with a few bruises and haunted eyes from nights spent fighting an “imaginary” monster wasn’t at the top of their needs-protection list.
I haven’t seen a social worker since I was in junior high. Whoever this official person is, it’s probably someone Dani and I don’t want to see. Not if we want to keep our freedom and have a chance to investigate what happened to us at Baptist on our own.
Another knock, this one hard enough to make Dani flinch and her eyes fly wide. “Should we answer the door?”
“No. Get your shoes on. There’s another way out,” I whisper.
Dani scoots off the bed and dives for her shoes while I throw our notebook, all the cash from my secret stash, and anything else I think might be useful into my gym bag. A can of nuts, a few smashed granola bars I was planning to throw away, the waterproof poncho I wear when I go running on rainy mornings, and a flashlight—never know when you might need a flashlight—go into the bag. It takes less than thirty seconds, but already the knock and the voice come again.
“Jesse Vance? If you’re in there, you need to come on out, son.”
My mouth twists. Son . I hate that word. I’m no one’s “son,” especially not this condescending asshole’s.
“This is Agent Bullock,” the man continues. “I’m with the FBI. I’m here to help you.”
Dani’s eyebrows shoot up as she silently mouths, “FBI?”
I shake my head, indicating I have no idea what the guy is talking about. But something in his voice makes me want to run in the other direction. Maybe it’s just my natural response to an authority figure—I’ve been pulled into the police station often enough to develop a healthy hatred of cops—but I don’t think so. There is something … off about this. I haven’t done anything worthy of the FBI’s attention and there’s no way an FBI agent would be investigating the crash this quickly. A cop at the door, looking for kids whose bodies they haven’t found in the wreckage, I would buy.
But the FBI? It doesn’t make sense. Until it does, I’ll be avoiding Agent Bullock.
I take Dani’s hand and slip out the door of my room, heading toward the window at the end of the hall, the one that leads out onto the sagging roof. I’d sneaked out this way fifty times or more before I figured out that Traci and Trent didn’t give a shit if I walked out the front door so long as they didn’t get a call from the police to come pick me up in the middle of the night.
We’re at the window—sliding it open—when Agent Bullock calls out again. His voice sounds even louder in the hall, making it seem like he’s already in the house, calling from the bottom of the stairs. The hairs on my neck stand on end.
“Jesse, is Danielle Connor there with you?”
The hairs on my neck go from standing on end to jumping around screaming. Something is wrong. Why is this guy so sure I’m here? And how does he know that Dani’s with me?
“Do you think Penny called them?” Dani hisses.
Hmm. Did her stepmom call them? Dani said that Penny used to work for the FBI so maybe she has some connections, but even that doesn’t seem very likely. “Maybe, but how would they get here so fast? It’s been less than an hour since we left your house.”
Dani nods. “And Penny doesn’t know your last name. We didn’t tell her when she asked. So how would she be able to figure out where you live?”
“Miss Connor is diabetic.” Agent Bullock’s voice is underscored by footsteps crossing the front porch. Several sets of footsteps. He isn’t alone. The red-alert signal in my head flashes brighter. “She’s going to get very ill if she doesn’t receive proper care. You need to come out and bring Miss Connor with you, or we will enter by force.”
Dani’s fingers dig into the sleeve of the clean sweater I pulled on. “This feels wrong. I’m scared. I don’t care who they say they are, I think we should go.”
The addition of her gut instinct to mine
I haven’t seen a social worker since I was in junior high. Whoever this official person is, it’s probably someone Dani and I don’t want to see. Not if we want to keep our freedom and have a chance to investigate what happened to us at Baptist on our own.
Another knock, this one hard enough to make Dani flinch and her eyes fly wide. “Should we answer the door?”
“No. Get your shoes on. There’s another way out,” I whisper.
Dani scoots off the bed and dives for her shoes while I throw our notebook, all the cash from my secret stash, and anything else I think might be useful into my gym bag. A can of nuts, a few smashed granola bars I was planning to throw away, the waterproof poncho I wear when I go running on rainy mornings, and a flashlight—never know when you might need a flashlight—go into the bag. It takes less than thirty seconds, but already the knock and the voice come again.
“Jesse Vance? If you’re in there, you need to come on out, son.”
My mouth twists. Son . I hate that word. I’m no one’s “son,” especially not this condescending asshole’s.
“This is Agent Bullock,” the man continues. “I’m with the FBI. I’m here to help you.”
Dani’s eyebrows shoot up as she silently mouths, “FBI?”
I shake my head, indicating I have no idea what the guy is talking about. But something in his voice makes me want to run in the other direction. Maybe it’s just my natural response to an authority figure—I’ve been pulled into the police station often enough to develop a healthy hatred of cops—but I don’t think so. There is something … off about this. I haven’t done anything worthy of the FBI’s attention and there’s no way an FBI agent would be investigating the crash this quickly. A cop at the door, looking for kids whose bodies they haven’t found in the wreckage, I would buy.
But the FBI? It doesn’t make sense. Until it does, I’ll be avoiding Agent Bullock.
I take Dani’s hand and slip out the door of my room, heading toward the window at the end of the hall, the one that leads out onto the sagging roof. I’d sneaked out this way fifty times or more before I figured out that Traci and Trent didn’t give a shit if I walked out the front door so long as they didn’t get a call from the police to come pick me up in the middle of the night.
We’re at the window—sliding it open—when Agent Bullock calls out again. His voice sounds even louder in the hall, making it seem like he’s already in the house, calling from the bottom of the stairs. The hairs on my neck stand on end.
“Jesse, is Danielle Connor there with you?”
The hairs on my neck go from standing on end to jumping around screaming. Something is wrong. Why is this guy so sure I’m here? And how does he know that Dani’s with me?
“Do you think Penny called them?” Dani hisses.
Hmm. Did her stepmom call them? Dani said that Penny used to work for the FBI so maybe she has some connections, but even that doesn’t seem very likely. “Maybe, but how would they get here so fast? It’s been less than an hour since we left your house.”
Dani nods. “And Penny doesn’t know your last name. We didn’t tell her when she asked. So how would she be able to figure out where you live?”
“Miss Connor is diabetic.” Agent Bullock’s voice is underscored by footsteps crossing the front porch. Several sets of footsteps. He isn’t alone. The red-alert signal in my head flashes brighter. “She’s going to get very ill if she doesn’t receive proper care. You need to come out and bring Miss Connor with you, or we will enter by force.”
Dani’s fingers dig into the sleeve of the clean sweater I pulled on. “This feels wrong. I’m scared. I don’t care who they say they are, I think we should go.”
The addition of her gut instinct to mine
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