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the man hurried to the pickup truck he’d borrowed. It wouldn’t be his usual choice of transport, but in this situation, it at least blended in. The plan worked, too. Neither of the two girls noticed him following them as Liz drove away, decidedly too fast for such a snowy evening.
    Glancing in his rearview mirror, he smiled. The young biker was staring after the two girls in the speeding car, clearly intrigued. He stood there so long, in fact, that it took a sharp, annoyed shout from the leader of the gang to get him moving again. In a fury of gas fumes, the Black Dogs rolled out of the Winter Mill Mall parking lot. They followed his truck for a couple of turns before peeling off onto the road out of town.
    Ahead of him, the man could still see the two girls in their little car. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial, listening to it ring in his Bluetooth earpiece. His employer would want to know of his success.
    The ringing telephone was answered almost immediately. “Yes?” The voice on the other end of the line was curt and clipped, same as ever.
    “Finn has seen the girl.”
    “They were in contact?”
    “Oh yes. I don’t think either of them will forget the encounter.”
    “Excellent. Did you get photographs?”
    “I did.”
    “Good. Anything else of interest?”
    He nodded to himself absently as he watched the red taillights of the car in front blaze into the falling dark of a winter’s night. “I think there may be some tension between our little friends.”
    “The bikers?”
    “No, the two girls.”
    “That could work in our favor.”
    “My thoughts exactly.”
    “So? You are clear on what must be done?”
    “Yes. This weekend is all arranged—this party really is perfect for our plans. The only problem we may have is if the enemy chooses to interfere before we are ready for them.”
    “They won’t,” drawled the voice confidently. “They know their limitations.”
    “But if they do?”
    “Then they’ll go ahead and start a war they really can’t win, won’t they?”

Chapter 8: Home Sweet Home
    It was almost dusk as Lucas Morrow reached the front gate of his new home and started the long walk up the snowy path. He called it home, but it didn’t feel like one. Lucas had moved a lot in his life, and he usually didn’t have much say in where he ended up, but this place had really shocked him. His mother liked rich people and rich places, and that usually meant somewhere a bit busier than Winter Mill.
Winter Mill!
God, even the name sounded rustic. He wondered how long they’d stay. Surely his mother would soon get bored. Of course, that would mean he’d have to change schools again … but he was used to that.
    He walked up the front steps and unlocked the imposing front door. Inside, the mansion was as quiet as a tomb. But then, it was so big that you could land a jet plane on the top floor and no one in the rest of the house would even hear it, let alone notice several hundred new arrivals. His mother certainly wouldn’t—she’d be too busy looking at herself in the mirror. With just Lucas, his mom, and Ballard in residence at the mansion, the place was as good as empty.
    Lucas walked into the middle of the large marble-floored reception room. More steps curved upward before him, splitting into two stairways as they reached the mansion’s second level. It was cold.
    “Hello?” he called, but he got no answer except the echo of his own voice bouncing back at him.
    With a sigh, he walked toward the door to the living room, looking for his mother. He figured he should probably speak to her at least once today before heading out to the Thorsson party—as if they were a regular family. He’d almost said no when the girl asked him to go. He didn’t feel like spending a whole evening beinggawped at; it had been bad enough at school. But what else was he going to do? Hang around this place on his own? So in the end, he’d said yes. Who knew, maybe it would