Aaron frowns. "So if she got inside your head, she knows about Molly."

"She didn't get very far. I've spent hundreds of hours learning to block off that side of my mind. Usually, it's to keep . . ."

I pause and glance down at my lap. Talking about these things in front of other people is alien to my very nature. Today alone, I've doubled the number of people who know my secrets.

When I look up, Aaron catches my expression and gives me a sympathetic smile. "It's okay. This is a safe zone. You already know that I believe you. Sam has talked to Porter and to me, so he's not going to give you any flak. Daniel might think you're full of crap, but he thinks I am too, so-"

"You know, Aaron, I'm sick of you putting words into my mouth. I've never once said I thought you were full of crap. What I said is that you're a damn fool for giving anyone even the slightest reason to think that you're some kind of psychic wonder boy. What was the last thing Dad said to you?"

Aaron sucks in a breath and tightens his fist. I don't know why the question made him so angry, but judging from his narrowed eyes, things are about to get nasty.

I wonder if Aaron's spidey sense tingles when he's the one about to go medieval?

Sam sticks his two index fingers into his mouth and produces a shrill whistle. "Cut it. Both of you. Anna was talking."

I wait a few seconds, and when Aaron's face resumes something close to its original shade, I continue. "I was saying that the walls are usually to help me keep control of any hitchers I'm carrying around in my head. But this time, it helped me keep this Badea woman from learning about Molly. I'm doing my best to keep the barrier up, because I think she can do it from a distance. I had that same odd tingling sensation right before we left for the police station. In the car with Daniel, too."

Sam's head jerks back slightly and he stares at Daniel. "Go on."

"There's not much else to tell. She said she worked for someone who was interested in my talents, and I kept denying that I had any talents for them to be interested in. She was angry when she left. Frustrated. But"-I give Deo an apologetic smile-"if she got that information from Deo, then my blocking her out may not have done much good."

"Maybe, maybe not," Aaron says. "It really depends on whether her goal was to find out what you knew about Molly or to find out something Molly knew."

"Isn't that the same thing?" Daniel asks. "I mean, if she's in your head, then . . ."

"I can't access all of Molly's memories yet. She can tell me things, but I don't really have control until she moves on."

Aaron turns toward Daniel, and though there's still a bit of residual anger beneath the surface, he takes a breath and makes a visible effort to relax. "Have you searched online to see what you can find out about Badea? I mean, aside from what you learned at the station."

"No," Daniel says. "Haven't really had time."

Aaron slides his chair behind the desk. He seems much more at ease there than his grandfather was, so I'm guessing that's his usual workstation.

"Spelling?" he asks.

"B-a-d-e-a," Daniel says. "She called herself Dacia, but on the card, her full name was D-a-c-i-a-n-a."

And Molly goes completely batshit.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Before, Molly's protests felt like a hammer in my head. Now, they're more like a wrecking ball.

I lean back against the couch cushions and squeeze my eyes shut.

Molly, you heard what I said. I can't let you out yet. She might- "Anna? You okay?"

Deo is tugging on my arm. I glance around and everyone else is watching me, too. I wish I could sink through the floor, but Molly's not letting up.

"It's Molly. She wants to tell me something, but that would mean I have to let the wall down. And I'm positive I felt something before we went to the police station, so this Badea woman must be able to-"

"No." Sam glances at Daniel again. "I don't know who this woman is exactly, but I find it hard to believe she can do anything like that from a distance. I've made a study of this kind of thing . . . given the family tendencies. Even with clairvoyants-like people who do remote viewings-most need to touch something in order to read it. Or at least be really damn close by." He fades off, then says to Daniel, "Why don't you take a walk around the building? See if anything looks suspicious."

Daniel and Sam exchange another one of their cryptic looks. I'm starting to wonder whether the two of them are trading psychic messages back and forth, because Sam tells him, "Just do what I asked. I'm not going to say anything. Aaron can go with you if you're a scaredy-cat."

"Yeah, right," Daniel scoffs, heading toward the door.

Aaron is still typing, and it looks like he's moved on to a different website now. I close my eyes and rub my temples, wishing I had something to drown out Molly's noise.

We're working on it, Molly. Could you just calm down please? What is your problem?

Even without hearing her, I know her response would include that she's stuck behind a wall inside someone else's head. But I can't really help that.

I hear Daniel in the hallway a few minutes later. His voice is angry. A woman's voice, also angry and also familiar, responds, and I tense up automatically.

But it's not the low tones of Dacia Badea. I place the voice right before the door opens and Daniel tugs his sister Taylor in after him.

". . . to go home."

"I did. And when Mom called, she said I could go back out as long as I'm home by midnight."

Aaron's eyes stay on the screen as he asks, "You told her where you were going?"

"Sort of. I said I was going to see Popsy." She gives her grandfather a big smile and crosses over to where he's sitting. Then she parks herself on the arm of his chair and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"Taylor, you know damn well you shouldn't be here." Sam's comment doesn't sound even remotely like a rebuke, however. Taylor very obviously has him wrapped around her well-manicured pinky.

"I haven't seen you in three entire days. And tomorrow's Saturday. No school, so I still have lots of time." She looks across the room at the couch where Deo and I are sitting. Her eyes linger for a minute on Deo, which is pretty much the norm for most females between the ages of ten and thirty and sometimes even older. Quite a few guys, too. Then she shifts her gaze toward me, and I see anger or maybe it's just hurt in her expression. Whatever it is, it feels unfair. I haven't done anything to her.

She looks back over at Aaron. "What did I miss? And don't any of you tell me this is none of my business. If it has to do with Molly, it's my business. If it has to do with Dad, it's also my business. And you know I'll find out either way. I always do."

Aaron, Sam, and Daniel sigh. It's not quite in unison, but it's pretty close, and there's an almost identical expression of defeat on all three faces. Taylor flashes a little victory smile and then repeats, "So . . . what did I miss?"

"Well, apparently Molly has something to tell us," Sam says. "But Anna here had a little run-in with a woman at the police station who she thinks was trying to read her mind. Or Molly's mind. Did you finish looking around, Daniel?"

"I didn't see anyone out there besides Taylor," Daniel says. "The building appears to be empty, and it's only our cars in the lot. I can't guarantee she's not hanging out at the 7-Eleven, Popeyes, or whatever. But I really don't think she'd be able to read you unless she was close by. And you could always rebuild your mental wall if you feel anything, right?"

I'm not sure what it is about Daniel's expression that's bugging me. I don't think he's lying about the lot being empty, but something seems off.

Still, he's probably right. And since God only knows what the woman managed to find out from Deo, it may be a moot point anyway.

"I can't find any information on a Daciana Badea," Aaron says, pushing his chair back from the computer. "Or a Dacia Badea. Anywhere. The name itself appears to be Romanian. If she's employed by Senator Cregg, she doesn't show up on the official payroll. So, we're at a dead end for now without Molly's information . . ."

Everyone stares at me. Obviously, since I'm the one who has to make the decision, and since I'm where the show is about to happen, but I want them to look away. To give me some space. It feels weird to let control slip to Molly with all of them watching.

"It's okay," Deo says softly. "You really don't look as spaced as you think."

He's trying to be helpful. I know that. And in one sense, he is helpful. His comment makes it sound like I'm super vain however, and it's really not about how I look. It's more . . .

Okay, it's partly how I look. But it's also an issue of privacy. I hate being the center of attention even when I'm in full control of my brain.

My vanity and desire for privacy are trumped by the fact that we clearly don't have much choice, so I lean back and close my eyes. Then I visualize pulling a single brick from the top of the wall. It's not even all the way out before I hear Molly.

That's not Pa's number. Someone else placed that bulletin board notice.

She pushes a brief image of hands-her hands, I guess, back when all of her fingers were in place-dialing a number on an iPhone with a skin that looks like a colorful explosion of musical notes. I can't see all the digits, but the last four are 9949.

Maybe . . . he changed it? It's been nearly three years, Molly.

It's not even his area code! Aaron and Sam have his number. Get them to check.

Okay.

I wait, expecting her to keep talking.

Now! Get them to check NOW.

I'm tempted to press the point, since I think her info about Badea is more crucial, but Molly seems really frazzled. I don't think it's simply from being shut out. I've done that to her before, when I needed to focus and she was making me crazy. It's more like she's building up the courage to tell me the rest.

When I pull my eyes into focus, I'm not surprised to see that they're all still looking at me.

"She says the number on the post isn't Porter's. His ends in . . . 9949. Wrong area code, too."

Aaron digs both the printout and his phone out of his pocket, and after a moment, he nods. "She's right. Not his number. Might be his office number, though . . . or more likely a burner phone. That way he doesn't end up with a bunch of crank calls six months from now."

"I'll ask Jerome tomorrow," Sam says. "What did she say about the Badea woman?"

"Hold on."

Molly doesn't exactly rush to the front this time.

Come on, Molly. You were banging on the inside of my skull a few minutes ago, and now you go quiet?

There's a pause before she answers.

Daciana was one of the two girls at the house where Cregg was holding me. One of the Eastern European girls Lucas handed over to him. I thought everyone was saying Tasha, not Dacia. Otherwise, I might have pieced it together earlier. Her face looked familiar, but I assumed Cregg killed her after he killed me. She and I talked a bit when we were there . . . her English was really broken back then, but she said she was from this little place in Romania. Can't remember the name, but it was a port town on the Danube. I remember that because when she told me, I hummed the waltz-you know, "The Blue Danube"?

She pushes me a few seconds of piano music from her memory. Ba bada bum bum, bum bum, bum bum.

When I hummed the song, she smiled and nodded. And said that was home.

Something about this conversation with Molly feels wrong. I'm not sure what it is at first, and then it hits me. Usually, when Molly is talking, I get visuals and audio. Not like a video feed. More like flashes, like when she was telling me about calling Porter's number on her phone just now. Or I'll see a face. A room. Some little snippet from her memory.

But aside from that one bar of "The Blue Danube," there's no memory of sounds or smells. No visuals. All I'm seeing is the back of my eyelids. It's like Molly can't bring herself to remember the details. And that frightens the hell out of me, because these things that Molly can't bring herself to face right now, can't bring herself to tell me in words? I'm going to get every bit of it in vivid color when I start unpacking her memories in my dreams.

I'm pretty sure Molly knows exactly what I'm thinking, but she ignores me and keeps talking about the girl.

She said she left Romania looking for work. A company came around and posted flyers announcing jobs in the US. Good jobs. She took all of their tests and did well. They even showed her pictures of the children she'd be taking care of. But then there was some other sort of test. She just kept repeating the word "test," and saying, "no pass." I thought she meant like language tests, that her English wasn't good enough for the job. But she rolled up her sleeves and showed me bruises, needle marks. They injected her with something. And no, it wasn't tracks, it wasn't like she was shooting up. I've seen plenty of that.

I do get a brief visual then . . . of a pale, thin girl who looks to be in her late teens. She's beautiful, with wide blue eyes and long dark hair, but I'm not sure I'd have recognized her as the woman I met earlier tonight if Molly hadn't made the connection. The girl is holding up the sleeve of her blouse to reveal an upper arm with the mottled greenish-gold signs of fading bruises. There's a faint pink spot near the middle of the largest one.

And then as quickly as the image came, it's back to black again.

You said there was another girl, too. Was it the same with her? The tests, I mean.

I don't know. We didn't talk. She was the first one Cregg . . . finished. The same night Lucas killed my mom. The same night he handed me over.

Molly goes silent. I don't want to push, so I wait. When I hear her again, her words tumble out quickly.

Just let me tell them, okay? Give me ten more minutes and let me get it over with. If I tell you everything, and then you have to relay it to them, that means I have to say it and then I have to hear it. I don't think I can do this twice. I know Kelsey isn't here. But Deo is. And Daniel's practically a cop. There has to be some sort of law against me stealing your body, right? I promise I won't fight you, and I won't ask to see Pa again. Please, Anna. Just let me get it over with.

And even though she doesn't mention it, I get a quick visual of Taylor's face from earlier tonight. When she was angry. Molly also wants to say good-bye. I don't entirely understand why, but she needs Taylor's forgiveness.

Fine.

Even as the word forms in my mind, I feel my muscles tightening. It's partly because giving her control makes me nervous, and partly because Deo's not going to like this. I hate to worry him. The icing on the crapcake, however, is that I know beyond doubt that Molly's story isn't one I want to hear. I'll have to relive all the details at some point, but there's a really big part of me that's perfectly okay with pushing that point as far into the future as I can.

"Deo," I say as I open my eyes. "I'm letting Molly move to the front for a bit."

I guess he can tell from my expression that my mind is made up, because he doesn't try to talk me out of it. He just gives me a worried shake of the head and says, "Bad. Idea."

"Maybe. You've got Kelsey on speed dial in case I get lost?"

It's intended as a joke, but he pulls out his phone.

All four members of the family Quinn are staring at me now.

"What do you mean . . . move to the front?" Taylor asks.

"It's Molly's story and she needs to tell it. Her words without me in the middle. I'm giving her ten minutes, and I'd appreciate it if you'd help Deo . . . enforce that?" It comes out as a question, because I don't really know whether I can count on any of them in that regard.

They exchange a look, and Aaron asks, "How? What should I do?"

"Just remind her we had an agreement. Molly's a good person, but she's scared, and . . ." I shrug, wondering now if Deo isn't right about this being a bad idea.

"You have my word," Sam says. The rest of them don't say anything, but they all nod, even Taylor.

I squeeze Deo's hand. "Back in ten."

"You'd better be."

Thanks, Anna.