Girl of Rage

The Thompson Sisters
A Song for Julia
Falling Stars
Just Remember to Breathe
The Last Hour

Rachel's Peril

Girl of Lies

Girl of Rage

Girl of Vengeance (Summer 2014)

America's Future

Republic

Insurgent

Nocturne (with Andrea Randall)

Prayer at Rumayla: A Novel of the Gulf War

Saving the World on Thirty Dollars a Day

For Khalil

I am proud of you

The Thompson Family

Richard Thompson

Adelina Thompson

Julia Wilson (Thompson)

— Crank Wilson

Carrie Thompson-Sherman

— Ray Sherman

— Rachel Sherman

Alexandra Paris (Thompson)

— Dylan Paris

Sarah Thompson

Jessica Thompson

Andrea Thompson

The Wakhan File

Roshan al Saud

Leslie Collins

Mitch Filner

Vasily Karatygin

George-Phillip Patrick Nicholas

Chuck Rainsley

Diplomatic Security

John “Bear” Wyden

Leah Simpson

The Washington Post

Anthony Walker

Andrea Thompson , May 1, 12:04 am

“Dylan?”

As she saw the lean figure limping toward her in the darkness, Andrea Thompson stepped out of her hiding place. Dylan Paris walked unevenly toward her through the dimly lit entrance to the Bethesda Metro Station. He wore a light jacket, even though it was really too warm for it, and a canvas backpack was casually thrown over his shoulder. His face was grim, mouth turned into a deep frown, and his eyes were focused somewhere else, far away from her. At first she thought he was going to walk right by her.

“Dylan?”

He stopped, his hands tightening into fists. His pause gave her a second to look closer at him, but he wasn’t reassuring. His face, already unshaven, had dark flecks of dirt or something along his jawline. One of his hands shook, and his shoes were soaked.
Why?

She’d last seen him as she went over the rail of the balcony. He’d been standing in the darkness, knives in hand, ready to protect her.

Get into the condo below us then meet me … in thirty minutes. At the war memorial on Norfolk. If we miss each other there, then the Metro station at midnight. Got it?

Looking at him now, she wondered what the delay had cost him. Gunmen had been coming down that hallway. She shivered as the realization sank in that this man, who she barely knew, must have killed their attackers with his bare hands. The flecks on his face weren’t dirt.

They were
blood.

“We need to get out of here,” he said. His voice was low, and barely contained a hint of savagery.

She nodded. “Where to?”

“I’m gonna make a couple calls, see if I can get us a place to hole up.”

“What about the
policia
?” She corrected herself. “The
police.
”

Dylan just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then he said, “Come on.” He turned and walked out into the darkness. Andrea followed, down an alley, then onto a crowded street. Bars, people crowded onto the sidewalk. Cars were parallel parked along the street.

Dylan took her upper arm in his hands and said, “We can’t go to the police because it was police who came after you in the first place. I don’t know who they are. But for now, we’re getting you under cover.”

She nodded, then said, “I don’t know.”

Dylan stopped and looked at her. “Your sister’s my wife, Andrea. Do you trust me?”

She met his eyes. Dylan—he’d put himself between her and killers. “Yes. I trust you.”

“All right, then. No more questions, for now.”

He turned and strode away. Three cars down, she saw a Chrysler convertible, the top down, parked illegally next to the fire hydrant, its emergency lights flashing. Dylan paused and glanced around. Then he reached in his pocket and took out a cell phone. He looked at it with cold eyes, his jaw firmly set. He quickly tapped a message into the phone, and with one last glance at the people walking by on the street, he tossed it into the back seat of the convertible.

Then he turned and began quickly walking away, pushing his way through the crowd of young professionals out for drinks. At the next corner, he extended his right arm in the air and flagged down a cab.

The car came to an abrupt stop. Andrea peered inside. The cab itself was light blue, with dark blue and orange lettering on the side. Barwood taxi. Hybrid vehicle. The driver looked East Asian.

Dylan opened the door and said, “Get in.”

She didn’t hesitate, sliding across to the seat behind the driver. The car was small and clean, and the radio was loud, tuned to a news station. He got in beside her and leaned forward, resting one hand on the back of the seat in front of him.

“Where to?” the cab driver asked.

Dylan shifted in his seat, then he said, “You know any good hotels? Like on the other side of town?”

The driver shook his head. “No good hotels there.”

“No, listen … good like … I don’t want to get asked too many questions. Pay cash.” Dylan reached in his pocket and slid out a hundred dollar bill, then slid it into the driver’s hands.

The driver looked at Andrea in the rearview mirror
.
Creepy eyes.

Then his eyes shifted back to Dylan. “I know place in Maryland. Cash only. No ID.”

“Perfect,” Dylan said.

As the driver put the car into gear, a raindrop splashed on the windshield. The traffic was slow, but they were moving. Three police cars, lights flashing, rolled by going in the opposite direction. Back toward the condo.

Andrea leaned back in her seat. The last three days had been a nightmare. She’d been kidnapped, escaped, then watched her family fall apart with the realization that she and Carrie had a different father than the rest of their sisters. She’d been faced with assault and attempted murder.

She was exhausted and terrified.

“What’s the plan?” she whispered, pitching her voice beneath the prattle on the radio so the driver couldn’t hear.

“We hide. Get some rest in a place where we can’t be tracked. Then we figure out a plan.” His voice was low enough she didn’t worry about the driver hearing them over the car radio.

“Why did you throw away your phone?”

He shrugged. “GPS. Someone wants you dead badly enough to either be a federal agent or impersonate one. I don’t want to be found. I sent a text to Alex to warn her she wouldn’t hear from us.”

She sighed. “I thought so.”

The raindrops fell steadily now, a rapid drumbeat against the roof of the car. For a few minutes she just listened as the taxi driver navigated traffic and the rain fell against the roof. For just a second, the drumming of the rain took her back to Calella, driving along the beach in the summer rain with her best friends. She wanted to go home.

All of this chaos stemmed from … what? Something about her mother? Her real father, whoever that was? She didn’t even believe Richard Thompson’s assertion that Senator Rainsley was her father. He’d never said anything true to her before. Why should she believe him now?

She needed answers. She needed to know why she’d been virtually abandoned by her parents. She needed to know why strangers had been trying to kill her.

She needed to know who her father was.

“I need answers, Dylan,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead he stared out into the rain, his face turned away from her. “I know,” he finally said. His tone was desolate.

“I need to know who my father is. And who is trying to hurt me and my sisters.”

He nodded.

“Will you help me?”

A handful of raindrops pattered against the roof before he turned and put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll help.”