the conversation was somewhat muffled and he was typing information onto a tablet, but I knew he’d share as soon as he was finished. I couldn’t help replaying those final moments on the bench and wondering if he’d have really kissed me had we not been interrupted. My money was on yes.
Thatcher hung up after less than five minutes.
“So what’s new?” I asked.
“Mai Lynn found some information that might be useful.” He held up the tablet. “She found two other prisoners who did what I did during the War.”
“Gave up all contact with their kids to protect them?”
Something like pain flashed in his eyes. “Yes.”
“Who?”
“Peter Keene.”
Keene had been in Central Park during the final day of the War. He’d also died last month—ironically, in Central Park—when a copter crashed down on a bunch of people, including Thatcher.
“Keene had an infant son he never met,” Thatcher continued. “He and his mother disappeared after the War ended. The boy would be sixteen or so now. She thinks his name was Tate, but she didn’t know the mother’s last name.”
“That’s a start, though. Who was the other one?”
“Dana Parks. She was Whitney and Andrew’s mother.”
Right. Dana had died in Manhattan a few years ago. Whitney died a few months ago, and we were all unclear on just who the father had been, since no one was volunteering that information. “Dana had a third child?”
“Supposedly Dana had a daughter she left with her parents. Mai Lynn thinks the girl would be about twenty now. Her name was Sasha.”
“So Andrew has another half-sibling out there somewhere.”
“It seems so.”
“It isn’t a lot, but it’s something to start with. Let’s get this—”
As if he’d been summoned by my thoughts, Marco walked into the conference room. Thatcher gave him the tablet and summarized the information on it. Marco promised to begin searching immediately.
It was still pretty early in the evening, but I’d had a hell of a weekend, and now the idea of a shower and my bed was dancing in front of me like a merry mirage. I decided to grab hold of the mirage and crash until someone inevitably needed me again for one crisis or another. I told Thatcher, so when we hit the hallway again. He just nodded and followed me upstairs.
We stopped at my bedroom door and for the first time since we’d met, I felt kind of awkward.
“I’m going to go sit with Landon for a while,” he said.
I almost asked why he’d followed me all the way upstairs if he was going back down, but curbed that question. The answer was kind of obvious. He’d wanted to walk me to my room. “That’s good. You two may not really know each other, but I bet right now it helps to have his father close by.”
His expression softened. “Your parents were never there for you, were they?”
“My real parents? No. I was eight years old when my Meta powers kicked in and my skin turned blue. They thought I was a demon, and they tried to have me killed.”
His eyes narrowed, then understanding widened them again. “The Rangers saved you.”
“Yes, they did. And after the War, my foster parents were amazing.” I shrugged, hoping none of the roiling emotions inside showed on my face. “Family isn’t always determined by blood. Sometimes blood turns on you.”
I hadn’t meant my words to be a warning about Landon, or any of the other kids we were looking for, but he seemed to take it that way. His face went blank and he straightened his shoulders. “You may be right,” he said.
“Good night.” He reached out, and for one brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might actually try to kiss me. Instead, he lifted my right hand and brushed his lips across my knuckles. The unexpected gesture made my insides quivery. My mouth went dry.
I didn’t say a word as he walked away.
Holy smokes, what was I getting myself into?
Fifteen
The emergency alert tumbled me out of bed and into my uniform before I really understood what was going on. It was the Alpha leaders alert, which meant it wasn’t going to everyone’s room. I blinked bleary eyes at the clock on the wall—not quite six in the morning.
In the hallway, I crashed into Thatcher, who grabbed my elbow before I could fall over onto my ass. “I can see you’re not a morning person,” he said with way too much energy for this hour.
“Never claimed I was,” I snapped. Guess he got the alert, too.
A few doors down, Ethan and Aaron came out of their room. Sebastian appeared across the hall, rubbing at his own eyes. We made our way to the stairs, no one really talking. I spared a glance at Aaron, who didn’t seem overly stressed. So he still didn’t know about Double Trouble. Annoyance bubbled up inside me, as well as anger on his behalf. He deserved to know, but I’d promised Teresa to keep my mouth shut.
Teresa, Gage, and Marco were already at the conference table. The only person missing was Lacey, but she was probably still in Annapolis with her team. As we took seats around the table, another person entered who made me do a double-take. Bethany glanced around until she spotted me and Thatcher. She came over and plopped down next to him, exhaustion pressing down on her like an invisible weight.
If she was here . . .
“Fifteen minutes ago we received an anonymous email,” Teresa said, her booming voice getting everyone’s attention. She stood by the two main monitors. Marco was already at work at the computer, getting something ready for her. “The subject line read
“What is it?” Ethan asked.
Gage, who was sitting in the chair nearest Teresa, looked like he was going to be sick. “A message.”
“To who?”
“All of us.” He glanced down the table. “But especially to Bethany and Landon.”
Bethany jerked in her chair. “Me? Trying to kill us on the highway yesterday wasn’t enough?”
“Not for these people,” Teresa said with a fierce edge to her voice. She nodded to Marco.
The main screen flashed to life with the paused image of two blurry figures against a dark background. The scene jerked into motion, and the two figures came into focus. A teenage boy and girl, chained up by their wrists, somewhere dark—a large basement, a warehouse, an auditorium. Their feet didn’t touch the floor, and both wore a collar similar to Ethan’s. They were alive, not gagged or otherwise bound, but they weren’t moving much, either.
“Say your names, for the record, please,” a distorted, off-camera voice said. It sounded male, but could easily be a filtered female voice.
“Louis Becker,” the boy said.
The girl said, “Summer Jones.”
“Why are you both here today?”
The camera moved closer to the pair, giving us a clearer view of their faces. They were definitely young,
