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“I had this feeling . . . Probably just paranoid.”
Shade drew breath and exhaled slowly. “Like something was watching you?”
Cruz nodded slowly.
“Something you can’t see, something you can only feel. Something dark and . . . and, well, not necessarily nice?”
“Yes,” Cruz said. It came out in a low hiss.
“Right,” Shade said, as if she was ticking off a checklist. She shook her head, silently arguing with herself. “It’s probably just paranoia caused by the weirdness of the morph.”
Cruz was willing to accept that. Wanted to accept it. It made logical sense. But did it feel true?
No.
But Cruz told herself she’d worry about that another time, because really what was exploding inside her mind was the fact that she had . . . the power of invisibility.
“Let’s go somewhere and test this out,” Shade said. “Come on, I have to tell my dad we’re going out. He’s home, so wipe the insane grin off your face.”
They headed downstairs and into the living room to say a quick, polite hello to Martin Darby.
And that was when the front-facing windows of the house lit up in flashing blue and red.
CHAPTER 9
On the Run
BLUE AND RED lights flashed against the curtains and the frosted glass of the front door, and instantly Shade knew. She knew what this was, knew what it meant, and knew that a huge gaping pit had opened up beneath her. Her stomach churned, her jaw clenched, her heart beat heavy and slow.
There was the sound of people knocking on a door, and then there was the sound of police knocking on a door. The one said, “Are you home?” The other said, “Open the door! NOW!”
Shade and Cruz rushed to the door and arrived in time to see Martin Darby turn the doorknob. He opened the door and all hell broke loose.
“Back, back, back away!”
“You, against the wall!”
Half a dozen men in helmets and black tactical gear, each armed with an automatic weapon, rushed in. One threw Shade’s father to the ground, and another shoved the muzzle of his
gun in Cruz’s face and backed her against the wall, then roughly grabbed Shade’s shoulder and slung her beside Cruz.
There was a great deal of yelling.
“Do not move!”
“Who else is in the house?”
A bespectacled man who looked like he should be working at the DMV squatted beside Martin and shoved a piece of paper in his face. “Homeland Security. We are serving a search warrant.”
“What the hell?” Martin yelled into his own Oriental rug.
Through the open door Shade saw a veritable Christmas tree of police lights, a big black SWAT van, black SUVs, regular Evanston cops, even an ambulance. More men and women poured into the house; they were in white coveralls, crime scene people, technicians.
Shade sent Cruz a significant look: yes, this is about the rock. And yes, professional searchers would absolutely find it in the heat register where Shade had stashed it.
“Get him up,” the bespectacled man said, indicating Professor Darby.
Two SWAT guys grabbed Martin’s arms and stood him up, keeping their hands on him like he was some kind of criminal. Anger and guilt competed within Shade’s mind. There was something simply infuriating in seeing her father treated this way.
