Silenced

the fire department, strangers would be here soon.

Ivy motioned for them to go down Mrs. Neel’s driveway, which would shield them from view. In the distance, sirens cut through the sound of ruin.

Ivy couldn’t talk to the police. She’d lied to everyone in the neighborhood. She wasn’t a college student. She didn’t exist. She had a fake ID, not a real false identity. But worse, if her father had reported Sara as missing, her photo and prints would be in a database. She had to protect Sara.

“We have to split up,” Ivy said. “Lay low until we find out who did this.”

“It wasn’t an accident?” Sara’s face was filthy from soot and dirt, but her big blue eyes were so trusting, so innocent. Even after all she’d been through at the hands of that bastard, she was still innocent.

“No,” Ivy said. “It was no accident.”

Bryn silently cried. Nicole was enraged. “Everything’s gone!” She held up her backpack. “Two hundred dollars and a handful of clothes, that’s all I have?”

“You’re alive,” Kerry snapped.

“Jocelyn promised she’d help us,” Ivy said. She hoped she wasn’t wrong about the social worker. But she didn’t trust Sergio, and though she didn’t think he’d done this, how could she be sure? Why would the people she worked for try to kill her?

A chill ran down her back. Was one of these girls, her friends, a Judas? She looked at their faces, one by one. Pain. Fear. Confusion.

She trusted all these girls with her life.

But did she trust them with Sara’s life?

The sirens were closer, prompting Ivy to act.

“Sara, Maddie, come with me. Mina, go with Nicole.”

“I want to come with you,” the sixteen-year-old said, wiping away her tears, but more came tumbling down. “Please.”

Ivy bit her lip. How could she manage both of them in addition to Sara? “I’ll come get you as soon as we’re settled. All of you.”

The seven of them together would draw far too much attention.

Mina nodded, but her eyes rested on Sara. Ivy stomped on her own guilt. Mina had been like a sister to her, they all had, and yet she’d been replaced by Ivy’s real sister. Ivy wished things could be different, but she’d broken untold laws rescuing Sara, and she couldn’t risk unwanted attention their large group would bring.

The increasing sirens, flashing lights, shouts of neighbors from the street, added to the cacophony of panic that rose in Ivy’s chest.

“It won’t be long,” she promised. “Forty-eight hours.”

Mina didn’t look at her. She took Nicole’s hand.

Kerry handed Ivy her backpack and the gun. “I put some clothes and shoes in for you, and your purse.”

Ivy realized everyone had had time to get dressed but her. “Thank you.” She quickly put on her tennis shoes and a T-shirt over her tank top.

“Go,” Ivy told them. “Be careful. Trust no one. Keep your phones charged. I’ll call when I figure this out.”

They left, avoiding streetlights and neighbors who now watched with curiosity and horror as the house on Hawthorne Street burned.

Ivy glanced over her shoulder as the first fire truck rounded the corner. The red lights swirled and the siren died down as the truck whooshed to a stop.

Ivy not only had to keep Sara safe and hidden from their father, she had to keep her alive.

I’ll never let anyone hurt you, Sara. Never again.

CHAPTER THREE

The trail closest to where the female victim had been found was blocked off with crime scene tape and guarded by DC Metro cops. The FBI rarely attended homicides, but when the victim was the mistress of a sitting congressman whose affair was recently exposed in the press, the FBI took interest.

Lucy Kincaid had spent the last two months working primarily as an analyst in the FBI office tracking online sex predators, so when her training agent, Noah Armstrong, asked her to join him in the field, she was both excited and nervous.

“Slater is heading up the squad on this one,” Noah told her as he showed his identification to the cop who blocked the trail. “I’m point.”

Supervisory Special Agent Matt Slater was Noah’s immediate supervisor and directed the Evidence Response Teams out of the DC Regional Office. He’d made it clear to Lucy from her first day in the office that she wasn’t a field agent yet.

“Are you sure this is okay with him?” Lucy kept up with Noah’s long strides as they walked up the gently sloping trail through the middle of Rock Creek Park. She’d run in the park many times, though never on this particular trail, which was close to the condos and apartments on Massachusetts. The park could be dangerous, but most runners kept to well-traveled trails, ran in pairs or groups, and didn’t get caught in the park after sunset. There were more patrols now and a steady police presence, but no law enforcement agency could cover all two thousand acres of the park all the time.

Noah stopped walking, glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, and kept his voice low. “We’re operating with reduced staff and resources, and everyone is antsy because of the victim’s connection to Congress. Slater told me to bring in an analyst.”

“You didn’t tell him it was me.” She hated the insecurity of her position. She was in limbo, neither an agent nor a civilian. Three weeks and it would be a moot point, but she didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize her admission into the FBI Academy.

“It’s my call, you’re qualified, plus ERT certified.” He started back up the trail. “I’ll handle Slater, but this isn’t going to be a problem.”

Lucy followed Noah, hoping he was right. She didn’t know why SSA Slater made her nervous.

Trust your instincts, Luce.

She heard her boyfriend Sean’s voice in her head, reminding her that her instincts were usually good, at least when it came to murder.

What that said about her, she wasn’t certain, but she hoped it would help bring justice for Wendy James.

Three weeks ago, in a big front-page article, Congressman Alan Crowley had been exposed as having an affair with the much younger, beautiful Wendy James, secretary for a powerful DC lobbying firm. In typical politician fashion, Crowley had denied the affair, then claimed it was private, between him and his wife of twenty-eight years, then said he was sorry and asked for forgiveness.

Some people were calling for Crowley’s head, others complaining what he did was no worse than any other politician, and still others were using the events to highlight that the media preferred sex scandals over serious policy.

In fact, Ms. James’s murder wouldn’t have caught the FBI’s attention except for two key facts. Because of Ms. James’s position with a lobbyist, she’d been interviewed by the FBI for possible influence peddling-specifically, had Congressman Crowley asked for, or suggested, contributions to him or any other campaigns? During that interview last week, Ms. James had contradicted herself and put a lawyer on retainer. The FBI had secured an appointment for a second interview this week, and now she’s dead.

Was this truly a random act of violence, or was she a specific target because of her involvement with Crowley, the FBI, or both?

“Does the press know yet?” Lucy asked Noah quietly when they reached the crime scene.

“Not from us.”

Matt Slater, who, like Noah, had been in the military before joining the FBI, was talking to the DC deputy coroner. He beckoned Noah. “Miles West, DC coroner’s office,” Slater said, in introduction. “He’s ready to move the