I was about to ask if he needed a hand, or maybe a straightjacket, but when there was a matching response that came from the other side, all scratchy and quiet—an acknowledgment—my eyes widened.

“Willow?” I whispered up to him. “How’d she know we’d be down here?”

“She didn’t,” Simon answered, right before the grate slid open above his head. “That’s why I gave her the signal. In case something went wrong. It was our backup plan.”

Willow stood above us, peering down into the opening impatiently, as if we’d kept her waiting. “What took you two so long?” she criticized, but she was smiling when she reached out for us.

When I was on my feet again, I checked out the sterile-looking hallway we stood in. The lights here were bright, reflecting off the ultra-white tiles beneath us. The whole thing—the explosion, the gas-releasing key card, and the underground tunnels—was so secret agent–y I couldn’t help feeling like some kind of superspy.

“We safe?” I asked Willow, searching for signs we weren’t alone.

“Safe-ish. Most everyone was sent offsite. They’re convinced we got a good five-minute lead on ’em.” Willow scoffed. “That Agent Truman’s sure a piece’a work. Thinks his shit don’t stink, don’t he? Wouldn’t even put on a haz-suit.”

Willow hadn’t heard what we had, about them not having enough suits for everyone. Still, it was hard to imagine Agent Truman sacrificing his own safety for that of his men.

“I don’t think your boy’s here, though,” Willow said.

My heart withered.

“Surprised you waited for us.” Simon winked at her.

“I planned to give you another sixty seconds, and then you were on your own,” she shot back.

“That right?” Simon questioned, his black brow raised challengingly.

Willow glanced at her watch—a black timepiece that looked like it was issued straight from the military and could withstand a nuclear blast. Envy that she knew the time ate me up inside. Her eyebrow ticked up as a small grin parted her lips. “No, actually. You were down to forty-three seconds.”

Simon laughed and nodded toward Willow’s backpack, which was bulkier than it had been when she’d left the lab, and sagged like it was being weighted down—a telltale sign that she’d been scavenging while we were laying low in the underground tunnels. “Looks like you found some stuff we might need.”

Willow’s grin just grew. “You know . . . I had some time.”

CHAPTER SIX

IT WAS DARK WHEN THE THREE OF US SPILLED out of the east exit door, which dropped us into a dim alleyway behind the building. The only light out here came from a parking lot in the distance. A tall chain-link fence ran along one side of the narrow street, separating this building from the one next door. On the other side of the fence I could see broken glass and litter and pieces of flattened cardboard stacked on pallets. The oily smell made me think they must do something mechanical in that other building, like build engines or tractors, and it made me curious what they thought happened over here, in this place.

Somehow, being out here, in the alley and breathing the fresh-ish air, made me feel moderately less . . . claustrophobic.

“Where to now? Any word from the others?” I asked Willow, wondering where Jett and Thom and Natty had gone after the explosion. It freaked me out, not knowing where they were, or if they’d been captured, but it freaked me out even more that we hadn’t seen a single No-Sucher since that guy in the ventilation shaft had tried to grab me.

Even if most of them had been sent out to search for us, shouldn’t there still be some left to guard the place? I glanced up at a security camera above the door and wondered if someone was on the other end, watching us. A chill ran over my skin.

“It doesn’t work.” The unmistakable voice gave me a second chill, this one gripping my spine and rendering me immobile as I realized my Spidey senses had severely underestimated the danger we were in. “It’s still down. Impressive bug you kids set loose in our system. Kudos.”

We weren’t alone, and we were never safe. That oily voice belonged to Agent Truman.

I thought I might puke.

When I trusted myself, I finally turned to face him. It was the first time I’d actually set eyes on him since that night we were all at Devil’s Hole, and he was no less formidable than I remembered. To sum it up: he was scary as shit.

If it hadn’t been for the gun he was clutching, I might’ve allowed myself to relish a twinge of satisfaction over seeing his other hand still encased in plaster. All because of me and what I’d done with the baseball. As it was, however, all I could concentrate on was that he didn’t seem to be holding the gun as awkwardly as he had been the last time I’d seen him, up at Devil’s Hole, despite the fact it wasn’t his natural shooting hand. Like, maybe he’d had time to practice since then.

It wasn’t a comforting thought.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away,” he said, and I hated the way his voice turned my knees to rubber.

I barely trusted my own voice, but I had to know for sure. “So you . . . you don’t have Tyler?”

He had the nerve to shrug—I mean, he actually shrugged, like we were just hanging out, talking about grades or a ballgame, like we were a couple of buddies.

We definitely weren’t.

“The boy made for good bait,” he remarked, taking a measured step toward us and sounding far too flippant. His eyes squeezed into narrow slits. “It’s sweet, the way you came running.”