Prototype

by M. D. Waters

  Those bright amber eyes study me as he rubs a hand over his chin. Sweat begins to prickle my brow as I wait. Will he let me stay?

  Let me stay, Noah.

  Finally, he says, “I’ll talk to Reid.”

  My tense shoulders collapse, forcing the pent-up air from my lungs. “That is all I ask.”

  • • •

  Foster jogs up to me outside my room. “There you are.” Like everyone else has, he eyes my pack with suspicion.

  “I am not leaving,” I say before he can ask.

  Nodding, he follows me into my room, where I toss the bag to the floor at the end of my bed. He lifts the tablet he carries. “There’s something you need to see.”

  His grim expression kicks my heartbeat into a steady jog. “Okay.”

  Foster faces the vid screen on my wall. After tapping a few commands on his tablet, the screen blinks and shows a room I know well. Declan’s office. The direction the camera faces is what Declan called his meeting space, with a couch, chairs, and a wet bar.

  On the wall to the right are a series of winter paintings I had painted and hidden away and that he at some point unearthed. Opposite the paintings is a floor-to-ceiling view of downtown Richmond, Virginia. Sunlight glints off skyscrapers, though I know this is only a real-time projection. There are no windows in his office.

  “Why are we looking at an empty office?” I ask.

  Foster stares at his tablet, where, unlike what shows on the vid screen, the office footage moves at high speed. “Because I’m searching for the right spot. Here we go.”

  The footage now faces a different direction and my gaze falls instantly on Declan. He slouches in his chair, his left hand resting across his desk. He absently spins a glass with a shot of amber liquid in the bottom. Bourbon, if I had to guess. His gray suit jacket hangs open, his tie pulled loose. He stares across the room, barely blinking, let alone showing any hint of emotion.

  “Pause,” Declan says into the empty room, breaking the silence. “Go back five seconds and hold.”

  My stomach drops. On the wall opposite him, his computer runs a video feed I recognize, though from a wholly different angle. The footage he has paused is of me resting on the flat of my back on a slanted roof in the central highlands of Mexico. My exposed skin is grimy with sweat and dust. My hair is pulled back tight except for the few strands sticking to the sides of my face. My expression is one of determination, not fear, though I know I had been frightened. I barely remember the short stop after I first climbed on that roof and rolled to my back. It could have been only two seconds. Three at most. Not that it matters.

  “Play,” Declan says, and rubs his chin. He swivels his chair to face his desk, then sits forward and leans on his forearms. He watches my escape unfold with such intensity. It is a small wonder he does not have the ability to snatch me right from the video itself.

  “What were you doing there, Emma?” he whispers, watching every step I take. My fight, my jump off the final roof, my large lead into the densely wooded foothills. But that is where it ends. Because of the thick foliage, the satellite camera loses me the moment I disappear into the forest.

  Declan mutters a curse and runs a hand over the tightly shaven goatee he wears. The phone rings and he lifts the receiver without so much as a breath of air to announce he has done so. Whoever is on the other end begins speaking, though; I hear the hum of a man’s voice.

  “Say again?” Declan says, retrieves a stylus, and begins writing on a tablet computer. “That’s all he said?” After a single nod, he hangs up.

  “What the hell are you up to, love?” he says to the screen.

  Trepidation sweeps through me. “What did he write down?”

  Foster sucks in a deep breath before adjusting the camera’s angle to show the front of the tablet. What I read freezes my blood. Names.

  Stephen and Lily Wade.

  “He knows you’re searching for your parents,” Foster says.

  It is as if the floor drops out from under me. “If he finds them, he will use them against me.” I drag my trembling fingers through my hair. “I will have no choice but to go back.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Thank you for coming,” Declan says to the camera crews airing the conference all over the world. He stands in the lobby of Burke Enterprises facing the outer windows. “I know the hour is late, but I feel there’s no time to waste.

  “Questions have been raised regarding my marriage, such as where Emma was for the first eight years. In an effort to shield her from embarrassment, I have been quiet on the subject. That said, it has come to my attention that continuing to do so would be a risk to her personal health and safety.”

  The gathering explodes with questions, to which Declan only raises his hands to quiet them.

  “It was discovered shortly after we were married that Emma would not live long without intervention. The disease she has is a rare genetic mutation and was missed in all her prescreen exams at the WTC. If not for the work of Arthur Travista, she would not be with us today.”

  More questions echo in the lobby’s space, bouncing from marble floor to high ceiling. Declan waits patiently for them to quiet again.

  “Her condition is private and took all of those eight years to manage. I will not further humiliate my wife by giving you every detail. I tell you only because Arthur has expressed concern that her remission is only temporary. Without treatment, she will die.”

  Declan raises his hands when the voices rise into a jumble of questions.

  “The second thing I will tell you,” he says, “is that Emma’s own parents may be involved in her kidnapping.”

  • • •

  I pace by the door, arms folded tight across my chest. Noah, Reid, and the office are a blur. The reality of what Declan has done clings to me like a fog I cannot escape. This move was brilliantly calculated. “I cannot possibly find them in time.”

  Noah rocks back and forth in his desk chair at a slow, even pace, rubbing a hand along his chin. He stares into the same distance that has sway over me. “You can’t think like that. They’re ex-resistance, which makes them resourceful.”

  I rake my hands through my loose hair. “Which also makes it that much harder for me to find them.”

  Reid glances between Noah and me from his perch on the edge of Noah’s desk. A grin slides across his face, showing a perfect row of white teeth. “Gotta give it to Burke. That was a stroke of genius.”

  Noah glowers at Reid. “Is that really necessary?”

  “No, he is right,” I say, though I loathe agreeing with anything Major Reid has to say. “The entire world is now looking for Stephen and Lily Wade, and all without having to offer a new reward.”

  Reid tips his coffee cup at me and grins. “Time to ante up, Mrs. Burke.”

  He laughs and I stop pacing. “This is not a joke, Major. Not to me.”

  Noah’s gaze lifts from a spot on his desk to meet mine. “Any thoughts on the gene mutation thing?”

  “No, why?”

  “He could be telling the truth. Or his version, anyway.”

  The fog I am caught up in parts, and I am swept up in words left unsaid. Noah’s expression holds no sign of his thoughts, but I recognize the uneasiness in his eyes. Declan’s ploy to gain sympathy from the world has had a different effect on Noah. While I have had nothing but concern for my missing parents, Noah wonders if I am dying.

  I tear my gaze away from his. He takes me back to the day I died in the hospital ward, and I have no want to relive that time. “I have been gone a long time, and I was perfectly healthy before. Even if there were something wrong, he could not possibly know.”

  “But what if—?”

  I snare his gaze with mine in such a way that stops him from continuing. “I am fine, Noah.”

  Major Reid’s voice cuts between us, and I
startle, having forgotten he was there. “Look at her. She’s fine.” He drags out the last word and punctuates it with a wave of his hand.

  “She’s completely healthy,” Sonya says from the doorway. She waggles a computer tablet and looks only at Noah. “Other than some predispositions to preventable diseases, there’s nothing in her genetic sequence to suggest—”

  “Wait, what?” I say. Did she say what I think she just said?

  Sonya’s next intake of breath is slow, and her eyes never leave Noah. “From what I can tell, Burke’s lying. Dr. Malcolm agrees.”

  She did it. “You ran it. Without my permission?”

  She finally looks at me with steely resolve, confirming my suspicions.

  I never should have let her leave with my blood, and would not have if not for Dr. Malcolm and his long-winded story distracting me. “Unbelievable.”

  Noah drops forward in his chair and the wheels click and rattle on the floor. “What’s she talking about, Sonya? Ran what without permission?”

  She looks at Noah with little to no concern in her eyes. “In all fairness, I wouldn’t have dared if not for the fact that you asked me to—”

  “He asked you to?” I feel momentarily out of breath as I swing a glare at Noah. “You asked her to?” How could he do this to me?

  Noah stands with his eyes wide and hands raised defensively. “Hold on a second.” To Sonya, he says, “What exactly did I ask you to do?”

  Reid slides into the armchair in front of the desk, effectively removing himself from this conversation. But according to the glint in his eyes, it has nothing to do with being uncomfortable. He enjoys being a spectator to the unfolding drama.

  Sonya says, “You asked me to learn every detail of Travista’s cloning process. So that’s what I’m doing. That’s why you brought Phillip Malcolm here, isn’t it? I’d love to say we’re managing just fine, but I can’t. We’re at a dead end.”

  She looks at me. “I’m sorry, but you are my first and probably last shot at getting my hands on a clone. The more we know, the better—”

  “So this is about getting your hands on a clone? I am still a human being, Sonya, and I never gave you permission to run those tests. In fact, I expressly forbade it. I am not a project.”

  Reid leans forward and braces his elbows against his knees. “Wait a second, Mrs. Burke. Let me get this straight. You claim to want to help the resistance take down your husband—”

  “He is not my husband.”

  “—and here we have a real shot at him except you’re suddenly afraid of needles? Sounds awfully suspicious to me.”

  I should not be surprised he went there. Any excuse to make me look like the bad guy. “When did learning how clones function result in ‘a real shot’ at Declan Burke?”

  “Emma,” Noah says, and his is the only calm voice in the room. “I understand you’re upset, but no harm was done.”

  No harm done. Dr. Travista’s exact words following his attempt to wipe my memory a second time. I almost laugh, but there is nothing funny about this. “There never is in the beginning, is there?” He straightens, steeling his spine in reaction to the look I give him. “How do you think it begins? With a few harmless tests. Routine checks on the reflexes, hearing, sight.” I look pointedly at Sonya. “Blood tests.” I look back at Noah. “Nothing big, right? Next thing you know, I’m strapped to a table, surrounded by nurses and covered in wires, with my legs up in stirrups.”

  Noah’s eyebrows knit together. His response is slow in forming. “You don’t honestly think—?”

  “There is no excuse for what Sonya did, and you need to stop pretending there is.”

  Noah grips the edge of his desk and his jaw tightens. After a deep breath, he is the picture of calm and collected. “If we lose another woman to the cloning process, it would be helpful to know how we can save her memory from being permanently erased.”

  “I will tell you how.” I look directly at Sonya. “Do not let another host die.”

  Sonya flinches, and I am immediately flooded with the memory of how she tried to save me. The tugging in the lower half of my body. Her sharp commands. She fought desperately to control the loss of blood that eventually ended my host’s life. Regardless of what she has done, she did not deserve the unwarranted remark.

  “I am sorry,” I tell her. “That was unfair.”

  Tears rim her eyes. “I tried to save her,” she says to me, then shifts her gaze to Noah, who leans heavily on his desktop and does not look up.

  “You mean me,” I say. Her words sting, and they soak up some of my guilt. That experience was mine. Not Hers. “You tried to save me. Is that not what you meant?”

  The silence that follows makes even Major Reid shift and avoid eye contact. I cannot bear it and excuse myself from the room. I need a few minutes alone so I can get my head on straight. Thanks to my outburst—warranted or not—we strayed from the matter of finding my parents. For their sake, I need to get back on track.

  But how can I focus on finding them when I have to watch my back every second of the day? I stop at the corner and lean against the wall, blinking blurry eyes as I stare blindly across the vast space of the hallway.

  “Emma,” Noah calls from just outside his office.

  My heart gallops in response to his voice. Despite everything I said, he looks at me with a soft set to his eyes.

  He reaches me and his eyes latch with mine, refusing to let them go. He lowers his voice to avoid being overheard. “Are you all right?”

  “I am fine.”

  “You can talk to me, you know.” As if to punctuate the statement, he runs a warm hand over my arm.

  I hate that he looks genuinely concerned for me, because it does not make being near him any easier. I will have to make him believe there is nothing to be worried about. Pasting on a smile, I reach out and squeeze his arm. “I am fine.”

  He rolls his eyes and twists to lean into the wall beside me. “No, you aren’t.”

  “All right, so I am not fine. How could I be after what just happened?”

  He lowers his voice. “I feel responsible. But while I don’t condone Sonya’s methods, you understand why we need to know more, don’t you?”

  “I do not know.” I sigh. “What are the odds that you will ever see this happen again?”

  “Not every woman going through Travista’s clone process is a volunteer. You know that. It’s important we gain all the knowledge we can. Knowing gives us control where there was none.”

  Is this the same excuse Dr. Travista tells himself to help him sleep at night? I have been on the receiving end of this need to control. No matter the intent, nothing good will come of this.

  “I only want to help,” he says. “What if the memories aren’t actually lost with the host? Wouldn’t you want—?”

  “No.” I will not get my hopes up over something I know is impossible. Her voice is gone, and with it, what is left of my memories. “You have to let this go.” Let Her go, I do not say, because is this not what he is really asking for? His wife to return to normal? “Not everything can be fixed.”

  His chin declines in a half nod. “I know.”

  I push off the wall. “I do not want to talk about this anymore.”

  He takes my wrist, stopping me from walking away. His fingers are warm and callused. “You need a distraction.” When I meet his gaze, he gives me a pleasant smile and stands upright. “Come somewhere with me?”

  “I do not have time for distractions, Noah. My parents—”

  “Give me ten minutes; then we’ll talk. Promise.”

  Sonya exits the office and stops when she sees us. “There you are.”

  Noah’s grip on my wrist tightens as if he believes I will use this opportunity to slip away. He is right to do so, because the idea has crossed my mind. I want nothing to do with his distraction,
and I cannot stomach being so near Sonya right now.

  “I’m going to get Adrienne,” Noah says to Sonya. “Can we meet up later?”

  Her eyes narrow very slightly. “Sure.”

  He wastes no time turning us away from her. “Let’s go.”

  Curiosity flares, especially now that I know we are getting Adrienne first. “Where are we going?”

  He gives me a smile that brightens his eyes. “If I told you that, it would ruin the surprise.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Noah leads me into a large room with white walls, a white floor, and a white ceiling, but they are not painted. The surfaces are screen-like. I have seen a room like this many times before, but this is much larger.

  “A hologram room?” I ask. Declan once had a room built special for me. It was my private paint studio for months, and the only place I had any real privacy from his security cameras.

  Adrienne struggles to get down, and Noah sets her on the floor. She bounces and points straight-armed at the floor with an impatient grunt.

  “We come here a lot,” he explains, and picks up a small computer tablet from a dock station. “Hold on, chicken,” he tells her in a patient tone.

  He taps the screen a few times until an image appears around us. The beach with its crashing waves, and, so help me, the Heermann’s gull in its breeding plumage comes to life all around me. I cannot feel the sand or the breeze or smell the brine, but a missing piece of me clicks into place and somehow all is right in the world.

  “Mexico,” I whisper. I want to cry from the relief I feel from seeing this so alive around me.

  Noah nods. “Playa de Oro. Beach of Gold. It’s north of Manzanillo.”

  After all this time, I finally have a name for my beach, the object of so many wonderful memories.

  Adrienne squeals in delight and chases after a seagull poking its beak in the sand. The holographic bird does not move or startle off. When she runs through the image, she giggles and repeats the process over and over until the gull flaps into the air with a caw.