“What good will it do? What are we supposed to do if we stop them? We can’t trust the CIA. The FBI. Where are we supposed to go, Zach? Are there any good guys?”
“Yes.” He grabbed me, pulled me close. “You’re looking at one.”
And then he kissed me, hard and fast. He pulled back. “And when it’s over—”
“No.” I stopped him. “Let’s not think about the future.” I kissed him again. “Let’s just not think.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Light and dark blurred together. Eventually, the sun set and rose again, but I was like a newborn with my days and nights mixed up, and I almost never slept in coordination with the sun. I almost never slept at all. I just stayed by Bex’s bedside, listening as she said, “Cammie.” Her lips were dry and cracking, and I dabbed at them with a damp cloth.
“I’m here, Bex,” I told her. I felt her forehead, but it was cool. No fever, no infection, just a deep and fitful sleep; and I had to hold her down to keep her from tossing too badly and opening up her brand-new stitches, courtesy of Macey and the Gallagher Academy’s intensive emergency medical procedures training.
“We have to find Cammie,” she mumbled.
“I’m here, Bex. I’m back,” I said, and only then did I realize that a part of her was still looking for me. Part of her might never stop.
“How is she?”
I turned at the sound of the voice.
“The antibiotics in the med kit that Liz brought with us from school were really strong. They’ve knocked her out. But she’s fine,” I told Preston. “It’s just her shoulder.” I said again, “She’s fine.”
“Do you think I could sit with her?” Preston asked from the doorway. He took a step forward, his hands shoved into his back pockets. “Let me rephrase. I’m going to sit with her. You’re going to take a break.”
When I stood and walked into the main room, my legs didn’t want to work. My head swirled a little, too light on my shoulders. I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t slept. I’d done nothing for days but worry and doubt and pray.
A light was flickering in the kitchen. An eerie fluorescent glare filled the room, the bulbs humming and buzzing and clinging to life. Liz lay with her head on the table, laptops sprawled around her, running through lines and lines of code, analyzing news stories and weather patterns—searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack.
I wanted to wake her up and tell her to go get some sleep in a real bed, but I knew there was no use, so I just took a seat beside her and turned one of the laptops to face me, holding my breath as I called up the website I’d been quietly checking for days. There wouldn’t be anything, I was certain.
I was wrong.
I couldn’t breathe as the website came to life. It was supposed to advertise farm and ranch land for sale in the Sandhills. I still remember my father looking at the site when I was a little girl. He would talk about a future when we would return to Grandma and Grandpa’s and never leave. When we would be safe and sound in Nebraska. All spies have an exit plan, an anonymous city or stretch of abandoned beach. My father was going to have a rock house and a natural spring, good fences and enough horizon so that the spy in him would always be able to see what was coming.
I blinked twice and read the ad again.
M&M properties offering twenty acres for sale. Excellent condition. And a phone number I’d never seen before.
It had been years since my mom had told me about it, put the plan into place. It was just for emergencies, she had said, just in case we ever got separated. Because, deep down, I think we’d both always known something like that was coming.
I read the lines again.
M&M properties: Matthew Morgan.
Twenty acres: Two agents.
Excellent condition: They were fine.
And a phone number that—to anyone else—wouldn’t work. But if I added one to every digit, I could finally hear my mother’s voice.
I ran to our stash of burner phones and dialed without thinking. I couldn’t breathe as the phone rang and rang, and then finally: “Hey, kiddo.”
“Mom!” I practically shouted. I was on the verge of crying. “I’m so glad to hear from you. We’re—”
“Wise Guy and I are fine,” she talked on, not stopping, not caring what I said or how many tears broke through my throat—and I knew she wasn’t listening. She probably didn’t even have that phone anymore. It was just a recording.
“We’re safe. We’re closing in on the Delauhunt heir, we think.” I heard her take a deep breath, static temporarily filling the line. “I heard what happened at school, sweetheart. And I’m glad you left. You’re doing the right thing. I’m so proud of you. But you have to promise me you won’t worry about us. Wise Guy and I…we’ll keep each other safe. You girls…you do the same, okay? Keep each other safe.”