Hoping we'd give ourselves away.

"Derek? You know you shouldn't be out here. It's not safe. We've talked about this, remember? You don't want to hurt anyone. I know that, and you know you need our help to get better."

I looked up. Derek's jaw worked, his gaze distant.

"I could go," he whispered. "Create a distraction so you can escape. Simon's around. You just need to find —"

"You're going back? After they shot at you?"

"Just tranquilizers."

"Just? Just?" My voice rose and I fought to keep it down. 'They're hunting us, Derek. Dr. Gill knows what I am."

"She knew. That doesn't mean they do."

"Are you sure?"

He hesitated, his gaze lifting toward the voice.

"Derek?" Dr. Davidoff continued. "Please. I want to make this easy for you, but you need to make it easy for us. Come out now and we'll talk. That's it. Just talk. No disciplinary action will be taken and we won't transfer you."

Derek shifted against me. Considering.

"You can't —" I began.

"If you don't come out, Derek, we will find you, and you will be transferred . . . to a juvenile detention center for kidnapping Chloe."

"Kid —" I squawked.

He clapped his hand over my mouth until I motioned I'd be quiet.

Dr. Davidoff continued. "You already have a documented history of inappropriate behavior toward her. When the police see that, and hear our corroborating statements, you will be in a lot of trouble, Derek, and I know you don't want that. Even if she defends you, it won't matter to the police. You're a sixteen-year-old boy running away with a fourteen-year-old girl." He paused. "You do realize she's only fourteen, don't you, Derek?"

I shook my head vehemently and whispered, "He's lying. I turned fifteen last month."

Dr. Davidoff said, "To the police, it will be a clear case of kidnapping and interference, possibly even sexual assault."

"Sexual —!" I squeaked.

Derek's glare shut me up as effectively as his hand had.

"It's your choice, Derek. Make this hard, and you'll only hurt yourself."

Derek snorted and with that, Dr. Davidoff lost him. Prey on Derek's fears of hurting others, and he might be convinced to surrender. But threaten Derek himself? Like Simon said, it was a whole different matter.

"Stay here," he whispered. "I'm going to find a way out."

I wanted to argue, insist on helping, but I didn't have his night vision. If I started stumbling around looking for an exit, I'd bring Dr. Davidoff and the others running.

I stayed put.

Forty-three

AFTER A FEW MINUTES, Derek returned and wordlessly led me to the back wall, where a window had been broken. It must have been boarded over, but the board was now resting on the floor.

"Hold on."

He swept the broken glass from the lower sill, then laced his fingers into a step for me. As I crawled through, my sleeve snagged on a leftover shard.

A nearby door banged.

"Chloe? Derek? I know you're in here. The door was broken."

I yanked my sleeve free, feeling a sharp sting. The shard tinkled to the pavement below as I scrambled through.

I tumbled to the ground, recovered, and broke into a run, aiming for the nearest cover —a tarp over a lumber pile. I dropped and crawled under it, Derek shoving me in farther. I found a spot where the tarp tented and stretched out on my stomach. The moment I caught my breath, my upper arm started to throb, telling me the glass had done more than scrape my skin.

"You're hurt," Derek whispered as if reading my mind.

"Just a scratch."

"No, it's not."

He grabbed my arm and pulled it straight. A stab of pain. I stifled a gasp. It was too dark to see, but the sleeve felt wet against my skin. Blood. He'd smelled it.

He gingerly rolled up my sleeve and swore.

"Bad?" I whispered.

"Deep. Gotta stop the bleeding. We need a bandage."

He released my arm. A flash of white, and I realized he was pulling off his T-shirt.

"Hold on," I said. 'That's all you've got. I'm layered up."

He turned his head away. I stripped off all three shirts, gritting my teeth as the fabric brushed my wound. I reminded myself that I'd barely felt it before he told me it was bad.

I put the top two shirts back on and handed him my tee. He ripped it, the sound echoing. I must have looked alarmed, because he said, "No one's around. I can hear them searching the warehouse."

He wound the strips around my arm. Then his head lifted, tracking something, and I caught the faint sound of a voice calling, then an answer.

'They're all in the warehouse now," he whispered. "Time to move. I'll try picking up Simon's scent. Follow my lead."

Derek zigged and zagged through the obstacle course of debris, never slowing. Luckily, I was behind him, where he couldn't see how many times I rapped my knees or elbows swerving past some obstacle.

Finally, he slowed. "Got him," he whispered, and jabbed a finger at the south side of the factory. We steered that way. When we neared the corner, a figure leaned from a recessed doorway, then retreated fast. Simon. A moment later, Rae stepped out and waved wildly before being yanked back, presumably by Simon.

We raced over and found them in a deep narrow alcove that reeked of cigarette smoke and looked like a main entrance.

"What are you doing here?" Rae whispered, staring at Derek as if in alarm. "You're supposed to be —"

"Change of plans."

"Good to see you, bro," Simon said, slapping Derek's back. "I was worried Chloe'd never find us. There's a whole bunch of people looking for us."

"I know."

Simon moved to the edge, looked out, then walked over to me, handing me my backpack. "You okay?"

I nodded, keeping my injured arm out of sight. "They have guns."

"What?" Rae's eyes rounded. "No way. They'd never —"

"Tranq guns," Derek corrected.

"Oh." She nodded, as if tranquilizer guns were standard issue for tracking runaway kids.

"Who've you seen?" Derek asked Simon.

"Van Dop, Davidoff, and, I think, Talbot, but I'm not sure. No sign of Gill."

"She's back at the house," I said. "But there are two more we didn't recognize. A man and a woman." I looked at Derek. "Undercover cops, you think?"

"No idea. We'll worry about that later. Right now, we're sitting ducks. We need to get out of here."

As Derek moved to look out, Simon leaned down to my ear. "Thanks. For finding him. Was everything okay?"

"Later," Derek said. "There's another warehouse farther back, with broken windows. It's probably abandoned. If we can get to that —"

"Chloe?" Rae said, staring down at my arm. "What's all over your sleeve? It looks like . . ." She touched the fabric. "Oh, my God. You're bleeding. You're really bleeding."

Simon ducked around to my other side. "It's soaked. What —?"

"Just a cut," I said.

"It's deep," Derek said. "She needs stitches."

"I don't —"

"She needs stitches," he repeated. "I'll figure something out. For now —" He swore and jumped back from the opening. "They're coming." He looked around, scowling. "This is the lousiest hiding place . . ."

"I know," Simon said. "I wanted to find a better one, but. . ." A pointed look at Rae said she'd refused to leave.

"What's wrong with here?" she said. She backed up against the wall. "It's completely dark. They won't see me."

"Until they shine a flashlight on you."

"Oh."

Derek strode to the door, grabbed the handle, and gave it a test pull. Then he braced his feet, took the handle in both hands, and heaved until the tendons in his neck bulged. The door quivered, then flew open with a crack as loud as a gunshot.

He frantically waved us inside. "Find cover!" he whispered as I hurried past.