He half-dragged me across the floor towards the garage. I was like a rag doll with floppy, unmoving limbs and still eyes. All I could do was stare at his face, while my body trembled from the rush of adrenaline.

I focused on his eyes, waiting for the glint. The glint that would spark the smile, then the laughter. Silently, I waited for a punchline. That this—whatever it was—was a joke.

But the glint never came. Neither did the laughter.

There was no punchline.

"Come on, Kamryn!" Still striding forward, his hands drifted to the tops of my shoulders. He applied gentle pressure to the base of my neck, pushing down slightly as he straightened my posture. "We don't have time for this," he said to himself.

Now bearing my weight on my own two feet, I resisted my dad's forceful tug, digging my heels into the floor. My arm slipped his grasp, and the loss of contact sent a chill up my spine. Like a child, I sought my father's tenderness and warmth. Safety. With his comfort gone, I fought the urge to cry.

"Dad," I said in a hoarse voice. He flipped around so quickly, my heart jolted with electricity. Panting loud, ungraceful noises, I clutched my hand to my chest. "Don't do that!" I almost shouted.

He towered over me with a tense jaw and wide eyes.

"Sorry," he said, massaging his forehead. "I just . . . doing this is so much harder than preparing for it."

There it was again.

This.

The unknown catalyst that sent my father into a blind panic. The reason why he demanded our imminent departure.

"Preparing?" The word left a bitter taste in my mouth. "Preparing for what?"

"Come on," he said, reaching for my hand. "I'll tell you in the garage."

***

"Dad. What's going on?" I said. I lingered by the door of the garage, while he rummaged through boxes on a shelf. Long strips of welded metal created impressive shelf units that stretched towards the ceiling.

The garage was small. It was barely wide enough for two medium-sized cars. Closest to me, I recognized my dad's signature black Mercedes. Fast, sleek, expensive, it was the only thing he ever purchased for himself.

Tears sprung to my eyes as I studied the overpriced bulk of metal and machinery. It was easy to forget how much he had given me over my life.

My father.

Sacrifice wasn't the proper word because everything he surrendered for me, he did so happily.

Selfless, I thought with a smile. That car was a reminder that my father was selfless.

"Do you remember the company I work for?" he said, lugging a hefty box off the top shelf. He dropped the box onto the concrete floor.

BioCell, I thought. A private biotechnology company specializing in the discovery, development, and treatment of neurological diseases.

"Yes. BioCell. Aren't they partnered with the Army?" I said.

"Somewhat. It's more of a project-by-project basis than an actual partnership." He ripped open the box with his hands and pulled out a small black phone that had to be at least a decade old. "My lab team was contracted by the United States Army Research Laboratory to develop a drug."

He looked up and watched me from across the garage with an unreadable expression. Behind him stood a car covered with a white sheet. It wasn't new—looking at it now, I was certain I had seen it before. Yet, I had never seen my father drive a second vehicle. He only drove his Mercedes, and before that, his Jeep. His Jeep died five years ago after my twenty-first birthday.

I frowned, glancing between him, the phone in his hand, and the mystery car.

"Come here. Take this," he said, holding out the phone towards me.

Still frowning, I walked to his side and took the black device.

"What is this?" I said, rotating it awkwardly between my fingers.

"A burner phone."

The phone slipped through my fingers like water.

"What?!" I shouted, turning to my dad in horror. "Why would I need this—that?" I quickly amended after realizing that the phone was on the floor, not in my hands.

He frowned and picked the phone off the floor. Blowing on the screen with a quiet gust of wind, he squinted.

"Well, you didn't crack the screen."

"Dad!"

"What?!" he said in an angry voice. He tucked the phone into his pants' pocket. "A burner phone is untraceable, and what we need right now is to go somewhere we can't be found."

I fell a step backwards.

"What are you talking about?" I whispered.

He huffed in frustration, kicking the box underneath the nearest shelf unit.

"We need to leave."

"I heard you," I snapped. All at once, his body stilled with his back angled towards me. "Why do we have to leave?"

His head bowed with an audible sigh.

"I thought the drug we were developing was harmless." I squeezed my eyes shut. "By the time I realized what it could do, why the Army wanted it, it was too late. BioCell wants something from me, Kamryn, and they're not above using you to get it."

My head pounded with thoughts and questions.

My dad was a chemist—of course he worked on the development of drugs. Except, he didn't work on the development of drugs: he worked on the development of a drug. A drug contracted by the United States Army Research Laboratory. A drug BioCell wants so desperately, my father is convinced we have to hide in a hole to be safe.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I said, unable to mask the pain in my voice.

Did he not trust me? What type of drug would send a chemist and his daughter into hiding anyway?

He turned around with a guilt-ridden expression. Immediately, I knew what it meant.

"You weren't going to tell me," I said in realization. "You weren't going to tell me about any of this."

"No, I wasn't," he said. At least he had the decency to look sorry.

"How could you not tell me?!" I shouted.

"I was trying to keep you safe. Everything I've done, I've done to keep you safe."

I threw my hands in the air.

"And look at how that's going! You pulled out a burner phone—which I didn't even know you owned by the way—and now you want us to drop everything and leave!"

"I'm not arguing with you, Kamryn. It isn't a reasonable request by any means, but we aren't in reasonable circumstances. BioCell is coming for us whether we stay or leave. I, for one, would like to be gone before they come looking for us. Where would you like to be?"

His tone, the way he spoke in absolute facts, hitched my breath.

"Why do I get the feeling 'looking for us' isn't sitting down for a pleasant conversation?" I said.

"It isn't," he said darkly. "They will hire mercenaries once Rowen gets word to the company's board members. If we're in Cambridge by morning, make no mistake, they will bring us in."

"First, that sounds very illegal. Second, I don't understand . . . what changed? What could Rowen possibly say that would warrant mercenaries? That would make BioCell hunt us? You're a chemist and I'm a psychologist—not exactly hard people to find."

It made no sense. One moment, we were feasting and enjoying each other's company, the next, Rowen vanished and my dad was terrified for both of our lives.

It made no sense.

"BioCell is a multibillion-dollar company. If you think they don't know loopholes around the law, you are sorely mistaken." Then, he said, "Are we going or staying?"

He walked over to the corner of the garage and ripped the sheet off the car. Underneath was a navy blue truck that sparkled under the ceiling lights.

"What do you mean?" I said. "Of course I'm staying. Colton's here."

"Colton Howard is a senior law student at Harvard University. BioCell couldn't touch him right now if they wanted to. A college student disappearing close to campus is too risky, even for them. He's safe, Kamryn. I promise."

"It doesn't matter! I'm not leaving him."

"And I'm not leaving you," he said. "I can't force you to leave. But from a man who's lost the woman he loved," my eyes watered at the mention of my mother, "I think Colton would want you to go. Because if he loves you the way I loved your mom, he would rather die than risk losing you forever."

"You do not get to play that card," I said with tears in my eyes. "Not when you won't even speak about her."

My words were intentionally cruel, and as a mental health professional, I wanted to take them back as soon as I said them. But my pride wouldn't allow it. Better than most, I understood the human mind and behavior. My dad didn't talk about my mom because losing the love of his life and becoming a single parent to a newborn baby was a very emotional, traumatic event. He only brought her up now for my sake—to keep me safe—and I returned his vulnerability with a knife to the gut. My insides twisted with guilt.

I am a terrible, awful, horrible daughter.

"Fine," he said with a hollow expression. "I guess we're staying."

He pulled his personal cell phone from his other pocket and began dialing a number. Heart pounding, I watched him.

"What are you doing?" I said in a high-pitched voice, taking a step forward.

"Calling the board."

"What? No!" I ran to his side and slapped the phone out of his hand. It bounced against the floor with a series of loud thuds, until finally, its screen shattered against the concrete. "You can't just call up the people that want to send mercenaries after you!" I shouted.

He peered down at his broken phone and the shards of glass with a frown.

"You couldn't have said that without smashing my phone?" He scraped the larger pieces of glass away from the back of the truck with his shoes. "They're going to send mercenaries after us. If we're staying, I would like to make the proper arrangements."

I glared at him.

"Turning yourself in?" I said.

"Something like that."

"You can't do that!"

His tone was harsher: frustrated. "We leave or we stay. Those are the options, Kamryn."

Leave or stay, I thought. My dad or Colton. How many times have I chosen my dad over Colton?

I bit the inside of my cheek.

Too many times to count.

Yet, there was another choice to consider as well.

Leave or stay. Learn the truth about Rowen, the drug, BioCell, and protect my dad. Or wait in ignorance, watch my dad turn himself in, and risk losing him forever.

I gritted my teeth. There was no choice to make.

Nodding my head, I stepped forward.

"Three days," I said. "We leave for three days, then we reconsider the situation."

The relief exuding from his sigh was contagious. Immediately, I knew I made the right decision.

"Deal. The townhouse is at least a four day drive from here," I narrowed my eyes, "but we can always turn around if we need to," he added. "If things go according to plan, we won't be gone for more than two weeks."

Townhouse? Two weeks?

"Dad," I said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm a psychologist, not an idiot."

He stood next to the navy truck blinking.

"Right. So . . . we aren't going?" he said.

I walked to the truck's passenger-side door and pulled it open. Foot inside the car, I turned around to look at my dad.

Tugging my lips upwards, I said, "Shut up and get in the car before I change my mind."

In four strides, he reached the driver-side door. After we buckled our seatbelts, his hands rested on the steering wheel, and I twisted my head to look at him.

"Dad, you never answered my question," I said. His knuckles turned white as his hands gripped the steering wheel. Too hard, I noted. "What could Rowen say that would make BioCell hunt us with mercenaries?"

He opened the garage door with a button on the ceiling of the car and slowly pulled out of the driveway. Once we were on the street, he pushed the button again and looked at me through the rearview mirror.

"Rowen's going to tell them I successfully developed the drug."

"Did you?" I said.

His response was quick and his tone was morose. "No."

"Then why would he tell the board you finished developing the drug if you didn't?" I said.

"Because after tonight, he believes that I did finish developing the drug."

"Why would he think that?" I said.

"Because of you."

WORD COUNT: 4384