"He knew my father-Barnabas."

Streicker stood for a long minute, letting his dogs' aggressive barking speak for him. I was about to tell Luke to give it up when Streicker shouted, "Glock, Luger, heel!"

The Rottweilers wheeled and raced back to Streicker. At his signal, they dropped, and he walked past them.

Luke stepped out of the RV. Selena and I watched through the screen, riveted, as Luke approached the house, completely exposed and too far from safety if Streicker set the dogs on him.

What the h.e.l.l are we doing here, Luke?

Streicker stepped down from the porch and met Luke partway. Wind whipped Luke's jacket as they talked. Even from far away, I could see Streicker becoming angry.

We need to get out of here. I wrenched open the screen to call Luke back when Streicker grabbed him. He pulled Luke into a bear hug, and pounded him on the back.

What the h.e.l.l?

Luke pointed to the RV, and Streicker broke into a grin. They walked toward us, and Selena shoved the dog she was holding at me. She reached for the gun safe and tapped in the combination, took out her gun, and set it on the counter.

Luke climbed in first and shot me a look that said "don't worry." Behind him, Streicker filled the doorway. "This here's Mr. Streicker," Luke said.

Streicker eyed Selena's gun and tossed her a smile. "Hola."

"Hola," she muttered.

The tattoo on Streicker's neck was a dense pattern made up of words, and the few I could pick out made my skin crawl. Words like "Righteous Man" and "Tyranny."

Streicker looked me up and down, his eyes cutting through my clothes like the tip of a knife.

I hugged the dog to my chest and felt her tiny little chicken heart go crazy. "Hi."

"Hi." Streicker nodded at the dog crates lashed together and laughed. "s.h.i.t, Luke. When you said you had a bunch of Chihuahuas in here, I thought you were joking."

"So, can you get them over the border?" Luke said.

Streicker reached for the dog in my arms. I forced myself not to pull away as he stroked the silky ears. "Over the border. Under the border. Easy as one-two-three."

Selena shook her head. "No, is okay. I take them to Denver."

"You sure?" Luke said.

"I'm sure," she answered.

Streicker shrugged. "Suit yourself. Grab your stuff," he told Luke, "and come on up to the house."

Streicker left, and Luke gathered our packs and guns.

"How about you, Selena?" Luke said. "You need a break? Want to walk the dogs before your brother gets here?"

"No, gracias." Selena lifted the dog from my arms. Luke stepped outside, and Selena dropped her voice. "I'm not waiting for my brother, I'm leaving now. You should too."

Every cell in my body was saying the same thing, but Luke wasn't about to leave here, and I couldn't leave him.

"I can't."

Selena shook her head sadly and set the pup down before she took my hands and kissed me on both cheeks, leaving smudges of red lipstick I could feel. "Thank you," I said. "I'll never forget how you helped us." Selena watched me climb down the steps and I saw her fingers making the sign of the cross.

I wiped her lipstick off my cheeks as the RV backed down the drive and onto the country road. Selena turned south toward Colorado, and I watched her drive off, already regretting that Luke and I hadn't left, too.

13.

I felt like an animal sniffing out danger when I stepped into Streicker's house. The first thing that struck me was that it was eerily immaculate. New paint. No dust on the shiny floor. No dog smell despite the two curled in the corner.

The front room was stripped down to a brown leather couch, chair, table, and a Sportswall. All four screens were tuned to news. Financial. International. Domestic. Not what I expected from a man dressed like a member of a motorcycle gang.

Streicker slapped shut the open laptop on the coffee table. "Closet's behind you."

Luke and I stowed our coats and packs in the empty closet. My shoulders pinched and I began to wonder if the bare walls and absence of anything personal were intentional, as if Streicker wanted to be able to walk out the door and not leave a trace of who he was behind.

"Make yourself at home, Luke."

I waited for my invite, but Streicker kept me standing. He stripped off his jacket, revealing his cut arm muscles and a stomach that was military flat under his gray tee.

The tattoo on his neck was now completely exposed, and I saw that these weren't random words, but a long pa.s.sage in the shape of a gun with a barrel, handle, and trigger. I made out a phrase before Streicker turned away.

"For I Will Strike With Great Vengeance."

Who is this guy?

Luke was caught up in the headlines scrolling across the Sportswall screens. I glanced at the road, knowing Selena was long gone.

Streicker looked me in the eyes, a slightly amused smile on his face. "How about you go get us a couple beers?"

My mouth dropped open, and I was about to say something, but Luke shot me a look: Just do it, okay?

"Beer?" Streicker repeated.

Go to h.e.l.l. "Sure."

I headed down the hall toward the sound of cooking and saw a glistening tile floor that had to be in the kitchen. The next room was almost empty, too, except for a table and chairs and a steel gun case fixed to the wall.

I took a quick count. Six semiautomatics in the center of the house, only a few steps from any room, secured by a grille and a coded lock.

A shiver ran through me as if the temperature had dropped to freezing. This wasn't like Salvation, where hunting rifles were kept handy but weapons like these were double-locked in the church bas.e.m.e.nt.

Luke's and Streicker's voices were hushed, and for the first time since Luke and I'd started out on this journey, I wondered if I could trust him.

I stepped into the brightly lit kitchen. Everything looked new: countertops, appliances, cabinets, but none of it was expensive.

A girl who seemed to be a few years older than I stood at the stove browning onions. When she saw me, her black eyes widened, and she glanced toward the front of the house.

"Hi, I'm Tracy."

She looked like she had no idea why I was talking to her. "Lola." She said it with an accent like she was Eastern European or maybe Russian.

"I'm supposed to bring the guys some beer?"

Lola kept stirring like she hadn't heard me. She was tall and model skinny in perfectly cut jeans, but her dark hair was badly styled with thick bangs and a pageboy that curled below her ears.

"Um, beer?" I said.

Lola called out to Streicker in a language I swear I'd never heard before. I don't know what he said back, but Lola opened the fridge and shoved two beers into my hands. Her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, giving me a clear view of the scars that circled both her wrists.

She'd been tied up or chained.

"What the h.e.l.l-" I stared at her wrists, my brain spinning, She forced the beers into my hands and jerked the spatula at me, telling me to get going.

I mumbled thanks and headed back to Luke in the front room, fighting the urge to break into a run. A foreign girl with scars on her wrists? There was no way Streicker was a "friend" of Barnabas.

Streicker raised his hand for a beer without looking up. I slapped it into his palm. "Have a seat, Avie."

Once I heard him say my name, I knew Luke and I were trapped. Luke must have spilled his guts, thinking Streicker would take up our cause. I sat down beside him on the couch, terrified and p.i.s.sed at myself for leaving them alone.

"Luke's been telling me about the attack on Salvation."

I held perfectly still. Always wait for the question, my teacher, Ms. Alexandra, taught us. Answer exactly what is asked.

Streicker's eyes almost sparkled. "Why'd the feds attack, Avie? Why'd they kill Barnabas, and what do they want so badly they've got people looking for you in five states?"

So Luke hadn't told him everything. "Why should I tell you?"

Streicker snorted, and Luke turned and glared at me.

I held my ground.

"You're sitting in my house, little fugitive," Streicker said. "Now I would like to honor my friendship with Luke's father, but I'm not going to risk my a.s.s unless I know exactly what I'm dealing with. You come clean or you're out on the road."

"And if I do-then what?"

"Then you've got options."

"Like what?"

Streicker shrugged. "Depends on what you want. I could smuggle you out of the country, for one."

"You could get us over the border?"

Luke shook his head, disgusted.

"Like I told your lady friend with the dogs," Streicker said. "Easy as one-two-three."

Canada. No roadblocks to worry about. No U.S. Marshals or FBI on our trail. It could be a detour; it didn't have to be the end-but only if Streicker wasn't lying.

"Or," Streicker said, "I get you a new life. New ident.i.ties. Help take out the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who's coming after you."

"That's not the help we're looking for," Luke said.

Walk out the door and end up dead or in prison. Or put my life in Streicker's hands? "Luke, can I talk to you?"

Streicker hauled himself out of the chair. "Take all the time you need."

"I don't trust him," I told Luke when we were alone. "He's got six semiautomatics in the next room. Six! And there's a girl in the kitchen with scars around her wrists like she was chained up. Not to mention that tattoo. You can't tell me that he and Barnabas were friends."

"They weren't."

"Then what were they?"

"They worked together."

By not saying more, Luke said it all. Streicker's and Barnabas' pasts in the CIA were covert, cla.s.sified, and erased from public record. I blew out a breath. "Did Barnabas trust him?"

"He said Streicker owed him. Said Streicker's code of honor would protect me."

"So Barnabas didn't trust him."

"You got a better idea? You know any good, decent people who can smuggle evidence and evade capture, because I don't."

He had me there. "No."

Luke fixed his gaze on the Sportswall. An aerial camera over Salvation zoomed in on state police carrying two children out of the church. The kids struggled to get free, but the men ignored their thrashing arms and legs.

I laid my hand on Luke's arm, half expecting him to shake me off. "Can you tell who they are?"

"Not sure."

Luke sat transfixed as a gray and black dog leaped down from a porch and bounded through the snow to get to them. It circled the officers, barking and carrying on. Luke cupped his hands over his mouth. "It's Jonas and Sarah."

"Oh thank G.o.d." But where were Luke's parents? I gripped his arm, praying they'd come out of the church next. It took far too long before two more figures came down the snow-covered steps. "Luke, look, is that Nellie and Rogan?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Dammit, it's not them."