They were being watched. She was sure of it.

“Hey! Wait up,” she called out.

As she jogged forward and caught up, he said, “I need to come back in the daytime with a camera.”

“Maybe we should just go now—”

“Look at that storage building over there.” He pointed ahead. “The roof’s been torn off.”

“You know, in retrospect, coming during the day would be better. I mean, we can’t really see anything—” She sniffed the air. “Is that pine?”

“From the broken rafters. That damage is new.”

Sure enough, as they went over to the debris and she picked up pieces of splintered wood, the cuts were all fresh, the yellow insides of the old boards exposed. And asphalt shingles were everywhere around the roof-less shed, littering the crushed ground—

Jo’s foot caught on something and she fell to the side, her ankle giving way. As the earth rushed up to her, she threw out a hand and twisted around, saving herself from a total face-plant.

“What the hell?” she muttered as she looked at what had tripped her.

It was not a footprint. A giant footprint. Nope.

“Are you okay?” Bill put out a hand—then got distracted by what she’d noticed. “What is that?”

“I’m fine, and no clue.” She stood up by herself and brushed her slacks off. “Is it just me or does this feel like a grown up episode of Scooby Doo?”

Bill took his cell out and snapped a couple of pictures with the help of his flash. When he checked what had been captured, he cursed. “No, we definitely have to come back during the day.”

Jo got down on her haunches and examined the sunken pattern in the ground with the flashlight in her phone. The imprint was deeper and smudged on one side, as if whatever had made it had been pushing off in mid-run.

Bill shook his head. “Does your buddy—Dougie, I think you said that was his name—have resources?”

She glanced up. “You mean, could he have paid to set this all up?” When the reporter nodded, she had to laugh. “He can barely fund his pot-related munchies. No, he didn’t do this, and as far as I’m aware, he doesn’t know anyone who could.”

“Maybe this was made by a four-wheeler.” Bill lowered himself down, too. “Skidding out.”

Not even close, she thought.

“But what about the roof?” Jo nodded at the topless four walls. “It wasn’t blown off by the wind—there was a little rain recently, but nothing even close to a tornado. And as for an explosion? Nothing is charred and there’s no smell of smoke, which you’d expect to find if it had been a bomb.”

Bill regarded her steadily. “When you grow up, do you want to be an investigative reporter?”

“I’m twenty-six. By all accounts, I have grown up.” Although rooming with Dougie and his ilk might disprove that notion a little. “I really think we should—”

As she stopped talking, Bill looked around. “What?”

Jo searched the shadows, her heart beginning to pound. “Listen . . . I think we need to go. I really . . . really think we need to leave.”

“Where . . . did my house go?”

As Bitty asked the question from the back of the GTO, Mary leaned forward in her seat—not that the shift of position did anything to change the vacant lot she was staring at.

“Are we in the right place?”Mary got out of the car and held her seat forward so Bitty could join her. “Is there any chance . . .”

Rhage shook his head as he looked across the roof. “GPS says this is the right address.”

Shoot, Mary thought.

“There’s the ivy bed.” The girl burrowed into her coat. “That mahmen planted. And the apple tree. And . . .”

The house must have been condemned and torn down at some point, Mary decided, because there was nothing left over, no piles of splintered wood, no chimney’s cinder blocks, just saplings and weeds growing in its place. The outline of the driveway, such as it was, had survived, but it would not for much longer with the encroaching vegetation.

As she and Bitty walked forward, Rhage stayed a couple of paces behind them, his looming presence a source of comfort, at least for Mary.

And then she stopped and let Bitty keep going on her own.

Under the moonlight, the girl picked her way around the lot, pausing every couple of minutes to regard the barren landscape.

Rhage’s big hand came to rest on Mary’s shoulder and she leaned into his body, feeling the warmth of him. It was hard not to measure the vacant, uninhabited property as evidence of the girl’s losses.

“I remember the house,” Rhage said softly. “Bad condition. Junk in the yard with a broken-down car.”

“What did you guys do with the father’s body?” Mary blurted. “It’s never occurred to me to ask.”

“He wasn’t, shall we say, in good condition when we left.”

“The sun?”

“Yeah. We just left him. The priority was getting Bitty and her mom out. When we came back the following night, there was a scorch mark on the grass. That was it.” Rhage cursed under his breath. “I’m telling you, that male was a madman. He was ready to kill anything, anybody who got in his way.”

“Her X-rays prove it.” As Rhage glanced over, Mary shook her head. “A lot of broken bones—not that she went to Havers when they occurred. Havers said that because she was a pretrans, the healing places still show up until she reaches her maturity. He said . . . they’re everywhere.”

A subtle growling made her look up. Rhage’s upper lip had peeled off his fangs, and his expression was all about protective aggression.

“I want to kill that motherfucker all over again.”

Mary gave Bitty as much time as she needed, staying a distance away with Rhage until the girl wandered over.

“I guess my things are gone.” Bitty shrugged in that big old parka. “I didn’t have a lot of them.”

“I’m really sorry, Bitty.”

“I was hoping . . .” The girl glanced back at where the house had been. “I was hoping that I could bring some of my old clothes and books to my uncle’s. I don’t want to be a burden on him. I don’t want to get sent away.”

Rhage made a small coughing sound. “So I’ll go out and buy you what you want. Anything you need to take with you, I got it.”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t think—”

“It’s okay,” Bitty cut in. “Maybe I can get a job. You know, when I go to live with him.”

You’re nine, Mary thought. Damn it.

“How about we head back?” Mary offered. “It’s cold.”

“You sure you’re ready to go?” Rhage asked. “We can stay if you like.”

“No.” Bitty shrugged again. “There’s nothing for me here.”

They returned to the GTO, resettling into their various seats, the warmth in the car a balm to cold cheeks and noses.

As Rhage turned them around, the headlights swept over the lot, and Mary thought to herself . . . at some point, this kid was going to get good news. The Scribe Virgin talked about balance all the time, right? So statistically, Bitty was really, totally frickin’ overdue.

“I just have to wait until my uncle comes,” the girl said as they drove off. “He’s going to give me a home.”

Mary closed her eyes. And kind of felt like banging her head into Rhage’s dashboard.

And as if he were reading her mind, Rhage reached across and took her hand, giving it a squeeze. Mary squeezed back.

“So lemme ask you something there, Bitty girl,” he said. “Do you like ice cream?”

“I guess I do. I’ve had some before.”

“Tomorrow night, you got any plans? We could go out after First Meal, before the human shops close up?”

On impulse, because she was desperate to keep any line of communication open, Mary twisted around. “Would you like to do that, Bitty? It could be fun.”

When there was a long pause, Mary eased back in her seat and tried to think of another option.

In the quiet, Rhage filled in, “Safe Place has my Mary’s cell phone number. If your uncle comes while we’re out, they can call her right away and get you. And we can pick a place that’s close, like, no more than five minutes’ drive.” Rhage glanced in the mirror. “I mean, you take baths, right?”