“What’s it about?”

His dad leaned back in his chair. “It’s about what they can do.”

Hunter stared at him.

“Say I agreed, and I took you along as a decoy. You’re a teenager; you could fit right in.” He glanced in the file again. “Your mom’s folks even live right in the area. We wouldn’t have to think of an excuse for you to be there.”

“Yes,” said Hunter. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

“And what if you determined they were as powerful as these reports say? Could you kill them?”

Could he kill complete strangers? “If they were using their powers to hurt people, I would do what I had to.”

“What if they’re not using their powers to harm anyone?” said his father. “What if they’re good kids? Boy Scouts? What if they help people?”

Hunter swallowed. “Then . . . why would you kill them?”

His father smiled, a little sadly. “You’re not ready.”

“But—”

“Enough, Hunter. We have work to do.” He lost the smile. “And if I catch you spying again, you’re not going to like the results. Do you understand me?”

Hunter walked out and slammed the door behind him—before realizing he was probably driving his father’s points about immaturity home.

He went back to the kitchen and grabbed his backpack. He should probably put the weapons back before he got in trouble for that, too. He slammed the door to the basement, too, wanting to punch a hole in the drywall. He jammed the key into the gun locker door and punched the buttons, practically breaking a finger in his fury.

Only when he reached into his bag was he careful. He pulled the zipper free on the table and looked inside.

Then he kept on looking.

One gun and a fully loaded magazine were missing.

CHAPTER 4

Hunter wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like.

The bag had been sitting in the corner of the kitchen all evening. Unless someone had broken in and stolen the gun in the last hour—while there was a police dog lying on the mat in front of the sink—then he’d either left the gun in the clearing or Clare had taken it.

He had no idea why Clare, someone who was obviously afraid of firearms, would take the weapon.

But he knew he hadn’t left a fully loaded handgun lying in the grass, either.

If his father found out, he was so dead.

He grabbed the cell phone out of his pocket—just as he realized he’d never gotten her number.

Like she’d answer. What would he say? “Did you maybe accidentally take a gun from my bag?”

Hunter ran a hand through his short hair and tried not to panic.

How. Could he. Have let. This happen.

His father’s stupid comment kept running through his head.

You’re about to teach yourself a lesson a lot more effectively than I ever could.

Or his uncle’s: Use them before they use you.

It didn’t make any sense. Clare didn’t seem like the type.

God, what did he know about types?

He needed to figure out a solution. Otherwise he might as well just load the remaining handgun and shoot himself.

No. He could handle this. First, he needed to get out of the gun locker before his dad realized he was down here and decided to come see what was going on.

Hunter locked the room. He almost put the remaining gun away, but if Clare had totally played him and was some kind of marksman, he didn’t want to go facing her unarmed.

Marksman. Who was he kidding? He’d felt her hand tremble on his wrist when he’d fired that first shot.

Why would she take a gun?

Hunter went back to his bedroom and logged on to Facebook. Clare wasn’t his friend, but maybe he could find her cell phone number.

No cell number. No address. Her status message was set to public, and it was last updated two days ago. The cafeteria macaroni and cheese doesn’t actually include cheese. I read the ingredients!!!

Seriously. Like there was any chance it would say I stole a handgun from Hunter Garrity this afternoon! He can totally find me at 123 Main Street!

Uncle Jay was a cop. He could find out where she lived.

Yeah, and his dad said he’d be pissed if he caught Hunter spying again.

Why the hell hadn’t he offered to walk her home this afternoon?

Wait a minute. What had she said yesterday?

I live on the other side of the dairy farm.

Hunter grabbed a flashlight.

The sun was fully down now, but humidity still clung to the air. Hunter had the other handgun, a .45 ACP officer’s model, in one hand, a flashlight in the other. Casper had followed him out of the house, which worked well—so well that Hunter had gone back in to yell to his uncle that he was taking the dog for a quick run.

And he could have been running, as fast as his heart was racing. It felt like it took forever to cross the pastures to the far side of the dairy farm, but he could see a small house between the trees, the porch light like a beacon.

He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. He couldn’t exactly knock on the door with a gun in hand. And if Clare had stolen his weapon, it wasn’t like she’d hand it over.

Hunter stopped in her backyard and waited, deliberating. He wasn’t even sure this was the right house. The back patio offered no answers. Only the upstairs lights were on, although it seemed early.

Casper waited by his side, bracing against Hunter’s legs.

“Damn it,” Hunter whispered. He bit at his lip.

Could he break in?

Yeah, if he did that, his dad and his uncle would kill him. How long had he been gone? They might be starting to wonder already.

What he needed was for Clare to come running out here with the gun.

He took a deep breath and blew it out.

And then he heard the yelling.

Hunter held his breath. He couldn’t make out words, but it was definitely a man, very loud and almost incoherent.

And then a girl’s voice, high pitched and almost shrieking.

Casper growled.

Hunter put a hand on the scruff of his neck. The air was whispering all kinds of hints about this altercation, and none of them were good.

Then a gunshot cracked the night.

Hunter dropped and dashed to the side of the house, staying low. The shot had come from inside.

The screaming had escalated.

Another gunshot. This round went through a window, because glass shattered and rained down on the patio about ten feet over from where Hunter crouched.

He could barely hear over his breathing.

More screaming. A woman, but Hunter couldn’t tell if it was Clare. No one was dead yet, because they sure were making a racket. Casper barked.

Another shot. A bullet hit the storage shed across the yard. Hunter flinched.

If that was the 9mm, there would be at least five bullets left, unless shots had been fired before he got here. He and Clare had fired two in the field, and now someone had fired three.

Hunter should have grabbed a bulletproof vest out of the locker.

He fished his phone out of his pocket. He started to dial, but the screaming upstairs cut off abruptly.

Casper growled softly.

Hunter held his breath again. If he made a call, they might hear him.

He didn’t exactly want to be noticed by someone shooting wildly.

He switched to text message and found Uncle Jay’s number—his dad’s texting was sporadic at best.

Shots fired at house on opp side dairy farm. Send help.

A text came back almost immediately.

U OK?

Hunter moved to text back, but another gunshot exploded somewhere above him. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and slid toward the front of the house.

The front door was half open, the lower level a well of darkness. Was this a robbery in progress? He might have believed that—if Clare hadn’t already stolen his gun. Hunter ducked inside. He waited for his eyes to acclimate, then eased around furniture toward the staircase.

Someone was crying upstairs.

Clare?

But then he heard Clare’s voice, cold and hard and definitely not full of tears.

“You leave her alone. I swear to god I will shoot you.”

Then a man’s voice. “Shoot me. They’ll lock you up, and then what’ll you do?”

“I’ll shoot. I will.” Clare’s voice sounded strong, but Hunter heard the slightest waver beneath the words. He kept the .45 in his hands and eased up the steps.

And then he turned the corner and they were right there, in the hallway. Clare had the gun in her hands, held at chest level in both hands, just like he’d shown her.

The gun was pointed at a man in his forties wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. Hunter could smell alcohol from here.

And on the floor behind Clare lay a crumpled woman, crying, her hands over her face. Hunter could see blood between her fingers.

Hunter trained the gun on the man. “Clare,” he breathed carefully, not wanting to spook her with the gun in her hands. “It’s okay. I called the cops.”

Almost on cue, he could hear the thready sounds of a siren.

“Hunter,” she said. Her voice broke. “Hunter, you have to go.”

“It’s okay,” he said again. “I’ll hold him. Just . . . just put the gun down. Slide the safety, remember?”

The man sneered at him. “You won’t hold shit, kid.”

Hunter snorted. His own gun didn’t waver. “Some pacifist.”

“I just said . . . I just said that because—” Clare’s voice broke again. She still had the gun pointed at the man, but her grip was wavering badly. “My brother used to stop . . . used to stop him—”

“It’s okay,” said Hunter carefully. “It’s okay. Just put the gun down. The cops are coming. You don’t need to shoot him.”

The sirens were very close now. Tires crunched on the driveway, and a car door slammed.

“See?” said Hunter. “They’re here. You need to put the gun down so they don’t shoot you.”

“They’re here?” said Clare.

“They’re here. They won’t let him hurt you. Or your mother.”

“Okay.” Clare turned toward him with the gun in her hands.

“No!” Hunter dodged to get out of her line of fire—especially since her father had lunged forward to grab for the weapon.

The gun went off. Clare cried out. She fell to the ground, just as her father raised his arm, pointing the gun at Hunter.

Hunter didn’t think.

He pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER 5

“So what did you learn?”

Hunter slumped in the free chair in his dad’s office. He’d been up all night—and his dad had already made it clear that he expected Hunter to go to school.

Clare and her mother were in the hospital.

So was her father, under police guard. He had a bullet hole through his left shoulder.

“A lot of things,” said Hunter.

“Specifically?”

“I should have told you she took the gun.”

His father smiled, but there was an edge to it. “No, that one I understand. What did you learn about her?”

Hunter set his jaw and looked out the window, where sunlight was just beginning to crawl into the sky. “She was using me.”

“And what did Jay tell you about girls?”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “To use them first. That doesn’t even make sense. You want me to go through life using everyone I meet?”

“If it will keep you safe, yes, I do.”

Hunter didn’t say anything.

“Even last night,” said his father. “Even knowing she’d stolen from you. You wanted to help her. Didn’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t want to help her? Can’t you imagine what she must have been going through? Do you blame her?”

“She could have told you, Hunter. If she cared about you, if she trusted you, she would have. Jay was here in uniform last night. She could have told him.”