The federal facility should have been the safest place we could be.

That belief lasted exactly four seconds.

An agent rushed into the room.

“Move.”

Miles grabbed his backpack.

I grabbed the purse.

The agent led us toward a secure stairwell.

Then another agent appeared at the opposite end of the corridor.

“Stop.”

The first agent froze.

Something about his posture changed.

He reached for his weapon.

The second agent fired.

Miles screamed.

I pulled him behind the wall.

The first agent collapsed.

The second man advanced.

He wasn't wearing a federal badge.

He had stolen the jacket.

“Run!”

I pushed Miles into the stairwell.

We raced downward.

Footsteps followed.

One floor.

Two.

Miles was faster than I expected.

Fear can do that.

We reached a landing.

The door below opened.

A man stepped through.

I almost screamed.

Then I recognized Dana's deputy, Marcus Lee.

“Here!”

We ran toward him.

Marcus pulled us behind him.

The impostor appeared above.

Marcus fired.

The man retreated.

“Keep moving.”

We reached a secure garage.

Three agents surrounded us.

I handed Marcus the flash drive.

“Grant said there's a tracker.”

Marcus swore.

He placed it inside a shielded evidence case.

Immediately, one of the agents spoke into his radio.

“Possible breach tied to tracked evidence.”

Marcus looked at me.

“How did Grant know?”

“He's on the Bellweather.”

Marcus's expression darkened.

“He shouldn't have communication access.”

That frightened me.

“What does that mean?”

“It means either he found a phone.”

“Or?”

Marcus didn't answer.

My phone vibrated.

Grant's number.

I stared at it.

The message read.

Where is the drive?

Every hair on my arms rose.

Miles saw it.

“Dad said he wouldn't ask.”

I typed nothing.

Another message.

Laura, answer me.

Miles whispered.

“Ask him.”

I typed.

What did Miles name the red fish?

The answer came thirty seconds later.

Bubbles.

Miles looked at me.

“That's not Dad.”

Marcus took the phone.

“Vale.”

He handed it to a technician.

A third message arrived.

Smart.

Then a fourth.

Evan always did underestimate you.

I stared at the screen.

The next image made my knees weak.

Grant was tied to a metal chair.

Blood ran from his forehead.

Owen was beside him.

Both were alive.

Conrad Vale stood behind them.

He was smiling.

The message beneath the photograph read.

Bring me the original evidence by sunrise.

Or this time, the Atlantic keeps him.