Recon

by Tarah Benner

  Eli breaks into a grin, which is startling. He’s actually incredibly good-looking when he isn’t yelling at me. “Good to know.”

  “I’m serious. This is crazy. They can’t just spy on you.”

  “I wish this was the worst thing Constance has ever done.” He levels me with a serious gaze, and I can’t look away. “I need to know, Harper. If they’re watching me, I have an advantage. But only as long as they don’t know I know.”

  I nod, a little startled. He’s never called me Harper before. I almost say something, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. I don’t want him to pile on all his layers of indifference again.

  “You need me to look at your computer,” I say, following his train of thought. “Won’t that make them suspicious?”

  He sighs and drags a hand through his short hair. I can tell he’s stressed and that this is the first time that idea has occurred to him. “Yeah. You have no reason to be in my compartment in the first place.”

  Suddenly an idea pops into my head — a good one.

  “Sure I do.”

  As soon as I open my mouth, I realize I’m going to have to say it aloud, and I’m embarrassed. I feel myself going red, and Eli looks confused. It’s bad enough that he made up the lie in the first place.

  When I finally open my mouth, my voice sounds strangely small. “You told them we were together.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  It takes him about two seconds to get it, and his whole body freezes. The look on his face is priceless — panicked and embarrassed. His ears are burning red.

  I want to laugh and run at the same time. Eli Parker is afraid of bringing a girl back to his compartment.

  “No. No way. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if they’re recording, they’ll have proof.”

  “They already have proof. You confessed. Plus, if they see us . . . you know, making out or whatever . . . they’ll have every reason to think you were telling the truth. It’ll throw suspicion off you for whatever they think you did.”

  Eli’s still staring at me, but by the calculating look on his face, I can tell he’s giving it some thought. Finally, he takes a deep breath and swallows. He knows I’m right. It will work.

  “Harper, you don’t have to do this,” he says in a low voice. “We can find some other reason for you to come to my room to use my computer.”

  “But confirming that they’re spying on you isn’t going to stop them from investigating. Even if they never find any dirt on you, do you really think they’re going to just give up? They’re not going to let you live if they still suspect you.”

  Judging by his expression, he’s already made it through this thought process. He knows he’s screwed if he can’t throw suspicion off himself.

  He’s pacing back and forth in front of the doors, and I can tell he’s considering my proposition. Then he stops and stares at me, and I feel the flush spreading up my neck. “Harper, you don’t owe me anything for bailing you out of Control.”

  I nod, even though I owe him big.

  But that isn’t why I feel compelled to help him. Somehow, being co-conspirators in uncovering the truth about Bid Day has made me feel connected to him.

  “I’m not helping you because I feel guilty,” I say finally.

  Eli sighs and runs a hand through his hair. I know he’s giving in. “We can’t do it right now. It will look suspicious since we just left. Come by later tonight.”

  “What’s your password?”

  “What?”

  “Your system password. It would be great if I could root around to find the source of whatever they put on your computer.”

  He buys this explanation, but really, the developer in me is just curious about how Constance could have corrupted the device.

  “Oh. It’s fifty-eight, O, O, lowercase m, two, Q, S, forty-seven.”

  I grin. He’s got a good password, which kind of turns me on in a bizarre way. “You should wear your interface today.”

  His eyebrows knit together. “Why?”

  “Most people wear theirs everywhere, but you barely ever wear yours. It makes you seem weird.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “How do you know I never wear it?”

  I shrug. “I’ve just seen you around. But if you wear it as if nothing’s wrong, they’ll think you don’t know.”

  For a second, Eli looks irritated at the prospect of wearing his interface, but then he rolls his eyes and gives me a sideways look. “For not being a spy, you sure think like one.”

  twenty-three

  Harper

  After our fake training session, I’m too wound up to go back to my compartment. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Eli’s being watched or that I volunteered to fake a romantic relationship with him tonight to find out if his devices have actually been tampered with.

  I’m dying to tell Celdon what I’ve found out and ask him what kind of malware could penetrate Systems’ defenses, but I know it’s too risky. For all I know, they could be watching him, too, since I used his key code to break into Systems that night.

  In any case, he won’t be awake this early.

  I take the megalift to the upper tunnels and hit the nicer rec center to let off some steam. Even though Eli said what he said to get me into the training center alone, he’s right. I’ve lost time, and I don’t want to be behind the other recruits.

  By lunchtime, I’ve pretty much exhausted all my excuses to avoid my compartment, so I go back down to take a shower.

  I try to work on one of the side projects I started before Bid Day, but now it seems pretty pointless. What am I refining my skills for? All the awesome programs in the world won’t get me into Systems.

  The hours crawl by, and I force myself to grab a flavorless to-go box from the canteen. I can’t risk hanging around in the dining room and seeing Celdon. He’ll know something is up, and I’d never be able to live down what I’m about to do.

  Plus, I’ve been avoiding the canteen at peak times on the off chance I’ll run into Paxton. I can’t risk getting a citation for assault tonight.

  By the time I return to my compartment, I’m in full-on panic mode. What does one wear to a fake rendezvous with her commanding officer? I’ve only worn my Recon uniform since Bid Day, but all my old clothes are still shoved in the back of my closet.

  I have one really slinky dress that Celdon made me buy for his Bid Day Eve party last year, but something about it feels all wrong for meeting Eli. I’m sure under his rough exterior he’s just a guy, but something tells me he doesn’t go for girls who try too hard.

  I collapse onto my bed and smack my hand against my forehead.

  I’m going crazy. This isn’t even real. It doesn’t matter what I wear. Constance isn’t going to be dissecting my wardrobe for signs that it’s all a ruse. But this feels important for another reason — one that’s absolutely ridiculous and even dangerous to admit.

  I remember the way Eli’s eyes drifted down to my shorts this morning. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, but my hand has a mind of its own when it reaches in the back of my closet for the deadliest pair of shorts I own.

  They’re made from a silky blue fabric and go perfectly with a strappy black tank top I haven’t worn before. I want to wear it tonight because, after all the push-ups and pull-ups Eli’s been making us do, my arms look fantastic.

  Feeling reckless, I leave my hair down and spritz a little bit of body spray that I haven’t bothered with since I joined Recon. The chance to be a girl again is actually making me giddy.

  Around nineteen hundred, I hear a lot of noise out in the tunnel as the other cadets head off to Neverland or to watch the early amateur fights. I’m sure there are plenty of parties going on in the upper tunnels, too, but Recon cadets won’t be invited to those. Their Saturday night entertainment is pretty much restricted to underground debauchery and bloodshed.

  Finally the noise dies down, and I check my reflection one las
t time before heading out for Eli’s compartment.

  Last chance, I think to myself. Last chance to turn around and pretend none of this ever happened.

  But even though I’m having a hard time breathing, I know I couldn’t back out now even if I wanted to.

  It’s my fault that Eli drew attention to himself. I was the one he was protecting when he constructed that ridiculous alibi.

  And I have to admit I’m a little curious to see if he’s a good kisser. Even though he’s moody and standoffish, if I had a type, Eli would be it.

  Suddenly I’m right in front of his door, and the most obvious question pops into my head — one that I probably should have gotten an answer to this morning: What are we doing?

  I have no qualms about making out with Eli a little — even letting him cop a feel for realism — but I have no intention of making an amateur porno for the surveillance guys in Constance.

  I think I’m having a heart attack. Every muscle in my body is coiled, prepared to flee.

  No. This is Eli, I tell myself. He bailed me out of Control. He won’t let this go too far. I trust him.

  I glance up and down the tunnel. It’s totally deserted. Either Recon officers have no life, or they’ve already left to go see the fights.

  I knock.

  The door flies open so fast that I’m sure Eli’s been waiting — probably as antsy as I am. Somehow, that makes me feel a lot less stupid for picking out an outfit and everything.

  His eyes are wide and bright with . . . excitement? Nerves? I’m not really sure. They grow wider when they land on me, and I see them flicker down my body again.

  I flush, but I don’t feel embarrassed. I’m actually glad. It will make this whole exchange so much easier if —

  Holy hell. I’ve just gotten an eyeful of Eli. He’s wearing a snug navy T-shirt that makes his eyes seem even bluer and a pair of light-colored jeans. For some reason, it’s this last detail that stumps me. No one wears jeans. They’re almost impossible to get since they’re made of natural fibers. We don’t grow cotton in the ag labs. I have no idea where he got these, but he looks good in them.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I force my eyes to move back up to his face and almost wish I hadn’t. He’s smiling at me again, and it isn’t an act for Constance. He looks a little nervous but genuinely glad to see me. It even makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

  “Hi,” I say, feeling really stupid.

  He jerks his head nervously, and I suddenly remember I’m not supposed to be in his compartment. I jump inside so he can close the door.

  Before I can stop myself, my eyes flit over to his computer. Sure enough, the monitor is dark, but I can see that red light blinking lethargically at the top of the screen. Weird.

  I feel his hand on my arm and almost jump out of my skin. I meet his gaze, and he frowns a little. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, swallow, and force myself to speak. “Yeah.”

  His eyes are concerned now. “Did you see anyone on the way here?”

  “No.”

  This is not going to work. Anybody watching this would be able to tell that I am a complete train wreck.

  But then Eli smiles, and I sort of forget what we’re doing. He has a nice face. He has a nice everything, really.

  His hand drifts down my arm, encircles my wrist, and then finds my waist. I draw in a breath, trying to steady myself, and his eyes bore into mine. He’s asking me a question, even though he can’t verbalize it.

  I give him the smallest nod, and he pulls me in for a hug. Even though I hate hugs, I let myself lean in to his chest.

  I’m instantly enveloped by a crisp, warm boy smell and feel myself relax as he folds his arms around me.

  Then he whispers something in my ear, and I sigh — actually sigh — against him when his breath disturbs my hair.

  “You look really beautiful tonight.”

  My heart is pounding embarrassingly fast against his chest. If he’s acting, he’s a pro.

  His other hand drifts up my arm until he reaches my neck, where I’m sure he can feel my pulse pounding against the flesh. His thumb grazes my jaw, and he pulls away just a little.

  This is it.

  His eyes meet mine for the briefest second. Then he bends down and touches his lips to mine. They’re warm and soft, moving slowly. I fit my lips around his mouth, tasting and exploring. His flutter away, and when he pulls back, he looks nervous.

  This is shocking. Eli Parker is nervous.

  But then his lips find mine again, and they’re more sure this time. His fingers thread through my hair and pull me closer.

  I love the feel of his strong, calloused hands on the back of my neck. Goosebumps erupt all over my arms as he closes in. His scent is all around me, and it’s like some crazy pheromone that’s making me drunk and ridiculous.

  My hands are on his chest, and I’m savoring his warm mouth on mine. I push against him, and I hear the softest groan in the back of his throat. A pang of satisfaction rolls through me. I’m not the only one enjoying this.

  But then his arm snakes around my waist, pulling me even closer. His tongue works between my lips, and my head starts spinning.

  He’s better at this than I am, and it irritates me that it’s so easy for him to make my brain shut off completely.

  We’re halfway across the room, pushing and pulling against each other. My hands have completely hijacked my brain and are touching his neck, threading through his hair, and dragging against his scalp.

  What am I doing?

  His hands are everywhere I want them to be, and suddenly I feel the backs of my legs hit his bed. My brain doesn’t even register what that means as we fall backward, still tangled around each other.

  I pull him down, and as my head hits his pillow, I remember I didn’t come here for this. I’m not supposed to be enjoying this; I’m supposed to be checking out his computer.

  I pull my lips away a little and glance at the red light. Eli drags in a ragged breath, which is very distracting.

  The light is still blinking. As much as I want whatever is happening to continue, I’m itching to get my hands on his computer.

  That’s what I should be doing, I think as Eli’s lips find my neck.

  I groan as a wave of pleasure spreads through me. His warm breath on my skin is making me completely lose my mind.

  Before I can give in to the urges rising up inside me, I pull away and slink under his arm.

  He looks vaguely surprised that I’m vertical again, and I swear I see his ears go red as he regains his composure. He clears his throat and says for the camera, “What are you doing?”

  “Can I borrow your interface? I forgot mine.”

  He nods, and his eyes go dark.

  I grab the device off the nightstand and fit it over my ear so it can project in front of my eye.

  Sure enough, there’s a blinking red light next to the battery icon, though the chat app isn’t open. Now I really want to get into his computer.

  “Your battery’s about to die,” I say. I pull off the device and set it in its charging station. “I’ll use your computer instead. I just need to check my messages.”

  He nods and swallows. What’s his deal?

  “Don’t worry,” I say lightly, testing the waters. “I’m not messaging some other guy or anything. Well, I am, but it’s just Celdon.”

  I glance over at him, and his face lights up a little as he catches on. “I didn’t say anything. Though I was wondering why you were so desperate to check your interface when we were . . .”

  “I’m sorry.” I turn his computer on and log in with my username. “I forgot he and I had plans tonight.”

  My setup appears, but that red light doesn’t go away. I quickly pull up my message history and then take the chance of opening up his “applications” menu.

  Unsurprisingly, there’s nothing unusual in there. I’m positive the malware must have installed itself when he clicked on a link, probably in one of his
messages. There are about a million places the malware could be hiding, and it could take hours to find.

  I want to get into his message history and find the damn link, but he’s right behind me. If they’re watching what’s going on with his computer, that will look suspicious.

  I turn around. He’s propped himself on his elbows, watching me with smoky eyes.

  “Do you have anything to eat? I’m starving.”

  He looks perplexed. “Uh, no. Sorry. Do you want something to drink?”

  I nod, and he gets up and goes over to the mini fridge. I hope he takes his time. I quickly switch users and pound in his password. His dashboard appears, and I open his message history.

  The only recent messages are from someone named Miles, except for one. The sender is labeled as “Office of Walter Cunningham,” the Secretary of Security, but I’d bet money it’s fake. I click on the message, and it’s time-stamped two days ago at eighteen hundred hours. That alone is suspicious. The board’s admin people never work overtime.

  This has to be it. Eli is observant. He would have noticed the red light if the malware had been installed for longer than a week, and that’s as far back as his message history goes.

  I scan the email. I can hear Eli messing around across the room, buying me some time. The contents of the message are fairly routine — a blanket PSA sent to officers about reminding their new recruits about the consequences of illegal activities. It also says they’re going to have to sign up for a shift to patrol their tunnels for added security.

  There’s a link to a sign-up form. Bingo.

  In a swift stroke of keys, I exit out of his account and pull up mine, just as Eli appears over my shoulder with a bottle of synthetic beer. The cheery “real wheat taste” scrawled across the label isn’t fooling anyone. I’ve never had real beer to compare it to, but synthetic tastes like crap. It was manufactured in a lab. They can’t waste valuable ag space growing wheat and barley for alcohol.

  “Did you message Celdon?” he asks, wandering over to the sleek black couch and sitting down. I’m relieved he’s off the bed.