“I understand that and I’m sorry, sir,” another voice says, polite but firm. “But she’s going to have to go through it one more time with the Department of Homeland Security.”
When I finally look around my dad’s arm, which is gripped hard on the door, there are six officers of some kind standing on our front porch. All large, plain-faced, white men. They have on matching Windbreakers with big gold emblems over the right side of their chests. They somehow look identical despite big differences in body type.
“Wylie Lang?” one of them asks. The tallest of the group. He’s smiling at me now, but his teeth are too big and too bright.
“Did you find Cassie?” I ask. Because yes, there is still a small part of me that is hoping she could somehow be alive.
“I’m afraid so, miss,” another one answers. He is the most muscular, more like a marine. “Deceased at the scene as you described. Along with all the other members of this group: The Collective.”
“What? They’re all dead?” I ask, my heart picking up speed. I think of Fiona and Miriam. And Lexi with her baby waiting for her at home. Maybe not innocent, not completely. But none of them deserved to die. “Dead how?”
“Dr. Quentin Caton,” a third agent says. “We believe him to be the perpetrator.”
“Perpetrator of what?” Because there are so many options.
“Multiple gunshot wounds, looks like an automatic weapon,” he says, like I should know this already. “We have no specific reason to believe that any of the members of The Collective or Dr. Caton were able to flee. In fact, it appears to be a murder-suicide scenario. But we will need to wait for an official identification of the bodies to be sure, as well as medical examiners’ reports.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense. They only had one gun. And it was an old rifle.”
“Well, perhaps there was an arms cache you were unaware of?” the skinny one offers, like I’m an idiot to think I’d know about all their guns, and maybe I am. And yet, none of this feels right.
Unless they really came, that’s what I think next. They came and killed them all.
“North Point, the defense contractors? Maybe it was them?”
“North Point, miss?” the short one asks, his hair so light it’s almost white. He’s got a tone, goddamn stupid kid.
“They’re defense contractors,” I say, already wishing that I hadn’t said that part. Because it sounds stupid. But also like the only explanation that makes sense. “They want my dad’s research.”
The officers all look at one another with these scrunched-up eyebrows. The pudgy one is already typing the name into his phone. “North Point, huh?” he says out loud. “Well, we’ve got a church, a glass door company, and digital solutions—whatever that is. No defense-related anything.”
“And we’re all pretty familiar with the various defense contractors,” the skinny one says. He looks around at the others, who nod. “We’ve never heard of North Point.”
“But we’ll look into it, of course. We’d be happy to discuss all of this further, Ms. Lang.” It’s the tall one again. The one with all the teeth. He takes a step closer. “We’d be happy to give you a full briefing and look into any theories you might have. We’ll just need you to come with us and answer a few more questions first. I can promise it won’t take long.”
Before I can answer, my phone vibrates once, then again in my back pocket—two different messages, one after another. Then a third before I can even get it out of my pocket. When I pull it out, there are three texts in a row from Jasper. All asking the same question.
Are there some kind of agents at your house?
I turn my back to the door as I type out a reply.
Yes. Why?
Jasper’s response comes instantly. And it’s only a single word.
Run.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my tireless and tenacious editor, Jennifer Klonsky, for taking a chance and then having superhuman faith and patience. Your contributions to this book have been legion. I am grateful not only for your exceptional editorial skills, but also for your sound judgment and sharp sense of humor. Thanks also to Catherine Wallace and Elizabeth Lynch for all your endless help.
My deepest thanks to Suzanne Murphy and Susan Katz for granting this series liftoff and to Kate Jackson for helping keep it aloft.
Thank you to the dedicated and talented HarperTeen marketing team: Diane Naughton, Elizabeth Ward, Kara Brammer, and Sabrina Abballe, as well as to the incredibly creative people in integrated marketing: Colleen O’Connell, Margot Wood, Nina Mehta, and school and library marketing: Patty Rosati and Molly Motch. Thank you also to my fantastic publicists: Cindy Hamilton and Gina Rizzo.
Many thanks to all those who created such amazing visuals: Barb Fitzsimmons, Alison Donalty, Alison Klapthor, and especially, Sarah Kaufman.