“What the hell is going on here?” I shouted.
Mr. Sampson clapped a hand over my mouth. “Shhh,” he hissed. “Let him think you’re still out. It might buy us some time.”
I slumped against the wall, my chains rattling. “Time for what?”
Mr. Sampson crawled over to me. “Does anyone know you’re here?”
I frowned. “I don’t even know where here is. And even if I did, ‘going out, getting chained to wall’”—I rattled my chains, for emphasis—“wouldn’t be high on my list of usual activities.”
Mr. Sampson looked at me with those warm, chocolaty eyes, and I sighed. “Sorry. It’s just been a really rotten day.”
“I’m fairly sure we’re still in the city limits. I was hoping maybe Nina could pick up your scent if we’re not too far.”
My eyes widened. “Oh, wait! I can contact her! I can do it, I know I can.”
Mr. Sampson looked puzzled. “Can you reach your cell phone?”
“No,” I said, perching on my knees. “I can call her with my mind. I did it with you, remember? I finally got my powers.” I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Sophie—”
“No, just wait. It’s pretty new to me so I still haven’t perfected it.” I bit my lip. “I just wish I had something of hers to hold on to. I bet that would help. I mean, I think it would. Although I didn’t need it with you.”
“Sophie, I—”
I held up my palms. “I know, I’m babbling. Okay, I’m getting an image of her. I’m going to try to get her attention.” I pursed my lips, hearing my voice echo through my mind as I imagined Nina, sitting on our couch at home watching The View. “I was able to talk to you. You asked me to help. Don’t you remember? I found you with my mind.” I frowned. “Nina doesn’t seem to be listening.”
“Sophie, I called you.”
I opened one eye. “Excuse me?”
“Sophie.” Sampson reached out for me, his fingertips brushing my thigh before the chain pulled him back. “Werewolves can mind meld. From a distance if it’s someone they care about. It’s … it’s just one of our powers.”
A shiver of delight went up my spine. Mr. Sampson cares about me! Which would have been the most romantic thing in the world if we weren’t chained together in a giant kennel, balancing on the precipice of death.
If we ever got out of here, I was going to need so much therapy.
“I called you,” Mr. Sampson was saying. “I came into your mind and called for you. I was hoping you would be able to help me.”
I forced a smile, sitting back on the hard concrete floor. “Mission … accomplished?”
“Where were you when the chief came after you?”
“I was at your house when he nabbed me. I was with Lucy—the fake vampire—trying to save you from Parker. Or whoever he is.”
Mr. Sampson sat back on his haunches. “Sophie, Parker is a good guy.”
I tried to bite back the hysteria in my voice. “He’s not a good guy.” I looked around wildly. “I’m not even sure there are good guys anymore. But Parker Hayes—he’s not even who he says he is! His name is not even Parker Hayes. I think he might even be working with the chief.”
“No, he’s not. And I know that he’s not Parker Hayes.” Mr. Sampson’s calmness sent my near-hysteria into a full-on tizzy.
“You knew that?” I used both my hands to push my hair out of my face. “When did you know that? Why didn’t anyone bother to tell me?”
“He’s a field agent with the FBI. He needed to pose as a police detective to gain the chief’s confidence.”
I was still agog. “And you knew this? The whole time?”
“We couldn’t risk telling you. Any suspicion about Agent Grace’s identity could have undermined the whole operation—and nearly a year’s worth of prep and tracking work would have gone down the drain.”
I rattled my chains. “Brilliant plan. Executed flawlessly. Like we will be.”
Mr. Sampson smiled apologetically. “Well, apparently we all missed one thing the chief was after.”
I tried to cross my arms in front of my chest, but the chains yanked me back. “And that was?”
“Me.”
I slumped. “With all due respect, sir, then what the hell am I doing here? I’m just the secretary.”
Mr. Sampson smiled thinly. “Administrative assistant.”
“Look who’s awake!”
My head snapped toward the booming voice in the doorway, at the chief waddling down the stairs toward us. I wanted to be afraid, especially when I saw the long, thin sword he carried in his hand, but I couldn’t.
The man was wearing a Snuggie.
You know the blanket with sleeves as seen on TV? I frowned.
“Are you wearing a Snuggie?”
The chief faced me now, his eyes narrow, angry slits in his pink cheeks, the hem of his burgundy Snuggie brushing the concrete floor.
Mr. Sampson leaned into me and whispered, “It’s a ceremonial robe.”