Burn by Sarah Fine and Walter Jury Page A

look at my mom, waiting for a signal. Her gaze is steady on mine. “Tate, we have new information. Things have changed.”
    I’m still aiming at Congers’s head. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
    â€œWe need to help one another,” Race says. “And if we don’t, the outcome will be catastrophic.”
    Congers’s nostrils flare. “You are, for the time being, no longer our prisoners. We need you as allies.” Each word seems to heighten the bad taste in his mouth. “If you’ll permit me to move, you’ll see I am holding the scanner, not a weapon.”
    â€œShow me.”
    Slowly, he brings his arm out to the side, revealing the sleek, black scanner, which he switches on. It reflects red off his leg, then blue as he angles it toward my mother, then red as the light crosses Race’s chest. I move my finger off the trigger.
    From behind me comes a muffled shout. Graham’s awake. Congers’s eyes flick toward the closed door where his son is shackled, and then back to me. He gestures toward the room where Leo and Christina are being kept. “I assume you’ll want to free your friends before we talk.”
    Leo pounds on the door. “Already done. Just let us out.”
    I lower the gun and pull the keys from my pocket. As I unlock the door, I say, “You might want to let your son out. He’s probably uncomfortable.”
    Race looks down the hallway, concern shadowing his features.
    â€œHe deserves whatever you’ve done to him,” says Congers in a clipped voice, and for a minute, I feel bad for Graham. Then I remember how many times he punched me.
    As soon as I open the door, Christina flies into my arms, knocking me back against the wall. Her face is pressed to my neck as she says, “I didn’t know what they were going to do to you,” in a strained whisper.
    â€œI’m fine,” I say, trying to keep my focus on Race and Congers even as her scent fills me up. I wrap my arm around Christina’s waist and edge her to the side, keeping my body between her and the agents. “You?”
    She’s pale, and her eyes are red. So are her wrists, which makes my skin heat with rage. She’s been through so goddamn much, and it’s my fault. She touches my face. “I’m all right, Tate.”
    There are so many things I want to say to her.
You shouldn’t have come after me
is the first one. But this is not the time, especially because Congers is moving forward, scanner raised. Race steps away from my mother, his hand near his waist, where his weapon is holstered. I tense, but as soon as the scanner’s light flashes blue over me and red over Christina, both agents relax. I give my mom a questioning look, but her focus is on Christina.
    Leo is standing in the doorway of the room, and he winces as Congers waves the scanner over him, making him look cyanotic for a moment. Behind him are two chairs, cuffs hanging from the sides and legs. His wrists are red, too—and swollen. The too-big soccer jersey is dotted with blood, though he doesn’t look badly hurt. He squints at the agents and my mom; he must need those glasses pretty badly.
    My mother takes a step forward. “We need to talk.”
    Leo backs up and sinks onto one of the chairs in the room where he and Christina were being held. I keep my weapon ready as I back into the room, and Christina sticks close by my side. Race and Congers come in and stand against the wall, and my mom enters and closes the door behind her.
    â€œI’ve just come from Virginia,” Race says, confirming what I’d heard from Congers earlier—he came on a helicopter from Charlottesville . . . accompanied by a body. He was supposed to arrive around eleven p.m. The whites of his eyes are a creepy scarlet. I choked him so hard yesterday morning that the blood vessels burst. “I brought the corpse of Charles