Text Box: Prologue “Shh.” Baby’s quick, fearful breaths burst in and out through his nostrils. “Baby,” Martyr whispered. “Deep breath, slow and quiet.” He drew in a long breath through his nose and exhaled through his mouth to show Baby what to do. Baby’s eyes, two sparks of light in the dark closet, flashed to his. His breathing slowed, but he continued sucking his thumb. Martyr tugged Baby’s fist gently. “Let me see your hand,” Martyr said, hoping to distract his friend and quiet him at the same time. He drew Baby’s hand into his own, pulled the boy into a one-armed hug and rocked from side to side. Baby whimpered. “Shh.” Martyr had waited until after bed checks to slip out of Section Five with Baby. He’d hurried to the closet in the gym, knowing that Iron Man would be close behind. Martyr didn’t know how much time had passed, but it felt very long. They would sleep here if they had to. They would get marks if they were found out of bed. But if Iron Man found them first…they would get hurt, then they would get marks for fighting. Hiding was the better plan. Baby squirmed in Martyr’s arms, no doubt wanting his thumb back. Martyr finally relented, and soon the steady suck, suck, suck filled the dark space again. Footsteps padded outside. A dark shadow flickered in the crack of light underneath the door. Martyr held his breath. Please go away. Leave us alone today. He chanted the comforting phrase over and over as he rocked, willing that it would come true, but knowing that Iron Man would not give up easily. Hours before at diner, Baby had accidentally bumped into Iron Man, spilling his meal all over the floor. Martyr had whisked Baby out of harm’s way and Iron Man had been blamed for the mess. Rolo, a Section Five guard, had called Iron Man clumsy and dragged him away for marks. Iron Man hated marks. Worse than that, he hated going hungry. He would work his revenge on Baby eventually, unless Martyr could keep Baby hidden until another rose above Baby on Iron Man’s hit list. The door shook. Baby moaned. His panicked breathing started again. Martyr rocked faster, but reached his free hand to grasp the baseball bat on the floor beside his right leg. Please go away. Leave us alone today. Chapter One Coming home to an empty apartment was a bad sign. Abby stood in the open door, heart racing, unable to move. Her eyes drifted to the brown tile on the door just to make sure she had the right apartment. 4B Yep. Right apartment, but everything else was just plain wrong. She shrugged off her twenty-pound backpack, and it thudded to the floor. She fished her cell phone out of her quilted bomber jacket pocket and pressed DAD. Dad’s voice had a guilty edge to it. “Abby, honey. You okay?” Abby narrowed her eyebrows. “What’s going on, Dad? Either we were robbed by some pretty thorough burglars, or you’ve done something crazy again.” “Why are you home early? You didn’t get my message?” Abby hung up. She took a deep, cleansing breath and checked her messages. Sure enough, one from Dad. She held the phone to her ear. “Abby, honey? Don’t walk home today, I’ll pick you up. Got big news.” Abby’s posture slumped as she surveyed the empty apartment. Big news? She kicked her backpack inside and shut the front door. At least the heat was still on. She hurried to her bedroom and found it too had been emptied. She picked up a forgotten red ponytail holder off the floor and stretched it over three fingers, plucking it like a guitar string. Her dad’s synthesized ring of Elton John’s I’m Still Standing echoed in the empty room. He’d changed his ring last time he borrowed her cell. It was his way of telling Abby he was fine, and she could stop worrying about him. That he’d gotten over Mom’s death. The empty house proved one thing: He was a liar. Abby let the phone ring until the loathsome song stopped. When she found out where her stuff was, hooked up her computer, and got online, she’d change the ring back to Fleetwood Mac’s Little Lies. It drove him nuts, but was that her fault? A moment later her cell blinged. She had a new text message. She opened her phone to see what Dad had to say for himself. They did this when they were angry. Speaking by way of text messages kept the screaming to all caps. ABBY HNY. STY PUT. ON MY WAY. “Great,” she said to the empty house. “I’ll just hang here and do nothing.” Abby settled on the lilac carpet and mourned the loss of her private bath, balcony, and view of the Washington Memorial. They’d only lived in this apartment three months. How could Dad think this was a good idea? Clearly he had finally found a new job, but did the man have enough sense to mention an interview, at least drop a hint that he’d accepted an offer before packing up everything without a word to his only daughter? No. Mom’s death had turned him bonkers. He so needed to see a shrink. Abby sighed. Her eyes tingled as tears threatened to surface. She fought them back. Mom had died nine months ago. Abby still grieved her death but couldn’t let herself fall into despair. She needed to keep a level head, for Dad’s sake. Despite her anger over what he’d done and his emotional “checking out” since Mom died, he was all she had. It was up to Abby to hold things together, which was why his sudden meddling was so unfair. He had put her in charge by his own evasion. How dare he supersede her authority now? Abby swallowed her tears and tried to cheer herself up by reading her Physics II homework to pass the time. After six pages, the front door whooshed open. “Abby, honey?” She slammed her book shut and growled, “I’ll ‘Abby, honey’ you…” Dad’s footsteps creaked through the apartment until he stood in her doorway. He looked nervous; his usual frown was replaced with a fake smile. Snow dusted the top of his balding head. He wasn’t even wearing a coat over his dress shirt and tie. Abby clunked her head against the wall. “Albert Einstein! Where’s your coat, Dad? Hat?” Fretting over Dad’s health and well-being was her way of loving him in spite of his betrayal. “Evidently we’re moving somewhere? It better not be far.” “Just hear me out.” He kneeled on the floor in front of her and took her hands in his. She shivered at his icy touch. “You’ve got to dress for the weather, Dad! Your hands are like ice!” “I will, I promise.” He grinned like she’d just given him a lifetime subscription to Biochemical Journal. “Especially since we’re moving to Alaska.” Abby sucked in a breath, but couldn’t exhale. It was one thing to move across town without checking with her to see how she felt. It was another thing to drop her in the middle of nowhere Alaska where the temperatures favored below zero. As if the DC winters weren’t cold enough. She opened her mouth to argue, but Dad spoke first. “We leave tonight. The stuff is already on its way.” That’s when Abby realized he’d been packing for a while. She hadn’t said anything because she thought it had to do with Mom, that Dad was trying to hide his pain by stuffing memories into boxes. That’s why they’d sold the house and moved here. Too many memories. “But Dad—the Philly trip.” Abby had been saving up for a trip to Philadelphia with her youth group. It was her favorite city in the world. They were going to work with some inner city foster kids for a week. The trip was two weeks away. She’s been looking forward to it all year. He hadn’t wanted her to go anyway. Ever since Mom died, Dad never liked Abby going anywhere for too long. Plus it was a church trip and Dad had major God issues. Dad stood and walked out of her door. “Alaska’s a trip.” He was right about that. It wasn’t until they were on the ten-hour flight that Dad finally shared the need-to-know details: He’d taken a job in Fishhook, Alaska, at a private lab. Abby hadn’t been speaking to him since the apartment. She’d even turned off her cell so he couldn’t text her. But his bare-boned facts forced her to break her vow of silence. “That’s it? That’s all you’re telling me?” “It’s a good job, Abby, honey.” “I’m sure it’s fabulous, but why do you need to take it? Couldn’t you have found something a little more…south?” “I like the cold, besides, they have very nice summers.” “You’re too good for Alaska, Dad. I’ve seen your resume. They can’t possibly have anything going on up there at your caliber.” Daniel Goyer was a research scientist specializing in genetic engineering, arguably one of the most brilliant geneticists in the country. Why he’d take a job in Alaska was beyond her. He had to be running away. Let’s see, a former Pulitzer Prize nominee for his research in stem cell technology working in the frozen north? Yeah, that made perfect sense. What if his mind was slipping? What if he needed psychological help and Abby couldn’t handle it? What would she do? Would Uncle Pete take her in? She had no one else in the world. Abby called Claire from the layover in Chicago to say goodbye. Talk about a twisted moment. Just like that—snap!—friends torn apart. Thankfully, Claire was as incapable of cattiness as Abby was of tears. The first thing Claire did was Google Nordstrom. The closest store to Abby’s new home—the only Nordstrom in the massive state of Alaska—was in Anchorage, a sixty-mile drive away. It could be done. Dad fell asleep somewhere over the Midwest. Abby pulled out a travel magazine from the pouch in front of her seat and flipped through the pages. Apparently Alaska was a big tourist trap. People travel to the last frontier to catch giant fish, kill moose, see Mt. McKinley, or for those too afraid to venture into the wild green yonder, the state could be tackled in the form of a luxury cruise. Hmm. Cruise ship. That sounded more Abby’s style. She was cruising all right, at 30,000 feet. When she was little and got into trouble, Mom used to say she was cruising for a bruising. Abby scowled at her snoring father out of the corner of her eye. He was definitely cruising for a bruising. She wanted to major in forensic science at Penn State. Well, she’d planned to, anyway. She used to live next door to George Washington University and had audited most the freshman level science courses. Now that she’d be living in Alaska, she probably wouldn’t be able to find a college, let alone a course she hadn’t already mastered. Claire had also Googled the University of Alaska’s Mat-Su branch. Apparently they had a nice array of AA degree programs. Well, whoop-dee-do! According to the magazine in her lap, most tourists came to Alaska to kill animals. The beasts must roam the streets. She’d probably pass herds of moose on her drive to school. Abby frowned. She’d never been fond of four-legged species. This was another strike in a long list of cons against Fishhook, Alaska. An article in the magazine said some guy from Arkansas killed a bull moose, cut off its head, and left the whole body to rot. He got busted big time. Abby might not be fond of furry creatures, but killing them for sport was just twisted. She didn’t look forward to seeing tourists decapitating moose in her backyard. Although, crime was crime. Claire had been unable to locate any crime statistics online about the Alaskan town, but Abby figured where there was crime, there were detectives and investigators and forensics scientists. Maybe she could get a summer internship with the fish and game people and help track down some moose murderers? Her uncle Pete was a detective in Philadelphia. He told the best crime stories and promised to get her a summer internship if she went to stay with him for a few months. Dad would never let her go, but she was planning to do it after graduation anyway. Once she was eighteen, Dad couldn’t stop her. **** Fishhook, Alaska slept in the heart of the Matanuska Susitna Valley. The population of 2,640 consisted of farmers, school teachers, retail workers, and their families. Fishhook had one mall, but most the stores were empty. The new Super Wal-Mart got most the business. One day Abby had been a junior at George Washington High School in Washington D.C. She had a 4.2 grade point average, was taking four A.P. classes, and audited Gross Anatomy at the university three nights a week. Four days later Abby was one of seventy-six juniors at Fishhook High School. Her choices of extra curricular activities were home economics, art, shop, band, or choir. The school offered two A.P. classes—English and Calculus—both of which Abby had taken her sophomore year. Calculus it is! She handed her choices to Ms. Kitts, the frog-eyed administrative secretary. “Ooh!” Ms. Kitts already bulging eyes went wider. “Calculus is tough stuff.” Abby faked a smile. “That’s me. I like a challenge.” “Well, here’s your locker combo and your schedule is printing. Your first class is American Literature with Mr. Chung. He’s a very nice man.” The fake smile was starting to hurt. Abby snagged the schedule from Ms. Kitts and stalked away. She found her locker upstairs at the end of a long hallway. It took three tries to open it. When she finally succeeded, she hung her bomber jacket and backpack inside. “New here?” a deep voice asked. Abby peeked around her locker door to see Mr. Tall, dark, and handsome, straight from any show on the WB, walking toward her. She sighed with relief. He didn’t look like a farmer. “I’m Abby from Washington DC. I’m a junior.” She winced. Too much information? He sent her a wide smile that undoubtedly cost plenty in orthodonture. “JD Kane from Fishhook, Alaska. I’m a senior.” Ooh. Handsome and upperclassman. Two marks in the pro column. Better check one thing, though. “You aren’t in the Future Farmers of America are you?” His eyebrows wrinkled in a smirk. “Not me. I play football.” Hmm. Jock. She twisted her lips in thought, contemplating whether being a jock was a pro or con. JD stopped beside her and a plume of cologne attacked like exhaust from a city bus. She coughed in search of clean air and mentally marked a check in the con column for reeks. His chocolate brown eyes searched hers. “Is football bad?” She shrugged and pulled a notebook and pen out of her backpack. “I’m just not really into sports.” He leaned one arm against the locker, pinning her between him and the door. “But I’m the star quarterback. Are you into fame? ’Cause if you are, you’re looking at it.” Abby gagged inside. Ego. Another con. Why did all the hotties have to lack personality? She dodged out of his predatory lean and slammed her locker. “See you around, JD,” she said. “Good luck with all that fame.” **** Abby had not been popular at George Washington High School, nor had she cared. With eight hundred plus in the junior class, she had plenty of room to find friends with similar interests. Unfortunately, girls interested in DNA and fingerprinting were scarce at Fishhook High, and although Abby didn’t care about popularity, the fear of being the only weird-outcast-braniac-girl in the school made for lonely thoughts. Dad had shipped up her shiny red BMW, which turned out to be the only BMW in a parking lot filled with a lot of two-tone pick-up trucks. There were a few exceptions. Mr. JD Kane himself drove a brand new cobalt blue Ford F-150 with gun rack and snowboarding accessories. Nifty. At first Abby had been embarrassed when she walked inside that morning. Everyone stared as she hit the auto locks and walked inside the school. Between classes she texted Dad. CANT I TRADE BMW FOR SMTHING MORE…RUSTY? U DNT WNT YR CAR? FEEL LIKE A SNOB AND A HALF. NO 1 DRIVES A CAR LIKE THIS. But when JD waved her over to sit at the popular table during lunch, she realized she had a choice. She could try to blend in and accept her place as the solitary weird-outcast-braniac-rich-girl of Fishhook High, or she could go with the flow and see what life in the spotlight felt like for once. JD flashed his perfect smile. Momentarily blinded by the brightness of his pearly whites, she was only tempted for a millisecond. Truth be known, she was so not a spotlight kind of girl, unless it was to rant on controversial issues of science, of course. So, Abby bypassed JD’s table of high society high schoolers and sat beside an African American girl she recognized from her Calculus class, at a table filled with average-looking kids. After a few friendly smiles, she was thrilled to find they were discussing Green’s Theorem. Weird-outcast-braniac-girl it is! Was there ever any real doubt? **** After fifth hour P.E. class, J. D. Kane trapped Abby by the trophy case, cornering her with his cool-man—stalker?—lean. She made the mistake of looking into his chocolaty eyes. Ooh. Six feet tall with thick tousled brown hair, perfect white teeth, and eyebrows that could flirt all on their own. Girly sigh. Plus, the guy knew how to dress. Abby was pretty sure he shopped Nordstrom. She slid down the glass as if she actually melted a little. He raised a finger just over her shoulder and tapped the glass. “That one there is because of me. I ran a ten-yard touchdown against Colony with no time left on the clock. Took MVP of the tournament.” Ug. Good thing for her he spoke. If he ever got ego training, he could be a regular James Bond. But no. How easily he fell into his cliché role of über-full-of-himself jock boy. His body was so close, that even if she wanted to, she couldn’t turn to admire his football award. Abby peered under his arm, mapping a getaway route. Resorting to violence on her first day might make a bad impression, but she wasn’t completely opposed to the idea. Second option: If she could duck and turn, she might be able to snake her way free. Too bad she wasn’t the most graceful of athletes. This plan could backfire into an embarrassing sprawl across the lobby floor. She glanced back to JD. His eyes widened and he leaned down. Uh oh. She turned her head and his lips met her ear. Abby gasped. “What are you doing?” “I like you.” “Like me? We just met this morning. I realize you like the sound of your own voice, but it doesn’t really work for me.” JD’s lips stretched into a grin and the brainless fool came in for another try. Abby ducked and he lip-locked the trophy case. Two guys in letter jackets standing by the front doors to the school burst into laughter. Abby darted away from the scene, feeling her cheeks warm. Before she could make it to the main hall, someone grabbed her hand. She turned back to see JD staring at her like she was the last donut in the box. “You and me, tonight, my house. Pick you up at seven.” She jerked away. Well, he was just a complete idiot, and not just academically. He truly thought he was king of the world—that Leonardo DiCaprio had nothing on him. Abby knew better. She had standards and he so didn’t measure up. Still, it almost made the move to Alaska worthwhile just to turn him down. She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “I’m sorry, JD. I’m busy for the rest of this century.” **** Abby pulled her BMW into the narrow driveway and up to the log cabin-style house. It was almost dark and Dad wasn’t home. She gritted her teeth. She shouldn’t be surprised. It was a lovely house, shiny brown logs with a dark green aluminum roof and a big A-framed living room. But it creeped her out to be home alone surrounded by trees and the occasional bark-eating moose. She could barely see the lights of the neighbor’s house through the trees. Abby locked the door behind her and turned on all the lights as she made her way into the living room. When she looked out those huge windows at night, she couldn’t help but be reminded of Drew Barrymore’s death in Scream. Forest dwelling weirdoes could be spying on her right now and she would never know. She wondered how the forensic scientists might enter the scene. They would take photos first, then analyze how the intruder might have broken in. The grandfather clock jolted her out of her imaginings. She contemplated making dinner, but why bother? Dad hadn’t gotten home on time in months. Why would life in Alaska be any different? Abby pulled out the bread and a block of cheese and made herself a grilled cheese sandwich. She settled in front of the TV set, prayed for her meal, and went looking for DVR episodes of CSI. She didn’t like that Dad was so secretive about his new job. It brought back old memories. In her concern for his welfare, she’d followed him that morning. He worked at a run-down barn called Jason Farms. Bales of hay and sporadic delivery trucks confirmed that the farm was still active, but what they were shipping in the middle of winter, she couldn’t guess. She prayed it was legit. She snuggled under a blanket and into Las Vegas’ world of crime. She woke at the sound of keys in the front door. Her dad’s enlarged shadow floated along the hallway. “Abby, honey. You still up?” Abby sat up, knocking the blanket to the floor. She picked up the remote and clicked off the television. “Just waiting for you.” She yawned. “You could text, you know, if you’re going to be this late.” “I’m sorry. I’ll try to remember to tomorrow.” “Why are you late?” “We’re working on some important research.” “What’s so important?” As usual, Dad evaded the question. “Did you eat?” She didn’t understand his secrecy. What could be so hush-hush about a barn? At GWU, before the incident, he’d taken her to the lab and showed her his work. She’d met his colleagues and ate barbecue at their homes on Saturdays. “What do you do there, Dad?” “Abby,” his voice held a warning tone. “It’s a private lab. They have the right to confidentiality. I signed an agreement that I wouldn’t discuss my work there with anyone.” “Not even your own daughter?” “Not even you.” “You’re not doing something bad again, are you?” Dad shrugged off his coat, hung it on the hook by the front door, and ambled into the kitchen. He opened the fridge. “Any leftovers?” She set her jaw to keep from saying something she’d really regret and stomped toward the stairs. “Goodnight, then.” “Night, Abby, honey.” In her bedroom, she burrowed down under her purple comforter and closed her eyes. Dad’s new job dug up all kinds of memories she’d been trying to suppress. Her mom’s death had devastated them both, but Abby’s parents hadn’t exactly been happily ever after. They’d never argued about normal things, like whose turn it was to take out the trash, or how to raise Abby, or money—well, that wasn’t entirely true. Dad hated that Mom tithed at church. He said she was throwing away his hard-earned salary. He never understood Mom’s relationship with God. That foundational difference led to the other, more passionate debate: Dad’s work. Dad started out with a craving to save the world. That was what Mom first loved about him. He wanted to find a cure for diabetes, cancer, AIDS, you name it. As the years went on—genius that he was—he found his way onto a team working with stem cell technology that got nominated for a Nobel Prize. It wasn’t until some undercover reporter infiltrated Dad’s lab, that Abby learned the truth from the cover of the Washington Times. In theory, stem cell technology could be used to grow new tissue or organs for people who were sick. Dad had hoped to genetically engineer stem cells and search for cures for terminal diseases. The private lab he’d been working with had anonymous human donors. Since cloning humans was illegal, and what Dad’s lab was doing was almost that, the government shut them down, and Dad was out of a job. All this went on when Mom was dying from cancer. So Mom and Dad fought, big time. Yelling and screaming on the way to a doctor’s appointment, yelling and screaming when mom got back from a round of chemo. Mom called Dad a murderer. Dad called mom a brainwashed fool. Abby sighed and willed the tears away. Abby had spent a lot of time in her room reading Forensic Magazine.

FOR WRITERS

NOVELS

SPEAKING

Q&A

HOME

ABOUT JILL

CONTACT

BLOG