She stood up to face him, feeling more composed again, and quickly hid the evidence of her paranoia—the tiny canister—in her purse. She hoped he hadn’t noticed it.

He watched her silently, and she saw the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Violet waited for him to say something or to move aside to let her in. His gaze stripped away her defenses, making her feel even more exposed than when she had been standing alone in the empty street.

She shifted restlessly and finally sighed impatiently. “I have an appointment,” she announced, lifting her eyebrows. “With Sara.”

Her words had the desired effect, and Rafe shrugged, still studying her as he stepped out of her way. But he held the door so she could enter. She brushed past him, stepping into the hallway, as she tried to ignore the fact that she was suddenly sweltering inside her own coat.

She told herself it was just the furnace, though, and had nothing to do with her humiliation over falling. Or with the presence of the brooding dark-haired boy.

When they reached the end of the long hallway, Rafe pulled out a thick plastic card from his back pocket. As he held it in front of the black pad mounted on the wall beside a door, a small red light flickered to green and the door clicked. He pushed it open and led the way through.

Security, Violet thought. Whatever it is they do here, they need security.

Violet glanced up and saw a small camera mounted in the corner above the door. If she were Chelsea, she would have flashed the peace sign—or worse—a message for whoever was watching on the other end.

But she was Violet, so instead she hurried after Rafe before the door closed and she was locked out.

The room she walked into was like nothing she’d expected, especially after her brief tour of the unremarkable outer hallway. Beyond the secured door, and the camera, was a mammoth space, probably three stories high. Most likely a warehouse that had been converted. But converted in a big way.

There was nothing “warehouse” about it now. It was more like a cushy business center. It resembled Violet’s image of what a corporate advertising agency might look like. Spacious, airy, comfortable.

Rather than being portioned off into separate work areas, the room was left as one big, wide-open floor plan, filled with computer stations spread out on long tables. There were individual desks, conference tables, and sitting areas. There was even a large break area, complete with what appeared to be a fully stocked kitchen and vending machines.

And there were cameras. Lots of them.

The only thing missing were windows; there were just a few skylights in the ceiling to allow for natural lighting.

Violet was overwhelmed by the vastness of it.

She didn’t have much time to take it all in before she saw Sara, the agent-who-wasn’t-really-an-agent, sweeping toward her in her starched suit.

Violet tried to muster some enthusiasm. She reminded herself that she was the one who had called for this meeting.

“It’s good to see you again, Violet. I’m glad you decided to come. Do you want the tour?”

Violet was worried that there was a sales pitch coming, that Sara had misunderstood her reason for being there. She shook her head. “No, thanks. I was hoping we could just talk.” She was suddenly very nervous.

Sara nodded. “Of course.” And then she tipped her head at Rafe, who was still beside them. He took the hint, excusing himself without a word.

Violet watched him go to the kitchen area and grab a can of Coke before dropping onto one of the couches. He practically disappeared into the cushions as he slouched down.

He picked up a remote and flipped through the channels on one of several flat-screen TVs mounted on the walls. Violet was surprised when he stopped at the national news channels, surfing through CNN, MSNBC, FOX News. She’d expected something less . . . serious, she supposed. He propped his sneakered feet on the table, making himself at home.

“So what do you think?” Sara asked.

Sara’s voice grabbed Violet’s attention, and Violet realized that she’d been staring at Rafe. Embarrassed, she glanced away, pretending to study the rehabilitated warehouse instead.

Violet had only seen one other person in the building, a girl not much older than her and Rafe, who worked quietly at one of the computers. She never looked up, as though Violet’s presence was unremarkable. The woman—the one with the too-loud voice from the speaker outside—was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s . . .” Violet wasn’t sure exactly what to say. “It’s big. And impressive.”

Somehow she’d expected something more like a tiny bookkeeper’s office, a place where Sara could run her unusual operation in relative obscurity. She hadn’t expected this kind of oasis, especially not out here, in the middle of the industrial section of the city.

“We get that a lot,” Sara explained, sounding less formal now. “It’s easier to come and go down here without being noticed. And it’s important that we draw as little attention as possible. That’s how our clients prefer it. Discretion, complete and total discretion.” She led Violet away from Rafe and the girl, to where they couldn’t be overheard. “Have a seat.”

Violet sat down on a couch and tried her best not to sink in too deep. The cushions were thick and squishy, and Violet struggled to lean forward so she could be taken seriously.

Sara perched on the edge of an adjacent chair, somehow managing to look as stiff and formal as ever, even within the casual setting.

“You know, we do some amazing things here, Violet. My team is one of the best around. Many of them feel a sense of responsibility to use their talents to help others.” She was still smiling, all sales-pitchy, and Violet felt uneasy again. “Which begs the question, did you ever get a chance to look over those files I gave you?”