Stolen Lies (Fates of the Bound Book 2)

by Wren Weston

  “No, you’re just acting like a pain in the ass.” He untied and retied his scarf, clearly uncomfortable. “Lila, the staff has informed me that you haven’t… That it’s been a very long time since…”

  “Since what?”

  Her father fixed her with a stare. “You’re to take a lover this season. That’s not an order or a demand, obviously. You’re too old for those. It’s just a sincere wish on behalf of me and your mother. In the meantime, we’ve spoken with Commander Sutton and cleared you for two weeks’ vacation. You don’t have to go to St. Kitts, but take this time to… Well, I’m sure you have an old lover somewhere or a senator you fancy. Rent a hotel room some place beautiful and stay there.”

  Lila’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve worked you too hard lately. What with our work and the council and your job as chief, you haven’t had time to get out lately. You’re twenty-eight years old, in the prime of your life, and you have no lovers. I blame myself.”

  “Father—”

  “A woman like you should have four or five men blowing up her palm with messages, sending flowers, asking for dinners and weekends away. Instead, all you have is a thousand messages a day about work. Chief Vance and Chief Shaw can find the kidnapped girls. If the oracles really want to find their children, then they’ll help, regardless of your involvement. Maybe that makes me an ass, but I’m not going to lose my child to find someone else’s.”

  His face paled. He was clearly horrified at what he’d just said, or only horrified that he’d meant it.

  “I’m not going on vacation.”

  Her father didn’t argue with her. Instead, he pulled his palm from his coat pocket, scrolling through several screens before handing her the device.

  Lila scowled as the story came up. Prime Minister Steals Oracle’s Daughter.

  “It’s over-sensationalized crap, of course, but it’s on the first page of the Unity Post,” he said. “My media consultants are spinning it, making it clear we were looking out for the welfare of the child and the oracles, but the story is gaining traction.”

  “I warned you to release Rebecca from foster care.”

  “I listened, just not soon enough.” He took back the palm and stuffed it into his pocket. “It’s to our benefit that the threat turned out to be real, though I wish it hadn’t been. I was just trying to help.”

  “I know.”

  “Something is going on—”

  “They didn’t call for you,” she reminded him gently. “They’ve had your ear for years, and they didn’t ask for help.”

  Her father tugged his coat around himself more tightly. “Why aren’t you more curious? You know something, don’t you? Something you aren’t telling me.”

  “There’s an awful lot I don’t tell you. I keep the secrets of lots of people. You, Bullstow, Mother, myself.”

  “You try to help. Why is it different when I try to do the same thing?”

  “Because I don’t get involved when I’m not wanted.”

  “Yes, you do, in your own way. You interfere all the time, just like your mother, just like my media consultants, spinning the story. You’ve spun me a time or two, and I’m sure you’ll do it again.”

  “Perhaps. Never to harm, though, never to control.”

  “It’s a slippery slope, Lila. One day, you might not remember where the line is.”

  “Do you?”

  Lemaire played with the ends of his scarf. “Did I ever tell you about my boomerang, Lila? It was a toy I had when I was a child, just some oddly shaped stick that came back to you if you threw it right. I used to go out on the grounds in the evenings and spend hours getting the angle right so it would come right back to my hand. My mind would just drop away. It was almost like meditation. I miss that.”

  “The workborn would laugh at us. Two spoiled highborn, crying with full bellies on the hearth of a palace.”

  “The poorer classes have their complications. We have ours.”

  When they parted moments later, her father strolled off to the garage, and she marched down Villanueva Lane to the security office, riding the elevator to her office and a full inbox. She didn’t care much about her mother and father’s notions of a vacation.

  She had work, and she had no leads on the oracles or Oskar.

  When she reached the eleventh floor, she nodded to the receptionist and Sergeant Jenkins, then opened her office door. She twirled around, feeling someone’s eyes on her back.

  Commander Sutton trailed along wordlessly behind her like a shadow.

  “Have a seat,” Lila said, removing her coat.

  “I thought I wouldn’t see you here today,” Sutton said, plopping down across from her.

  “You should know better than that, commander. My parents can’t arbitrarily decide when I go on vacation.”

  “I know, but I can.”

  Lila steepled her hands upon her desk and studied her mentor’s face. “Do you have something to say, commander?”

  “Are you going to make me say it, Elizabeth? You’ve been burned out for months. When you’re here, your brain is elsewhere. When you’re elsewhere, your brain is here.”

  “Elizabeth? If I’m slacking, tell me. Don’t dance around—”

  “You’re not slacking. I’d be the first to tell you if you were.”

  Lila shifted in her seat. “Fine. If I’ve been dumping too many things on you lately, I—”

  “Having the commanders handle a few meetings on our own? Asking me to sign off on the occasional report here and there? That’s not slacking. We didn’t even have daily meetings under Chief Zoe. We had them twice a week, and she didn’t always attend. It took Chief Zoe five days to return reports; you average five hours. The only time you’re not replying to messages is when you’re asleep, something you haven’t been doing much of lately.”

  Lila lifted her chin to protest, but Sutton cut her off with a wave.

  “Don’t bother. Sometimes you work elsewhere, but you’re always here. Some days my inbox is already full of things you’ve sent at three o’clock in the morning. Same with Sergeant Jenkins and the other commanders. You even forgot that it was your day off yesterday until I reminded you. Your parents are right. You need to get away for a while, and you need to leave your palm behind when you do.”

  “I don’t need two weeks off.”

  Commander Sutton frowned. “Two weeks? I suggested a month.”

  “This came from you?”

  “I told you that you needed some time off. When your parents called me in last night and brought it up, I agreed with them.”

  “Traitor.”

  “Hey, it’s hard when the prime minister asks for your opinion. I may be old and married, but I’m not dead. He’s got those eyes that just kind of—”

  “Don’t finish that thought. That’s my father you’re talking about.”

  “Your hot father.”

  Lila fiddled with her palm. “I just took time off, commander.”

  “You mean that half-day you took when you got tranqed? Ms. Wilson told me you spend the entire evening puking out your guts in the toilet.”

  “I took the next day off.”

  “Wow. A whole day, a day required by militia regulations on several grounds, one being that someone nearly murdered you.”

  Lila swiveled her chair back and forth. “I don’t need—”

  “Chief, for oracle’s sake, go away. The place will still be standing when you get back next month.”

  “Next week.”

  “Three weeks.”

  “A week.”

  “Two,” Sutton insisted, “and if you come back before then, I swear to the gods, I’ll put you in a holding cell until your vacation is over.”

  Lila wasn’t sure if her old mentor was joking or not.

  “No one
in the militia is going to send you a damn thing for the next two weeks. If something does hit your palm, forward it to me so I can strangle the idiot who sent it you.”

  “What if—”

  “If something comes up that I can’t handle? I’ll get your dear, sweet mother involved, and you know how I feel about that. Consider it my punishment for this entire conversation.”

  “Fine,” Lila said, tugging the lapels of her blackcoat. “I’ll go through my inbox and—”

  “No. Forward it to me. All of it. Consider this a practice drill for whenever you finally break your neck on that bike of yours.”

  “It’s called a Firefly.”

  “It’s called a deathtrap when you ride it.”

  Lila cocked her head.

  “Too much?”

  “The ice is thin, commander. Very thin.”

  Lila tapped on her palm for a few moments and sent everything in her militia inbox to Sutton, then set it to forward everything to her commander for the next two weeks.

  Sutton escorted her to the elevator. She talked merrily of the weather in Mexico and England. She mentioned cruises to the Caribbean. She even talked of former senators who might be aching to get away. It was only when Lila found herself in front of the entrance to the security office that Sutton finally shook her hand, turned, and hustled back into the building.

  Lila stared at the structure, watching the blackcoats move inside, watching them march on the gravel paths during their rounds.

  She stared until one of the patrols passed by for the second time.

  Lila turned away, shoving her hands in her pockets. They nearly didn’t fit, for she’d carried her palm in one and Tristan’s spare in the other. She’d found the device in her satchel the night before and carried it with her to work, intending to scroll through the code again while digging through her inbox. The silly game that had bothered Toxic so much had begun to bother Lila as well. The aliens still hovered in the center of the flickering screen. The score had frozen at three thousand.

  Three thousand? What was the point of the game? What was she missing?

  And why was this stupid, broken game on so many palms at Natalie’s hideout?

  Frustrated, she shoved the spare back into her pocket and walked down Villanueva Lane, but instead of returning to the great house, she kept going. She had absolutely no interest in seeing her mother’s smug face.

  Perhaps she was procrastinating, rather than dealing with her blackmailer’s message. Max was right. She’d have to pay so that she would have extra time to search.

  Militia patrols marched past, as did the highborn in their red coats and business suits, the family’s coat of arms stitched upon the breast. Workborn bustled among them, hurrying to and fro in all manner of dress befitting their station and position.

  She sat upon a bench in the center of the compound, staring up at Wolf Tower. Like her militia building, the walls had been made of glass, but this glass was impenetrable. She couldn’t see in, but the people inside could see out.

  It was just somewhere else she didn’t belong.

  Her palm vibrated, and she reached into her pocket to check it.

  Tristan’s name popped up on the screen.

  Realizing she wouldn’t get any peace, she scrolled through his messages, all some mix of I’m sorry and Call me. Half annoyed, she opened up the latest. Teresa was found dead this morning. Bullstow is investigating, and my people can’t get close.

  Just like that, her leads had all evaporated.

  Slumping on the bench, she pinched the bridge of her nose. How was she supposed to go on vacation in the middle of this? Where would she even go? Who would she go with?

  She laughed bitterly. Somehow the oracle still believed she would find the girls.

  She curled over the bench and dug out the spare palm.

  Perhaps she had one lead left.

  This time when she brought up the game, the aliens had moved from the center of the screen, trailing in a tail to the left. No matter how she twisted her palm, the aliens always trailed off in the same direction. She’d lost points, too. Her score had dropped to twenty-four hundred.

  Intrigued, Lila rubbed at her chin. She’d go home and dig into the code, just like Toxic had done. If she had to, she’d spend all day figuring out how the game was supposed to work and what the virus was supposed to do. It wasn’t like she didn’t have the time.

  At least she’d be doing something to help.

  She stood up and took a few steps away from the bench.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the aliens bobble.

  Lila looked closer. Not only had aliens moved, but the score had ticked up by one.

  “What the—” Lila walked around the block, watching the aliens move and her score tick up and down, though not by much.

  Eyes fixed on the screen, she moved in the direction of the tail, letting her score drop lower. She knew it would freeze at three thousand, but what would happen when it hit zero?

  The buildings around her didn’t make it easy. Occasionally she had to walk a block out of her way before she could follow the tail once more. Other times, she nearly bumped into someone on the street. Lila barely noticed, for they’d always move out of her way.

  She was the chief and an heir, after all.

  Gradually, the entire compound faded away, becoming only a blur of color and a wash of sounds, barely poking at her consciousness. The only thing that existed was her palm’s screen and the eight-bit game.

  She didn’t see the lamppost until it was too late.

  A blonde child in a red dress and black Mary Janes giggled, her laugh echoing in the quiet.

  Lila rubbed her aching shoulder, only somewhat thankful she hadn’t smacked into the steel with her face, and looked around her. She remained in the northern part of her family’s compound, a maze of office buildings, condos, and garages looming above her.

  Her palm vibrated, and she removed it from her pocket.

  Alex wanted to know if she’d be back for lunch.

  Ignoring her palm, the laughing girl, and her aching shoulder, Lila continued on her journey. For another fifteen minutes, the game led her through the estate and toward a pair of glass double doors.

  Lila darted inside and roamed a nearly empty lobby.

  “Can I help you?” someone called out.

  Lila ignored the voice. Her score had frozen on ten, and no matter which way she went, ten was the lowest her score would drop. The aliens refused to show her the way. They had clustered around the center of the screen, darkening, becoming opaque.

  Nothing she did elicited much of a response.

  A hand gripped her sore shoulder, startling her.

  “Are you okay, Chief Randolph?” Director Randolph asked, somewhat flustered, her red lab coat stained with coffee at the neck. “Sara called when you wouldn’t answer her. Did we have an appointment?”

  The young woman at the front desk picked up her headset and did her best to look and not-look at the confused chief in the middle of the lobby.

  “No. No, we didn’t.” Lila swallowed, her heart beating faster and faster. “What floor is your lab on?”

  “The fourth floor. Why?”

  “That’s about ten meters up, wouldn’t you say?”

  Lila licked her lips as the woman nodded. The game had led her directly to the Burgess Building. It had led her right back to the tracer samples she’d given to the director the day before.

  The game was the tracer program.

  Chapter 26

  Lila didn’t stop for lunch.

  She ran to the great house, scrambled up the staircase, and burst into her room, tugging her boots off before the door had even closed. The slam matched the splat of her blackcoat and her militia uniform falling on the floor, and she dug into her secret compartment for servant’s c
lothes. She put on whatever her hand touched first: a pair of black trousers, a white tank, a gray sweater, and her old, worn boots. After slipping her unmarked motorcycle jacket over her sore shoulder, she replaced the panel and patted her militia garb, searching for the two palms.

  “Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted, her hands lighting on the devices at last.

  Tapping the screen of her palm, she checked her messages. Tristan had not yet replied. It wasn’t a good sign, but she didn’t have time to wait.

  Lila shoved both palms and a few supplies into her satchel, and thrust her Colt into her pocket and her knife into her boot. Then she rushed to the garage and hopped in her Cruz sedan, quickly waving her palm across the car and connecting it to the car’s computer.

  Thankfully, she found no bugs and no evidence of GPS tapping.

  Passing quickly through the gatehouse, Lila sped toward Shippers Lane, jogging toward the shop after parking her car in a garage nearby.

  Dixon hopped up from the stool near the dock door. He cocked his head at her frantic pace and rumpled hood. She had told them she’d be over soon, but soon usually meant an hour. This time, she’d only employed a few twists and turns to ensure she wasn’t being followed.

  There just wasn’t time to care about spies.

  Dixon opened the shop door and ushered her in. He climbed the stairs two at a time, trying to catch up with her as she burst through the apartment door.

  A slightly pale Tristan stood aimlessly in the middle of the room, bootless, staring at the knot on the living room floor. He looked up as the door shot open, startled when she hurried into the room. “That was faster than I—”

  “Natalie’s a genius,” Lila blurted as she crossed the room, throwing her hood and coat on the counter. “Sort of. I mean, she’s an idiot, but a genius, too.”

  “Your message was about Natalie?”

  “Of course it was about Natalie. Why else do you think I’d come over here again?” She dug into his trouser pockets for his palm. When she found it missing, she turned around, studying the room. “Where’s your palm? I need it. I need as many as you have.”

  Tristan only stared in confusion.