She glanced at JD’s profile once more, a tiny niggle of fear creeping up the back of her neck.
No, she commanded. Stop being paranoid.
“How about you just drop me off up at the gate? It takes forever once you get into the development.”
JD smoothly made the turn onto the road that led to the estates. “It’s no problem. No one’s expecting me home or anything.”
Riley felt herself shift over on her seat, putting an extra quarter inch of distance between herself and JD. He chose that moment to glance over at her, at the shift of her body. The hurt was evident in his eyes.
“It’s not like I’m trying to kidnap you.”
“I didn’t mean—I mean, what are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.”
She could almost see the cogs working in JD’s head. He leaned in as if to say something, thought better of it, and stepped on the gas. When they arrived at the wrought-iron gates of the Blackwood Hills Estates, Riley put her hand on the door handle the second JD slowed.
“This is fine. Thanks.” She opened the door before he could protest, before he could turn down the street that led to Riley’s house.
Riley jogged toward her house, not bothering to look over her shoulder to see whether or not JD was still parked at the gate. Her sneakers smacked against the concrete, the soft thuds echoing through the empty street as a slow, steady drizzle started overhead. As she rounded the corner to her house, Riley pinched her eyes closed, hoping against hope that when she opened them, everything would be back to normal: her front yard would still be a rocky, muddy mess with the orange spray-painted outline of where her mom intended to plant birch trees and lay sod, the driveway and sidewalks would be pristine and empty—no stray cars, no flashing lights, no cops waiting just inside the door. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in the middle of the street, raindrops breaking on her head and dribbling in rivulets into her eyes. But even through the blur of rainwater, Riley could see that nothing was the same—her once welcoming house now looked foreign and strange, the windows her mother had decorated with frilly lace curtains were gray and ominous as blurred shadows walked jerkily in front of them. Two strange cars were parked out front.
Her cell phone chirped.
“I’m right outside, Dad,” Riley muttered into it.
She strode up the walk and sucked in a sharp breath, the icy air lancing her lungs and making them ache.
“Hey,” Riley said softly.
Her mother rushed across the room and gathered Riley into her arms, hugging her tightly. The act should have been comforting—mother loving daughter—but it struck a cold fear in Riley. She shook her mother off and then immediately regretted it, noticing the heavy bags and redness underneath her eyes.
“Where have you been?”
“School,” Riley said with a shrug.
Her mother’s eyebrows went up. “This late?”
“I had to make up for being late this morning.”
The tension in the room seemed to drop down a notch.
“How was school?” her father wanted to know.
Riley wanted to laugh. Her mother just gave her her normal after-school hug. Her father asked how her day was, like he did pretty much every other day of Riley’s life.
But it wasn’t Riley’s life anymore. All three of them were actors playing a role. All three pretending, trying to fool the other, trying to deceive each other into this fa?ade of regular, suburban, tract-home life.
Riley’s ears pricked when she heard male and female voices in low, murmured conversation in the next room.
“Who’s that? Who’s here?”
Her father paled. Her mother pressed her lips together in what Riley was beginning to recognize as her “we’re really sorry to tell you this” smile.
“That’s Gavin Hempstead and Gail Thorpe.” Her mother let the statement stand as though Riley had heard the names before, as though that was all the explanation she’d need.
“OK, but who are they and why are they here?”
Mrs. Spencer turned away and Riley was sure she saw tears rimming in her mother’s bottom lashes.
“Gail is an FBI agent and Gavin is a U.S. Marshal. They’re helping us out.”
Riley’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs. “Helping us out? Why do we need help? We’re in the Witness Protection Program, we live here, I’m not Jane O’Leary. End of story, right? It’s not like I told anyone.” She could hear the tinny desperation in her own voice, but Riley kept talking, trying to convince her parents, or herself, that everything was fine.
“Detective Thorpe is worried that there may have been some breaches in our security.”
Riley plopped down on the couch, her head spinning. Breaches in security? Had that really come out of my dad’s mouth?