I swallow hard, not letting myself get distracted or overwhelmed. All that matters right now is getting through this. My eyes lock on the knife, and my finger rests on the trigger. If I miss by even a fraction of an inch, the knife could cut open my throat. I take a deep breath and look one final time over Anson’s shoulder. Eyes so much like mine stare back at me.
And one eye with a glass shard scar.
In a rapid movement, I collapse my left leg behind me, falling to the floor. At the same moment, I fire directly into Anson’s wrist. The bullet hits perfectly. Anson lets out a pained scream. The knife falls to the floor in a spray of blood. It clatters just inches away from where I’ve moved. I use my falling momentum to kick out with my right foot right in his knee. It’s not much, but it accomplishes exactly what I wanted: he stumbles to the ground.
Anson lifts his eyes to me, howling in rage, and clamors to tackle me, but it’s too late. The massive man is pinned to the floor, his arms behind his back. I quickly scamper up and burrow the muzzle into the base of his neck.
“What do you think of her now?” sneers Jonah. He looks up at me and smiles.
Of course, it isn’t Jonah. It’s his twin.
My father.
I pull a pair of handcuffs out of my pocket and cuff Anson’s hands behind his back. Leaning down close enough so I can put my mouth almost on his ear, I whisper, “I win.”
I get to my feet, and my father gathers me in his arms. His face buries in the side of my neck, I fill my hands with his shirt, clutching him close.
“I was worried you didn’t realize it was me,” he whispers.
I pull my head back, barely shaking away the tears before they spill out.
“Of course I knew it was you. I just can’t believe it.”
“There’s so much I have to tell you,” he says, “but for now, we have to deal with this scum. Do you have backup here?”
“Yes,” I nod. “They’re outside. They’re supposed to be watching the perimeter.”
“Call them,” Dad instructs. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I hand him my gun, take my phone out and dial Dean. The sound of a phone ringing in Anson’s pocket makes my hands clammy. He starts to laugh. Dad forces his face down on the floor, pressing the muzzle back to his neck.
“What did you do to him?” he snaps. “Where is he?”
“Tick tock, tick tock, Emma. Time’s running out for the son. You better find your precious baby brother,” Anson says in a queasy sing-song voice.
“Your brother?” Dad asks.
“Not my brother. My cousin.”
“Jonah’s son,” he realizes. “Dean is here?”
“He is. He’s supposed to be outside with Eric and Sam.”
Anson keeps laughing, the sound grumbling against the floor.
“We need to find him. I’ll secure him here.”
Before he can finish, I’ve taken off toward the door.
“Emma, stop!” he calls after me. “Don’t go out there alone.”
“I have to,” I call out behind me. “I can’t let something happen to him.”
I dart out into the lush green surroundings, thinking about what he said. It’s the same riddle he’s used before, but it meant something the last time. Tick tock, tick tock. I search my memories, trying to remember this place enough to understand what he could mean. Time is running out. What did he say?
I keep moving, not wanting to stand in one spot and possibly waste a single second. Tick tock, tick tock.
“Time’s running out for the son,” I murmur to myself.
I stop. The sun. Not Jonah’s son, but the sun.
I run to the back of the house as fast as I can. There’s a feature I remember back there that I used to love. I would watch it with my mother, spending lazy days stretched out on blankets in the grass, reading books, and eating tiny treats she baked for me.
The sundial is right where I remember it being. And to the side of it is a fountain with constantly pumped water. It usually acts as a birdbath or just a pretty feature to look at when enjoying the beautiful grounds. But right now, it’s an instrument of torture.
Dean kneels at the side of the fountain, bent back with his arms secured around the base of the fountain behind him, and his head tilted into the water. It flows down on his face, making him struggle and cough.
I run to him and lift his face out of the water. He gasps deeply, savoring the air, coughing up a fit.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He coughs so heavily he can’t even make words form.
“Deep breath,” I tell him.
I lower his head back so that I can work on the knots holding his hands in place. He thrashes and does his best to lift his face out of the water again.
“Knife in my pocket,” he sputters.
I grab the hunting blade out and snap it open so I can cut away the ropes. When they fall free, Dean gets to his feet, wiping his face with his hands and gasping for breath.
“Where are the others?” I ask.
“There was a siren. They went to go secure the entrances. Almost as soon as they were gone, Anson attacked me.”
“I know,” I say. “He’s inside right now with my father.”
“Emma,” Dean whispers. I think I know what he’s getting at, but I see the expression on his face, and I turn to look where he is.
Jonah— the real Jonah— stands just a few yards away. There’s blood on his hands and a wild look in his eyes. His left arm is clutched to his side, crudely wrapped in a bloodstained bandage.
I wrap my hand tighter around the hilt of the knife and run at him. He’s ready for me
