyond getting to her apartment.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

Kalif shook his head. “I really don’t know.”

I pushed down on the gas pedal.

“Don’t get pulled over,” Kalif said. “I have a license on me, but you don’t, do you?”

I didn’t. I took my foot off the gas and set the cruise control. I didn’t trust myself not to unintentionally speed.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s talk it out.”

“Your mom is going to kill my mom,” Kalif said. “And my dad might want to kill them both.”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure what Mel’s intentions were toward Aida, but he’d made his intentions toward my mother and me clear enough. “And the Carmines want to enslave us all, more or less.”

Kalif nodded, staring at the dash.

I tried to keep my focus on the road, when all I wanted was to hold onto him. “And I think they’re winning,” I said.

Kalif looked at me.

“I know you’re not going to love this, but whatever his intentions, Damon is right. They want us separated, because it makes us weaker. You and I are working together, but everyone else is still tearing each other apart.”

Except Aida. As far as I could tell, she’d done exactly what she’d told me she could do. It was her asshole husband who’d come around to mess things up again.

“You wish they’d cooperate with us,” Kalif said, "so we could face the real threat.”

I nodded. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“Not with my father. I wouldn’t trust him for half a second.”

At least one member of Kalif’s family had a healthy outlook about Mel. Even if I could count on Aida in some circumstances, I still couldn’t count on her for that. “But your mother didn’t sell my mother out,” I said. “It looks like she actually did protect her. She’s been working with us, when she could have turned us in at any time.”

“So you want to work with her,” Kalif said. “Really trust her.”

“I think so,” I said. “What about you?”

Kalif thought for a moment, which I had to give him credit for, given that we were talking about his mother. “I think you’re right. I think we can trust her, at least with some things. If we’re smart about it.”

“I want more than that,” I said. “I’m sick of lying, of hiding. I want to convince my mom to cooperate with you and your mother. Then we’d have at least four of us working together again—plus possibly Damon. And even if the Carmines and their people still far outnumber us, at least we’d have that much to go on.”

Kalif was silent. I pulled off onto an exit and switched freeways, following the GPS directions.

“Do you even think that’s possible?” he asked.

If you’d asked me yesterday, I would have said no. But the deeper into this we got, the more convinced I was that I couldn’t help my mother alone. If she wouldn’t trust anyone else—maybe not even me—then there was no way I could continue to cover for her.

But above all, I didn’t want to lose her.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But unless you have any better ideas, I think we have to try.”

Kalif nodded. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.”

My shoulders sank. Mom hated Kalif. She hated Aida. She blamed them both for Dad’s death.

But if we didn’t all stop laying blame and start working our asses off to survive, not a one of us was going to make it out of this alive.

“This is stupid,” I said. “Everything about all of this is stupid.”

Kalif drew a deep breath. “I know,” he said. “I just hope it’s not already too late.”

Kalif picked up his phone and dialed his mother for the bazillionth time.

This time, miraculously, she picked up.

Kalif was quiet for a moment, listening. I could hear snatches of Aida’s voice through the receiver, but I couldn’t make out the words. Then he responded: “Seven,” he said. “And you?”

He waited for Aida’s response before he continued. “Mom. Jory’s mom left the hospital and she knows where you are, and we think Dad does, too. Are you okay?”

I gripped the steering wheel, fighting the urge to ask him to put it on speaker.

“And have they found the hospital records?” He paused again. “Good. We’ll meet you there.”

Then he hung up the phone. “She was with my grandparents. They don’t know about your mom yet. My mom just got away from them, so she can meet us at a gas station and we can bring her on board with your plan.”

I rolled my shoulders back, trying to appear more confident—not to fool Kalif, but to convince myself that I had a shot in hell of getting Mom and Aida to agree.

Kalif gave me the address of the gas station where we were going to meet Aida. We were halfway there when one of my cell phones rang in my pocket. I shifted to dig it out—it was the one with Damon’s name scrawled on it in black marker.

I answered. “Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to hear your gorgeous voice,” Damon said.

I looked over at Kalif. He had his head inclined toward me. He was listening to all of this, but we couldn’t discuss it until I got off the phone.

Damon coughed. “Okay,” he said. “I’m bored and wondering how you were doing on that lead.”

“Lead is sidelined,” I said. “Something else came up.”

“You need help with that? You and your boy toy seem like you’re in trouble.”

My stomach sank. Did he mean in general, or right this minute? I kept one hand on the steering wheel and one on the phone, trying to decide how to respond.

Kalif unbuckled his seatbelt to lean closer, and a warning light appeared on the dash, along with a loud beep. I moved my finger to cover the phone receiver.

Kalif buckled his belt again and mouthed "sorry" at me.

“Where are you headed?” Damon asked.

My heart paused. “What?”

“You’re in a car, aren’t you? I can hear it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “So I am.”

“Not skipping town on me, are you sugar?”

I didn’t like the possessiveness in his tone, like he’d be upset if I did that. “Going to meet someone. What of it?”

“Need backup?”

If he was my friend, he just wanted to help, and I was being extra paranoid. If he was against me, he’d want to worm his way in to spy on us. And I had no way to tell which was which.

But I wanted to.

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. I’ll text you the address, okay?”

“Deal. Thanks.”

I blinked. “For what?”

Damon’s voice was wry. “For letting me grace you with my presence.”

Yeah. I could consider the Carmine’s wedge effectively driven. “See you soon,” I said, and hung up the phone.

“Okay,” Kalif said. “Tell me how this plays into the plan.”

I sat back in my seat. “I want to know if we can trust him,” I said. “And the only way to know is to give him the chance to betray us and see if he does. Besides, if he’s working against us, it’s not a coincidence that he called now, right? He already knows something, possibly even where we’re headed. It’s probably a trap, but this way, we can make it into our trap.”

Kalif took the phone from me, and tucked my hand in his. “You know how we’re going to do that?”

“I’m working on a few ideas.”

Kalif shook his head. “I think you might be the one who needs a shrink. Your delusions of grandeur are starting to get out of control.”

I glanced over him, and the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile. I hoped that meant his morale wasn’t as low as it probably should have been.

“Are you with me?” I asked.

He took my finger, retracing the ring. “Always,” he said.

I smiled. All I could hope was that his confidence wasn’t misplaced.

Twenty-seven

On the way to the gas station where Aida said to meet her, I had Kalif text Damon the apartment address. Then we pulled through a back alley and changed our personas. We picked a couple in their twenties—me with long white-blonde hair and Kalif with a spiky, messy cut.

From what I could tell, the gas station was three or four blocks from Aida’s apartment. When we pulled into the parking lot, Kalif pointed her out—she stood outside the gas station slurping a soda, dressed as a teenage guy in skinny jeans with his hair spiked at awkward angles.

“You’re sure that’s her?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Kalif said. “I’ve seen the persona before.”

He didn’t give me other details, but when I pulled up alongside the guy, he came over to the window and offered Kalif his hand. I reached across the car to check as well. Sure enough, it was Aida.

I unlocked the door and let her climb in the back, then pulled around the side of the gas station, where we’d be out of view of the street, and parked.

“Have you heard from your mother?” Aida asked.

I shook my head.

“We need to find her,” Aida said. “She’s a danger to herself.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt and eyed Aida. Just a few months ago she’d sent my mother to be executed. Now she was worried Mom might die by her own hand?

“If she’s headed to your apartment,” Kalif said, "we have an opportunity to find her.”

“She might wait for me there,” Aida said. “I can intercept her, and bring her to meet you.”

“No,” I said. “She doesn’t trust you. If she’s looking for you, it’s probably to hurt you. I’m the one who has to talk to her. It makes more sense for me to go to the apartment, except . . .”

“Except Dad’s also on our tail,” Kalif said.

Aida put her hand on the back of my seat. “It was him, wasn’t it?” she asked. “Poking around at the hospital.”

Kalif nodded.

“It would be dangerous even if he wasn’t. What if your mother burned the place down with you inside?”

I had a sudden picture of myself, trapped inside a burning building, flames rising around me.

But burning down an apartment building could kill so many other people, and wasn’t an effective way to ensure Aida’s demise, if that’s what Mom wanted.

This was personal. If she was going to kill Aida, she’d kill her while looking her in the eye.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think she’d go that far.”

“I could wait,” Aida said, "in your body. You could tell me what to say.”

I shook my head. I’d have to give her my hand signal for that, and I wouldn’t. Not under any circumstances. My parents hadn’t even given those up when the Carmines tortured them. “It has to be me,” I said. “She doesn’t trust anyone else.” She might not even trust me. But I was her daughter. If anyone could intercept her, I could. “But we need to talk about what happens after I get to her.”

Aida looked resigned. “You mean that once you have her back, our deal is off.”

“Actually,” I said. “I mean the opposite.”

Aida’s brow knit in confusion.

I turned around in my seat to look her in the eye. “You’ve helped us so far, keeping my mother safe. And I appreciate it. But I’m tired of running, and I’m tired of hiding. I think if we all work together instead of fighting each other, we’ll have a better chance of finding real safety. Of not spending the rest of our lives running in fear.”

Aida watched me, and she seemed to be following. This was the test of the plan. If I couldn’t convince Aida, I’d never be able to convince my mother.

“I’d like us all to work together again,” I said. “You, me, Kalif, and my mom. But this time, no secrets. This time, we’re all on the same side. Because we’re all in danger, and we all need each other’s help.” I took a deep breath, studying Aida’s stoic expression. “Are you in?”

Aida nodded. “Jory,” she said. “I’ve been trying to work with you since before you broke your parents out. I never meant for anything to happen to you, and I wouldn’t have put your parents in danger like that if I’d known that they were innocent of all those murders.”

She seemed sincere, and what she said was mostly true. She hadn’t done anything to hurt me or my parents since she’d found out the truth—though I had a hard time overlooking that time she walked away while Mel had his hands on my throat. And if she’d always suspected that Kalif was in contact with me, she hadn’t been trying all that hard to make it up to me until recently.

Still, she hadn’t been overtly working against me, from what I could tell. And over the last few days, she’d had plenty of opportunity.

Now for the second part. “Here’s the thing,” I said. “We’re pretty sure that Mel knew what alias you were using to get your apartment.”

Aida hesitated. “I did that on purpose, so he’d be able to find us.”

Kalif stared at her.

I put a hand on his arm. We had to lay aside how crazy it was for Aida to want her murderer husband to find her and her son. She’d always had a blind spot when it came to him, which was exactly what made this next part of the plan so hard to pitch.

“But if that’s the case,” I said, "then Mel will have known where you were before this. He could have come for you at any time, but he didn’t.”

“That’s because my parents know about the apartment,” she said. “He must have been too afraid to contact me there.”

I gave her a look. “If Mel wanted to get in touch with you, he would.”

Aida’s lip gave a microscopic quiver.

This woman was either the world’s best actress, or the most messed up person I’d ever met.

Quite possibly, she was both.

“My point is,” I said, "he knew where you were, and he was the one who pointed my mother straight at you. He left a message for my mom, purposely giving you away. Why would he do that, do you think?”

Aida looked up at the car ceiling, which on her hipster persona looked oddly appropriate—until I saw the area under her eyes tighten.

She was trying not to cry.

Kalif unbuckled and turned around in his seat, looking at her. He spoke plainly, but not harshly. “He sent Jory’s mom there to hurt you, Mom. You have to face it.”

The look Aida gave him looked surly on her male face. “No,” she said. “He was delivering her to me. He wants me to turn her over to my parents, so we can bargain for your father to come home.”

I froze. “You talked to him?”

Aida shook her head. “No. I don’t have to. He’s my husband. I know how he thinks.”

I thought about what Kalif said, about how his parents had never actually been married. About how Mel was, in fact, married to that other woman, legal identity or not.

We might all be masters of deception, but Aida was best at deceiving herself. At this point, I figured Mel was laying a trap, hoping to catch as many of us in it as he could, and then using the lot of us to bargain with the Carmines by himself, without Aida’s help.

If he had to, I imagined he’d even sell her out to strike a deal with them.

“And you think it’s possible to make a deal with them,” I said. “You think you can really get them to agree to overlook those murders he committed.”

Aida looked down at her hands. “Yes,” she said. “If Mel brings your mother in, they’ll cut a deal with him, as long as he’s willing to fall in line and work for them from then on.”

I stared at her. The Carmines might see themselves as peace keepers, but that was just another kind of deception. Without real shifter laws and government, they were nothing but vigilantes. Really well organized vigilantes with a ton of power, funding, and information, who wanted everyone to act docile and toe the line.

Actually, that sounded like most governments, now that I thought about it.

“And what now?” I asked. “Do you want to let him do that?”

Aida put a hand on my shoulder, loosened her tear ducts, and let a single calculated drop escape. “No. I told you I would protect your mother, and I will. I know she’s not a murderer. What happened to your father is partly my fault. I won’t let the same thing happen to your mom, I swear it.”

My own lip quivered. I wanted to believe her. She was offering me what I wanted more than anything: allies.

But I couldn’t trust her completely. Not yet. Not because of what happened in the past, but because of what I was looking at right now in her eyes.

Brokenness. Aida wouldn’t be ready to really work together until she could face the truth about her life, and own it.

“And what about Mel?” I asked.

Aida’s face darkened. “I’ll find him, and I’ll make him see reason. He owes me, after these last few months. After . . . what you two found. And the closer I am to him, the easier it will be for me to protect you from him.”

My heart sunk. No, Aida wasn’t ready. She was still delusional. And from the sunken expression on Kalif’s face, I could tell that he knew it, too.

Still, I needed her cooperation. We were going into her apartment, and she already knew too much.

“Okay,” I said. “Here’s what you can do: stay out of this next bit.”

She faltered. “What?”

“You walk away right now,” I said. “Let me handle my mother. We’ll get her out, and away from both you and Mel.” I looked her in the eye. “You do this for me, and if we find him in the meantime—and there’s a good chance we will—I won’t hurt him if I don’t have to, and we won’t turn him in to the Carmines. We’ll contact you instead, and point you right at him.”

I waited for Aida to refuse. Instead, she sat back in her seat, appearing to consider it.

“I’ll back her up, Mom,” Kalif said. “We have resources you don’t know about.”

Aida opened her mouth, and I waited for a snotty reply about how I was in over my head, about how I couldn’t hope to handle my mother or Mel without her. Hell, she probably would have been right.

But Aida leaned forward, hands clasped in front of her, elbows on her knees. “Okay,” she said.

Kalif narrowed his eyes at her. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she said again. “You’re right. I’ve made a mess out of everything.” She looked up, but instead of talking to Kalif, she focused on me. “Just do me one favor.”

I tried to imagine a favor I’d want to do for Aida, and failed. “What?”

She reached into her pocket, then held out her hand. Inside was a small case that looked like a tiny cell phone, or a strangely shaped compact. “It’s a tracker,” she said.

I stared at it.

“I want you to carry it with you. It won’t trace you unless you turn it on. But it has a panic button. If you get in over your head, call for help.”

I took the case from her. Kalif should be able to examine it and tell me how likely it was to work the way she said. And I could always toss it in a garbage can on our way if he thought it wouldn’t. “Okay,” I said. “Done.”

“And one more thing. When you walk through the apartment door, head right into the kitchen. Inside the upper cabinet closest to the door, there’s a signal scrambler. Turn that on, and my parents won’t see or hear anything that happens in there.”

Kalif shook his head. “They’ll notice. We can’t use that unless it’s an emergency.”

“I think this qualifies,” I said. “But the last thing we need is to bring them down on us.”

“I’ll cover for you,” Aida said. “Make sure they don’t see. But I won’t be able to keep that up forever, so as soon as your mom shows up, get her out of there, and turn the scrambler off as you leave.”

I nodded. The idea of heading into a Carmine-watched apartment to confront either my mother or Mel—both of whom might be intending to commit murder today—was the definition of my personal hell.

But what was my alternative? Let them all kill each other?

“Thank you,” I said to Aida.

She nodded to me, and opened the car door. “Call me,” she said to Kalif. “I expect to hear from you by tonight.”

Then she got out of the car, slammed the door, and walked into the gas station.

“I did not expect her to agree to that,” Kalif said.

I shook my head. “Me either. Do you think I asked for the right thing?”

Kalif nodded. “There was no way we could take her into this situation. If my dad shows up, there’s too much of a chance she’d side with him.”

I squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

And if nothing else, I was glad one member of their family could see things clearly.

I turned around and buckled my seatbelt. Being around Kalif’s parents made my brain hurt. I imagined it was worse for him, because despite everything, he loved them. “Let’s find my mother,” I said. “And go. We can sort out the rest after we’re sure we’re away from your father.”

Kalif nodded and buckled his own seatbelt, and I couldn’t help feeling that all the safety devices in the world weren’t going to protect us from what was coming.

I tossed him the tracker. “Tell me if we should throw that thing out.”

“Obviously we should,” he said. “Unless you think my mother will really help us.” He paused. “Though she probably planted other trackers while she was in here. If we really want to get away from her, we should switch cars.”

I shrugged. “She knows where we’re going. We can leave the car at her apartment and call it in for the rental company later.”

Kalif nodded. “Might as well keep this for now, then.” He handed the tracker back to me, and I shoved it into my pocket. “Let’s get this over with. We want to find your mom before my father does.”

I nodded. Mom’s life had to be my first priority.

Once she was secure, we could worry about everything else.

We swung by a discount clothing store after hashing out a simple plan. If I was the one who needed to intercept my mother, it made sense for me to go into the apartment alone—but if Mel was looking to use this as a trap, he might just as easily be the one to show up first, and I had no idea what face he’d be wearing if he did.

In the end, we decided that I would go into the apartment wearing Aida’s face, assuming that Mel was a greater threat than my mom, and he’d be more likely to want to use Aida than to kill her. My mother wasn’t exactly cold blooded—she’d probably want to confront Aida before hurting her, which would give me time to talk her down.

In case that plan backfired, Kalif would act as my backup, wearing the persona of a plain-clothes parking enforcement guy and walking around inspecting the cars for parking stickers and monitoring the area. He’d be able to give me a heads up when anyone arrived—including but not limited to Damon, my mother, and Mel.

We both wore an ear bud in one ear, with our cell phones on in our pockets. We’d be able to use the connection to give each other real-time updates. Hopefully I’d be able to find my mom, talk some sense into her, and get out. I didn’t need her to be emotionally whole yet—just functional and smart enough to flee with Kalif and me, and to begin to see that we all needed to cooperate or we were each going to die desperate and alone.

Kalif and I circled the apartment complex once with the car. Damon didn’t appear to have arrived yet—if he was driving here from Sacramento, he might not arrive for a while, even if he’d left right away. If he was here, he wasn’t hanging around looking like a hooker, that was for sure. In fact, except for a man in a business suit who parked his car and ran up to a top-floor apartment, the only things I saw in the parking lot were a few empty cars.

“Here,” Kalif said, handing me a key. “That’ll open the apartment.”

“Okay,” I said.

He parked the car in a visitor’s space near the entrance of the lot. It was on the far side of the complex from Aida’s apartment, so we could each approach from opposite directions.

“Number twenty-three,” he said, "ground floor.” He squeezed my hand.

“Here goes.” I climbed out of the car wearing Aida’s face, and strode up to the building on the far side using Aida’s brisk, purposeful walk.

I allowed myself one quick glance over my shoulder. Kalif strolled down a row of cars, making notes on a pad of paper he’d bought at the store.

I focused on my gait as I moved toward the apartment. I didn’t know when I’d learned that Aida walked on the balls of her feet, her back rod-straight and her head held high, but I knew that I knew it. I had to dull my skin to keep my pounding heart from making me look flushed. More than anything, I wished we had a more complicated plan. All the research we’d done last time we’d rescued my mother—the codes and the eye scans and the carefully planned outfits—they’d all formed a sort of armor around me. Made me feel invincible. My sharp pants suit covered more of me than most of the clothes I wore, but I felt like I was walking in naked.

As I hurried down the last row of apartments, I checked the numbers out of the corner of my eye, making sure not to obviously look.

There it was. Number twenty-three. I stepped up to the door, breathing shallowly to keep from panting. Aida wouldn’t be nervous opening her door. If we hadn’t warned her, Aida wouldn’t have anything to worry about.

I unlocked the apartment door, opened it, and stepped into the dark.

Twenty-eight

Using the light from the open doorway, I found the light switch on the side of Aida’s door and turned it on. As I did, I couldn’t help but remember Aida’s words about my mother possibly burning the building down around me.

I’d said she wouldn’t do that.

Would she?

No. If my mother wanted to be sure to take Aida out, she’d probably steal a gun on her way. That would slow her down, and might be the reason we seemed to have beaten her here.

But she might not wait for a hand signal to shoot me.

Crap. If I’d had more time, I would have acquired some body armor.

“I’m in,” I said to Kalif in a low voice. “I’m going to check the apartment.”

“No new cars have arrived since you went in,” he said. “And there’s no one hiding out in any of these. I checked through the windows. I saw a cop car drive by, but he didn’t stop, and he hasn’t been back.”

That was good news. If the place wasn’t being staked out, that meant we’d probably beaten everyone here.

Unless one or more of them was already inside the apartment. I stuck my hand into my pocket, fingering the panic button. Pushing it would only bring Aida down on us—and I couldn’t trust her to help me yet, especially not if it came down to a fight between me, Mom, and Mel.

But still, holding it made me feel better. Like maybe, just maybe, Kalif and I weren’t totally alone in this. More than anything, I wanted that to be true.

The first thing I did was step into the kitchen and open the cabinet, finding the signal scrambler right where Aida said it would be, between a pair of salt and pepper shakers. I turned it on, and tried to relax. If the Carmines were looking at the cameras, or actively monitoring the bugs they surely had in this apartment, then they’d notice the signal drop, and possibly send someone to investigate.

But Aida said she’d cover for me, and as far as I could tell, she’d been able to do so effectively for the last few days.

I was in too deep not to trust her now. Plus she’d been prepared to shut their feeds down if she needed to, and I had to take any inclination of hers to work against her parents as a very good sign.

I moved through the living room, checking quickly to make sure all the blinds were down. Like a true paranoid shifter, Aida had several layers of window dressing covering all the windows in the front of the apartment.

I let my face melt into my own. If my mother was lurking around here, the last thing I needed was for her to knock me over the head, thinking I was Aida.

I moved through the apartment as quickly as I could, like ripping off the Band-Aid. I checked all the corners, all the closets, behind every piece of furniture. Aida had decorated the place sparsely, but she had several things that weren’t necessary. Three art prints hung on the wall, depicting the skyline of San Francisco in geometric shapes. An end table was stacked with books on art, as well—I wondered if they were there as set dressing, or if Aida was planning on hitting a museum.

Her bed was stacked with pillows and fluffy blankets, but I couldn’t help but notice that she’d gotten a twin. I’d been in her bedroom when she lived near my parents—she and Mel had slept in a king. She might be looking for Mel, but she wasn’t planning on taking him back into her bed immediately.

At least that was something.

Through the last door I tried, I found what must have been Kalif’s room. He’d taken a lot of his tech with him, but a server was still here, and his desk and floor were littered with cables and circuit boards and computer parts that I didn’t know the proper names for. His bed was also a twin, and it was still unmade, the covers thrown onto the floor. He’d never been one for keeping his space tidy.

In his room, I found nothing else except for his scent. I wished he was in here with me, to help me handle this.

At least he was outside. He’d have more freedom to help from there, if something went wrong.

When something went wrong.

I was about to announce the all clear into my headset when a knock banged on the front door, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“Hey,” I said into my headset. “Someone’s at the door. Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Crap,” Kalif said. “I didn’t see anyone approach, but I had to mute the phone to argue with a guy parking in a red zone.”

I moved toward the front of the apartment. “Not really the point, is it?”

“What do you want me to do?” Kalif asked. “I had to keep up my cover.”

“What I want you to do is warn me when people are coming,” I said.

“Sorry,” he said. “Next time, I want a computer and a set of security cameras. Do you want me to intervene with whoever it is?”

“Hang on,” I said. “Let me check it out.”

I looked through the peephole in the front door and found a man standing there—the persona Damon had worn when we went to check out the police station.

“Never mind,” I said. “It’s Damon.”

“Okay. I’m waiting just around the corner, but he can’t see me from here.”

This was my chance. My opportunity to test him, to see if he was working for the Carmines.

I put Aida’s face back on and opened the door.

“Hi,” Damon said. “I was told to meet someone here.”

I made a show of looking behind him, to make sure no one else was listening. “Yes,” I said. “I’m Aida. Wendy told me she was sending someone.”

I locked my face down, holding it perfectly still in one of Aida’s severe-but-innocuous expressions.

Damon gave me a conspiratorial smile. “The girl you’re all after,” he said. “I found her for you. She’s expecting to meet me here soon. I’ll help you contain her.”

I locked down my muscles, forcing myself not to react. My heart still picked up pace, and I struggled to slow it.

Was Damon working against us? Had Kalif been right about him all along?

My dad had this trick when he was in tense situations—he stimulated the part of his brain that produced serotonin to calm himself down and make himself feel like he could handle things. He’d tried to explain to me how he did it, but I couldn’t figure it out. I’d never felt bad about it—my mom never got good at it, either.

But at that moment, I really could have used that trick. With my skin tone locked even and my muscles all held at calculatingly casual angles, I felt trapped inside the prison of my own skin. If I could have crawled out of it and run screaming, I would have.

But I couldn’t. I had to be cool. I had to play this to my advantage. So I did the only thing I could think of: I stepped aside and let Damon into the apartment. This was part of the con. Figure out that he was working against us.

And then . . . crap, what was I supposed to do now?

“Who’s on the phone?” Damon asked, pointing to my ear bud.

“No one right now,” I said. I hoped Kalif could still hear, if only so he’d have the sense not to charge in here and get us both killed. “But I was just talking to Wendy. She wants us to move forward with the plan.”

Damon gave one slight nod, like he knew exactly what I was talking about—like there was a plan between the three of them—and walked farther into the apartment. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

Did I mind if he locked himself in a small enclosed space in which I might be able to trap him? Not at all. Be my guest. “It’s through there,” I said, pointing in the direction where I’d just seen it.

Damon gave me one more nod and ducked down the hall. I heard the bathroom door swing shut behind him.

Adrenaline rushed through me, and I looked around for something to leverage the door shut. There was a window in there of course, but I might at least slow him down while I made a run for it.

And then did what? I still had to find my mother. I couldn’t let her walk into this trap.

“Kalif,” I said. “Damon just told me he’s looking to turn us in to the Carmines.”

Kalif was quiet for a second. “Do you think he meant it?”

“It sounded like it,” I said.

“Get out of there,” Kalif said.

“I can’t. My mom might arrive any minute. Hang on.” I grabbed one of the chairs from the kitchen table. I might be able to put it under the doorknob and buy myself some time to think, at least. Not that I was doing my best thinking right now, because I obviously wasn’t.

The phone in my pocket buzzed.

Not the one with the connection with Kalif, but the one I’d used to call Damon.

What the hell?

“Jory,” Kalif said.

“Hang on,” I said again. I pushed talk and held the phone to my ear, speaking quietly so the Damon in the bathroom wouldn’t hear. “Hello?”

“Jory,” he said, his voice serious again. “I’m at the apartment where you said to meet you. But there’s a woman named Aida here and she thinks I’m with the Carmines. I’m going out the bathroom window in a second, but I thought you should know it’s a trap. Stay clear, okay?”

I blinked at the wall.

“It’s a trap?” I said quietly.

“No kidding,” Kalif said over my ear bud.

“Yes. T-R-A-P. Aida thought I was someone she was waiting for. I don’t know how many of them there are, but I think it’s best if we beat it and meet up later at another location, okay? One I’m not going to arrange from inside this place.”

My body relaxed. Maybe this was all part of an elaborate con, but more likely he’d just played along, so he could get out of here in one piece. If he was really working with the Carmines, he wouldn’t warn me.

I lowered the phone from my ear and spoke quietly to Kalif. “Never mind,” I said. “Damon is clean.”

“Do you want me to—" Kalif said.

“No,” I said. “I need you to watch my back.”

“Okay,” Kalif said.

I raised the phone to speak to Damon again. “Come out of the bathroom, Damon,” I said through the phone, but loud enough he’d also be able to hear me through the door. “Aida is me. The real Aida isn’t here, but she gave me the key. I was checking to see if you were with the Carmines.”

Damon stepped out of the bathroom, still wearing his persona. He held out a hand. After we’d verified each other’s identities, we both sighed.

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” I said.

“Same here,” Damon said.

“Have you been waiting all this time for me to betray you to them?”

Damon gave me half a smile. “Hell, yes. You, too?”

“Obviously,” I said. “Sorry, but I needed to be sure.”

Damon smiled. “So what are we really doing here?”

I took a deep breath. “We’re looking for my mother.”

“The one the Carmines asked me to find.”

“Right. She’s been in the hospital, and I was worried if you were looking, you’d find her.”

Through my earbud, Kalif sighed. “Can we bare our souls to each other later?”

He didn’t sound angry, and where Damon was concerned, that was progress.

“Okaaay,” Damon said. “But if she’s been in the hospital, why are you looking for her here?”

My mind swam. There was too much back story, and too much pressure right now to sort out what I should tell and what I shouldn’t.

I hated the person I became when I had to constantly question the motives of everyone I knew. And lately, that was all the time.

I needed to cut it out.

“It’s a long story,” I said. “I can fill you in later. But my boyfriend is outside pretending to issue parking tickets. Between the two of you, maybe you could monitor the building and let me know when someone approaches.” For real this time.

Over my earbud, Kalif chimed in: “This sounds like a buddy comedy waiting to happen.”

I smiled. Yes. This was definitely progress.

Damon hesitated. “I at least need the Cliffnotes version. I get the feeling you’re in deep trouble. And I’m in it with you.”

I took a step back. “Your feeling is right,” I said. “I’m expecting my mother to show up any minute, and she wants to kill the person whose persona I’m wearing. We’re also looking for Mel, the guy who shot you in the knee, and I don’t know which of them will show up first. If you want to split, I understand.”

Damon took another step toward me. “I’m saying I want to help you. I’m being serious here.”

He was. I could tell by the way he hadn’t hit on me even once since he’d entered the apartment.

I opened my mouth to accept his help.

And that’s when another knock came on the apartment door.

“Kalif?” I said.

“Yes?” he said over the headset.

“Is there someone else at the door?”

“I’d circled around the back of the building,” he said. “Let me check.”

I heard a scuffling noise and a long pause, and then Kalif swore. “Yes, there’s someone there,” he said. “And that person is wearing my father’s face.”

Twenty-nine

“Okay,” I said, moving toward the door. “There’s someone outside who may be Mel. You ready to back me up?”

Damon nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Okay,” I said. “Regardless of who it is, I want you to subdue them. Don’t kill them, though.”

Damon nodded. “Unarmed takedowns are kind of a specialty of mine.”

I nodded, looking at his muscles under his t-shirt. That, I could believe.

Damon put his back to the wall next to the door, waiting as I looked through the peephole and found someone with Mel’s face standing immediately outside the door. As I stood there, he raised one hand and knocked again, loudly. His other hand stretched across his face, and he peered through his fingers at the peephole impatiently. He rubbed the side of his nose with his thumb, like what he was doing was the most annoying thing in the world.

Mel tended to get that expression whenever anyone inconvenienced him. And he could probably already see my shadow through the hole, and had maybe heard us coming up to the door.

“Okay,” I whispered, putting my hand on the doorknob. “On three.”

“One, two,” Damon said.

“Three,” I said, and I grabbed the door handle and jerked the door open.

Mel sprang into action the moment the door cracked. He shoved the door right into me, hitting me in the shoulder as I ducked out of the way. Mel charged into the room, focused entirely on me. When he got far enough into the room to be clear of the door, Damon grabbed him from behind, throwing him to the ground and pinning him down. Damon’s foot caught the door, slamming it closed again.

I backed away from them. And that’s when I got a good look at Mel’s face, covered in scars that stretched across his nose and cheek.

My relief was so overwhelming it took me a second too long to speak. “Mom!” I said.

Damon glanced up at me only for a split second, but it was enough. Mom twisted one arm away from him, pulling something long and metal from the belt of her pants.

A crowbar.

“Look out!” I shouted at Damon, but Mom was too quick; she whipped the crowbar up, taking Damon in the knee.

The injured knee he shared with Mel.

Damon shouted in pain, buckling over his bad leg, and Mom scrambled out from under him, lifting the crowbar above his head.

Like an idiot, I shrieked instead of attacking. The bar took Damon across the side of his face, whipping his neck to the side. I recognized the maneuver immediately: Mom was trying to knock him out without killing him, though she obviously didn’t care enough about his life not to hit him in the head with a metal bar.

Damon fell to the floor, his body making a heavy thump on the hard wood of the entryway.

I scrambled backward. My mom was far better in combat than me, and I didn’t want to take the next hit before I could explain. My phone fell out of my pocket, and I saw that I’d lost my connection to Kalif. Why hadn’t he tried to call back? Was he waiting just outside the apartment?

Mom raised the crowbar in my direction, and I stumbled back another step, letting my Aida persona drop, shifting back into my home face—not that I thought that would convince her, but it couldn’t hurt.

“Mom,” I said. “It’s me. We saw that you searched for this address from inside the hospital. I know Aida lives here. I get that you want revenge, but she’s been protecting you. It’s not her who’s after us; it’s Mel and the Carmines. We’re working together, now, Mom. Aida and I are working together.”

Mom’s face hardened. “You think I would believe that story? You think my daughter would ever betray me like that? To work with you? As if you didn’t . . .” Her face contorted just slightly, and I knew what she was thinking.

As if Aida’s betrayal hadn’t killed my father. As if that betrayal justified my mother in killing her.

Mom advanced on me. My heart hammered harder, and at that moment I wasn’t sure who would be worse to be trapped here with—Mel, or a mother so murderous that she came in swinging a metal bar at everyone in sight.

She wasn’t really that far gone, was she?

I cringed away and held out my hand. “Mom,” I said. “It’s me. Really.”

She stood over me, her fingers tight on the crowbar. I took another step back and ran into a wall.

I could try to fight her, but she’d taught me self-defense. There was no way I could best her. “Mom,” I said. “I’ve been stealing money for you. I came to see you in the hospital. We talked about how you were going to get help. And then you left—you just left. And I know that someone was threatening you and I’m pretty sure it was Mel, but you have to believe me—Aida’s been helping us out. She’s the reason you were safe there as long as you were.”

Mom hesitated a moment longer, then she reached out her hand. I passed her the first part of the signal and hers followed. She matched me, sign for sign.

My knees went rubbery, and I nearly fell over. “Mom,” I said, "what the hell is the matter with you? He was helping me. How could you do that?”

Mom glanced down at Damon’s body, and my hands went numb. Was he dead? Were his features about to turn in on themselves, like Dad’s did? I watched out of the corner of my eye, afraid to take my attention off Mom. But even out of my peripheral vision, I could see Damon wearing his home face, instead of a blank one.

He was alive. For now.

Mom frowned at him, like she’d expected him to morph into somebody she recognized.

I should be calling the paramedics. My cell phone was still on the floor, and I heard nothing but silence in my ear piece. I didn’t dare alert Mom to Kalif’s presence, but he should be calling me back if we’d lost the connection.

How long had it been since I’d heard his voice? At least since he’d told me who was at the door.

Mom’s eyes flicked back to me. “Who is he?”

She didn’t sound thrilled—which I guessed she wouldn’t be, given that I was working with a shifter she didn’t even know. Between that and my announcement that I was working with Aida, I was beginning to wonder if she might actually use the crowbar on me, even knowing who I was. “My friend, Mom.”

Mom’s face turned bitter. “We’re shifters. We don’t have friends. Your father and I forgot that, and we paid the price.”

I looked at the crowbar. I couldn’t deny that she’d paid a heavy price—her face, her husband, her sanity.

But Dad was gone, now, and nothing any of us did was going to change that. And looking at her eyes, heavy with bitterness—I remembered one thing.

I wasn’t dead. I was still here. I was the person he made me, the person he taught me to be. And I could see the disappointment on his face if I let myself become like her.

I wasn’t willing to live with that bitterness—hers or mine. “Mom, we need to go. Mel set you up. We have to get out of here—"

I looked down at Damon, who still wasn’t moving.

We couldn’t just leave, not now. Not unless we lugged him with us. And if he weighed what I expected him to, I wouldn’t be able to lift him alone, and I didn’t expect Mom to help.

I reached for my phone on the floor, careful to keep a sharp eye on Mom and Damon, and dialed Kalif again.

“Who are you calling?” Mom asked.

I shook my head at her. “No one I want you to beat over the head with a crowbar.”

She still gripped the bar, but at least she held it close to her body, not threatening me or Damon. For now.

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times.

Kalif didn’t pick up.

Crap. Had Aida come back for us? Had the Carmines noticed we’d scrambled their signal? He’d seen Mel at the door moments before we opened it, so it couldn’t have been Mom who got to him.

Could it have been Mel?

Mom was quiet, watching me. “I was just going to talk to Aida,” she said.

I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “You were just going to talk to her, so you charged into her apartment with a crowbar and used it to bash my friend in the head?”

Mom took a look back at Damon. If it had only been the head turn that made him lose consciousness, he’d have awoken by now. That meant either he was faking, or his head injury must be keeping him out—which probably meant swelling around his brain.

Swelling that could mean damage, even death. This was the second time associating with me caused him to be dangerously unconscious, though this time was much, much worse.

I wanted to reach out and tear the crowbar away from Mom. I wanted to shove her against the wall, to knock some sense into her. Kalif had been right all along—I should have stayed away from Damon, not because it was dangerous for us, but because it was so dangerous for him. My heart beat double time. I had to get out there and see what happened to Kalif, but I couldn’t leave my mom alone in here. “Don’t hurt anyone else,” I said. “This is insane.”

Mom turned on me, maintaining her tight grip on the crowbar. “Jory,” she said, "that’s enough.”

My chest swelled with anger, and my whole body shook. “Yeah, Mom,” I said. “That is enough.”

She took a step toward me, and I held my ground. I didn’t care if she was the one with the weapon. I wouldn’t let her hurt anyone else.

Mom glared at me. “You think that because you paid our bills a few times that you’re in charge now? You think you’re ready for that? Because let me tell you something: you’re still a child. And I’ve had about enough of you talking back to me like that.”

I about came out of my skin. “Talking back to you?” My voice squeaked, and even my vocal training couldn’t get it under control. “What am I? Seven?”

Mom gave me a patronizing look. “You’re acting like you’re seven. And you’re putting both our lives in danger.”

A hush fell over the apartment. My ears rang with the silence.

I was putting our lives in danger? I wasn’t behaving with the most professionalism possible, I’d give her that. But I wasn’t the one trying to kill people who’d only been protecting us.

“Mom,” I said quietly, "you haven’t acted like my parent since Dad died. You’ve been taking drugs; you hurt yourself and landed in the hospital. You can’t just come in here and hurt my friends and then pretend like you have it all under control.”

For a second, Mom faltered. Then the hardness returned to her eyes. “You’re right. That’s why I’m here. To do what I should have done months ago.”

A flame flickered in her eyes, and she didn’t have to tell me what that thing was. She was going to kill Aida, yes. But she wasn’t going to stop there. She was going to kill Mel, if she could find him. And Kalif, too. After that she was going for the Carmines.

She wasn’t going to stop until there was no one left standing who had threatened her family, who had taken away her husband.

She was armed and ready and I was the only thing standing in her way.

But if I stepped aside, that was it.

My mother would be gone forever.

“Mom,” I said again. “This isn’t the way to fix it. I need you to be okay, and this will only make you more crazy.”

Mom gave one short, bitter laugh. “Oh, Jory,” she said. “I don’t think it gets any crazier than this.”

Behind her, I saw Damon’s hand stir. My stomach twisted. Was he coming to, or having a seizure? I was taking too much time—I should have called him an ambulance long ago.

But if I didn’t talk my mother down, she might hit him again. And then he’d be dead for sure. “Mom,” I tried again. “Think about it. This isn’t what Dad would have wanted.”

Mom wavered, rocking back onto her heels. “Your father isn’t here,” she said. But her voice was soft and weak, like all the fight had left her.

I took a step toward her. “Mom, give me the crowbar.”

She looked down at it in her hand, like it was some alien thing. And then she raised it, holding it between us. “Take it,” she said. “Take it and wait here with me. They’ll come looking for you, you know they will. And we can end this—end them—and be done with it.”

She extended the bar to me. I wondered if she had another weapon on her person, or if she intended to find one in the house, or if she meant to kill Aida with her bare hands.

Regardless, I took it, then stepped several paces away from her and tucked it into my pants.

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t help you do this. Dad would never have stood for it.”

The edges of Mom’s eyes watered slightly before she put a stop to the tears. “Jory,” she said. “Your father is dead.”

My whole body went cold. That was the only time I’d heard her say those words. Under other circumstances, it might have been a good thing. But this time, I could feel my family die with them.

My mother had sunk so far that I couldn’t reach out to save her, and she wasn’t even trying to reach back for help.

I couldn’t go down with her. I’d been the only one of us trying for far too long. “I can’t do this,” I said again. I held my voice low, keeping it calm, but my sadness leaked into it. “I can’t help you. There’s nothing more I can do for you.”

The truth of that statement rang in my core. Mom must have heard it too, because fear etched across her face and she took one step toward me.

But it was too late. There was nothing else to be said. “I love you, Mom,” I said. “But I’m done trying to hold this family together.”

I drew the crowbar and took a defensive stance, and I gave her a glare that I hoped to all that was holy meant business.

And then, before dialing Kalif again, I called 911.

Thirty

Mom didn’t move while I talked to the 911 operator. They wanted me to check on Damon—did he have a pulse? Was he breathing? But I wasn’t going to walk by Mom to check, and risk that she might decide to start an altercation.

He still had his face. That had to be good enough.

So I lied.

It wasn’t until I got into the phone call and described the wound to the operator that I realized I had to either sell out my mother or lie again. And as much as I was sick of covering for her, I had to go with the simpler story. “No,” I said. “The assailant ran. No, I don’t know where he went. No, I have absolutely no idea who he was. Some nutjob just broke in the door and hit my friend, and then he dropped the weapon and ran.”

My mother seemed to relax a bit as I spoke, which only strengthened my urge to smack her.

I was tired of covering for her.

The operator wanted to keep me on the phone until the ambulance arrived, but I could see Mom’s eyes roving the room, and I didn’t know if she was searching for an escape or a weapon. So when I was sure they had all the information they needed to get to Damon, I faked a breaking connection and hung up.

I immediately dialed Kalif, and still got nothing.

Panic clawed up my throat.

Where was he? Had he broken his phone? But if so, why wasn’t he at the door, at the window, making sure I was okay?

What if Mel got to him?

I took a deep breath. I couldn’t leave Damon alone with Mom, so I had to stay put, not go searching for him. I could push the panic button to attract Aida, but then she might come charging in and set off my mother.

Besides, maybe Kalif was with Aida. She knew where we were going, and even if she hadn’t, we were almost certain she had a tracer in the car. Had she taken his phone? Had she kidnapped him to get him away from me?

I hoped she had. Better that than he’d run into his father. I kept the crowbar between me and Mom.

“Aren’t you going to run?” I asked. “The paramedics will be here in a few minutes.”

“I’m not going to leave you here,” Mom said.

I glanced over at Damon again, and this time I could swear I saw his chest rise and fall.

I hadn’t lied to the paramedics. Damon was still breathing.

But his brain could be swelling. The damage could be irreparable. And it was my mother’s fault, but also mine, for getting him into this mess. “Well, I’m not leaving. I’m going to follow him to the hospital and make sure he’s okay. So if you want to come along and check yourself in and get some help for real this time, be my guest. I’ll try to make sure you’re covered as best I can. But I can’t guarantee it because I don’t know where Aida is now, and frankly, I already arranged things for you once and you ran out on me, so I’m not thrilled with the idea of doing it again.”

I expected Mom to fight back, but her face suddenly went gray with exhaustion, like she’d been shifting her flesh color and no longer had the will to keep it up. “I want to stay with you,” she said.

I raised my eyebrow. If I had to deal with one more adult who couldn’t stop acting like a child, I was going to scream. I opened my mouth to tell her that I had people I worked with, and if she wanted to stay with me, she had to cooperate with them.

But before I could get the words out, a loud knock came at the door behind me, then the door opened and the paramedics charged in.

I dropped the crowbar behind me, casting a warning glance at Mom, but she wilted back against the wall, like she wanted to attract as little attention as possible.

Two of the paramedics began immediately to work on Damon, while another cornered me and started taking a statement. I kept an eye on both Mom and Damon while I repeated the story I’d given to the 911 operator. The whole thing took far longer than was comfortable, when all I wanted was to find Kalif, follow Damon, and make sure both of the mature, capable people I worked with were going to make it through this okay.

At my first opportunity, I slipped out the door and headed back into the parking lot. The paramedics would protect Damon from Mom now, and frankly, if Mom snuck off, I didn’t give a damn.

A fire truck and a police car had shown up along with the ambulance, no doubt carrying some of the emergency workers who were now inside. I walked up to the police officer, who was talking with the remaining fireman. “Excuse me,” I said. “Have you seen a man who was up here enforcing parking?”

The fireman looked surprised and shook his head. “Was he involved in the head injury?”

I realized too late that I probably should have snuck into a corner and changed personas, but there were so many people milling around, it would have been dangerous to do so at this point. “No,” I said. “But he’s a friend of mine.”

The fireman turned to the officer. “You arrived first. You see anyone?”

The officer shook his head. “Give me a description and I can keep an eye out.”

I shook my head. “That’s okay. Thanks.” I was stepping away to search the area around the apartment complex, when the paramedics charged out of the apartment with Damon on a stretcher.

I drew a sharp breath. They wouldn’t be in a hurry if there was no hope. He was still alive. Maybe he would be okay.

But where the hell was Kalif? I pulled out my phone, calling again, then, when there was no answer, sending a quick text: Where are you? Are you okay?

But I got no immediate response.

The officer stepped close to me again. “The ambulance is leaving,” he said. “Do you want a ride to the hospital?”

I looked toward the ambulance. Last time I’d ridden in the front to the hospital, but that had been my mother. If Kalif were here, we could both have gone in the police car.

But if Mel had him, having a cop to back me up could be a very good thing.

I was about to tell the officer that I had to stay to find my friend, when Mom came out of the apartment looking dazed. She watched as the paramedics shut the back doors of the ambulance, then came toward me and put a hand on my arm.

“I’ll go with you to the hospital,” Mom said. “I’ll check myself back in.”

I looked up into Mom’s eyes, and I wanted to believe her. But all I could see was a woman who wanted to kill for revenge, who’d lied to me over and over, who told so many lies in her daily life that she probably didn’t even know what the truth looked like anymore.

I could insist that I stay. I could search for Kalif. But I had no leads on where he was and no phone number for Aida, unless I wanted to hit the panic button and hope she didn’t come after me guns blazing.

And here Mom was, standing in front of me, ready to do the reasonable thing, even if she was still wearing Mel’s face.

“Okay,” I said. “But if you skip out this time, that’s it. I will walk away, and you will never see me again.”

Shock registered in her eyes, so I knew she believed me.

I turned to the officer. “We’re coming.” He nodded and left the door to the backseat open as he climbed into the car.

“Come on,” I said to Mom.

And Mom and I climbed into the back of the cop car and closed the door behind us.

The officer pulled out, following the ambulance. He had his sirens turned off—letting the vehicle with the actual patient blaze ahead, leaving parted cars in its wake.

I refused to look at Mom, double checking my phone. Airplane mode was off. I had good service. Calls were muted, but should have been coming through.

I called Kalif one more time.

And felt a soft buzzing on the carpet of the car, down by my foot.

The officer kept his attention on the road, like he hadn’t heard or felt it. Mom’s attention was out the window, focused on something far away, which I couldn’t help but hope was the ghost of her former self.

The vibration stopped, but I could see a cell phone on the floor, tucked under the edge of the carpet. There under the seat were two more phones that had been scribbled on with black marker, a set of keys, and a computer charger.

Like one of the pockets of Kalif’s bag had been upended there unnoticed.

My heart pounded.

I twisted a little to get a better look at the phone, and I could just barely make out the number of my disposable on the screen.

Every inch of my body went cold. I hung up, and a moment later, the light on the screen went out.

And then behind me, in the trunk of the car, I heard a soft, almost inaudible, thump.

Thirty-one

I sat frozen in place. The police officer drove after the ambulance. My mother stared out the window like nothing was wrong.

I listened for the noise from the trunk, but all was quiet. Anything could be back there, rattling around, right?

Except that we’d been moving forward, not stopping, not changing direction. There was no physical reason why anything stationary in the trunk should have thumped at that moment.

Unless there was a person back there.

A person who had recently been locked in the back of the cop car.

A person who had, unbeknownst to the police officer, accidently dropped his phones under the seat in the scuffle.

A person like Kalif, who had probably been taken by surprise by Mel and shoved into his trunk.

Alive, apparently.

I put my hand gently on the door handle of the car and lifted, testing it. The door was, of course, locked, and could only be opened from the outside. The door on Mom’s side would no doubt be the same. Between us and Mel was a solid metal grate, meant to hold people in. There was no way we’d be able to break through it.

I did the only thing I could think of to do. I reached into my pocket for Aida’s panic tracker, and I pushed it.

Mel took a turn down a side street. “We’re going to take a short cut,” he said.

My stomach dropped. A short cut. Shorter, he wanted me to believe, than the way the freaking ambulance had driven.

“Um,” I said, "actually, I just realized I left my purse back at the apartment. Would you mind taking me back for it?”

The cop paused. “Don’t you want to go check on your friend? I’m sure you can call a cab to get back to the apartment.”

“Not without my wallet,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” the cop said. “I’ll stick around and drive you back after you make sure your friend is okay.”

That caught Mom’s attention. She squinted at the back of the cop’s head, then looked at me.

She was putting it together. After all, what officer had nothing better to do than ferry random people around all day?

I stayed perfectly frozen. Being locked in the back of this car awaiting Mel’s intentions could only be made worse if my crazy mother knew what a fix we were in. I had no way to know how she would react.

I could see the cop appraising me in the mirror. I hadn’t responded to his offer, because it was so ridiculous it barely merited a response.

Still, I needed to play along, to buy time while I thought this through. “Thanks,” I said.

The corner of the officer’s lip quirked up. He met my eyes in the rearview, and I knew that he knew.

“Took you long enough,” Mel said, dropping the voice of his officer persona into his home voice.

Mom grabbed the arm rest. “What?” she said. “How—"

Kalif had told me he’d seen a cop car drive by when he was posing as parking enforcement. “He was already waiting with the cop car,” I said. “That was his plan. He was going to wait for you to kill Aida. And then, with her out of the way, he was going to pretend to arrest you and give you over to the Carmines. They’d definitely execute you then, for killing their daughter. And Mel could be the hero who mended his ways and pretended to work for them until the next time he felt the urge to stab someone in the back. And then I called 911, and he saw the emergency vehicles, and that gave him the perfect opportunity to sweep in.” I glared at Mel in the mirror. “Did I miss anything?”

Mel arched an eyebrow at me, turning down another side street. He was moving us away from the main streets, toward a warehouse district.

I wondered if he had a place ready to hold us until he could transfer us to the Carmines, or if he was only looking for a secluded place to kill us.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Mel said. “Catching the both of you together is even better, though. You were being more effective at tracking me than I would have expected.”

I heard another low thump from the trunk. From the way her head turned to listen, I could tell that Mom heard it, too.

“The three of us, you mean,” I said. “Or do you really think you can get Kalif on your side after you’ve had me killed?”

Mel glared at me in the mirror, but he didn’t respond.

Mom’s hands twitched, and her eyes flitted around. I could see her taking the same stock I’d already taken. The doors. The grate.

We weren’t going to get out of the back of this car—they designed these things to hold people, which was why Mel had used this persona to begin with.

Our best bet was to wait until Mel got us to wherever we were going and try to jump him. But he would no doubt be armed, and we weren’t, and I wasn’t confident we could get away once he had a gun trained on us, once we were no longer on the road.

Mom was beside me, Damon was in an ambulance and maybe dying, maybe exposing a blank face to hospital doctors, adding one more rare case of missing facial features to their incidence reports. Kalif was locked in the trunk, and from the sound of the thumps, tied up and barely able to move enough to alert us to his presence.

That left one person who could help me. I’d pushed the panic button, so I could only hope Aida was moving toward us, but since I hadn’t been able to communicate with her, I had no way to warn her about what she would find.

And I didn’t have her number.

But I knew someone who did.

I leaned back in my seat, made sure Mel was looking at the road, and took another glance at the phones lying under his seat.

On the far one, I could see the black scribbled label, written in Kalif’s handwriting.

Mom.

If Mel knew it was there, he wouldn’t have left it lying around for me to find. I had to get it without him seeing me.

I looked back up at Mel, and he met my eyes. And as if he’d read my mind, he said, “Put your phones where I can see them.”

I took my phones—the one that I used to call Kalif, and the one I’d been using to communicate with Damon—onto the ledge behind me at the base of the rear window.

He looked at Mom. “You, too,” he said.

I wasn’t sure if Mom had a phone, but she produced one, and set it next to mine.

Mom must have come to the same conclusion I had about getting out of the backseat, because she leaned toward the grate, eyes fixed on Mel. “You made a mistake coming back here. You should have run months ago.”

Mel actually laughed. “Honey, one of us is driving the car, while the others are stuck in the back. So unless you have a gun back there, you’ve definitely been outmatched.”

I glanced at Mom. If she’d had a gun, she’d have used it back at the apartment, but from the way her jaw set, I was willing to bet she regretted not taking the time to steal one. Mel had probably planned to have Mom cuffed and searched to avoid that, but I’d messed up his plan.

Too bad I hadn’t messed it up to our advantage.

I stretched my feet under the seat and kicked the phones to the side without looking at them. Mom’s eyes flicked down once, but then she looked back up at him. Either she hadn’t seen what I was doing, or she was covering for me.

If it was the latter, I was glad she had at least that much self-preservation left in her.

I used my heel to drag a phone in my direction, then leaned closer to the grate, reaching down with one hand while keeping my eyes on Mel’s in the rear view.

“Where are you taking us?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Mel said.

My hand locked around the phone, and I pulled it up to my knees and looked down at it.

This was the phone that had vibrated when I called it. Kalif’s link to me, not to Aida.

I tucked it under my knee and reached again. My fingers met with the keys, then brushed the edge of another phone.

“You’re not going to kill us,” Mom said. “You’ve never managed it before, and you won’t now.”

Mel shook his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”

It was all I could do not to roll my eyes. The two of them sounded like children, but at least Mom was keeping him distracted.

And I dearly hoped that she was right.

I lifted the second phone up to my knees and stole a glance down at it.

Bingo.

I leaned my head against the side door, putting the headrest between me and Mel, so he wouldn’t see that I was fiddling with something in my lap. Mom glanced at me once, then avoided looking at me again.

At least she had the good sense to work with me when we were cornered.

There in the call history was a phone number—there were several recent missed calls, all within the last few minutes, all from the same number.

Aida, trying to get a hold of Kalif.

I turned off the vibrate, then opened a text message. Mel posed as a police officer and trapped me and my mom, I wrote. He’s got us prisoner in the back of the car, and he’s taking us through a warehouse district. I think Kalif is locked in the trunk. I hear movement, so if it’s him, he’s alive.

I held my breath while the text sent, but it appeared to go through.

A few seconds later, a response came through. Following the tracker. On my way.

Bringing Aida down on us was a risk, much more so where Mel was involved. After the help she’d given me, I was fairly certain she’d take my side in most other situations. But where Mel was concerned? I couldn’t predict what she would do. Before she found us I needed to ensure she would act in my interest, and not in his.

I dialed Aida’s number, muted the phone so Mel wouldn’t hear her pick up, then switched to speaker. “Why did you stay around here?” I asked. “Is it because of your family?”

Mel was silent, and for a moment I thought maybe he wasn’t going to let me bait him.

But then he nodded. “You didn’t think I was going to abandon my son.”

I was pretty sure he was referring to Kalif, but I wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to dig at him. “Right. He looked pretty young. Is he six? Seven? That would be a hard age to lose your father.”

Mel managed not to glare at me, but I could see his jaw tighten. For the con artist that he was, he’d always been terrible at concealing his own pride, his own anger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

Mom leaned back in her seat. “Sounded to me like you do.”

I angled myself behind the seat back again and shot her a grateful look. She didn’t know about Mel’s family, but she was willing to play along.

“And your wife,” I said. “She’s pretty. I’m guessing since she displays your home face on her wall she has no idea what you are. Or what her son likely is. You couldn’t abandon them, could you? He’s going to start shifting soon. And he’ll need his father to show him the ropes.”

I heard another soft thud from the trunk, and hoped Kalif wasn’t hurting himself back there. If he’d still had a phone I could contact, I would have texted him.

I glanced down at the screen of the phone in my hand. The call was still live, but I didn’t dare take it off speaker to find out if Aida could hear us.

“You think you’re clever,” Mel said. “But, again, you’re the one locked in the back seat.”

“You’re the one who can’t conceal his double life,” I said. “Or his murders. You think the Carmines don’t know about everything you’ve done? You think we haven’t been reporting to them for months?”

Surprise registered on Mel’s face before it hardened again. And that surprise told me what I needed to know.

He didn’t expect us to be working with them. And he didn’t need to know that we weren’t.

“Go ahead,” I said. “Try to trade us with them. See how that goes for you.”

Mel’s hands tightened on the steering wheel.

I smothered a smile.

That was his plan. And now I’d cast enough doubt that maybe he wouldn’t go through with it.

My stomach dropped. Of course, in that case, maybe he’d just kill us all.

I texted Aida. How far away are you?

Almost there, she texted back.

I truly hoped that she was. “Too bad Aida knows about your other family, now. I guess you can’t go home again.”

Mel’s face tightened into a sneer. “You think I was ever going back to her? She was just a convenience. I hope she comes after you to save you. I’ve got a message for that bitch, and I’d love for you to be there to witness it.”

I looked down at my phone, hoping Aida had heard.

Hoping it was enough.

Mel drove us past a gum factory, into an area lined with rental storage lockers. I looked out the back window, but I didn’t see Aida approaching.

“You know, Jory,” Mel said, "you are clever. It’ll almost be a shame to kill you.”

Mom’s words came out as a growl. “Try it.”

Mel smiled again, like he was sure he had the upper hand. And I had to give him this: despite my efforts, he did. Mel turned down an alley between storage buildings, and I hadn’t seen another car in blocks. Even with the tracker, in a place like this, would Aida find us? There were so many buildings, so many alleys to turn down, and no witnesses, which I supposed was the entire point.

Mel’s car began to slow. If he decided to drag us from the car, or even execute us through the grate, this would be it. We couldn’t escape.

Maybe this time, he really had won.

Mel drove slowly between the buildings, passing one row of storage after another.

He slowed further, and I was certain one of these lockers was his—the place where he would stash our bodies while he negotiated with the Carmines.

And then, as he rolled past another alley, an engine roared to life.

We all looked just in time to see a green sedan barreling toward us at top speed. Just before impact, my eyes met Aida’s through the window.

And then the world exploded.

Mel hit the gas in an effort to avoid her, but Aida swerved, ramming her car right into the driver’s side door. The two cars crunched together, and rubber burned as we slid into the opposite building, the passenger side doors completely blocked by the brick side of an embankment of storage lockers.

When the motion stopped, I unbuckled my seat belt, taking frantic stock of the car around me. Mom and I were now thoroughly trapped in the back of the car—a wall on one side, the still child-locked door on the other side partially bent by the front of Aida’s car. The grate between the front and back seats was still intact.

And Mel, while his door was crumpled, still scrambled around in the front seat, unbuckling his own belt, crouching onto the seat, and reaching for his back pocket.

Mom grabbed me, forcing me down behind the seat, and I hit the floor, not even sure if the seats were reinforced enough to stop a bullet. But as I crouched down, I heard a car door slam—and the only one that could still open was Aida’s.

Mom shoved down on my head, but I couldn’t help it. I looked up at the last minute, and through the cracked glass of the window, found Aida with her gun pointed straight at Mel.

“Don’t even think about it, dear,” she said.

I couldn’t see Mel. I don’t know if he listened, or if he kept reaching for his own weapon.

But I did see the dark, hardened expression on Aida’s face when she put her finger on the trigger and pulled.

Thirty-two

The sound of the gun deafened me, and the world seemed to slow. The window exploded, and the bullet took Mel directly in the head, throwing him back across the seat. Mom pushed me down again, no doubt expecting Aida to shoot me as well, but even from my crouched position I could see Aida wrestling with my back passenger door, muscling it open even in its crumpled state. Another thump came from the trunk.

Damn. Kalif. Had he taken the impact okay?

“You,” Mom said, scrambling to climb over me, to get at her. She wore her home face, though whether from the shock of the impact or a desire for Aida to know exactly who was coming for her I couldn’t tell.

Aida raised her gun, but I sat up, shoving Mom down behind me, and climbed out of the car to join Aida.

“Don’t move,” I said to Mom. “I swear, if you don’t stop trying to kill her, I’m going to let her shoot you.”

The words tasted sour in my mouth, and I wasn’t entirely sure that I meant them. But as Aida moved between me and my mom, gun still trained on her, Mom shrank backward, like she knew she was finished. All the bravado she’d shown to Mel dissipated, and, crouched on her hands and knees in the back of the cop car, she actually started to cry.

“So that’s it then,” she said. “You’re going to sell me out, like everyone else.”

I shook my head, motioning to Aida to lower the gun. And, miraculously, she did.

And then I kicked the door to the cop car closed again, containing Mom in the backseat, so she couldn’t get at Aida.

“No one’s trying to sell you out, Mom,” I said through the glass. “Not anymore.”

I moved to the driver’s side door, and my stomach turned as I got a good look at the front seat. Mel’s body lay slumped across the bench, his face already washed blank —only flat flesh where his nose and other features had been.

Now the only mark was the dark hole near the top of his head, where his left eyebrow would have been.

Behind him, dark blood and pink tissue covered the passenger seat and window.

I reached carefully through the broken window, avoiding the glass, and popped open the trunk.

Kalif swung out of the trunk feet-first, his arms and legs bound, a gag tight in his mouth, a nasty bruise darkening the right side of his face.

Relief washed over me. He was alive. I helped him remove his gag, and Aida came around the car and threw her arms around him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and I didn’t know if he was talking to me or to her.

“We’re fine,” I said. “We’re all fine.”

My eyes drifted back to Mel’s still body, his blank face. Not quite all of us. “I’m sorry about your father,” I said.

Aida untied Kalif’s wrists, and he leaned around the car, taking in my mother, still crouching in the back seat, and his father’s body.

“I’m not,” he said.

And I knew his reaction was going to be more complicated than that, but I also understood the need to not process it all right here in this alley.

“We need to get out of here,” Aida said. “Someone probably heard the gun shot. The police may be coming.”

“Yes,” I said. “We do need to get out of here. Someone find me a car that hasn’t been in a serious accident.”

I fought with the door handle to Mel’s side of the car.

“You’re not going to leave me here,” my mother said.

“We’ll talk about that in a moment,” I said. “But first I’m going to get this body ready to go.”

Aida nodded. “We need to hide it.”

“No,” I said. “We’re not going to hide. Not from anyone.”

I looked up at Kalif, and he nodded, like he was already following. Then he smiled. “Not anymore.”

I nodded. “Okay,” I said to the lot of them. “This is what we’re going to do.”

We had a large mess to clean up before we could get away from our mothers and check on Damon. First, Kalif and I stole a car from the back of a warehouse and got the body away from the scene of the crash, leaving the cars to whatever witnesses might discover them, whatever officers might drag them away. The only evidence left in them was a bit of Mel’s blood, and they weren’t going to find us through that.

According to their records, we didn’t exist.

We got far enough away to rent a van legally, load Mel’s body into the back, and ditch the stolen car near a forgotten building that was literally falling down after years of disuse.

As I climbed into the driver’s side of the van, I turned back to Mom and Aida.

“Okay,” I said. “This is where we part ways.”

Aida shook her head. “I can help you.”

“You can help us as we work against your parents,” I said. “Who you’ve never in your life managed to do more than hide from. You’re going to help us with that.”

Aida flinched at my sarcasm, but I couldn’t help it.

“You can help me,” I said. “By staying the hell out of my way.”

“She did save us,” Kalif said.

I nodded. He was right. But that didn’t mean that I could bring her with me and trust that she would always do the right thing. “Maybe someday we can work together again. But trust has to be won back over time, and right now, I have other things I need to do first.”

Mom leaned against a post at the edge of the building, looking like she’d lost everything.

And, I supposed, she probably had.

But she was still breathing. That was something. I hoped she’d keep doing that, but if I’d learned one thing today, it was this: I couldn’t protect her. Not from the Carmines; not from herself. I’d thought for a while I could.

But she had to choose for herself what she was going to do next. And she couldn’t follow where I was going. She’d only be a danger to me and to herself.

“You can’t do this,” Mom said. “They’ll kill you.”

“We can’t keep running,” I said. “We’ll kill each other before they can even get to us.”

Mom shook her head at me, but the fight seemed to have gone out of her, like she’d used up her last bit of willpower coming after Aida.

“You can’t do this alone,” she said.

“You’re right,” I said. “But I’m not alone. I have a team.” I swallowed. Even knowing I was doing the right thing, the words were still hard to say. “And you’re not on it. Not right now. Not until you get your life back together.”

Aida looked at Kalif, like she was expecting him to argue with me. “I’ll send you an email,” he said. “When we’re done. Until then, she’s right. You should stay out of our way.” He walked around to the passenger door and climbed into the van.

Aida’s hands flopped helplessly at her side.

“You can try to stop us,” I said. “But you’ll only get us killed. If you really want to help, he’s right. You should leave us alone, and let us work without worrying that the two of you are skulking around, screwing everything up.”

I expected my mother to snap at me, to tell me that I shouldn’t talk to her that way. But instead she just spoke in a small voice. “And will I ever see you again?”

I sighed. I had to believe in a better future for her, even if it was as hard to imagine for her as it was for myself. “Well,” I said. “If you stay in touch with Aida, then when we’re done and we email her, you’ll be able to find us.” I paused. “And I hope in the meantime, you both get some help.”

Mom and Aida looked at each other. I held my breath.

“Okay,” Mom said. Aida nodded. And though earlier today my mother had only wanted to kill her, I saw defeat in both their eyes.

And I hoped maybe here, at the end of everything, they’d finally be able to set the past aside, and learn how to work together again. I couldn’t do it for them. All I could do was wish them the best.

I reached for the door to the van. They might come after us, but I was pretty sure that after everything we’d been through, they didn’t want their own children dead.

“I love you,” I said to Mom.

And then I closed the door, and drove to the hospital nearest Aida’s apartment to find Damon. All the way there, I hoped and prayed he was okay.

And if he could still trust me after what I’d dragged him into, I was going to ask for his help.

One more time.

Thirty-three

As Kalif and I pulled up to the Systems Development building in our rented black kidnapper van, we held hands between the bucket seats. Behind us, dead center along the floor of the van, lay Mel’s faceless body.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Kalif said. He stole a glance at me, his free hand holding the steering wheel loosely, as if he were at ease.

I didn’t need his tight grip on my hand to know that he wasn’t. I felt naked in my home face. All I wanted to do was cover myself and hide.

But not today. Today, we walked in the open.

“Same to you,” I said.

Kalif shook his head. “Where you go, I go.” And he added, almost as a breath, "even if we go to our graves.”

As we passed under the shadow of the parking garage, it felt like that was exactly what we were doing. The last time we went into this building, we came out alive, but my father didn’t.

This time was different, though. Last time we went in to steal from them.

This time, we were going to join them.

I’d expected Damon to be more shocked when I’d told him the plan at the hospital, Kalif standing beside me next to his bed in the trauma wing. “Sweetheart,” Damon had said, "from you, nothing surprises me. I’m in.”

He was expecting a release sometime tomorrow, and it might be a few days after that before I could get away safely. But we’d arranged a meeting spot. I’d be seeing him soon.

And as we drove through their parking garage, I told myself again, for the thousandth time.

This was what the Carmines wanted.

As long as they believed we were there to be trained by them, to serve them, to join their clearly superior forces, then we’d have an asset we couldn’t get any other way.

The opportunity to work together to bring them down from within.

It was my idea, but we were both banking our lives on it, trusting this one fact, this one glimmer: Kalif and I were far more valuable to them alive than dead.

Kalif pulled to a spot across from the elevator, and turned off the van. I forced my eyes forward, refusing to let them dart around as I categorized the exits, measured the distances, weighed my odds if I ran this way, or that way.

If this went wrong, Kalif and I weren’t getting out alive.

He took a deep breath. “Ready?” he asked.

I shook my head. “There is no ready for this.” Kalif smiled, and traced the invisible ring around my finger. I gave his hand one last squeeze before I let go, climbed out of the car, and walked toward the stairs up to the lobby.

No matter what I was here for, I wasn’t climbing into the Carmine’s elevator. I might be coming to join them, but I wasn’t going to gift wrap myself.

As I entered the stairway, I stole a last look back at Kalif, still waiting in the van, watching me. He gave me a reassuring nod.

But it was obvious neither of us was feeling it.

Onward, I thought. And I climbed the stairs two at a time, and entered the sparsely decorated lobby with the huge, tinted glass windows.

I steeled myself as I walked toward the desk. One benefit of coming this way was that I didn’t have to walk past the place where my father died, in the doorway to this very building. But I could feel his blood beneath my feet even so.

I hoped he understood, even if my mother still didn’t.

As I approached, the receptionist pulled her reading glasses off her face, letting them dangle on a silver chain. “How may I help you?” she asked.

I straightened my back and held up my head. “I’m here to speak with Wendy and Oliver.”

Her eyes widened, probably in surprise that I’d used their first names. Her hand hovered over her computer mouse. “Do you have an appointment?”

I shook my head. “No. But they’ll be expecting me.”

The receptionist shook her head. “If you don’t have an appointment—"

I reached toward her and tapped my fingers on the top of the desk. “Tell them Jory and Kalif are waiting for them in the parking garage. They’ll come.”

And then I turned and walked out of the lobby and back to the van, without turning to look behind me at her shock.

I found Kalif sitting on the bumper of the van, waiting. So I joined him and took his hand again.

“It’s done,” I said.

He shook his head. “No. It’s just beginning.”

I tried not to visibly shiver, though I could feel them watching us through the security cameras. There were at least three pointed at us—one watching the driving lane, one focused on the row of spots, and another taking in a panorama of the whole floor from the far side.

I wanted to crawl under the van, or leap over one of the concrete barriers and run and run and run until I got away.

But instead we sat on the bumper, holding hands, waiting.

When Oliver Carmine stepped out of the elevator flanked by two security officers in black, my flight instincts raged, pushing against my muscles, begging me to go.

But I turned toward him, stood, and smiled.

“We brought you something,” I said, reaching for the latch on the van door.

Oliver stopped in his tracks and held up his hands. “Stop,” he said. “Don’t move.”

I stood straight, and took one step away from the van. “Fine,” I said. “It’s your gift. You open it.”

He took a step forward, and his security officers dropped behind him, each producing a small sidearm.

My instincts kicked into overdrive. The impulse to shrink small was overpowering, but I forced my muscles to stay relaxed.

Oliver walked until he was right next to me. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the van.

I smiled, softening my eyes, trying to look like a proud puppy who had fetched his master a ball. I kept my voice low. “We brought what you asked for,” I said. “If your security people aren’t in the know, you might not want to let them see. We tried to bring him in alive, but things got . . . complicated.”

Oliver gave me the smallest of smiles. And then he waved over his shoulder toward the two men, and motioned them forward. He backed away from the van, motioning for us to come with him. One of the security guards kept his gun at the ready, while the other opened a bag filled with technical equipment and proceeded to swab down the handles and locks with white cotton—like a TSA officer checking for bombs.

He ran the swabs through the equipment in the bag.

“You don’t think we’d come in here with explosives,” Kalif said to Oliver.

Oliver shrugged. “And yet people have tried it.”

The security guard at the van looked at the readings on his equipment, and then, apparently satisfied, opened the door to the van and did the same to the body.

Oliver stood at attention, a few feet from Kalif and I. Waiting.

I studied his face. It wasn’t real, of course—I’d seen his home face in the pictures Damon took, and in reality he looked a lot like Aida, and therefore like Kalif. This face was a construct—an image he’d built for the sole purpose of running his hardware company, of building an airtight front from which to run his real operations. I’d seen him in pictures. I’d seen him in tense situations; I’d seen him at a distance. But I’d never had a chance to pause and study his long-term persona up close.

He was handsome. His strong jaw and high forehead were built to project an air of competence and honesty. They were meant to put clients at ease, while simultaneously making them feel like this was a serious man, a man who could be trusted with their secrets and assets.

I’d give him his competence. But the rest was a lie, plain and simple. A lie he could put on and wear whenever it was convenient for him. Wendy had a mask just like it—though I knew from pictures that her face was shrewder, more focused.

I guessed from their chosen images that she was bad cop. That’s why Oliver was the one who had come out to meet us.

But likely as not, this was actually Aida’s mother standing before me. That was the benefit of being a shifter team. They could swap their masks around whenever they chose.

The security guard grunted at the readings on his equipment, then reached for Mel’s body. He didn’t unwrap him much. Just enough to check the face. Then he turned back around to Oliver, and nodded.

Oliver reached out and put a heavy hand on my shoulder, stretching the other toward Kalif. Kalif looked at me, and I could see a hint of panic in his eyes.

Though my muscles all screamed to fight or run, I shifted my shoulders to relax, projecting an air of pride, and calm.

And for Kalif, I offered a smile.

He gave a small sigh, and returned it.

However this turned out, we were in it together.

Oliver pulled us both close to him, as if to hug us, but stopped with each of us mere inches from him. A slight smile graced his lips, and then he said the last words I’d ever wanted to hear from Oliver Carmine, kidnapper of my parents, killer of my father.

He bowed his head between ours, and in a kind, gentle voice, he said,

“Welcome home.”

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Acknowledgments

Thank you to my writing group, The Seizure Ninjas, for their excellent feedback on this book, and to my beta readers, especially Kathy Cowley, whose structural advice was especially helpful. Special thanks to James Goldberg, who is always good for telling me how I meant to end my book. You are all, collectively, the best.

Thanks to my editor Kristina Kugler—who weathered the long revision process on this, my first sequel, while both of us went through setbacks and life upheaval. As always, I love you fifty million billion.

Thanks to my cover designer, Melody Fender, who tirelessly generates options until my sensibilities are satisfied, and never complains about it. Thanks again for your truly beautiful work on this book. Love you.

Thanks to Megan Grey, for listening to my endless whining. Without our Starbucks sessions, this book might never have gotten revised. You really are the best friend a girl could ask for. Love you to pieces. (Thanks also to Starbucks of Springville, Culvers of Springville, and The Chocolate of Orem, for the delicious snacks and the table space, all of which were absolutely critical to the finishing of this book.)

And thanks last (but not least) to my family—my two adorable children and my ever-patient husband. You make my life awesome, and I love you all.

Janci Patterson is the author of contemporary and science fiction young adult novels. Visit her online at www.jancipatterson.com.

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