It clicked. “That was you? You sent me those texts?”

He said nothing.

Force his hand? “What did you force him to do?”

“Nothing bad. He was running animals for me. It’s easier with two people, and I’d just lost my last guy to—”

“Running animals?”

“Mostly venomous snakes, some birds, tiny turtles. He’d transport them in plastic containers. You know, like Tupperware?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Underground exotic pet trade.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” I said. “Let me out.”

“I’m saving your ass, aren’t I?” he shouted and brought his fist down on the steering wheel. The horn honked. I’d wrecked his notion that he was the hero in this situation.

“You knew your mother murdered my mom and you let it go? Let me out, right now. You’re insane, all of you.”

“You need to shut up,” he said, his jaw tight.

His phone rang and he answered it. “I got her. We’re a couple streets over, but call firefighters out for a fire, then call the cops. Don’t mention my name. We are being tailed by my brother, who’s a cop.” Holding the phone to his ear, he turned onto Winding Way, but took the turn too wide and clipped a mailbox.

“Is that Trevor?”

He ignored me and said into the phone, “Fuck that, actually, I’m gonna keep driving right past your house. I’m gonna drive her to the fire station on 85th. Meet me there.” He dropped his phone in the side door.

He checked his rearview again. “They’re coming fast and they’re dead set on throwing you in the river. Still want me to let you out?”

I looked over my shoulder. Pierce’s car swerved around another corner, and was closing in fast. “You can’t get to the fire station. This street, it’s a dead end.”

“Shit. Put your hands out.”

Just as I dropped the scissors and braced myself, he braked hard and shifted fast to reverse and turn. Four houses away, Trevor, Sawyer, and Em stood on the porch. Sawyer went back inside. Forgot something. Probably his cell phone.

I turned to Brandon. Outside his window was the strangest scene. Several hundred feet from where my family stood on the porch, a cougar lay in the grass, front and back paws stretched out—an endearing look for any four-legged animal. Eyes closed and aimed up to the sun. Basking. Another cougar approached from behind him, maybe ready to play.

“Go back, Trevor. Go back in,” my voice a whisper of a prayer, of telepathy, as I stared hard over my shoulder at Trevor and Emily on the front porch. Trevor was staring at his phone, dialing.

As if he’d heard my telepathic prayer, Trevor stepped inside. But Emily lingered on the walkway. Her arms spread for balance, she hopped on one foot.

“Call them back,” I screamed. “Tell them to go back ins—”