Anew: Book Two: Hunted

by Litton, Josie

  I come out of the bathroom still drying my hands to find Edward stretched out on the couch in my private office on the penthouse floor of Pinnacle House. He’s my age, twenty-eight, and has the same aquamarine eyes and chestnut hair as Amelia. Otherwise there isn’t much resemblance between them. Not surprising since she’s exquisitely beautiful and he’s just a guy.

  The real surprise is how little Amelia resembles Edward’s older sister and my former lover, Susannah McClellan, the woman for whom she was supposed to be nothing more than a source of replacement parts. The moral and ethical issues of human cloning are tough enough but the replica technology that allows the digitized pattern of one individual’s brain to be imprinted on another has introduced a whole new level of controversy. So far we’re not handling it well.

  Except for Susannah who made a selfless decision in her last days before the disease that had overshadowed her life finally took her. Not only did she choose to forego any further chance to extend that life, she sought out the most cutting-edge replica technology so that she could give Amelia only knowledge and abilities rather than her entire neural imprint. By doing so, she made her unique among replicas--free to be her own self, form her own memories, and live her own life.

  The truth is that I can’t imagine what it’s been like for Amelia, awakening into the world as she did. I’d say that she suffers from amnesia except a person has to be allowed to live before she can have anything to forget. However much she knows, and that appears to be a great deal, she has no context of memory or experience. Everything--every sight, sound, taste, every touch is entirely new to her.

  If I were any kind of decent guy, I would have backed the hell off and given her time to find her own way. Instead--

  I close my eyes for a moment against the image of Amelia that first night on the balcony in the rain and later under me in the golden bed. In the aftermath, I couldn’t evade the sickening possibility that I had taken advantage of a vulnerable young woman who had no ability to deny me. To my infinite relief, the truth turned out to be otherwise. Amelia possesses free will in abundance. She is in every sense her own person, able to make her own choices. I’m the one who can’t resist her. Or at least I couldn’t until I realized what a danger I am to her. Now I’ll deny myself what I want more than anything else in this world before I’ll compromise her safety for an instant.

  Yet despite all that, she still has no existence in the eyes of the law except as property.

  My property, to be precise, according to the terms of Susannah’s will. That’s something I try very hard not to think about.

  My cock stirs at the reminder. He and I used to get along great but these days we’re definitely on the outs.

  “There’s some useful stuff here,” Edward says, indicating the intel we’ve squeezed from the HPF fuckers. “Enough to get me started at least.”

  Amelia’s brother may look like he was born for the boardroom and the polo field but he’s shown yet again in the last few days that he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. At least not where protecting his sister is involved.

  I toss the towel aside, glad that he has no idea what’s going through my head--and other parts. “Good. I want to know who the money is. Find him or her and I’ll be able to finish this once and for all.”

  That’s my real goal. As much as I have sympathy for people who feel threatened by the sweeping changes that technology is bringing to all our lives, I have zero tolerance for the fanatics who want to kill anyone they decide isn’t sufficiently human. Until the source of the money that made the HPF’s activities possible is found and crushed, the whole sorry mess could start up again. Amelia would never be safe.

  Not for the first time, I wonder how Susannah’s parents managed to love one child enough to take such desperate measures to save her while being willing to deny her clone--essentially her identical twin only younger and even more vulnerable--the most basic human rights. Maybe I’ll just never understand how we decide who’s one of ‘us’, worthy of being valued and respected, and who isn’t.

  Edward levers himself off the couch and stretches. His hair is a mess, he needs to shave, and there are shadows under his eyes. I don’t look any better. We’ve been at it hard for a week, ever since my team and I brought the HPF leaders back to Pinnacle House. I’m not going to dwell on what was involved in capturing them except that all my people came home safe.

  “You going tonight?” Edward asks.

  “Going where?”

  “The Crystal Ball. It’s tonight.”

  I’d forgotten about that, not surprising given that I’d have a hard time choosing between an ocular probe straight through the eye into the cerebral cortex and an evening spent in the company of the city’s ‘elite’.

  “I’ve got a headache,” I say, smirking.

  “Lucky bastard. So are your mother and sister going?”

  The question sounds casual but the mere fact that he’s asking gets my attention. Marianne--my twenty-two-year-old, beautiful, and very sheltered sister--seems to have a thing for Edward. So far I haven’t seen any sign that he returns her interest but I’ve been distracted.

  Eyeing him, I say, “Yeah, they’re going. What about you?”

  He nods. “I’m escorting Amelia and our grandmother.”

  On the one hand, I’m relieved to hear that. Adele is a feisty grand dame who I happen to really like. But it’s good that Edward isn’t letting Amelia go into the shark tank without him. On the other hand, now that I know where she will be this evening, I have to fight the temptation to drop by just to catch a glimpse of her. Our paths are bound to cross again in public at some point. What’s the harm if I just make that happen sooner rather than later?

  There wouldn’t be any if I could trust myself where she’s concerned. The problem is that I can’t. I want her too damn much. She’s a fire in my blood that refuses to be extinguished.

  “My father’s son.” The words I hurtled at her the last time we were together haunt me, not in the least because they are true. Marcus Slade was a monster who got his kicks hurting women in the very exclusive BDSM club that he founded and to which he lured select members of the city’s elite. He initiated me into his practices when I was fifteen. A year later, I broke free but the damage was done.

  I’ve spent every day of my life since then fighting his legacy only to have Amelia come along and shatter all my hard-won control. Through absolutely no fault of her own, she’s awakened the demons inside me. I’ll tear out what passes for my heart before I let them hurt her.

  “You okay?” Edward asks. He looks concerned. We’ve known each other since we met at school more than a dozen years ago. He’s gone on to become a pillar of the community, head of his family’s financial empire. While I’m…hell, if I know.

  “I’m good,” I say.

  He nods but he doesn’t look convinced. Indicating the intel, he says, “Let’s go over this again.”

  We do, looking into every nook and cranny that might provide a lead. I’m impressed by Edward’s breadth and depth of knowledge. He’s a totally honorable guy who I’d trust with my life--and maybe even with my sister--but he still understands the shadow world of money manipulation better than almost anyone. I’m as above board as I can be given my line of work but I sure as hell wouldn’t want him coming after me.

  “So you think the source of HPF’s funds has been deliberately hidden?” I ask when we’re done.

  “No question,” Edward replies. His confidence is unshakable. “Only thing I’m not sure of is how many layers I’ll have to dig through to get to it. But don’t worry, we will find out who’s behind this.”

  “Good to know. I’ll have a team on standby.”

  He glances at me but he doesn’t say anything. We both know that when he comes up with irrefutable proof of who was funding the HPF, he’ll be signing that man or woman’s death warrant. In a world where wealth can corrupt any court, the only justice is personal.

  Edward leaves a short t
ime later. When he’s gone, I wander out onto the terrace that wraps around the entire floor. The building is tall enough that on many days I’d be looking down on a cloud bank but today the weather is clear.

  I stand, hands driven into the pockets of my jeans, and stare out over the wide swath of the park that splits the upper east and west sides of Manhattan. I’m so high up that the people down below are no more than tiny specks but I can make out the curve of the pond tucked into the southeast corner of the park. Not far from it are some of the city’s most exclusive residences including the McClellans’. I wonder if Amelia is there now, getting ready for the ball.

  I could find out. All it would take is a quick call to the security that I’ve had on her ever since she arrived in the city. Although the HPF effectively no longer exists, I’m not about to ease up on her protection. Not until I know who was behind the threat in the first place. And why.

  I’m still contemplating the question of who was really responsible for the recent destruction of the Institute where the customized replica technology that made Amelia possible was developed when the link in my pocket chimes. I step through the nearest door before answering, into the art gallery that divides my apartment from the reception and meeting rooms on the other half of the penthouse floor.

  I’m standing in front of a holographic image of men on patrol in a narrow street, taking fire from adjacent buildings yet continuing to advance. This side of the gallery is devoted to images of war. The real thing, no chest-beating triumphalism, just the horror of it coupled with the courage and decency to uphold values that, however fragile they may be, are still the best hope for humanity.

  I worry about that more these days, wondering where my own country is going and whether I’ll find myself fighting on home ground eventually. I’ll move heaven and earth to prevent that. This thing with the HPF could give me an edge but I’m a long way from figuring out what that might be.

  My gaze drifts down the length of the gallery to the side that could be said to represent the nature of eroticism that can be as powerful and dangerous in their own way as war itself. The statues of the bound ballerina that were on display as a favor to a friend are gone. I couldn’t bear to have them around after my last encounter with Amelia.

  I can still see her pleading with me to believe that I could only hurt her by letting her go. She went on thinking that up to the moment when I coldly and deliberately fucked her all but senseless even as I revealed the truth about how much she really had to fear from me.

  In the end, crouched on the floor staring at me with those huge eyes that are windows into her soul, she accepted that we really don’t belong together.

  I haven’t been back in the gallery since. If I’d been thinking straight, I wouldn’t be there now. The way I’m feeling, it’ll be a cold day in hell before I set foot in it again.

  The link chimes once more.

  Answering it, I snap, “What?”

  “Thought you might be grabbing a little shut-eye,” Brad Hollis says, arching a brow at my curt response. He was my commander in the Special Forces, recruiting me shortly after I enlisted in the military in defiance of my father’s plans for me. Hollis saved my sanity and quite possibly my life. I owe him more than I’ll ever be able to repay.

  “I’m good,” I say more calmly. “What about you?” He was with me on the raids to round up the HPF leadership and he fully shared the burden of the interrogations that have just concluded.

  “I was thinking of treating myself to a nice warm bubble bath but I’ve been diverted,” Hollis drawls.

  My mouth twitches at the image of the straw-haired, buzz-cut Kentuckian with ice blue eyes and a penchant for boar hunting lolling around in a bubble bath, at least without appropriate feminine company.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “Not sure but Gab’s concerned so I thought we’d better give you a heads-up.”

  Gab is Gabriella Innocente Darque, the six feet plus French-Haitian cyber-engineering whiz kid who runs information security for Slade Enterprises. If she’s worried, I am, too.

  “Go on.” I say.

  Ten minutes later, I get off the link and stare into the distance, thinking about what I’ve just learned. Rumors, that’s all there is, nothing more. Gab made that clear when she joined the conversation.

  “It’s just a vibe I’m getting,” she said. “But I can’t shake it. For a couple of days now we’ve been hearing about more unrest below. That’s why there are so many police on the streets. The problem is I’m not picking up anything like that myself. As far as I can tell, the scavs are as beaten down as ever. Plus there’s the gala tonight at the Crystal Palace. If the situation is as tense as the city leaders want us to believe, why aren’t they increasing security there?”

  I can think of a couple of reasons why not. The Crystal Palace is in the park, an exclusionary zone for almost all workers and a place where a trespassing scavenger would be lucky to get out alive. But in addition, surrounding the place with heavily armed police would put a damper on the night’s festivities and make people question the competency of the city’s leaders.

  I consider calling Edward, telling him what I’ve learned, and suggesting that he enjoy a quiet evening at home with his grandmother and Amelia but the whole thing may be a false alarm. Not that I think Gab’s wrong, I don’t. Something’s up but the chances of it having anything to do with the Crystal Ball seem remote. All the same, I’m not about to take risks with Amelia’s safety.

  In the back of my mind, I know I’m grabbing a convenient rationalization for what I really want to do anyway but I don’t care. Heading for the shower, I can’t contain a wry smile.

  Gab may be a weird pick for Fairy Godmother but thanks to her I’m going to the ball after all.

  Chapter Three

  Amelia

  Set on the edge of the park beside a reflecting pool filled with hundreds of floating lanterns, the Crystal Palace looks as though it belongs in a fairy tale. Sparkling panes of glass supported by an almost invisible titanium lattice reflect the glow from the building’s vast interior. Entering, the guests become shadows back lit by the radiance. I can’t help thinking that they look as though they have ascended into a world even more rarified and beautiful than the one that surrounds me.

  To the west beyond the park the sun is setting in a blaze of glory that turns the building’s dome into a prism casting rainbows across every surface. Music wafts from speakers in the nearby trees--Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik”. The air is filled with the scents of rare perfumes and the laughter of beautifully dressed men and women.

  Gravel crunches under the thin soles of my ridiculously high heels as I walk beside Adele and Edward from where the limo dropped us off. The smile I’ve pinned on is making my face ache. I can’t stop thinking about the children I saw. They’ve even managed to push Ian from my thoughts, if only for the moment.

  My hand is tucked into the crook of Edward’s arm. He places his own over mine and squeezes gently. “You look lovely, Amelia.”

  I know his intent is to help me relax and I’m grateful for that. But the truth is that I could be as ugly as sin and I would still be drawing admiring glances because I’m wearing the McClellan diamonds. Edward brought them to me in my room as I finished dressing. As my maid stood off to one side, trying not to gape, he opened one black velvet box after another and laid them out before me.

  “Susannah rarely wore these,” he said. “She thought they were a bit ostentatious but they are a family tradition and I think you might find them…useful.”

  I understood what he was telling me. By wearing the pieces, I will be distinguishing myself further from Susannah. People would be even less likely to suspect the connection between us.

  As much as I understand that, my first glimpse of the diamonds that now collar my throat, dangle from my earlobes, encircle both my wrists, and nestle in my hair stunned me. The smallest is at least a carat, the largest many, many times that. Beautifully
cut, set in white gold, they glitter with the fire of the inner earth.

  Among the larger stones, Edward tells me, are fabled gems smuggled out in the garments of aristocrats fleeing revolutions, pilfered from the treasure palaces of rajahs, and discovered amid the ruins of ancient Amazonian temples. Any one of them is worth a king’s ransom. Taken together, they are a declaration of my family’s power and my own identity as a McClellan.

  Approaching the Crystal Palace, I am vividly aware of the avid stares directed at me, the quick tilting together of heads, and the groundswell of whispers. The thought occurs to me that more than any guest, the McClellan diamonds are the real belle of the ball. For the first time that evening, my smile is genuine.

  The three of us give no sign of noticing the attention we’re drawing. My brother has been pre-occupied since we left the residence but my grandmother is livelier. She leans close to me and says, “Chin up, my dear. It’s all in a night’s work.”

  A few weeks ago, the notion that attending a ball could be called ‘work’ would have baffled me. But now I understand that it is in settings like this that the true business of the city--and the world--is done. Business of all sorts, as it turns out.

  Adele has let slip that inquiries have been made regarding the young, previously unknown, and apparently very eligible McClellan who has suddenly appeared in Society. Discretely, young men--and young women on the chance that such is my inclination--are being put forward by ambitious relatives or on their own behalf. It’s the way of such things, my grandmother assures me. Money is drawn to money. Love, or at least affection, can follow or not as the case may be. What matters is that there be no disruption to the established social order. It’s all very pragmatic, she says, even as she dismisses the thought that I should consider any such marriage for myself.