“And who are you?” I ask, my irritation clear.

“Vincent’s sister.”

I look at Vincent. “She’s James’ missing sister? The one he thinks was kidnapped?”

Vincent sighs, his head shaking slightly. Like he’s tried of explaining things to me. Or maybe more accurately, tired of having to explain the things James has been telling me. “Harper, may I introduce my sister, Nicola. This is Harper Tate.”

“Pleased,” she says in a snooty way that makes me want to punch her in the face. “Tet knows where I am. Or rather, where I was. I met him several times growing up. We spent a few holidays together after I was… sent away. And I spent my first six years as his sister instead of Vincent’s. But unfortunately, Tet’s memory—” She replaces her words with a look of sadness and a slight shake of her head. “His memory is so muddled these days, he has no idea what’s up or down.”

She’s lying. I can feel it. I stand up and walk over to the window. It’s a beautiful day out and now that it’s light, I can see the Pacific Ocean. There’s a community of neighboring homes surrounding the woods that line this property. Mansions, just not as big as this one. I can see the anchored boats from this window too. They call to me in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. I love this view. “I don’t believe you.”

“What’s not to believe? He lives from moment to moment.” Nicola stands next to me now. She’s silent and quick. As most assassins are, I’m sure. “I mean, which part are you having problems with? Maybe I can clear things up.”

James’ words in the desert after he fucked me in the bathroom come to mind. I just never know which moments will count, so I treat them all the same.

That sounds like James.

“I loved him too, Harper Tate. I loved him very much. He was a good brother when I was small. He taught me how to ride a bike. And swim. And tell time. I used to call him Tock-Tock—”

That message on the phone back in the desert. Tock-Tock. The message sent to the phone I found in James’ little green house. Tock-Tock. It was her. Nicola. She sent that message.

We’ll talk soon. Don’t forget why this is happening.

What’s happening? Obviously Nicola was not Sasha’s kidnapper, because I killed that guy when I twisted his neck. But Nicola sent that person because she sent that message.

“—you know, Harper, that all of this is true. You know deep down that what we’re saying is true.”

She’s right. None of what they are saying is surprising. Is he insane? Maybe. Probably a little, at least. He’s done some horrific things. And I really don’t have any problem imagining him doing the things they say he’s done.

Except when it comes to me.

Am I delusional? Am I in that fairyland where women delude themselves into believing their captor is the good guy? What do they call that again? Stockholm Syndrome. Do I have that? Did James abduct me without knowing and then brainwash me with sex so I’d be compliant?

That was the very first thing he did. He kissed me. Under the pier. Like he was claiming me. Hell, he might even have used that word a time or two.

I turn and walk quickly over to the bed and sit down before I pass out.

“Nicola,” Vincent says. “Can you please leave us alone for a while?”

I look up to see a sympathetic look on her face as she faces her brother, and then she gives him a nod and walks out.

“Harper.” Vincent sounds tired. I wonder if he got any sleep at all last night. “I’m sorry. OK? For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you have to hear this. I know you think you love him, but he’s been using you. From the moment he saw you on that beach, he was plotting. Ask yourself, Harper. Why did he take you back to your father if he loves you and wanted to keep you? Why?”

I don’t think that’s a real question, so I say nothing.

“He took you back because the Admiral hired him to do that. You’re a job to him. The Admiral wanted you left alone at the beach. Everyone knew where you were, Harper. How stupid do you think we are? But the standing order was to watch and not approach. And then Tet went crazy and killed Cy—”

“Who’s Cy?”

“Tony, I mean. Our brother, Tony. Number Five. We all have nicknames that relate to a method of killing. Tony was Cy for cyanide. That’s his calling card if he needs to kill people on the fly. Like, not authorized. He poisons them with cyanide.”

Sick. And James said his poison was something with tet in in. Tetro something. Pufferfish poison. “Wait. You said you’re not an assassin.”

“I’m not.”

“But you said we all have nicknames. And I asked you what your code was and you acted like I was stupid.”

He raises his hands. “I lied, OK? We’re not allowed to talk about it. Not even to you.”

“So you are an assassin?”

“No. I told you, I’m the control.”

“So Control is your code name?”

“I can’t say, Harper. I can’t say.”

“So do you know that my code is?”

“You don’t have a code. You’re a girl.”

“Nicola is a girl too, and she obviously has a code. What’s her number?”

“Two. She’s Number Two.”

“So if she’s a girl, and she’s an assassin, and she has a code, then why don’t you think I have a code?”

He eyes me sadly. It makes my heart skip, this look. It says so much without words, I have to gulp down some air before I forget to breathe. “Because if you do have a code, Harper, then you’re part of the game too. And that means we’re all in a lot more danger than I originally thought.”

Chapter Twenty

Harper

I stay in my room all day thinking about what Vincent said. Is it really true girls don’t have codes? I have to be honest, I’ve never thought about it before. I’ve always had a code. It’s not something Nick and I made up. My father told me. He warned me about divulging names. He said the code is the most meaningful thing about me. Which is just—what the fuck? Who says something like that to a little kid?

I was never to tell anyone. Of course, I told Nick. And he told me his. But he’s been an assassin all his life. He was Eleven. That was always him. We used to joke that someday he’d knock off the first digit and just be One. He always wanted to be One.