Chapter 44

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Taylor hasn’t stopped crying since he told her.

The car accident resolved any doubts. Taylor’s best friend, Isabella—the fourth kid in the Anthony O’Leary video—inexplicably running off the road and over the embankment. The fire, the overdoses, the car accident, none of them were accidental. The FBI agent said Michael could save his family if he turned on O’Leary. He could provide financial information that could build an airtight RICO case. The agent said it would be “easy-peasy.”

Easy-peasy.Changing their identities. Taylor leaving behind everything she’s ever known. Never being able to visit her mother’s grave again.

But what other choice does he have? Michael knows that the moment he transfers O’Leary’s funds to those new accounts, he and Taylor will suffer their own accidents.

Michael did some quick research on WITSEC. The program is run by the U.S. Marshals, not FBI. They’ll be given new identities, a home, Michael a new job. None of the eighty-five hundred witnesses and ninety-nine hundred family members in the WITSEC program has been harmed. Taylor and he will be asked their dream place to live, which is a trick, since that will ensure they don’t get stationed there, as the program will assume that they’ve told other people the same thing.

Now he and Taylor sit in their car in the old warehouse at midnight as instructed by the FBI agent. He doesn’t understand why the U.S. Marshal he’s supposed to meet—their WITSEC handler—didn’t come to the house and gather them. But maybe that’s how it goes. Cloak-and-dagger.

He’s taken Taylor’s phone and she continues to cry, slumped low in the passenger seat.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can manage.

She shudders and sniffles and says nothing, which is breaking his heart.

She’s not only leaving everything behind, her closest friends are gone. Dead. He worries if she’ll ever recover.

“Where will we live?” she says.

“I don’t know.”

“We have to change our names? And everything?”

“Yes.”

She sobs more. Then, to his surprise, she springs out of the car and runs out into the gloom of the warehouse.

Michael jumps out and chases after her.

The warehouse smells of oil and garbage. She’s disappeared in the shadows.

“Taylor,” he says in a whisper-yell.

Then a black SUV pulls inside the cavernous structure. The windows are tinted and Michael can’t see inside. The driver must see Michael because the headlights flash the brights on and off. The engine dies and a figure emerges from the driver’s side. He wears a three-piece suit, has slicked-back hair. He’s somehow familiar.

“Mr. Harper,” the man says. “I’m with the U.S. Marshals.”

Michael walks up to the man. “My daughter… She got upset and…” He gestures around futilely.

“We’ll find her. This isn’t unusual. She’s a teenager. This can be a lot.”

Michael nods. “She’ll come back. She just needs a minute.”

“Why don’t you get inside the SUV. Don’t worry, I’ve found many a wandering teen.” He flashes a smile. He’s a good-looking guy, this marshal.

He holds out his arm, inviting Michael to go to the vehicle.

“Let’s find her first,” Michael says.

“Really, I got this.” The agent gestures to the vehicle again. Whoever is in the back opens the door.

Michael isn’t going anywhere until he finds Taylor. Then he sees a familiar face inside the SUV. It takes him a second to register, but he thinks he’s seen the man at O’Leary’s Tavern. One of O’Leary’s—

“Get in the car,” the man in the suit says, the barrel of a pistol shoved into Michael’s back.