Tane shrugs again, a goofy lifting and dropping of his shoulders. It’s both adorable and annoying. “It wasn’t American taxpayer money, so the CPA didn’t really care as long as people got paid and projects got funded.”

I knew what the CPA was—the Coalition Provisional Authority, the American-run transitional government of Iraq put in place right after the invasion. Dad had bitched about how much they’d fucked things up. I look hard at Tane. “You seem to know an awful lot about it.”

Tane tugs on the ends of the towel around his neck. “Call it professional curiosity,” he says. “It’s a first-class fuck-up in accounting. Careless.”

I’m all about interrogating Tane to better understand his professional curiosity—and what exactly his profession is—when a thought hits me. “Ethan, why did Finn get in touch with you now? Dad’s been dead for years.”

Ethan shakes his head. “I don’t know. I just told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and he told me …” Ethan hesitates again.

“What?”

“He told me to talk to my sister,” he says.

That tuning fork in my chest is now thrumming. “He told you to talk to me? Why?”

Ethan lifts his hands. “I don’t know. He said he’d be in touch.”

“Shit.” I go to the window and try to see outside. It’s all black.

“What?” Ethan says.

I cup my hands around my eyes and peer out the window at the front yard. Other than the footlights that illuminate the front walk, I see nothing. “You haven’t seen him since?” I ask.

“No.”

“When was this?”

“I don’t know. Tuesday, maybe. Yeah, last Tuesday night.”

“Hey,” Tane says. “Is something wrong?”

Down at the end of the driveway I see movement, but it’s a car driving by. “You notice any new cars in the neighborhood the past couple of days? Cars you’ve never seen before, parked on the street, maybe following you to school?”

Tane looks like a definition of confusion. “Who are you people?”

Ethan shakes his head. “I’m not in the habit of checking out every car that’s parked on the street.”

“I am,” I say. I step away from the window and unzip my leather jacket, although I refrain from checking the revolver at the small of my back. My brother hates guns, and I don’t want to freak him out any more than I have to.

Tane, of course, opens his mouth. “You’ve got a gun, right?”

Ethan stares at Tane, then me. “A gun?”

“It’s a revolver, not a machine gun. Don’t get your panties all twisted.” I move to the kitchen. “Gonna take a look around. Just stay inside.” Before Ethan can respond, I slip out the back door, closing it softly behind me.