they saw a young girl, with short dark hair and between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, leaving the area under suspicious circumstances, wearing a blood-splattered shirt. Authorities are trying to track down more information.
A sketch materialized. A drawing of a face. My fingers pressed hard on the keyboard. A drawing of my face. And a surprisingly good one, at that. Apparently the transient I’d traded clothes with in the wee hours of the morning near the Potomac had a good eye for detail.
The wide deep-set eyes, the strong curve of the jaw … even the smattering of freckles. For anyone who knew me, that sketch was easily recognizable. The words accompanying it were even more ominous. I was the lead suspect in Mom’s murder. That was outrageous. Of all the—
A heaviness pushed against my ribs, filled my chest like hardening cement. Because while I might not have been holding the gun that shot Mom, there was no doubt she was dead because of me.
Holland might not have released that sketch, but I felt his peppermint breath burning down my neck all the same. And now that the police had this much, what if someone recognized me and reported in? What if it got back to someone in the military other than Holland—someone in the military who knew what I looked like, outside of his lackeys? Well, not the military, exactly—but SMART Ops. The clandestine unit that dealt in artificial intelligence and cutting-edge research. The secretive military group headed up by a man who was more than willing to sacrifice lives in pursuit of his twisted agenda.
I braced myself against the hatred that burned in my heart, waited until my skin no longer felt like it would split down the seams. One thing was for sure—the investigation had started. Mom’s body had been recovered, which meant a medical examiner, fingerprints … Sooner or later, they were going to uncover her real identity. And when they did—
Any fleeting thoughts of flying under the radar with Hunter for a day or two flew out the window. I had to find Richard Grady. Now.
In less than a second, I’d discarded thousands of Gradys through an advanced search. None of them relevant. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for, but the facts sped through my head at lightning speed.
Gradys, from all over the country. The world. I sifted through facts, searched for holes in stories—Gradys missing big chunks of their lives, which might suggest involvement in a clandestine organization. Gradys from military families. Nothing was ringing a bell, and although only a few seconds had passed, I knew I was operating on limited time.
Finally, I found three possible candidates.
One was a buff blond man who looked vaguely Scandinavian, had worked in Homeland Security, and now lived in Denver.
The next was retired military, a thin man with a receding hairline and puffy eyes who’d gone through an ugly divorce where, in an article, his former wife had blasted him for spending too much time on covert ops and not enough on his kids. Interesting.
But the one who made my heart pound with excitement had been named in a tell-all book by a former government operative as a CIA data analyst, even though according to his online persona, he’d worked for a military supplies company. There were no photos online, either—not a one. In this day and age, an oddity, for sure—and one that most likely wasn’t coincidental. But the thing that really made me sit upright was his grandmother’s birthplace.
Clearwater, Minnesota.
If that was a coincidence, it was one I was willing to gamble on.
His current residence was listed as Knoxville, Tennessee.
I began recording all the details.
“Hey, anyone else having a Wi-Fi issue?” Somewhere to my left, I heard an irritated male voice.
“Yeah, I just got booted,” returned a younger voice to my right. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the teen boys scowling at their monitor, fingers pounding on the keys.
Crap. Maybe my supersecret android method of using the internet wasn’t so supersecret after all. Was I jacking up the Wi-Fi for everyone else? Hogging it, somehow?
Just as that thought materialized, somewhere, in a dim cavern in my mind, I felt a tiny pinprick of awareness. A needle-sized hole, worming its way into existence. I hadn’t opened any new ports, or issued any new commands. I’d never felt that spot before.
So what was it?
Around me, the disgruntled voices were growing louder as the Wi-Fi refused to cooperate.
Close ports.
In a flash, my mind cleared. The wormhole disappeared. And a loud “Yes!” sounded from the scraggly-haired boy on my right, accompanied by a fist pump.
Apparently, Wi-Fi was back.
“What are you doing?”
I whipped around and faced Hunter.
He dropped his hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I got a little worried when you weren’t back in the room when I got out of the shower.”
His jaw was freshly shaved, his hair damp and curling at the ends. He looked amazing, but I couldn’t just put off my search for Grady on the basis of cute hair and smooth cheeks. I had to ensure that Mom hadn’t died in vain, which meant that I needed to survive. The only way to do that was to keep moving and stay vigilant.
And the more I stared at him, the harder it was to fit him into the equation.
“I was doing a little more research. On my dad.”
“Did you have any luck?”
I nodded. “I think I may have found him this time.”
Hunter looked surprised, not that I could blame him. “Really? That’s great. Where is he?”
“Knoxville.”
“Tennessee?”
At my nod, he plucked his phone from his pocket. “So we should try to call him, right?”
I shook my head. “There was no phone number listed.” Considering his previous occupation, I doubted that he had a traceable phone at all.
“Then I take it we’re driving out there?” Hunter asked.
I sort of half shrugged, like, Who wouldn’t want to drive across the country in search of a total complete stranger?
As we stood there, in the middle of the café, I noticed one of the teens elbow his friend and nod at us. Fear twined icy tendrils through my body. Why were they staring? Had they recognized me, from the drawing?
I yanked on Hunter’s arm and started for the counter. “Why don’t we grab that coffee I was supposed to get and map out a plan?”
As we stood in line, I knew it may be the stupidest move ever, but I had to know if they were still looking, so I peeked over my shoulder. They were. And when they caught me staring, the middle one’s grin widened and he elbowed his friend again. Then, he proceeded to make obnoxiously loud kissing motions on his arm.
Turning back to study the menu mounted on the
