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Health and Human Services.” I gesture at the rack of weapons along the wall. “That doesn’t sound fun to you?”
    She smacks my arm. “You’re so obnoxious.” But she doesn’t seem as scared now, which makes me smile.
    â€œMy priority is to find whatever my dad wanted me to, and if I have to go to DC, I will. But first I need to see what else he left for me here.”
    â€œAre those security cameras?” Christina points over my shoulder.
    I turn to a set of screens to the left of Dad’s desk. “Yeah, probably. That’s what he had set up at home.”
    She laughs. “Is that your room?”
    I glance up to the screen in the top row and see my room . . . but it’s not the room we slept in last night. It’s my room at home. I recognize the spill of dirty laundry off the edge of the bed, the sneakers on the floor, the clutter of papers and books on the bedside table. “Yeah . . .” I take a closer look at the screens. “These are from all over. Look—” I point to a screen in the middle row, where bright sunshine glares from a window in a living room that looks like the one upstairs. “It’s only five in the morning on the East Coast. This must be in a safe house that’s somewhere else entirely. And look at that one.” I point to the bottom row, where security cameras show our backs as we gaze at the screen. “These are from here, obviously.”
    Christina’s hand closes over my forearm. “And that?”
    The bottom left screen shows a yard filled with weeds. In the distance is a field. It’s the front of this house. And the sight of it sends adrenaline exploding through my system. Because there’s a blond guy climbing the rickety porch stairs.
    We’ve been found.

THREE
    â€œSTAY HERE,” I SAY TO CHRISTINA AS I STRIDE OVER TO the wall rack and pull a semi-auto pistol from one of the pegs. Like all things my father made, it’s black, sleek, and dangerous. Once I’ve got it cocked and locked, I glance over to see my girlfriend staring at me with wide eyes.
    â€œHe’s in the house,” she whispers, pointing to a screen next to the one that displays the yard—and this one shows the interior of the shack. I can’t believe I didn’t notice the camera when I came in, but this guy doesn’t, either. He’s skinny and young-looking. More like a boy than a man. Younger even than I am. His eyes are focused on the two doors at the back of the main room, just like mine were.
    â€œHe won’t get in,” I assure her. “There’s no way—” My mouth snaps shut as he pulls the rusty nail from the ceiling and sticks it in the hole in the floor. We hear the machinery working above us, the floor moving aside, the stairway to the basement being revealed. “Okay, take this,” I say, walking toward her and holding out the gun. “You see this little thing?” I touch the thumb safety. “If he comes in here, you point this at him, and if he threatens you, slide this down and start pulling the trigger. Do not mess around.”
    She gingerly takes the pistol, and I curl my hands around hers, showing her how to hold it. “Tate, he looks like a harmless kid.”
    I meet her dark blue gaze. “So do I.”
    She swallows hard and nods. I head over to the rack, grab myself another, and jog out the door, shutting it behind me. I take the stairs to the main level two at a time, knowing the kid is probably already at the door, wondering if he could possibly know the code to get in, wondering who the hell he is. I reach the top of the steps and pause, pressing myself against the wall and listening.
    From the kitchen comes the crinkling of plastic wrap.
What the fuck. He’s already inside.
I creep silently through the living room and peek around the wall, into the kitchen. The kid has his back to me and is shoving crackers