I’m startled back when Jasper puts his hand on my shoulder. “This is our stop,” he says as the train rocks to a halt.

IT TAKES US a while to find Rachel’s house in picturesque Beacon Hill with its fashionable storefronts and pristine brownstones. Her street is only a couple off Newbury, but without GPS, we walk in the wrong direction for a while trying to find it. We’re about to give up and power up Jasper’s phone for its map when I finally spot a bright-white house with a gas lantern out front—exactly as Rachel described. It’s only a few houses down.

“Wait, I think that’s it,” I say, picking up the pace. “Down here.”

I walk quickly ahead until I am in front of number 729—a massive, immaculately restored brownstone nestled behind two huge trees. It’s the closest thing to a mansion that the city of Boston has to offer.

“Wow,” Jasper says when he comes to stand next to me. He sounds afraid to go inside as his eyes roll up and down the facade. “That’s a super-nice house.”

“Yeah, it is,” I say, and there’s no denying it, especially compared to her office. I don’t want to be bothered by the disconnect, but it makes me uneasy. “Crazy nice.”

INSIDE, RACHEL’S PLACE is even fancier than outside, restored historical details mixed with chic industrial furniture. The front of the living room has two huge floor-to-ceiling windows, one wall of exposed brick, and dark wood floors, which probably cost more to make look so knotty and worn.

“She lives here by herself?” Jasper asks, looking around at the vast emptiness. He’s still trying to figure out Rachel. So am I.

“Yeah,” I say. “As far as I know.”

“As far as you know? I thought she was your mom’s best friend?”

“She used to be. That’s what I said.” I don’t want to explain Rachel’s weird split with my mom, or her reappearing out of nowhere. If Jasper makes me examine it again up close, I will get suspicious. Too suspicious to let her help. And we need Rachel right now. My dad definitely does.

Jasper is still looking around the inside of her beautiful house. “Did that freak you out at all, the way she was all ready for us with a go bag?”

“She’s a defense attorney.”

“Um, yeah,” Jasper says. “But I don’t think they’re supposed to help their clients get away.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” I say, because Rachel said we could and I feel gross. Also, I desperately want to end this conversation. Jasper’s points are too valid. “Don’t break anything.”