e barely made it back in time for study period, so I was able to duck Hayden’s question. Leaving our bags in the car, I ran to the dorm to find Sarah Jane counting down the seconds on her phone. I was glad to see she hadn’t completely lost her power trip mojo.

Afterward, I didn’t wait for a summons to make the trek to meet Major Taylor. She would want every detail of our highway encounter starting with descriptions of our pursuers and ending with my distress call. I lamented not taking a picture when they pulled up alongside us, but near-death experiences have a way of affecting one’s picture-taking abilities.

“What could they have been thinking?” I asked when she’d heard the whole story. “If Hayden wasn’t practically a stunt driver, I don’t know that we’d have made if off that highway alive. But what value does she have to them dead?”

Major Taylor was grim. “My guess is that her death, had they succeeded, was intended to be a message to Stephen Frasier: he better reconsider his plan, or he’ll be next.”

“Do you think the new delivery date is freaking everyone out?” Since Karen had been able to confirm the truth to that rumor, chances were the entire spy world knew it, too.

Before she could respond, my phone announced an incoming Skype call. Once we were safely inside the gates of Harrington, I’d texted Benson with a brief summary of our encounter on the road, and that I needed to speak to him right away before Dad heard about it. My dad made a living knowing everyone else’s business, but I wanted someone on my side before this particular report made its way to his desk.

“It’s Benson,” I told her. “I can’t leave him hanging.” He’d probably just woken up and seen my message.

“Are you alright?” he said urgently as soon as his pale and unshaven face popped up on the tiny screen.

“I’m fine, but I guess I won’t be leaving campus again until this is all over.” It felt like shades of Karachi all over again, a prisoner in an elegant cage.

“That’s right you won’t. I may even contact Grace Taylor to make sure of it,” he threatened, still frightened for me.

“Don’t bother, she’s right here.” I turned the phone to capture Major Taylor standing at my shoulder, catching them both off guard.

“Karl,” she murmured, running a hand self-consciously across her hair as she smoothed back any strays escaping from her ponytail.

“Uh, hiya, Grace,” he greeted her, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his chin. “I guess this phone call should have waited until I’d showered and shaved.”

She laughed softly. “Nonsense. You were concerned about Riley, and making sure she was safe was your first priority.” Her smile transformed her entire face, making her look years younger.

“You look wonderful, Grace. You haven’t changed a bit. What’s it been… fifteen years?”

“Seventeen.” She said it quickly, as if she’d been keeping track.

“And a Major now,” he said proudly. “I always knew you were destined for great things.”

Sadness flickered in her eyes, but vanished as quickly as it had come. “It was you who went looking for great things. I would have been happy with something else.”

Whoa, this was getting way too personal for my taste. “Here,” I interrupted, thrusting my phone into Major Taylor’s hands. “How about you just have somebody drop this by my room when you guys are done?”

Recalled to her senses, she said in a businesslike tone, “That’s not necessary. I’m sure Karl wants to hear what happened today. Maybe he’ll have some insight.”

So once again I recalled the relevant details of the past twenty-four hours, ending with, “Don’t you think someone should let Stephen Frasier know? I mean it’s obvious Hayden’s on the game board now. She and her brother should both be taken somewhere much safer than this place. No offense, Major Taylor.”

I told Benson about Stef and his father’s apparent disdain for him, warning, “Just because Stephen Frasier is a douchebag about his kid doesn’t mean Stef is safe, you know.”

“Ah, geez,” he lamented. “This was just supposed to be a walk in the park for you, Riley, but I don’t like where this is headed. Grace, is there any chance these kids can be stashed somewhere safe until all this blows over?”

“I can make the recommendation, but…” She paused as if deliberating whether to reveal something that perhaps she shouldn’t. “Here’s the deal, Karl. I don’t know that Stephen Frasier even knows what is really happening in the world outside his lab, or wherever it is he’s working. My impression is he’s in genius mode, and his handlers will do anything to keep him focused on his work. Everyone not directly linked to the project is, uh…”

“Expendable. Grace, I need a favor,” Benson said, an odd undercurrent of anxiety in his words. “I need you to promise me that if anything goes down there, you will put Riley first.”

She and I both blanched, but Major Taylor found her voice first. “I can’t believe you’re asking me to neglect my sworn duty! The Karl Benson I knew would never—”

“Grace!” He cut her off. She still held my phone, but now she brought it closer to her face. There was no chance he’d miss the chill in her eyes.

“Remember Dubai?” he gently asked. “If you and I had… what I’m trying to say is, if the child had lived…”

“Stop,” she whispered.

“I can’t. Riley is like a daughter to me, the one you and I should have had. Please, promise me you’ll protect her.”

The suffering on Major Taylor’s face was unmistakable, and I wanted to be anywhere but in this tiny office watching my proxy uncle rip scabs off old wounds. I couldn’t believe he’d asked her to put my needs, his needs, before the success of the mission. It went against everything I thought I knew about him and his sense of honor and duty. I also realized, though, his request hadn’t truly shocked me. What made Benson such an effective leader, teacher, uncle, and friend was his great capacity to love.

“I promise to protect Riley as if she were my own,” she finally said, her voice filled with suppressed emotion. “But I also have a job to do.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Understood.”

“You would have made a great father, Karl,” she said softly.

They were silent for a few moments. “Is Riley still there?” he asked.

She handed me the phone and turned away.

“You need to call your dad, kiddo,” he said to me.

I cleared the thickness in my throat. “He’s going to want me to come home.”

Back to being a virtual prisoner within the embassy, back to endless days of boring tutors, and back to a life without Hayden, Sam, Von, and Stef, people I had come to care about. “Can’t it wait a few days? Please?”

His stern visage softened. “You can talk to him tomorrow, but no later.”

Curled up in bed with her face buried in a book, Hayden ignored me when I walked in. It was like we were back at square one with a noticeable chill in the room. I sighed, wanting to tell her everything, but knowing if she refused to keep my secret, she could do irreparable damage to my mission. Today’s close call brought home once again the seriousness of our situation. It also made it imperative to pay attention to anything out of the ordinary, and a hidden phone certainly qualified as suspect.

A moment later she tossed her book down and padded into the bathroom. Taking advantage of her absence, I quickly plucked the dead phone out from under my mattress and cabled it to my computer. Even if it wouldn’t power on, the memory might still be intact.

After a few long minutes, my patience was rewarded when the phone’s display flashed on to reveal a screensaver. It was a photo of four people squeezed together in classic selfie pose. Rose, with her friendly smile, held the camera slightly elevated while Von, Stef, and Hayden grinned up at the lens. Their faces were slightly distorted by a spider web of cracks, the biggest one slashing Rose’s face directly in half. Knowing what her future held, it weirded me out to see it now.

I ran my thumb across the screen, tapped at icons, and played with the power button, but it was completely non-responsive. Retrieving data from a broken phone was pretty routine if you had the right software. Or if the phone was too badly damaged, you could extract the chip with a blast of super-heated air and insert it into a working model. I had a general idea of how to do this from watching a forensics team recover photos from a charred cell phone found at the scene of a suspected terrorist bombing in Egypt.

Since I didn’t have the right equipment to heat the chip—not even Hayden’s ridiculously expensive ionic, tourmaline-boosted ceramic blow dryer was up to the job—hopefully one of Benson’s software programs would do the trick.

I pulled out the case of USB sticks. Sorting through them as quickly as possible, I found one tagged, Forensic Software for Mobile Device Analysis, which seemed an overblown way to say, “Get Junk Out of Your Phone.” Booting up the program, the software went to work.

My thoughts turned to the unexplained events beginning to pile up. There’s no such thing as a coincidence was one of Benson’s favorite sayings. It was just the word people used when they couldn’t see the other people who pulled the strings.

Rose had been killed while driving one of the quiet back roads to school. It was possible she was dodging a deer, but what if she, too, had met with a certain black SUV? Her death should have left Hayden alone in her room every night from curfew to breakfast because the school didn’t admit seniors. Had my arrival thrown a wrench into somebody’s plans?

Then there was the mystery of the concealed phone I was now positive had belonged to the dead girl. If it were my phone, I would have either taken it with me in hopes the people at the phone store would know how to transfer the data or left it on my desk. Rose had arrived before Hayden and was alone in the dorm. Had she been hiding it from someone in particular?

My computer chirped, telling me the info dump was complete. I disconnected the broken phone and stashed it in my desk drawer. If the phone’s chip had survived undamaged, all of Rose’s photos and data history was now on my hard drive. With Hayden still locked in the bathroom, I could search Rose’s pictures unobserved.

There were plenty of the usual selfies and pictures of prettily foamed lattes, but I also came across dozens of shots of the school grounds. For some reason, she’d been interested in the exterior of Watson Hall, and the roads surrounding and leading up to campus.

Pulling up her texts, I gasped when the name Aunt Karen appeared at the top. With shaking hands I pulled up a group chat between Rose, Aunt Karen, and someone named Devin. Rose’s last text to them had a photo attached of a man dressed in the dark green coveralls of a Harrington groundskeeper, distractedly pushing an empty wheelbarrow across the commons. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I recognized him as Mr. Mustache, the driver of the SUV. The accompanying text read, New to staff today, but not doing much work. The photo was time stamped the date before her accident.

Racing to dig up Rose’s contacts, my worst fears were confirmed. The phone number for Aunt Karen on Rose’s phone matched the number for Aunt Karen on mine. Rose had been reporting to my handler.

Why hadn’t Karen told me Rose was an agent? Had she been the one to report our whereabouts in New York to our would-be killers? Had she seen this photo and told Mr. Mustache his cover was blown, but he could buy some time if Rose didn’t live to show it to anyone else? And who the hell was Devin? I slumped in my chair, trying to make sense of it all.

By the time Hayden emerged from the bathroom trailing scents of citrus and peppermint, a part of me was ready to climb under the covers and wait for my dad to come get me. The last girl who’d roomed with Hayden, one who presumably had been enlisted to keep an eye on her, was dead. Was I next?