The Taking (The Taking 1)

The sound of a car’s engine beyond the metal door made us both freeze. I held my breath as my gaze shifted between the entrance and Simon, wondering what we’d do if the NSA had somehow followed us here and was surrounding us at that very moment. From what I’d seen, there wasn’t another way out.

When the car kept going, passing us by entirely, I released the breath I’d been holding.

Simon voiced the concerns I’d been keeping bottled up inside. “We can’t stay here. I have no idea how long it’ll be till they figure out where we are. If we leave now, we can be back at my camp sometime after midnight.”

I nodded, but only because he was right about leaving. The storage space wasn’t a good place to hide out.

He went to the bay door and opened it, the noise echoing off the walls around us. He checked both directions before coming back and getting in the car.

“I’m not going with you,” I told Simon when he started the engine. “I have a family here.” I was surprised to hear myself say the words, surprised by how strongly I felt about the thought of abandoning them again: my dad, my mom, even Logan. “And someone else.”

“Yeah. Tyler Wahl. I saw you with him, at the coffee shop.” He grinned at my surprised expression. “I’ve done my homework. I guess I also expected you to say that.” Shaking his head, he forced me to meet his gaze. “I can’t make you come with me, but you’re taking a huge risk, Kyra, and, to be honest, I think it’s a big mistake.” He reached into his glove box and dug out a new cell phone. This one was way less fancy than the one he’d destroyed. “It’s a burner, but it’ll do the job. Plus it can’t be traced to anyone. Only turn it on when you need to use it—my number’s programmed.”

I took the phone, relieved that he wasn’t trying to stop me.

“I’ll drop you someplace safe,” he went on. “But you have to promise you’ll be careful. You can’t go back home, even if your family insists. The NSA will be waiting for you, and no matter what they or anyone else says, they can’t be trusted. Understand?”

I nodded numbly.

“Be careful, and trust no one.” He nodded toward the car door, indicating for me to close it. “I’ll stay in town for the next twenty-four hours. But I definitely think you should reconsider coming with me. It’s the safest option—for everyone. There are things about us, Kyra, that make us dangerous to be around—and I’m not just talking about the NSA. Call me when you’re settled somewhere.”

Simon’s idea of a “safe” place was literally a travel agency called Safe Travels that he dropped me off in front of. If we’d been playing a game, which we weren’t, I’d have given him minus five points for lack of creativity.

But he’d earned at least fifty bonus points when he handed me a wad of cash stuffed into a manila envelope along with a fake ID that, when I saw my face staring back at me, was so convincing I almost believed that my name really was Bridget Hollingsworth. As cool as the whole false-identity thing would have seemed at any other time, it was less cool right now, while I was still attempting to process what he’d just told me. About me being different from everyone else.

I tried to convince him there was no way I’d need the driver’s license or the three hundred dollars he’d given me, although, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t hate the driver’s license.

But Simon had insisted I keep them both, and ultimately I’d agreed to hold on to them for the time being, with the promise that I’d give everything back once I could convince my parents to square things away with Agent Truman, which shouldn’t take long. Regardless of what Simon had told me about what I could or couldn’t do now, I was counting on them to clear up this whole mess with the NSA.

And then I’d start fixing things between me and my dad.

My dad, who wasn’t as crazy as I’d believed. Who hadn’t been wrong about aliens and abductions.

It was all still so hard to believe.

Healing within a matter of seconds. Barely needing sleep or food. Aging at a snail’s pace. Crazy.

I caught a reflection of myself in the glass exterior of an insurance office as I strolled along the sidewalk. Slowing, I scowled at the girl staring back at me, a girl who wasn’t Bridget Hollingsworth . . . but wasn’t really Kyra Agnew either. She still looked like the same girl she’d always been: dishwater-blond hair, freckles splashed across the bridge of her nose, and eyes that were too big—no matter how Tyler saw them.

I didn’t want to be an anomaly. I just wanted to be the old me again.

I searched the other side of the glass, hoping to find a clock, just to get a glimpse of it so I could ground myself in the time, but there were none. Reaching up, I tucked a piece of my ordinary hair behind my ear before I turned the corner. Keeping my head down, I tried to maintain a low profile, the way Simon had warned me. It was harder than it seemed, considering my jeans were covered in smears of drying blood. When I came to a bench, I perched uneasily on the edge of the seat and pulled out my new phone and powered it on.

I called my dad three times, because he seemed most likely to believe me, but each time it went straight to voice mail, and I didn’t leave a message. I didn’t text him either because I didn’t want to take the chance that Simon had been wrong about the burner not being traceable. I figured I’d try him again later.

My knees bounced up and down nervously as I punched in a different number, waiting for someone to answer on the other end. I was afraid that what Simon had told me would change everything. But I was afraid, too, that everything had already been changed because of Agent Truman and his men.