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gaining more speed. Jo held the club high. The rider held the bat higher. There was no way Jo could survive it. This was it. This Spy Girl had gone too far.
    Jo wanted to close her eyes. But she couldn’t.
    It happened: impact.
    But at the last second Jo crouched. The bat whizzed over her head, hitting nothing. Jo’s club, however, hit home. She slammed it upward as the guy passed, catching him under the jaw. He flew off the back of the bike, his helmet spinning twenty feet in the air. He landed hard. The bat clattered. The helmet clunked down a second later. And the guy, bald head and all, lay there unconscious in front of them.
    â€œWhoa,” whispered Theresa. “Home run.”
    â€œCome on,” Jo urged, tugging Theresa’s sleeve.
    â€œWhere?”
    Jo pointed at the guy’s bike, which had continued on for a few yards, then pitched over on its side. Theresa’s eyes widened. “No way!”
    â€œYou want to stay with them?” Jo said, pointing to the now advancing bikers. “Be my guest.”
    Such a scummy individual doesn’t deserve such a fine motorcycle, anyway, she thought excitedly. I’m riding this beautiful machine all the way home.
    Jo grabbed the handlebars and mounted the bike, muttering machine specs as she went: “The MRZ 669, German made, top street speed 188, equipped with the Floydian Model 2 motor cross tires. . . . T, get the lead out!”
    Theresa stared at the bike revving beneath Jo, shaking her head. “I can’t do this, Jo. I can’t .”
    Behind them the other bikes swooped in.
    â€œTheresa.”
    She reluctantly met Jo’s stare.
    â€œTrust me.”
    Theresa glanced back at the approaching riders and hopped on behind Jo. “You’re just lucky I don’t have any other choice.”
    â€œI hope there’s enough luck for both of us,” Jo shouted above the revving engines. “Hang on!”
    Jo peeled out, Theresa lurched, and the chase was on!

FIVE
    Lucien West stepped forward from the doorway and strode toward Caylin. He walked with total confidence: slowly, deliberately. As if to let whoever was there know that no matter what room he entered, it immediately became his room.
    He wore an intricate mass of white robes, with a tan top robe that would have seemed silly on anyone else. But Lucien pulled it off. He looked almost regal: black hair cut close, coming to a pronounced widow’s peak over a strong brow . . . blue eyes, deep-set but piercing, focused at all times on Caylin . . . smooth, close shave. His smile widened as he approached.
    â€œCaylin,” he greeted her, enveloping her hand in both of his. His handshake was firm and warm. “Welcome to our sanctuary. I’ve heard so much about you that I feel we’ve already met.”
    â€œHello, Mr. West,” Caylin said breathlessly. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’ve come such a long way.”
    â€œYes, we all have. But you’re home now, Caylin.” Lucien’s voice was deep, soothing. “I want you to feel as welcome here as you ever have anywhere.”
    â€œThank you,” she said. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that. I’ve been so . . . I dunno . . . lost, I guess.”
    Lucien’s expression turned to concern. He put a hand on Caylin’s shoulder and guided her. “Walk with me, Caylin,” he said earnestly, slowly strolling around the perimeter of the temple. “I know how lost you must feel. I was, too. So lost. Every day faded into the next. I had no purpose. Everyone around me seemed determined to hold me back or bring me down to their level. It hardly seemed fair. Is that what you’re feeling?”
    Caylin nodded. “It’s like a twenty-ton weight on my shoulders. It took all the courage I had just to find my way here.”
    â€œJenny says you’re from Nebraska,”