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She’d been distracted when she left. Two cars were always parked in her motel parking lot—a blue Pontiac and a brown Buick—but never at the same time. They always parked in the same space, and she never saw either one arrive or leave. Earlier, she’d walked by the Pontiac and pretended to drop her purse so she could mark the back tire with chalk. When she checked on it later, it hadn’t moved.

By the time she’d been ready to leave, the Pontiac was gone and the Buick was in its place.

She knew she was being paranoid, and yet… The cars were both unremarkable, but it was as if they weretryingto be unremarkable. They were old but not old enough to be interesting. Dirty, but not filthy enough to be noticeable. Annie had learned a lot about blending in during her time undercover, and the way she kept seeing these cars but never the people they belonged to made her suspicious. Maybe they belonged to motel employees. Maybe students were illegally parking in the lot. It could be anything.

She’d thrown her stuff in the car and peeled out of the parking lot, flustered and berating herself for her unshakable paranoia.

She finally found the correct freeway exit, but she was confused by the neighborhood layout, and the sign for Everton’s streetwas obscured by a tree. She made another U-turn and crept slowly along the street while she squinted at the faded numbers stenciled on the curb.

The house was yellow.

Something about that pinged at Annie’s heart. It wasn’t like the house was familiar to her. It didn’t look like her parents’ house or any of the dumpy apartments she’d lived in or the halfway decent one in Virginia. But itwashomey, with a big tree in the front yard and a small porch. Nothing like the wraparound porches from her youth, but large enough to hold a potted plant and a welcome mat.

She parked on the street and turned the engine off.

She slipped her purse onto her shoulder and grabbed the box of chocolates she’d bought. Her first thought had been wine, but that seemed kind of an irresponsible choice with a house full of kids.

And that was the weirdest part. She was so desperate for a permanent address that the idea of moving into a place with three kids seemed like a good idea.

She knocked and waited, waited a few more seconds, then rang the doorbell right as the door opened. Helen Everton looked up at the sound of the bell and then looked back at Annie, scowling a little.

“I…I wasn’t sure you heard me knocking,” Annie said, embarrassed.

“I did. And the bell.”

“Yes,” Annie said. “Well, I’m here!” She thrust the box of candy out to Everton, who stared at it uncertainly for a moment, then took it. “Thank you for inviting me, Professor Everton.”

“You can call me Helen. Come on in,” she said. “We just got home half an hour ago, so excuse the mess, but you should know the truth about how we live, I guess.” Helen’s glossy, dark hair was up in a ponytail, but several strands had escaped, too shortto stay trapped in the scrunchie. She wore a faded plaid shirt over a pair of faded jeans, but the loose shirt couldn’t hide her trim figure.

Helen kicked aside a pink canvas bag that had been dropped haphazardly by the entryway. It landed in the hall under a row of hooks piled with an assortment of jackets. She gestured as she led the way. “Living room, den. There’s a half bath down here. The kitchen is in the back. All the bedrooms are upstairs.”

She stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Ashley! Come down, please!”

A small boy sat at a wooden table in the large kitchen. He was painstakingly printing something with a yellow pencil. Zach was lying in a combination bouncer-rocker toddler seat on the table next to him.

“Kevin, this is Annie,” Helen said. “Annie, this is my son, Kevin.”

Now, this child looks like his mother, Annie thought. No mistaking this one for a foster child. He had her coloring and the shape of her eyes, though his were dark brown and hers were blue. He looked up at her curiously, then returned to his task, seemingly unimpressed.

“And you know Zach.” Helen went to the stove and stirred whatever was in the large pot.

“I do,” Annie said. “Hi, Kevin. Hi, Zach.”

“Hi,” Kevin mumbled. He continued working. Annie glanced down at the large lettering scrawled across the page. His name was printed at the top.

“Homework?” she asked.

He covered the page with his arm and said nothing.

Footsteps on the stairs announced the appearance of Helen’s daughter, Ashley. She was less of a copy of Helen but still looked like part of the family set. Her chestnut-brown hair was in twotight braids. She wore a black leotard, pink tights, and a black sweater that wrapped around her and tied at her side.

“I told you to change!” Helen said.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” Ashley shrugged.

“You had to take it all off to do that. Why didn’t you just change?” Helen asked. Ashley gave her mother the same dead-eyed stare as her brother had. “Go change, Ash. Now.”

The girl spun on her heel and went back upstairs.