Mom and I had always been impressed with my extreme resilience to pain killers. But did my body handle sedatives in the same way? The doctor studied me while he pressed a button on the left side of the bed frame. My mattress started lifting. As my upper body rose, blood drained from my head, and a stabbing pain shot through my neck. From the car accident? The scuffle with the guard? When the bed stopped, I sat face-to-face with the doctor. The concrete room was small and empty save for the metal bedside tray and a surveillance camera up in the corner.
“Let’s get started,” Dr. Adamson said. “Your family is famous, at least in scientific circles. Your father, Robert Cunningham, along with myself, uncovered a modification code nineteen years ago. Using it, we created the world’s first genetically modified human embryo. My son, Jack.”
I stumbled over the words in my head, not sure of what would come out if I spoke. That’s not true. My father died when I was little, in a car accident. He was a farmer. We’ve lived in Kansas all our lives. But these were Mom’s words running through my head, not mine. Even as I spoke them, I knew they were not true.
My father wasn’t dead.
Dr. Adamson continued. “Your father ran off years ago—not long after you and your mother left—and he hid the code when he disappeared. We want it, and you’re going to help us get it.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “This is impossible,” I whispered, not realizing the words were actually going to come out. Something shifted deep in the pit of my stomach, and I felt a tinge of relief. Mom left him. He didn’t leave us, she left him. Whatever else happened—even if my dad was a crazy, horrible person—he didn’t leave us.
“Not impossible,” Dr. Adamson said. “Very, very real. Your name is Hope Elizabeth Cunningham.”
Mom’s final words flitted through my head.
Hope. Run.
Everything Dr. Adamson said made no sense at all, and yet, somehow, it made all the sense in the world. Perhaps that’s why, instead of formulating how his words couldn’t be real, I started filling in the cracks of my life, the parts that had never made any sense.
I cleared my head, forcing my voice to remain even. “Where is my brother?”
“You’ll see him soon enough.”
“You think my dad cares about me? He doesn’t care about us. I’ve never met him in my entire life. Your plan isn’t going to work.” Even as I said it, something burned in my chest—a longing, a hopefulness that maybe my dad actually did care.
“Of course there are other options,” Dr. Adamson said. “If you know anything regarding your father’s whereabouts, then we could avoid this mess all together and let you and your brother go.” The bargain felt loaded, obviously not to be trusted. It didn’t matter anyway, I had no information to share.
“This isn’t right,” I said, angered that I hadn’t known more, that my mom hadn’t told me any of this. “You won’t get away with it. My mom will be looking for us. And our neighbors, too. And the police, and detectives and—lots of people!”
Dr. Adamson flashed a tight smile. “We have a way of covering our tracks.” He leaned in and whispered the rest. “And I’m sorry, Hope, but your mother won’t be able to help you any longer. She’s dead.”
My heart twisted, and I clenched my jaw. “That’s not true,” I said, stopping his words from sinking into me and swallowing me whole.
The doctor only straightened, unapologetic.
I refused to believe it. These people had everything to gain by lying to me, by keeping me afraid and making me feel completely helpless.
“That’s not true!” I said, louder than before. Beckett got to my mom. He found her, took her to the hospital. She would get better, and then she’d tell Beckett and his parents everything, and they would get to us somehow.
Dr. Adamson already stood at the door. “You care for your brother, don’t you? Make sure you’re not lying to me about information on your father.” He stopped his words there, letting the threat to Finn hang in the air. Then he pulled open the door, and a bright, warm glow of natural light shone in from the hallway.
“Jack will be in momentarily. Welcome to the island.” The doctor didn’t look back before he disappeared into the hall, his lemon scent trailing after him.
6
JACK
I pushed away from the wall and stiffened as my father exited Hope’s room and shut the door behind him. I’d heard everything my dad said to her. Before I could speak, Dad did.
“She’s hiding something. You’ll help me find out what it is. Have her change clothes. Then bring her out to the beach. She’ll be swimming. Perhaps it will motivate her to tell us what she knows.”
So Dad did intend more than empty threats. Then we would be leaving, as soon as possible.
“Is her mother really dead?” I said flatly.
My dad shrugged. “They said she wasn’t far, which is why we didn’t bring her in. Why do you care?”
My fist slowly curled into a ball, the tendons in my forearm popping.
“Jack, don’t do it,” C whispered into the ear bud. I didn’t release my fist. “Jack. Do. Not. Do. It.”
“It’s only a matter of time, and we’ll have the code,” my dad said, staring into my eyes, challenging me to do anything but agree. I knew what his words really meant: very soon and we’d get our payout from Vasterias. As if I had any reason to care about the money the Corporation had promised my father.
His eyes continued to search mine, scouring for secrets I had stored deep below the surface of my gaze.
I stepped around him to the door of Hope’s room. “Meet you outside,” I said.
I closed the door behind me, listening to the echo of my father’s footsteps fade away down the hall.
For a moment, neither she nor I moved. It sounded ludicrous, but the pull I felt toward her was stronger now, it surrounded me, like her energy, or aura, or whatever, floated around the room, covering everything in its wake. Her dark brown eyes flashed at me with a hateful, distrustful glare. She held her jaw in the same defiant way I saw before, but the softness of her olive skin and oval face worked against her as she tried to threaten me with her gaze.
I remained by the door, waiting to determine my next move based on what she said or did next.
My appearance usually helped to ease interactions with people. I’d gotten familiar with the affect a long time ago. But she remained untouched and stiff, just staring at me. The seconds ticked by, the two of us in a face-off.
Finally, I nodded toward her wrists. “Can I help, Hope?”
“My name is Sage.”
Of course she would have been raised with a different name. A name meant for hiding from the Corporation. I should have thought of it. Idiot. I cleared my throat, feeling out of my element—not something I was used to. “Can I help … Sage?” I tested the name out, her name.
“You can tell me where my brother is,” she said. “Tell me what you’ve done to him. If he’s hurt, I’ll—”
I waited, actually intrigued about what she would say, but she clamped her mouth shut and turned her head, blinking away tears from her eyes. She smelled like dirt and sunshine—and the scent was surprisingly pleasant. I liked earthy. It hinted at a toughness, a grounded sort of person.
When she remained silent, I stepped across the room to release her wrists. Her body tensed, but all I felt was an increase in that weird pull I felt toward her. Her breath sped up, as did her heartbeat—both I heard clearly. I started unstrapping her left wrist, glancing at her face while I worked. Her eyes were diverted. She was looking at my gun belt—and she didn’t want me to notice.
I finished with her left wrist and strode around the bed to release the strap on her right. Her wrists were small and slender but still sinewy and firm, like the rest of her body. Her nails had dirt under them, and calluses were worn into her palms. So she worked, then. And hard.
Now that I stood on the right side of the gurney, the hip that faced her—my left hip—held the tranquilizer gun.
My real gun, the 9mm Glock, rested safely at my right hip.
She still looked at my gun belt, and I kept my tranquilizer gun intentionally exposed. This was a test. I needed to know how far she would go. I also needed her to learn that she could trust me.
As I worked at the Velcro on her right wrist, her heart beat faster. Was I intimidating her, or was she just nervous at the possibility of reaching for the gun?
Then, she did it. She went for it. I could have stopped her before her hand ever touched it, but I let her take the dart gun, and she aimed it at my torso.
“Get back,” she said, her voice more steady than I anticipated. She appeared somewhat in control, not shaking or uncomfortable with a gun in her hands, which meant she wasn’t clueless about guns, nor did they scare her.
Obligingly, I lifted my hands and took a step away from the bed.
The strap on her right wrist was loose enough—she struggled and finally released her hand. Once free, she switched the gun into it. Right handed.
I waited for threats or questions. Instead, the dart hit me right in the center of my belly, and a stinging sensation shot out over my skin. I cursed and pulled out the needle. She did it. She actually shot me. The impact from such close range would leave a bruise—at least for an hour or two, anyway, but that wasn’t the issue. The act of shooting me meant she didn’t trust me. At all. I had my work cut out for me if we were getting out of here in a few days with the girl and her brother in tow.
I watched her work madly on freeing her left ankle. She kept the gun aimed at me, ready with another dart, obviously waiting for the drug to take effect. After both her legs were free, she swung them down to dangle off the side of the table and finally froze, seeing me untouched.
“Why aren’t you going unconscious?” she said, the gun still aimed at my chest.
I rubbed my temple with my left thumb then dropped my hand to look at her, trying to hold back the quirk that threatened to lift the right side of my mouth. She had tried. And it was a gutsy thing to do, I had to give her that.
“I’m immune,” I said.
“What?”
“I’m immune,” I repeated. “Genetically modified?”
“What does that even mean?” she said.
“It means, if you want to leave, a friend and I are getting out of here in about two days. You and your brother can come with us.” I paused. “I’ll take you back home.” Temporarily, at least. But she didn’t need to know that right now. “We’ll find your mom. Can I have my gun back now?”
“Why should I trust you?” She stood up off the gurney and kept the gun aimed at my chest, like a barrier of protection, even though she clearly saw it had no effect on me. So much for making progress with her trust.
I tossed the now empty tranquilizer dart across the floor, frustrated. The dart clinked across the concrete and rolled until it hit the far wall. I didn’t have patience for skeptical people. They took too much energy to corral. This girl was definitely that.
“You trust me,” I said, “because I’m the only way you stay alive. I’m your only way out.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Something about the way she said it made the anger flare up inside of me, overriding whatever pull I felt toward her, at least for that moment. Maybe my indignation sprang from the submissiveness crap I’d endured for too long with my dad. Maybe I didn’t want to take it from one more person—especially not this girl. Maybe it was just who I was: an impatient, irrepressible ass. No matter.
In a single, swift movement, I swiped the gun from her hands. I was trying to help her, and she wasn’t getting it.
My voice shifted, low and threatening. “Do you think the Corporation will let you go if they get the code? Don’t fool yourself. They will kill you. And they don’t intend to use the code for the good of humanity—just so you know. People in history have tried to manipulate the genetics of the human race and it never turns out well for anyone. It’s meant for control. We’re dealing with the most powerful corporation in the world. A group of the oldest, wealthiest families, accountable to no country, no government agency. This isn’t just about you, you know. Do you get that?”
Her brown eyes flashed, and despite the irritation that poured out of me, I found myself studying the angle of her jawbone, the shape of her lips.
I think she noticed, because she raised her voice in direct proportion to how much I had lowered mine. “Why should I care? About any of this? I don’t care about the code, or these people, or this Corporation. I didn’t ask to come here.”
“You’re right.” I gestured across the concrete room with a wave of my hand. “You didn’t ask to come here, and yet, here you are. And here I am. And sometimes, we just take what we’re dealt.” I sent her a look that dared her to keep arguing with me.
She didn’t.
I nodded to the pile of clothes on the metal side table. “Get dressed.” I turned and moved toward the corner of the room, standing the best I could to block the view of her from the video camera. She may be irritating as hell, but heaven help me if anyone was going to watch her get dressed. C may be a good guy, and he’d probably look away if he was still in the room, but a little bit of incentive always helped. And then there was Frank on duty now, guaranteed to stare. I crossed my arms and glared up at the camera, daring Frank—or anyone—to get any ideas.
“You’re not leaving?” Sage’s voice came from behind me, sounding mortified and slightly vulnerable.
I clenched my jaw. “Just get dressed.”
At first, she didn’t move, but eventually she huffed and took the clothes off the side table. After a minute or two, once I could tell that she’d finished dressing and leaned against the bed pulling on her black canvas shoes, I turned around. I’d be lying if I said the tights and black fitted shirt didn’t look good on her.
She pulled on her second shoe, looking defiant and uncomfortable.
Because you are staring at her, Adamson. Stop.
I tried to look away and failed. That stupid pull wasn’t helping. I tried to shake it off, push it away, but the more I shoved, the more the feeling came rushing at me. Sage knotted her laces with sharp, jerky movements—the sign of someone who felt angry and helpless at the same time.
“If you’re so special, why don’t they just get the stuff they need from you?” she said.
“My genes are sealed off.”
She snorted, lowered her foot to the ground and stood up, her stance straight and bold. “How convenient for you.”
It required all of my control to compress the fury that flooded me.
“Oh, trust me,” I said through gritted teeth, “it’s been anything but convenient.”
She had no idea what it meant to have the code inside me. None. The burden that it carried, the guilt, the weight of it. But from here on out, my actions would either push her away or build her trust. And we only had days. Not weeks, not months. Days.
“Let’s get something straight,” she shot back, not allowing me a single moment to take a deep breath and check my anger before her next onslaught. “I decide for myself what is true and what is not. I decide when and if I can trust you.”
She righted her shoulders. “If you really are a decent person, then please, take me to my brother.” She sucked in a breath and lifted her chin—an attempt to clear away the remaining wetness in her eyes.
I wanted her to know she was safe with me, that I wouldn’t hurt her. I wanted her to trust me and see me as someone who could help her. Hell, to see me as someone she could even respect. But I didn’t know how to do all that, how to say all that.
So instead, I waived my hand toward the door, deigning a regal voice to mock her, acting like the prick I really could be.
“Well then, by all means, let us go.”
7
BECKETT
My cell phone read 1:01am. I’d been traveling for exactly four hours. My body felt numb. I’d turned off the blaring music long ago—once the headache arrived—
and drove on in silence.
Back in Canta, I’d packed a bag with enough clothes for a two day drive, grabbed the money and my 12 gauge from the gun safe, and then started down the road, trying to put enough miles between myself and the farm to blot out the image of the three piles of freshly upturned dirt covering the bodies of people I loved.
From the passenger seat, Ollie quirked an eyebrow at me and whined. I reached over and petted the dog on the head. He’d jumped into the bed of the truck when I opened the door to head to my house—he seemed to sense that things were all screwed up. Susie—the Sallisaw’s cat—could take care of herself well enough, and Ollie was here with me, but what would happen to the cattle? The horses? I forced myself to shove thoughts of the farm aside.
Fifteen more minutes passed. The infrequent headlights and the long, gentle hills of western Missouri put me into a trance, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d have to pull over and sleep for a few hours. My humanness was frustrating, especially since I still had seventeen more hours to Westchester, and Sage’s life very well may depend on my speed.
WHY? Why am I still running? Why are the people I love still getting hurt? Dying?
Wasn’t it enough that my mother had died years ago? That my father threatened me with the life of my brother? That I might never see Jack again if he actually followed through with his crazy plans?
I slammed my hand against the dash. Ollie jumped to his feet on the passenger seat and barked once. The bitter taste of injustice coated my throat. Something snapped deep inside of me, thinking of the unfairness of it all.
I rolled down the window and stuck my head into the wind of the highway, barely registering my madness.
“WHY?!” I shouted. The word disappeared, splintered apart and carried off by the wind. I pulled my head back in and hit my palm on the steering wheel. “ANSWER ME!” I paused, staring at the speedometer, my breath rapid, realizing I was halfway expecting an answer. From where, or who, I wasn’t sure.
This was stupid. I really was going crazy—the day had been too much. Ollie shifted, whimpered.
The Mod Code Page 4