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walked alone?” Dad asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
    “Yes, sir.”
    I could hear Dad pacing the floor now. “What about the girl two floors up? Peyton.”
    “I heard from a source she has the flu.”
    “And you didn’t feel the need to give me this information? Had I known, I would have accompanied—”
    “I’ve done six months of life-threatening missions for the CIA, in the middle of the desert. I can handle a couple of twelve-year-olds walking to school.” There was a pinch of annoyance in his voice.
    The CIA followed us to school? Or maybe a retired or ex-CIA agent Dad had hired had followed us to school?
    Dad sighed. “My apologies. And thank you for the report. This is my first time not tailing them myself. I didn’t realize handing over the job would be so hard for me.”
    What?!
    “Stop worrying. You’ve got half the fucking CIA on constant watch. Those kids couldn’t be more safe if you rolled them around in a bulletproof bubble.”
    “Agent Freeman, I wouldn’t take any situation lightly. Even walking a couple kids to school. And you understand my most important policy?”
    “Never interfere except when no other option exists,” Agent Freeman recited. “I watched Thunder and a couple friends drop eggs from his window onto that Russian man’s car the other day. Didn’t breathe a word.”
    Dad chuckled. “That was two days ago, right?”
    “Yes, sir. January eleventh.”
    January 11. And I was twelve. Well … not me, the other me. The other me was twelve. I did a quick calculation in my head, concluding that it was January 13, 2003.
    2003? Holy shit!
    “I’ll take care of it. For the record, that Russian guy is an asshole, but I certainly don’t condone dropping objects from windows twenty floors up. Especially considering the fact that it’s illegal in New York. That’s all I needed. I’ll expect an hourly update.”
    I didn’t even hear Dad’s feet move or any kind of sound to indicate he was approaching, but with one swift motion the door flew open, a hand clapped over my mouth, and he pulled me from the closet by the front of my shirt.
    A second later, Dad shoved me against a wall, pinning his forearm against my throat. He leaned his weight forward, leaving me with no escape.
    Actually, I had a great escape. Time travel. But seeing my dad’s face, smooth and confident, nearly seven years younger, it wasn’t exactly easy to focus on jumping out of this year.
    “You’re younger than the others,” he stated flatly. “How the hell did you get in here?”
    What others?
    His forearm still pressed against my throat and I couldn’t breathe, much less answer him. Right now I was nearly seven years older than the kid he probably had breakfast with this morning. It made sense he wouldn’t recognize me.
    The calm expression remained plastered on his face, but his eyes flickered with anger. Maybe even hatred. It sent a shiver down my spine to see my dad look at me that way.
    “How do you want to do this?” he asked. “Gun? Poison? Lethal injection?”
    I was literally frozen with fear. He eased his forearm off of my throat, only to grip it tightly with his fingers.
    “Or I could kill you with my hands,” he added.
    I could almost feel the blood vessels bursting in my eyes. On the verge of blackout, my vision was narrowing to a small window, just large enough to see his face. I didn’t know if he could kill me while in a time jump or not, but the threat alone was a good enough reason to jump out of 2003. So I just left without even saying a word to my dad. A man who apparently possessed the ability to kill someone with his bare hands.
    Who. The. Hell. Was. He?

CHAPTER SEVEN
    SEPTEMBER 9, 2007, 6:15 A.M.
    Rain hit my face again, landing in my open mouth. I felt dizzy, sick … freaked. My father had just tried to kill me.
    As in dead. By his own hands.
    Obviously he didn’t know it was me. And he had the CIA following the younger me around just to prevent my death. The