Prologue
Twenty Years Ago
Nash
Something thuds in the hall. Rolling my eyes, I throw back the blankets. My little sister can’t go more than a few hours without a nightmare. Not since our parents moved us to this old house in the middle of Minnesota, told us we couldn’t be Nathan and Mae anymore, and started calling us Ned and Melissa.
Mae swears the house is haunted. I wish she’d grow up. You don’t believe in ghosts when you’re fourteen. But she’s only eight, and Mom told me I wasn’t allowed to make fun of her anymore. Not about this.
I grab the flashlight from my nightstand. She’ll want me to check under her bed and in the closet before she’ll go back to sleep.
My foot lands on something soft, and the door opens. I skid as two quiet pops break the silence. Something hits my head. Pain—worse than anything I’ve ever felt—overwhelms me. I can’t see. Or move. Heavy footsteps come closer. I should care. Find Mae. Or Mom and Dad. But all I can do is lie on the floor until the world fades away.
With Mae’s stuffed sloth clutched in my hands, I stare out the hospital room window.
“Nash?” Duncan—my parents’ handler with the U.S. Marshals—taps me on the shoulder. “You have to get used to the new name, son.”
“I don’t want a new name. I want to go home. Back to Chicago.” Tears make the room shimmer, but I won’t let them fall. When I woke up three days ago and found out my parents and Mae were dead, I cried for so long, the doctor had to sedate me.
“You know that’s not possible.” Duncan scoots his chair closer, glances over his shoulder at the door, and rests his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know how they found your family, Nash.”
“My name isn’t Nash!” I throw the sloth across the room, then instantly regret it. It’s all I have left of Mae. Of my entire family. But when I try to get out of bed, the room starts to spin.
“Whoa.” The marshal presses down on my shoulders and eases me back against the pillows. “You were shot in the head. You’re not supposed to get up on your own.”
“I need it…back…” I manage.
Duncan scoops the sloth off the floor and returns it to me. The stupid thing saved my life. Dad was shot in the back. Mom and Mae in the head. But I slipped on the stuffed animal, and the two bullets meant for me lodged themselves between my skull and my brain. I’m lucky—according to the doctor. A miracle. And all I want is to be with my family again.
“Nash…”
I turn onto my side, my gaze pinned to the trees swaying gently outside. “You said we’d be safe.” Nine months ago, he showed up at our house in Chicago, told me and Mae to call him Uncle Duncan, and promised to protect us. “You lied.”
“No one knows how they found you. But Ned Vasco was buried along with Melissa, Nathalie, and Owen Vasco in a little cemetery outside of Rochester. Nash Grace is just a kid from Minneapolis who was injured in a drive-by shooting. No one—not even my boss—knows you survived. As long as you don’t take anything from your old life when we move you this time, no one will have any reason to come after you. I’m sending you with my old partner, Frank. He’ll be here in a few hours so you can meet him. He’ll protect you.”
“Like I’d believe anything you say.”
“Son—”
“I’m not your son!” After a beat, I close my eyes. “Go away, Uncle Duncan. I want to be alone.”
One Month Later
“Get a move on!” Frank strides out to the car, keys in hand, checking up and down the street constantly. “You’re gonna be late.”
“I don’t care.” The first day of class at my new high school is the last place I want to be. But I don’t have a choice. Grabbing my backpack, I take a long moment to stare up at the sloth on the shelf above my bed.
Duncan had it cleaned, and there’s only a small spot of reddish brown left on one of the paws. My blood. I’ve taken it everywhere with me since I woke up in the hospital. I even thought about stuffing it into my backpack today. But if anyone at school saw it, Frank would probably find me beaten to pulp behind the gym this afternoon.
“Nash! Get your butt in the car. Now!” he yells.
“Coming. Pops.” I cringe, and my throat feels…weird. It’s hard to swallow. I didn’t want Frank—one of Duncan’s oldest friends—to legally adopt me. But they swore it was safer that way. Safer to move to Denver. Safer to start over with my third name in as many years. Safer to take nothing with me except Mae’s stuffed animal. They tried to get me to leave it behind, but I wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
The sun’s brighter here. It’s the altitude, Frank says. The air is thinner too. If I could still run track, I’d be slower. But that’s not allowed either. I was good back in Chicago. Really good. Junior State Championship good. College scholarship good, my coach said. Now, it’s football or nothing.
I hate football.
“Seat belt,” Frank says, his brown eyes only landing on me for a split second before he starts the car. “Remember. You see anything strange—”
