by Debra Driza
Chloe studied me over the top of her coffee mug, as if debating whether I was trustworthy. “Ugh. We have to be at school at seven forty-five. That should be criminal. But my art teacher is great. He takes us to Philly all the time. How about you?”
I thought about Clearwater and my days with Kaylee and her crew. It was hard to believe how simple that time was, even though I’d always known, deep down, that something was off about me. Then Hunter had come along. For a while I’d thought he was the answer to my problems, someone to hold on to when I couldn’t stop the ground from shifting beneath me.
But that was before I knew what I was. Before he knew what I was.
“I live in the middle of nowhere, so it’s pretty boring compared to the city,” I said. “And some of the kids are kind of hard to connect with, you know? But I really like to read, so that’s a good distraction.”
I wanted to know more about Chloe. “How is your mom?” I asked. “Does she still bake those homemade apple pies?”
Her brow furrowed, like she was confused. “Wait, did Sarah mention those? I thought you didn’t see each other much.”
My pulse quickened when I realized my misstep. “We emailed sometimes. She liked telling me about her friends, especially you,” I lied.
Chloe’s expression cleared. She grinned like she was delighted to hear that she was important to Sarah.
“My mom is good, but these days the pies are few and far between,” she said. “I still miss Nicole and Daniel. When I came over, we used to get in these ridiculous philosophical discussions. They never treated me like a kid. Well, you probably know, even if you didn’t get to see them much.”
“Yeah, I do,” I said, feeling real pain and longing. “Aunt Nicole could be pretty no-nonsense, but she definitely treated me like an adult.” At the end, she’d had no choice. “I always knew I was in trouble when she’d look at me in that one way, over the top of her glasses.”
“Oh my god, yes! I loved those glasses. Very nerdy-chic. They looked so good on her. Have you seen her and Daniel at all, since . . . ?”
She stared down at her cup while a tiny fragment of sorrow dislodged from my synthetic heart and dug its shrapnel claws into my throat. I was glad I didn’t have to tell her the horrible truth. That Nicole hadn’t lasted much longer than Sarah.
“No, not really,” I said, with a hard swallow. “They’ve been mostly keeping to themselves. Which is understandable, given what happened.”
“I’ve wanted to hide out too,” Chloe murmured. “Losing Sarah like that, it nearly broke me. I’m an only child so she and I were like . . .”
“Sisters?” I finished.
Chloe swirled the contents of her cup and nodded. Then she looked up at me, her eyes glistening. “Anyway. My mom said you’re in town looking at schools and wanted some advice?”
I blew out a breath and braced myself for what I was about to do. I was going to tell Chloe the truth. Sort of. I just hoped that it didn’t scare her off.
“That’s what I told your mom,” I said, hedging a little. “But honestly, that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to talk to you about Sarah. I know this might sound strange, but she sent me a couple of weird messages right before the fire.” I figured this was a safe enough gamble. “It’s always bothered me and I can’t seem to shake the feeling like something was wrong. Was anything going on with her?”
I balled my napkin in my lap, wondering if I’d made a mistake by being so direct. But instead of getting up or walking out, Chloe glanced around the café like someone might be listening. She lowered her voice.
“You too?”
Jackpot.
“Ever since she came back from Montford, she’d been acting kind of off,” she went on.
The name triggered an unexpected reaction. Like a spider had just crawled across my neck.
“Montford, Montford. Remind me why that name sounds familiar?”
“It’s that prep school her parents wanted her to go to, because of that scholarship she got,” Chloe explained. “She didn’t even last two weeks, though.”
“Oh, right. I remember the school, but not the scholarship,” I said. Trying to pry without actually prying.
“It was a full ride, and had some fancy name . . . the Waterman? Waterford? Watkins? Watson? Anyway, she told her parents she was homesick, but I don’t think that was why she left,” Chloe said. “Sarah wouldn’t tell me much—just that they did weird things there, that made her feel . . . wrong. I never knew if she was talking about a club, or the teachers, or what. That’s what was the strangest thing of all. She wouldn’t give me the whole story. And she told me everything, you know?”
Her gaze wandered toward the open window, and the simple motion triggered yet another of Sarah’s memories. I could visualize Chloe from a few years ago, gazing off into the distance in the same way over the top of a book, tapping a pen against her lip.
What could prompt Sarah to keep the details of her Montford trip a secret from Chloe, when she told her everything else? Why would anyone lie under those circumstances? Just like that, my mind switched to Hunter, and the many secrets I’d had to keep to preserve his safety. That’s when the answer struck me.
Maybe Sarah thought talking would put Chloe in danger.
As I’d learned, sometimes ignorance wasn’t just bliss. Sometimes, it was necessary for survival.
“Did Sarah ever tell anyone else, do you think? About what happened at Montford?”
“I don’t think so,” Chloe said. “I begged her to talk to her parents but she just said it was over. She just wanted to forget about it.”
“Did it seem like she’d been hurt or anything?”
She shrugged. “I couldn’t say. Maybe. I hope not. It’s just—”
“What?”
“Nothing. I guess I wasn’t expecting all these questions,” Chloe said. “I haven’t had to discuss Sarah like this since I spoke with that detective.”
I wanted to ask Chloe more about the detective but I didn’t want to tip her off that I knew anything about the investigation. With true sympathy, I just said, “That must have been hard.”
“It was awful. I was away the weekend of the fire, so I didn’t know anything and I couldn’t help him at all,” she said, her voice breaking. “And I couldn’t help Sarah.” At least the people who’d gone after Edgar wouldn’t be targeting Chloe. She had no idea how lucky she was.
I suggested we order, and she waved a waitress over. While we waited for our food, the conversation shifted into more comfortable territory. As she filled me in on little details of her life, speaking in these long, rushed sentences that I suddenly remembered, I fell in love with Sarah’s best friend all over again. When she asked for the check, I wanted to steal it away from the waitress. Just so Chloe would stay a little longer.
But I knew that wouldn’t happen: not now, not ever. And I had no right to ask.
“Sorry about this, but I have to go,” she said, putting her wallet in her purse. “I have a huge chem test tomorrow and study group is in ten minutes. I need to pull at least a B if I have any hope of improving my average.”
She slid out of her chair and I rose. I reached out to shake her hand one last time, but she ignored it and gave me a warm hug instead.
“It was so nice to meet you. Please keep in touch, okay?” she said as she pulled away.
“I’d like that,” I said.
The words tasted bitter, especially when her expression brightened. As much as I longed to stay in touch, I knew I would never dare contact Chloe again.
Chloe bit her lip as if considering something, then went ahead and blurted it out. “This might sound weird, but . . . you remind me a little of Sarah. Mannerisms, or, I don’t know. Something. When I talked to you, I almost felt like a piece of her was still here.” She shook her head, her laugh rueful. “I told you it would sound crazy.”
“Not at all,” I whispered.
Sarah, me. The same, and yet so utterly different. One alive, one
a re-creation. Like Frankenstein’s monster.
Her eyes widened as she stared at me, a strange expression crossing her face. For a moment, I thought she had figured it out. That I was Sarah, or what remained of her. A giddy eagerness made me lean forward. She knew. She could tell. And if Sarah’s best friend could tell, then maybe that meant—
Chloe smiled briefly, rubbed my arm, and said again, “It was great to meet you.” Then she turned and hustled toward the door without looking back.
I slumped back into my chair. I felt so stupid, thinking that there was some kind of connection between us, that even for a moment I could claim Sarah’s close friend as my own. But my self-pity gave way to determination when my thoughts turned to Montford.
My heart broke when I thought about how things might have been different if she’d stayed there. Maybe she would have been safe. But why would she abandon it so soon, especially when a full scholarship was on the line?
As soon as I saw Chloe drive away, I left the café and headed to the dollar store where Lucas was waiting. As I walked toward the end of the strip mall, I saw an RV creep past. I followed it with my eyes. I was pretty sure I’d seen it once before, on our way over from the motel. I slowed down to scan its license plate. What if Holland had found us?
Data retrieval . . .
Scanning and storing a stream of images was a useful skill, I had to admit. In a moment, the RV’s license plate would appear in my mental log.
Match.
A time stamp on the photo put my initial RV sighting at ten minutes before I met Chloe. As the RV idled at a stoplight, I kept walking toward the store, with the certainty I was under surveillance. Lucas was standing in front of a magazine rack, pretending to read an issue of Us Weekly.
“Is that RV still circling the block?” Lucas asked.
Straight to business.
“I just saw it,” I said grimly. “When did you notice it?”
“About fifteen minutes after I got here,” he replied. “It’s passed this way every five minutes or so after that.”
“Damn,” I breathed.
“There’s more,” Lucas said, returning the tabloid to the rack. “I caught a quick look at the driver. Looked a little like Daniel.”
My mechanical heart skipped a beat. “Daniel Lusk?”
He nodded. “I was going to trace the plates but I left my laptop in the car, and I didn’t want to leave here without you.”
I didn’t know how to react. Of course I was relieved it wasn’t Holland, but I was worried, too. Was Daniel watching as friend or as foe? Was he the angry man who’d turned Hunter and me over to Quinn? Or was he Sarah’s father? I’d caught glimpses of a sensitive, caring man, just enough to reassure me he had once existed.
Lucas and I exited the store and headed for the Caprice. Lucas shoved the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn the engine over.
“What do you want to do?” he asked. We didn’t have long to figure it out.
I formulated a hasty plan. “When we see the RV come around again, pull onto the road in front of him. Cutting him off will get his attention, let him know that we’re onto him. Then let’s lead him back to that warehouse area we visited last night. See what he does.”
Daniel was following us; we had to find out what he wanted. But we’d do it on our own terms.
While we waited, I gave Lucas the abbreviated version of what I’d learned from Chloe. Montford. The Watkins Grant. Sarah’s fear and subsequent return home.
When I said Watkins Grant, he frowned. “Why does that sound familiar?”
Before he could figure it out, I spotted the RV, about six blocks away. From that distance, there was too much interference to scan for weapons or other passengers. But I was able to scan the driver’s face.
Magnify: 20x.
A familiar set of eyes drilled into my mind.
“You were right. It’s Daniel,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse.
Once the RV was in close range, Lucas peeled out of the parking lot and jerked the car right in front of it. The RV slammed on its brakes before accelerating again and following us, weaving, back to the warehouse area we’d visited last night.
We passed the nicer section first, where some warehouses were converted into expensive lofts and restaurants. Beyond those, seediness remained. And now that Daniel knew we’d discovered him, we needed a head start. A place to lie in wait.
I pulled up a traffic map, a blue schema folding out in front of my eyes, surveying the area around us. I was able to see all the side streets, storefronts, and stoplights with 100 percent precision.
“In a quarter mile, there will be a gas station on the left. When we get there, gun it, okay?”
Lucas nodded, and then snapped his fingers. “Wait, I’ve got it! Not the Watkins Grant. The Watson Grant. I remember seeing an envelope on Holland’s desk. I wouldn’t have remembered, except it was addressed to Cynthia Gordon. That’s my aunt, but Gordon’s her maiden name. Holland’s wife.”
We didn’t have time for this now.
“It said care of the Watson Grant Committee. The font caught my eye—”
Holy crap. I turned toward him to ask more questions, but just then we reached the gas station. As instructed, he slammed his foot on the accelerator and we blew through a red light. The RV couldn’t pursue us through the intersection because of its hulking size.
He raced the Caprice down the road until we reached the turn-in on the left. A deserted driveway, leading to an even more deserted industrial area. The car’s tires screeched as he took the corner hard. The rearview mirror showed the RV, now a ways behind but still on our trail.
“That way, toward the back,” I said to Lucas, pointing past the first warehouse.
The asphalt here was so uneven that the car bumped and caught some air. He drove us between two dilapidated buildings. We knew the road continued around the back, flanked by Dumpsters overflowing with trash.
“Slow down just a little,” I said. Then I opened the door and launched myself onto the asphalt, tucking my arms tight.
Lucas continued around the corner. Once he cleared the other side, he’d stop and pull the door closed before driving back around and partially concealing the car two buildings over. Just enough to hide the fact that I wasn’t in the car.
Daniel would go to Lucas first, giving me time to scan and assess and see what we were up against. And if things went south, well—slashed tires in this neighborhood would give us a pretty big head start.
I ducked into the slim space between the Dumpster and the wall, listening for the RV. On the far end of the building, I heard it rumble into the ancient parking lot. For a moment, I froze, because it sounded like the RV was coming my way. Then it broke for the far end of the lot. Toward Lucas.
Staying close to the wall, I sprinted in the same direction. When I reached the gap between the first building and the second, I peered down the road. Empty. I darted across the opening, then raced along the back wall, my shoes crunching old gravel and debris. Trash fluttered along the bank of mud to my left; to my right, the warehouse looked like it was about to crumble down. A mishmash of offensive smells assaulted me—urine and rotting food.
Before I reached the end of the building, my sensors kicked in.
Human threats detected: 5.
Weapons detected: Tasers, 4 in a 50-ft. radius.
Five people in the RV?
“Lucas,” I breathed.
Quinn’s battered face appeared in my head. I saw her neck, dripping red blood. I banished the images at once. I might not trust Daniel, but he was no Holland. At least, that’s what Sarah’s memories kept trying to tell me.
Knowing how many people he’d brought changed my plan, though. I had to get to Lucas, quick. This was looking like some kind of ambush, and if one of us was going to get caught, I wanted it to be me. I could at least try and fight them off on my own.
I hadn’t even reached the end of the building when I heard something I shouldn’t have. The s
ound of the RV rumbling back in my direction. How had they known where to look?
The answer dawned on me quickly. The GPS chip that Quinn had supposedly removed. They were still tracking it somehow.
With no hope for escape or evasion, I grabbed two decently large rocks from the mud and took a position near another group of Dumpsters. I’d have to do my best with these makeshift weapons.
The RV swung wide around the corner, blocking the path with its passenger side, and parked. The door opened, then closed. I widened my stance, gripped my rocks, and waited. I also tried scanning for Lucas, but my systems weren’t operating normally. When I called upon my sensors, there was this long pause, like I was being put on hold. I hoped that Lucas had found a way to make himself scarce.
A can clattered across the parking lot, just as Daniel rounded the front of the RV. A strange wave of calm descended upon me, propelled my legs forward with a fluid sort of grace. Whatever it took to keep Lucas safe.
Behind the tinted window on the RV, to the left of the side door, another shadow moved. I only caught a glimpse, a blur of a face. Thankfully, a burst of energy cut its way through the delay in my sensor readings, allowing me to get the basics.
Human threat detected.
The door handle turned. I was right out in the open now, but I stood my ground.
Initiate attack mode?
The query lingered behind my eyes, red and blinking.
The door opened.
Attack?
I readied myself to accept, when the first assailant appeared. A beefy young man with pale skin and a walnut of a nose. I knew him even without full control of my android abilities.
Samuel Braggs. One of Quinn’s promising cyber-protégés.
Trailing him was a tall girl with blond hair and an angular face. Abby, one of the Vita Obscura members I’d bonded with in Chicago. Back before Quinn had turned me into a brainwashed assassin.
And following her was a boy with floppy hair and pale blue eyes. A boy I had never stopped thinking about since the moment we met.
ELEVEN
There he was. In the flesh. The boy I’d left behind.