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“What if I
am
a Branch tool?” I said once I’d finished. “What if you can’t trust me? What if…” There were too many
what if
s to list them all.

I bowed my head. My hair swung forward in a curtain. “This doesn’t even feel real anymore.”

Sam ducked his head to better see my face. “I trust you. You got it?”

“Okay.” The pressure in my chest lessened. “Thank you. Really.”

“We need to figure out what I stole from the Branch. Maybe some of your answers will be in there.” He disappeared into the bathroom and came out a minute later, shirtless. My eyes went to the
R
scar on his chest, then down to the hard planes of his stomach.

“Can you look over the tattoo again?” he asked. I had to drag my eyes up to meet his. “If you see anything unusual, tell me.”

“Sure.” I climbed on the bed from the opposite side as he sat on the edge, waiting. I scooted up behind him. I started at the trees’ leaves, checking the veins, counting the clusters, looking for any sort of symbolism.

Finding nothing, I moved to the bark, examining the fine lines. On the third tree to the right, a line in the bark caught my eye. I stifled a yawn. I was exhausted and not seeing clearly, so whatever it was wasn’t immediately evident.

I got in closer. Something definitely seemed out of place. I ran a finger over Sam’s skin. He felt warm to the touch, warmer than he should have been in the cold room without a shirt.

“Did you find something?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

He got up from the bed and dug around inside the drawer of the bedside table. He found a pad of paper with the motel logo on it and a pencil and handed them to me. “Can you redraw it?”

I nodded and he settled back on the bed. My knees were sore from my sitting on them for so long, so I unfolded myself, keeping one leg up and putting the other alongside Sam’s. Being so close to him sent my heart skittering, and I wondered if he felt it, too.

My lips tingled as I remembered the feel of his mouth on mine. I worried my lower lip with my teeth, trying to squash all the emotions running through my head.

I re-created the peels and texture in the tree bark with my pencil, enlarging it so it was easier to see. As I worked, a pattern started to
emerge. When it was finished, several striations in the bark came together to form what looked like numbers. Since the work had been done in a light gray color, from afar it looked like nothing more than expert shading.

Sam twisted around. “Let me see.”

I handed him the pad of paper.

“Numbers.” He squinted, took my abandoned pencil, and started to sketch lines around the bark. “Two-six-four-four.”

I nodded. That’s what I’d read, too.

He studied the drawing with a furrowed brow. “There wasn’t anything else?”

“No. I mean, I can look again, if you want.”

“Yes. Please.”

We resumed our positions, even though I knew I’d find nothing. And as I thought that, I couldn’t help wondering if he just wanted me near, if searching the tattoo was an excuse. Of course, that was a stupid idea. Sam wasn’t the type to waste time with excuses.

I eyed the tattoo again, running my finger down the bark, over the trees and the grass, as if using a part of myself to memorize the lines would somehow reveal a new clue I hadn’t seen before.

Sam shuddered beneath my touch. I was no longer looking for clues so much as I was pushing for a reaction. He hung his head for one quick second before twisting around to meet me face-to-face. We were inches apart. I slid closer.

“Anna,” he said.

The door burst open and I leapt away. Trev and Nick stared at us. Blood rushed to my cheeks. I had never wanted to disappear more than I did at that moment.

Nick tsked and shook his head as he came in. He set a paper bag on the table and unpacked what they’d bought.

“We got sandwiches and chips,” Trev said. “Two turkey, two roast beef. Iced tea for Anna. Sam, I got you a water.”

Sam ignored him, keeping his back to the rest of the room, his shoulders taut.

“Roast beef is mine,” Nick said. He turned on the TV and flipped through the channels with the remote. “You lost your shirt, Sam?”

“Anna was looking over the tattoo.”

“Yeah.” Nick grunted. “It looked like it.”

Sam took one quick step and snatched the remote out of Nick’s hands. He tossed it toward the bathroom, where it smashed against the wall, shattering into a dozen pieces.

Nick spread out his arms. “What the hell?”

“I don’t answer to you.”

Nick rose to his feet. “I never said you did, but in case you forgot, we’re in the middle of a clusterfuck, and we lost Cas. And instead of,
I don’t know
, focusing on figuring this shit out, you’re practically sticking your tongue down Anna’s throat—”

Sam’s fist cracked against Nick’s jaw. Nick flew back into the bedside table, causing it to judder against the wall. Sam was instantly on him, taking a fistful of Nick’s shirt and hauling him up.

“You think I don’t know what’s at stake?” Sam barked.

I glanced at Trev, hoping he’d step in, but he looked as shocked as I was.

Nick wiped the blood from his face and wrestled himself free. “You’re supposed to be the goddamn leader, so fucking lead!”

Sam let out a guttural growl as he swung again. Nick ducked at the last minute, and when he came back up, he landed a punch to Sam’s gut. Sam doubled over. Nick seized the opening, swinging his foot, almost catching Sam in the face before Sam crossed his arms in a shield.

Nick stepped back, picked up the glass bottle of iced tea, and started after Sam.

“Nick! Stop!” My voice bounced off the walls, cutting through the fight, and Nick went rigidly still. “Put the bottle down.”

Sam struggled to his feet, spat blood on the floor.

Eyes molten with annoyance, Nick set the tea down and started for the door. “I think I need some air.”

“No.” Sam eased into his T-shirt, then threw on his coat. “I’ll leave. I
need
to leave.”

Without saying another word, he walked out.

29

I SHOULD HAVE STAYED IN THE MOTEL room, should have quieted the rumbling in my stomach because I was starving. But I didn’t. I chased after Sam, dodging potholes in the parking lot. I met up with him as he crossed the street.

“What was that all about?” He didn’t answer me. I hurried ahead and cut him off. “Talk to me.”

He met my gaze with a disquieting look. A broken blood vessel had turned the white of his left eye dark red. “I didn’t mean to fight him.”

I paled. They’d fought because of me, and I hated it. Or at least the fight had
started
because of me. “I know. He probably knows that, too.”

“Nick and I have never seen eye to eye, and—” He disconnected again and focused on his hand, rubbing at the knuckles.

“And what?”

A clench of his jaw. A shake of his head. “Nothing.” He started forward.

“Sam. Don’t shut me out.”

He paused. His head sank back, and with a sigh, he said, “I can’t seem to concentrate anymore. I feel like shit all day long. I can’t tell what’s real, or what’s a flashback, or if it was something I heard on TV, read in a book, saw in a dream.”

“And it’s putting you on edge,” I concluded. He didn’t deny it. “Any more flashbacks about Dani?”

His guarded looked told me what they were about even as he said, “They aren’t specific.”

I couldn’t help wondering how far back the flashes went and how long he’d kept them from me to spare me the heartache. In the pantry, our first day at the cabin, he’d mentioned a memory brought on by that dent in the kitchen wall. When I’d questioned him, he’d dodged me, like he was doing now.

I couldn’t help imagining the story behind the damage. Because he was angry. And scared. And heartbroken. Because he’d lost someone he loved so much, he didn’t know what else to do but start throwing things.

I wrapped my arms tight around myself, hoping to ward off the chill night air. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m fine. Go back to the room, where you’ll be safe. And get something to eat, too. You’ll need your—”

“Energy. I know. Except I’m not going back. So I guess you’re stuck with me.”

Sighing, he slipped out of his coat and handed it to me. “At least put that on, then.”

“I’m okay.”

He considered me warily. “Just put it on.”

I took it. The arms were too long, the shoulders too baggy, but it smelled like him, like crisp autumn air. We walked for a good fifteen minutes before coming across a twenty-four-hour waffle house. Interior lights shone through the windows and spilled across the sidewalk.

Sam must have read the hunger on my face, because he went straight for the entrance and held the door, motioning me inside. The place was heavy with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and waffle batter. My stomach immediately growled.

The tables were pretty full despite the hour and we ended up choosing a booth in the back corner. When the waitress arrived, Sam ordered eggs with orange juice, and I got the full waffle treatment and a cappuccino. It was almost like we were normal people, ordering normal food, late on a… God, I didn’t even know what day it was.

I fidgeted with the saltshaker, picking the dried salt off the metal top as Sam scrutinized the people and our surroundings.

“Do you think Sura set us up?” I asked.

Sam swung his attention back to me. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Seems awfully convenient that the Branch showed up at the cabin the same night she did.”

“They found us at the mall.”

“Yeah, it’s just…” I trailed off, trying to make sense of the theories I had going. Something didn’t feel right about how we had been ambushed, but I didn’t know what it was, or how to relate it to Sam. “Never mind.”

Our food showed up a few minutes later. Despite the fact that we were in a cheap twenty-four-hour diner, my waffles were the best I’d ever had. I was suddenly thankful for the late-night walk.
I’d take this over a gas-station turkey sandwich any day
, I thought.

I sopped up the last of the syrup on my plate with a chunk of waffle. “So, that clue you left at the cabin—it said to use the tattoo with the scars, right?”

Sam pushed his plate away. “Yes. I thought it might be a more complicated cipher—”

“Or maybe it’s something as simple as an address. The numbers are the house numbers, and the scars spell out a road.”

He started to protest, but then thought better of it. “Maybe, but I’ve spent years working on those letters, trying to get them to spell something useful. It’s not there.”

I drained the rest of my cappuccino, the heat of the liquid warming my throat. I felt better than I had in a long time, and while it might have been due to the caffeine, I tried telling myself it was because we were
this close
to solving Sam’s clues. We just needed to analyze the scars a little more.

“Excuse me?” I called out to the waitress. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

The older woman offered me a capless BIC with teeth marks in the barrel before scurrying off. Using the underside of my paper place mat, I wrote out the letters of the scars again, organizing them by boy.

Sam—R O D R

Cas—L V

Nick—I E

Trev—R R E E

“There are twelve scars,” I said, tapping the end of the pen against the table as I thought. “If you’d divided them evenly, each boy would have three scars. Instead, you and Trev have four, and Nick and Cas have two. Why?”

Sam frowned. “If you’re asking me what my reasoning would have been, I’d say I would have taken more to spare the others some pain.”

“But Trev has four, too,” I reminded him.

What other reason would there be for Trev to have as many scars as Sam?

Sura had said she was only vaguely familiar with Trev, which would have meant he wasn’t around when she interacted with Sam five years earlier, when he planted the clues. Which meant, possibly,
that he hadn’t been around when Sam, Nick, and Cas devised the plan, cutting the scars into their skin.

I relayed my thoughts to Sam. He folded his hands on the table. “If Trev’s scars were added later—” he said.

“Then maybe they don’t even fit the clue.”

“A decoy.” A flash of excitement warmed his eyes. “Give me the paper.”

He started writing and rewriting the remaining letters in different sequences.

R O D R L V I E

LOR DIVER

LORD RIVE

RIVER DOL

“Old River,” I whispered.

“So 2644 Old River,” he said. “If it’s an address.”

I looked around the diner. A few twentysomething girls sat kitty-corner from us, discussing their boss. An older couple sat at another table, reading separate newspapers. In the opposite corner, a boy clicked away on a laptop, a pile of textbooks open beside him.

I swept out of the booth, and Sam followed. The guy looked at us over the top of his thick, black-framed glasses when we approached. Acne covered his chin. Overgrown dark hair hid what looked like overgrown eyebrows.

He frowned. “Can I help you?”

“Do you have Internet access on that?” Sam said.

“Um, yeah.”

“Would it be possible for us to borrow it for a few minutes? I’ll pay you.” Sam put a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and the guy’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?”

Sam nodded. “Seriously.”

The guy scooted over, letting Sam slide into the booth in front of the computer. I sat on the other side. Sam tapped a few keys, navigating the Internet effortlessly despite the fact that he’d been in a cell for five years with no Internet access at all. The boys didn’t even have computers.

“So, what are you looking for?” the guy asked. “Anything I can help with?”

Sam hit enter. “I’m looking for an address. I’m not sure about the street name. Old something? River, maybe?” Sam read the computer’s display. “Nothing came up in the search.” He tapped in a few more things, clicked the mouse.

“Old River?” The guy rubbed the back of his index finger across his mouth. “Hmm. Do you know if it’s in town? Farther out?”

“No.”