Page 32

Dylan

I n a rare unaccompanied outing, Mark and I sped along Maplebridge’s tree-lined streets.

Late afternoon sun slanted through the pines, dappling the dashboard, but my grip on the steering wheel was tight—my nerves taut since Mark’s call that morning.

Someone from the FBI wanted to meet with us.

Keep it quiet, no mention of other twins, no drama.

After dropping Jennifer and Lanie at Mark’s parents’ house, we slipped away to run an errand.

Not a lie, just not the whole truth. The air felt thick, the calm before a storm.

Mark glanced over, his jaw tight. “I’m worried about my parents,” he said, voice rough with a protectiveness I knew ran deep. “They’re already confused enough about what’s going on. Let’s try to pull in as few people as we can.”

Agreed. “We’ll keep it tight,” I promised. “Watched a show last night on interrogation—how to get answers without questions and how the FBI gets people to admit things. We might even be able to get some information out of them.” Sure, that was grasping for control but it was something.

Mark tried a smile, but didn’t quite pull it off. “Okay, you take the lead then.”

I pulled into the park we’d agreed to meet at and chose a spot away from the other cars.

The place was quiet, just the distant shouts of kids by the swings, the occasional bark of a dog.

Mark and I walked side by side, scanning for anything out of place.

A woman was waiting at a bench, crisp navy suit and all business, her badge clipped to her belt, no smile.

She stood as we approached, and for a split second her composure revealed surprise, perhaps at how identical our faces were.

She recovered. “Thank you for meeting. My name is Sara Linde. And you are...”

Mark spoke first, poker-faced. “Mark Walker.”

I added, “Dylan DeVoss.”

“It’s come to my attention that you met a few months ago and had previously not known that you were twins.”

“That is correct,” I said.

“So could you tell me how you found out about each other?”

Mark shot her his affable smile and said, “I went to a look-alike event and left with him. Funny how stuff like that happens.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Funny.”

“Mr. DeVoss, you were in a serious accident shortly after that.”

“I was.”

“Do you have any information beyond what the police have regarding who might have been involved?”

“Involved?” I asked. “It was a hit-and-run. Is that why you’re questioning us? Did you find out who did it?”

Sara studied us both, lips tight. “I’m here regarding something else.”

Mark and I did our best to look completely lost. He naturally appeared more confused than I did so he had the advantage.

“Are you aware or in contact with other twins who have recently reconnected?”

Rather than answering, I took a moment to consider what her question revealed about how much she knew. Outright lying was probably not a great idea. I exchanged a look with Mark that I hope got across my plan for saying less and letting her speak more.

That tactic seemed to work, because the woman said, “Are these names familiar to you? Simmons? Gravestones?”

I tried to keep my posture relaxed, spreading my hands. “Can’t say they are.”

“Can’t or won’t?” she asked.

Mark joked, “With all the people Dylan knows, it’s probably difficult to keep track of names. And me, I’m just a small-town guy. Unless they come by during Maple Week, I know no one.”

I shot him a shut-up look.

The agent scanned my face, then Mark’s, then back. She pulled out a small notebook and pen, glancing at her phone as if expecting a call. “You both understand this is just a conversation. No accusations. My goal is to ensure your safety and that of your family.”

She waited. I gave her nothing.

Mark jumped in with his best “worried son” voice. “What would you be ensuring our safety from?”

Sara tapped her pen, her smile practiced. “I believe you already have an idea.”

I shrugged. “You’re mistaken.”

Her jaw tightened. “So no one has been in contact with you? No unusual communication?”

“No,” Mark and I said in near-unison.

She eyed us, maybe seeing through the synchronization. “And neither of you had contact with the Gravestones?” Her voice was gentle, but I could feel the trap in her phrasing.

I tried for genuine confusion. “No. Is that a name we should know?”

Sara hesitated. A gust of wind blew across the pond, making her clutch her jacket closer. She glanced around, as if weighing whether we were truly alone. “You’re not in trouble. You don’t have to lie to cover for anyone. I’m looking for the truth but I’m on your side.”

“There are sides? What are there sides to? Are you referring to my accident?” I pushed. “Are you suggesting it wasn’t a random hit-and-run?”

She sighed. “If you won’t tell me what you know, it’ll be very difficult for me to protect you.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “What is it that you think we know?”

Sara looked frustrated. “I’m the one asking the questions here.”

“I thought this was just a conversation,” I asserted. “Is it more than that? Are we under investigation for something? If so, I want my lawyer.”

“No need for representation.”

“Do you have a card or someone in your department my lawyers can contact to follow up on this?”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly.

And right then I knew she wasn’t there in an official capacity. So, why was she there? And was she working for or against us?

I took control of the situation. “Then this conversation is over.”

Sara closed her notebook, staring at us a second longer. “For now.” She handed me a card—just her name and a cell phone number, no Bureau logo. “Keep this. If you are contacted by anyone, you may need my help.”

“Of course,” Mark said, voice steady, but I could hear his uncertainty.

Sara hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” She turned and walked away, her stride brisk, but her posture said she was just as tense as we were.

Mark and I sat on a bench for another minute, breathing, watching her figure disappear down the path. The world felt less safe than it had that morning.

“She’s alone,” Mark said, voice low. “And she knows about the experiment. But who the hell is Gravestone?”

“You’re right, and we should find out,” I said.

We stood and headed back to our car, walking in perfect step, and it was hard to believe we hadn’t always known each other. “Let’s go home,” he said. “My parents will have lunch ready.”

“Yeah, because nothing builds an appetite like feeling every move you make is being watched.”