“Jesus Christ, kid.”
I froze and glanced down at the hands holding me.
Familiar spiderwebs of scars across the knuckles and a silver ring—a ring, I realized, that bore the same symbol as the charm on my bracelet.
For the second time—third if you counted his attempt to get me out of the camp—my father had come to my rescue.
No sooner had the details clicked into place than Hank’s hands fell away. I stumbled and caught myself against the open car door as Jason came to my side.
The rest of the field slowly came into focus.
A handful of men and women milled around, all of them looking more than capable of taking care of themselves. Since their presence didn’t seem to bother Hank, I assumed they were part of his pack.
A white jeep was parked fifty feet away, its hood crushed like a tin can. A body was slumped over the steering wheel.
One Tracker—the one who looked like a runner—was lying dead on the ground halfway between the jeep and the Town Car. He had taken a bullet to the head. The bodies of two men lay crumpled not far away. I walked over to them and stared down at what I could see of their faces. Though they were wearing plainclothes, I recognized them as guards from Thornhill.
My stomach flipped. “Did you kill them?” I asked, looking up.
“Didn’t have much choice. They started firing as soon as they saw us.” The stubble Hank had been sporting the other night had filled out into the beginnings of a full beard. His battered leather jacket bulged slightly on the left side, a sign he was carrying at least one gun. He raised an eyebrow. “Any objections?”
“None,” I replied, my voice flat and hard and unfamiliar to my own ears. The guards had fired on the car and run us off the road. I had no illusions about what they would have done to Jason and me.
“Did you kill the Trackers?” Jason’s voice was carefully blank.
The look Hank shot him was long and appraising. After a moment, he shook his head. “They hauled that one out and shot him before they saw us. The other one is in the car. Looks like he was hit and bled out just after the crash.” It was clear he didn’t consider the two deaths a loss.
I stepped away from the bodies at my feet. “These ones are guards. From Thornhill.” I swallowed and glanced at the Town Car. It was riddled with more spots than a Clearasil ad. If Hank and his wolves hadn’t shown up when they had . . .
I shook my head. “How did you find us? How did you know we were in trouble?”
Hank’s gaze drifted down to my bracelet. “There’s a tracking chip inside the charm. That way, if the men I bribed to get you out had gone back on the deal, I would have at least known where you were.”
A voice called him over to the jeep. “Stay here,” he ordered, striding away before I could respond.
“What men? What bribe?” Jason’s voice was sharp. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Nothing,” I said quickly as I started after Hank. If he had known where I was, then he’d be able to track Eve. He’d know if Sinclair had her.
I had barely gone three feet when I caught a glimpse of red out of the corner of my eye.
“Impressive.” Eve stood where I was certain there had been empty space just a moment before. She rocked back on the heels of a pair of cherry-colored Doc Martens. Gone was the gray Thornhill uniform; in its place was a baggy flannel shirt knotted over a black tank top and jeans. There was a tired, pinched look around her eyes, but otherwise she looked fine. Better than fine. “I leave you on your own for less than a day and you piss off the warden so bad that she sends a hit squad after you.”
“You know what they say,” muttered Jason absently as his gaze swept the field. “If you don’t have at least one person out to kill you before breakfast, you’re not living up to your potential.”
Eve ignored him. “Dex and Kyle?”
I shook my head. “Sinclair has them. Last I saw, Dex was pretty out of it.” I couldn’t tell her about Kyle. Not until I trusted myself to do so without breaking.
She glanced away as she ran a hand through her hair. “There were too many guards. Dex and I split up. And then, with the truck . . . I wanted to go back and make sure he was okay, but Tanner said there wasn’t time.”
“Tanner?” I frowned and rubbed my arm where the redheaded guard had gripped it. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“He was the guard Han—Curtis paid off. Turns out he’s actually RfW.”
Suddenly, the way Tanner had tried to calm the other guard that first time in the sanatorium made sense. As did the way he had looked at my bracelet. He must have known who I really was the second he had seen it.
Eve scowled. “I shouldn’t have listened to him. I should have gone back and helped Dex.”
Hank reappeared. He placed his right hand on her shoulder—a gesture that would have felt alien and uncomfortable to me but that didn’t seem to faze her. His other hand was clenched in a fist at his side. “You made the right choice. Out here, you’re useful.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel right.” Eve pulled in a deep breath and dug the heel of her boot into the ground.
I frowned and shot a glance at Jason. His eyes were locked on my father and there was a crease just above his brow; Hank’s choice of words hadn’t slipped past him, either.
I cleared my throat. “What do you mean ‘useful’?” I asked, not daring to let myself hope. “Useful for what?”
“Getting him out.”
Eve recovered first. She stepped away so she could study Hank’s face. “You changed your mind? You’re going to break the Eumon out of Thornhill?”
I held my breath. Without Hank or the Eumon, the plan had been to approach one of the other packs. But even if they agreed to help, that would take time—time Kyle and Serena didn’t have.
I stared at Hank, waiting for him to give Eve a yes or no. Instead, he said, “That depends.”
“On?” asked Jason, the single syllable as sharp as a blade.
My father’s eyes—every bit as icy and blue as Sinclair’s—fell on each of us in turn. “On you.” He opened his fist and held up a flat metal circle, like an oversized coin. It bore the same symbol that was etched on the charms he had given Eve and me. The same symbol on his ring.
“The guards left one on the body of each Tracker. It’s the symbol of the Eumon,” Hank added, glancing at Jason and me. “If the Trackers had come looking for their men and found it here, they’d assume the pack had put out a hit. Probably as a message in retaliation for the raid.”
“Sinclair couldn’t just kill us in the camp,” I said slowly, “not without going against the Trackers and pissing them off. But they wouldn’t suspect her if we were killed on the road—not if she made it look like we were caught in the crossfire during an attack.”
I shivered. The sun was warm—unseasonably warm—but I was suddenly freezing.
Jason glanced back at the body of the Tracker. “I got those men killed.”
“Sinclair got those men killed. Not you.” I reached for his hand, but he brushed the touch aside. Unable to say or do anything to comfort him, I shifted my attention back to my father. “You said your help depended on us. Why?”
He flexed his hand around the piece of metal. “Because I want to know what was so valuable that the good warden would send a hit squad after my daughter and try to pin it on my pack.”
22
“TAKE ME THROUGH THE VIDEOS AGAIN.” HANK STARED at the three of us—Jason, Eve, and me—from across a scarred breakfast table.
We were in a single-wide trailer—one of thirty—in an abandoned trailer park about forty minutes from Thornhill. The avocado-green appliances and yellow cupboards screamed 1970s, but according to Hank, the place had only been vacant a few years.