Silver and I first got here,” said Kate, “he told me that John and Jay Garrity had died on a trip to destroy the Merricks. Then I met you, and your last name was Garrity, and you were new here . . . well, it was a big coincidence. Too big. When we tried to find out more about you, there were no listed numbers under Garrity in town, no homes or vehicles registered under that name, no—”
“Because I lived with my grandparents,” said Hunter. “My mom’s parents. And she kept her maiden name, so . . .”
“Right. So that was a mystery. Especially since you knew how to fight—but you’d obviously never been through any kind of training as a Guide. I couldn’t put two-and-two together.”
Hunter frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Hunter, when I was twelve, my mother took me to the Farm. Do you know what that means?”
“You told me about some guy teaching you how to fight.”
“Yeah. There’s this farm in Virginia where a guy named Roland basically beats the sensitivity out of you until you figure out how to put duty before feeling.”
Hunter’s eyes widened, but before he could say anything, Kate added, “Everyone goes there, Hunter. Everyone. It’s mandatory.”
He was trying to push images of someone beating the crap out of Kate from his mind. “My father used to tell me that he’d send me for training,” he said. “He always told me one more year. He said I wasn’t ready.”
Kate’s eyes were vaguely haunted, made more so by the flickering firelight. “No one is ever ready for that, Hunter.”
Hunter bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to ask—but not wanting to.
“I think he kept you a secret,” she whispered. She hesitated. “And that’s a big no-no.”
Like Bill had kept Becca a secret.
Hunter rolled back to stare up at the starry night and wonder what that meant.
Not for the first time, he wished his father were here right now. Not just because he’d be able to answer the thousand and one questions fighting for space in Hunter’s brain. But because he’d know what to do.
His father had been all about duty—but then he’d kept Hunter a secret?
Hunter thought back to the day before they’d all left to go after the Merricks. His uncle had said something about its being surveillance—that was the only reason Hunter had been allowed to go.
But any time someone talked about that mission, they said that his dad was coming here to kill the Merricks.
Had his father’s mission been reconnaissance, in advance of killing the Merricks?
Or had he never intended to kill them at all?
And what did all the folders mean?
And if he’d never meant to kill the Merricks, what was he planning on doing?
Too many questions. Hunter rubbed at his eyes again.
Kate put a hand on his wrist. “Will Becca’s dad help us?”
Hunter snorted. “This is it. Blankets and food. He wouldn’t even let us come in the house.”
“Weird.”
“Not weird. He’s an asshole.”
“We can’t stay here forever.”
“We can’t just drive around, either. I’m worried the police are looking for me. A white jeep is pretty easy to identify.” His voice turned wry. “The bullet hole in the rear quarter panel isn’t exactly subtle, either.”
“My mom used to say that things look better in the morning.”
Hunter started to say that he didn’t see how that would be possible, but Kate moved closer and laid her head on his shoulder.
It put the line of her body against his.
He kept trying to tell his own body that she was injured, that she was seeking warmth, that this had nothing to do with anything.
His body was replying, DUDE. SHE IS NOT WEARING PANTS.
“I’m glad you took me for a drive this afternoon,” she said.
“You are?” he asked in surprise. “But that’s why the day went to shit.”
“I don’t think so.” She breathed against him for a long moment. “If we hadn’t left, Silver might have come to the Merricks’ house while everyone was still there.”
Hunter froze. He hadn’t considered that.
“You’re a good person, Hunter,” she said. “I know you care about them. I know you see it as a weakness, but it’s not. You’re trying to save them.”
“Kate.” He shifted to try to see her face. “Kate, are you crying?”
“No.” But she was. She’d pressed closer to him, as if that were possible, burying her face in his chest.
He stroked a hand over her hair. “Why?” he said softly. “Why are you crying?”
She didn’t answer him, and he just shifted until he was