“You still haven’t answered my first question,” she said as she pulled her hand away. “Why are you suffering from amnesia?”

“The Branch. They altered my memories. I’m trying to fill in the blanks.” Default answer. Might as well stick to it.

“They can do that?” she asked, frowning with disbelief.

“They can do a lot of things that seem improbable.”

She sat upright and angled her body toward mine. I couldn’t help but eye her, and not her face. I hadn’t considered how different she’d be from my memories. How much older she’d be.

My body was reacting in the way it always reacted when I was talking to a pretty girl. And right now I considered it a fucking traitor.

“So you came here,” she started, looking over at me, “to find me?”

I nodded.

“And now that you’ve found me?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. And that was the truth.

“Are you staying?”

That wasn’t what she wanted to ask. What she wanted to know was if I was leaving. But what I couldn’t tell was if she wanted me to.

“There are still a lot of missing pieces,” I admitted. “I don’t know why I was here in the first place. Back then.”

Partial truth. I knew the why, but why her? What threat had she posed to the Branch?

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

“Nowhere yet.”

She stood up quickly. “You’ll stay with us.”

I stood up, too, unable to hide the shock spreading across my face. “What? No. I’ll be fine.”

A woman walked past on the sidewalk, two kids trailing behind her. She was buried in her cell phone, ignoring the kids. But when she caught sight of me, she slowed and pulled the phone away from her face.

My shoulders tensed. I couldn’t get through the day without suspecting everyone I passed of being part of the Branch.

But then I figured a Branch operative would not go undercover with two kids. Too many variables. And too much risk.

“You’re staying with us,” Elizabeth said again. “Because whatever answers you’re looking for, they involve me, too. We can help each other.”

I couldn’t tell if this was a good idea or not. Sam would say not. But if I wanted to know who Elizabeth was, then I needed to keep her close. That seemed like a good enough reason to accept.

“All right,” I finally said. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

16

ELIZABETH

WHAT WAS I DOING?

Every part of my brain said I was being reckless, that Nick’s good looks had me seeing stars.

But that wasn’t it. Was it?

I’d only been with him less than an hour, and already I was acutely aware of how often women, girls, even older women, checked him out. Something I’d forgotten about him in the years that had passed—he was gorgeous. The kind of gorgeous that was hard to ignore, that almost seemed unnatural.

You’re doing the right thing, I told myself. Nick has answers that you need. It’s a good idea for both of you.

A totally crazy, completely risky, good idea.

Or maybe a bad idea masquerading as a good idea.

Aggie’s house was a fifteen-minute walk from downtown. Close enough to reach everything by foot, but far enough away that it was quiet. She lived in an authentic Victorian decorated in the traditional “painted lady” style. I loved her house. It was large and old and well preserved. Aggie had taken great pains to keep up with the house as it aged right along with her.

And even better, especially now, she’d kept the apartment above the carriage house (as she called it) functional. I hoped she would agree to let Nick stay with us.

When we reached the house, he kept two paces between us as I led him up the front steps, across the large porch, through the double front door, and down the hallway to the kitchen. That was where I could always find Aggie.

And she didn’t let me down today.

I came through the doorway first. She looked up and over her glasses at me, and smiled. She was making something—she always was—and had a cup of flour in her hands.

“Hello, dear,” she said, and then Nick walked in.

Aggie moved to set the cup of flour down, and as she did she rammed it against the bag of sugar, knocking it over. Sugar spilled across the counter and poured to the floor.

“I’ll get the broom,” I said, and moved toward the closet.

“No.” Aggie waved me away. “I’ll take care of it.” She wiped her hands on the towel tied to her apron. “Who’s this?”

In Aggie’s house, in the bright white kitchen, among the cat paintings and the vintage rolling pins hanging on the wall, Nick looked extremely out of place. Like a brand-new truck trying to blend in on a used-car lot.

He was large and pretty and overwhelming.

“This is my friend Nick,” I told her. “He needs a place to stay and I was wondering if he could sleep in the carriage house for a few days.”

Aggie set her hands on her wide hips and looked from me to Nick. “Hmm,” she said. “I haven’t heard you talk about a Nick.”

“That’s because—”

“I used to go to school with Elizabeth,” he cut in. “I transferred out in the ninth grade, but I’m back in town for a bit. Just visiting.” He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and hunched his shoulders. He seemed to shrink by five inches. Had he done that on purpose?