Chapter 3

I left the cafe and walked to the personal shopping department.

A chic woman with sharp eyes looked me up and down.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her tone suggesting she doubted it.

I pulled out my government credit card.

"Yes," I said. "I need a new life. And I need it in the next two hours."

For the next ninety minutes, I was a project. They brought me dresses from Chanel, shoes from Louboutin, a handbag from Hermès. They brought me diamond earrings and a simple, elegant watch.

I paid for it all. Ten years of accumulated hazard pay, per diem, and savings. A small fortune.

The saleswoman' s attitude changed from skeptical to fawning. Money was a language she understood.

When they were done, I looked in the three-way mirror.

The woman staring back was a stranger.

Her hair was styled. Her makeup was flawless. She wore a deep blue silk dress that shimmered when she moved. The diamonds at her ears caught the light.

She wasn't a scientist. She wasn't a victim.

She was a weapon.

I used the burner phone I' d bought at a kiosk to make one call. I knew the number by heart. It was my father's private line.

He answered on the first ring.

"Reed."

"Dad," I said, my voice steady. "It's Evie. I'm back."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Silence.

"Evelyn? Where are you? We thought..."

"I'm in San Diego, Dad. I'm okay. But something is very, very wrong here."

I paused, choosing my words carefully.

"I can't explain over the phone. It's not secure. But I need you to send help. Not the police. Someone you trust with your life. Someone who can operate in the gray."

Another pause. I could almost hear the gears turning in his strategic mind.

"Send the cavalry, Dad."

"Understood," he said, his voice now clipped and all business. "Help is on the way. Stay put. Report in one hour."

He hung up.

I sat in the plush chair of the private suite, the expensive leather cool against my skin. I thought of Ashley.

I remembered her arriving at Stanford, a scholarship kid from a dirt-poor town in Appalachia, with all her belongings in a cardboard box.

I felt sorry for her.

I gave her my old clothes. I shared my meal plan. When her scholarship was delayed one semester, I paid her tuition out of my own trust fund without a second thought.

She was my roommate. My best friend. My maid of honor.

I told her all my dreams, all my fears.

And she had listened, and smiled, and planned my destruction.