“Get out,” Aggie said.

“Aggie!” I shouted again.

The back door opened. And this time it was Nick.

He looked from me to Aggie to my mother holding her hand close to her chest, and back to me.

“Elizabeth—” he started, narrowing his eyes, his hand sliding behind his back, as if he were reaching for something. But whatever it was he was looking for wasn’t there, and he grimaced, his blue eyes flashing with regret.

Mom got in close to my side, winding her arm around my waist. “We have to go,” she whispered. “Now.”

Something crashed through the front door. The door blew back and slammed into the wall. The stained glass in the window shattered. Aggie yelped. Mom grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the den.

Several men and a woman flooded into the kitchen, guns in their hands. Nick tore one of Aggie’s vintage rolling pins from the wall and hurled it at the first person he saw. The man, clothed in black, hit the floor hard, his eyes fluttering shut.

I shrieked.

Another man swung at Nick, but Nick had already moved, ducking, and then kicking the man in the knee. Something cracked. The man crumpled with a howl. Nick went down with him and yanked the man’s gun from his hands. He brought it up to his line of sight and aimed.

“Elizabeth!” Mom shouted, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel my feet beneath me. There was only the throbbing of my pulse in my neck and the air stuck helplessly in my throat.

Nick shot, and a bullet lodged itself in yet another man’s head. I backpedaled and slammed into the counter, the edge digging into my hip.

Another body hit the floor with a sickening thud, and Nick stole his gun, too.

He started shooting both guns at once, and the pop-pop of the shots, followed by the cries of the men, filled the room until it was deafening, until I couldn’t take it any longer.

I slammed my hands over my ears, slammed my eyes shut, as old images flashed in my head. Of men, dressed in black, hunting me in a lab where I’d been held captive for months.

Guns in hands, barrels aiming for anything that moved, and one person standing at my side, ferrying me to safety.

Six years ago, in that lab, I knew who I could trust. I might not have known the person’s name, or even what they looked like, but the line in the sand had been drawn in black, so stark that I knew exactly which side I was on.

But now, in Aggie’s kitchen, with the Stroganoff cooling on the table and the air punctuated with the smell of blood and fired bullets, I couldn’t find the line.

I didn’t know which side I was on.

The window behind Nick shattered. Glass plinked against the table. My eyes snapped open in time to see Aggie stagger back against the table, to see my glass of iced tea tip over and puddle on the floor.

Aggie’s mouth widened into an O and her apron turned black with her blood.

“Aggie!” I shrieked, moving toward her, but my mother yanked me back. “We have to—”

Aggie’s knees gave out. She turned her eyes to me as she fell, the deep-set wrinkles around her mouth hardening as she said, “Run.”

Mom wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled. I flailed, digging my nails into her hands. She let me go, and I raced across the kitchen.

“Grab her!” Mom yelled, and two men scooped me up before I could reach Aggie, pinning my arms in their grip.

Another black-clad man went after Nick and kicked the gun from his hands. The gun flew back, bounced off the table, and thudded to the floor. The man threw a punch, but Nick was quick to dodge and came back up with a blow to the man’s stomach. When the man bent over, gasping for air, Nick rammed his knee into the man’s head, knocking him unconscious.

“Nick!” I screamed.

He looked up, and I realized too late that my saying his name was the wrong thing to do at a time like this.

It was the distraction his assailants needed.

A punch landed in Nick’s stomach, and he doubled over. The attacker slammed his elbow into Nick’s kidney, and Nick hit the ground.

“No!” I screamed.

But no one was listening to me.

“Follow me!” Mom yelled above the cacophony, and my captors raced to obey her.

I was dragged into the den. Mom flipped the lock on the French doors and shoved them open. We clambered out.

Once on the deck, I wrestled out of the men’s grip. “I’m not leaving Aggie!”

Mom shoved aside the men and came to my side, taking my face in her rough, dry hands. “Listen to me, honey. We cannot stay here. Aggie is not your friend.”

I batted her hands away. “You act like Aggie is the bad guy.”

“That’s because she is. She and Nick both. They work for the Branch. They have been waiting for the right time to hurt you.”

“But—”

More shots rang out in the house. Someone shouted an order.

“We have to go before you’re the one who’s shot,” Mom said. “No more arguing. I won’t lose you now that I finally have you back.”

She nodded at the men, and they grabbed me again, tugging me across the deck and down the stairs. We wound our way through the garden, and through the gate to the alley where a black sedan sat idling.

Sirens blared in the distance.

The man on my right opened the car’s back door. I was pushed inside, and the door slammed shut a second later, sealing off the sounds of the sirens and of the gunshots still being fired in the house. Mom climbed into the passenger seat. The locks thunked closed.