“Good point, Bets.” He laughs. “Anyway, we can trust Chloe.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Okay… If you think she can be more than a decoy…”
“She’s much more than a decoy.” Standing, he resumes pacing. “As for you, since you’re buddies now—and you’re totally his type—you be Nash’s date. Distract him so he doesn’t notice the switch.”
I frown. “And what exactly is his ‘type’?”
“Short and sweet.” He winks.
I glare at him. “Aren’t you missing a step? How are you going to get the ring off Nicki’s finger?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.” He comes to a stop, staring out the balcony doors. “I’m working on it.”
“You could drug her,” I suggest. “Plant something in her herbs?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not comfortable with that. If she acts out of character, it would tip Nash off. Besides, she might think something was up once she came to.”
“What about when she’s sleeping?”
Turning to face me, he folds his arms over his chest. “There’s no way Nash is letting me have a sleepover.”
“Valid point.” I bask in a rush of relief.
He closes his eyes, seemingly talking to himself. “No, we have to do it in plain sight…”
We fall silent, and I rack my brain, remembering my old life and how I spent my time. An idea pops into my head, and I sit up straight. “What about a manicure? They lotion your fingers during the hand massage… What if we got her nails done before the performance? If the person doing the massage could switch the rings without her noticing…”
He opens his eyes. “It’s not a bad idea, but it would take skill, sleight of hand, flexibility… Could Kyran pose as a manicurist?”
“He could switch the rings, but is he any good at painting nails? Maybe Sophia could help?”
Behind him, a pigeon coos on the windowsill. Garrett opens the window and picks up the bird, untying a ribbon around its leg.
“We should find out,” he says. Releasing the pigeon, he opens the small velvet pouch the bird delivered. “The rings are ready.” He places the replica in my hand. It looks exactly like Nicki’s ring.
“Hey guys,” Rayelle says, walking in behind me.
I grab her hand as she passes the couch, examining her orange lacquered nails. “Did you do these yourself? They look professional.”
“Of course. I used to give manicures to my mom and sisters all the time. When you’re the clumsy one in a family of circus performers, you find a way to be useful.”
“Did they wear chips?” I ask.
She glances at Garrett. “No. That’s against Keystone Code.”
“It would be helpful if they were chipped,” he says, smiling to put her at ease.
She grins and lowers her voice. “I may not be the best at programming most things, but one thing I can code is a manicure.”
My eyes meet Garrett’s, and he nods.
“I’ll go invite Nicki to a manicure and a show,” he says. Putting in his AMPs, he heads to the balcony, shutting the door behind him.
He casually leans against the balcony railing, totally engrossed in whatever version of Nicki his AMPs are seeing. The new Chloe information hot on my mind, I can’t help but wonder if his interest in Nicki is real. Ugh. Why do I care?
“I wish Kyran looked at me the way Garrett looks at you.” Rayelle sighs, startling me.
“How? Like you’re an annoying fly he wants to swat?”
She laughs. “That’s how he looks when you are looking. When you aren’t, he’s—I don’t know—protective.”
Goose bumps race up my arms. “Probably because he’s afraid I’m going to ruin his heist.”
“Are you kidding? He trusts you. He’s given you a ton of responsibility. So far, all Kyran has let me do is be a decoy. I’ve tried everything to make him notice me—been his buddy, his cheerleader, worn tight clothes, loose clothes, orange nails—and nothing. Except for the day of the heist when he actually hugged me, it’s like I’m nonexistent.”
“You do always seem, I don’t know, a little over-the-top when he’s around. Like you’re trying to shine really bright…”
“He makes me nervous.”
“I understand, but maybe try just being yourself?”
She frowns. “I don’t know if nerdy contortionists will ever be his thing.”
“Rayelle, if he’s not into contortionists, he’s an idiot.”
She giggles.
“All set,” Garrett says, the sliding glass door closing behind him. “While I was talking to Nicki, I was thinking about how we can plant Rayelle at the salon—”
“Good to know Nicki commands your undivided attention,” I say, a bit relieved that he isn’t more obsessed with her.
“It’s called multitasking, Bets. Even the smallest minds are capable of it.” He playfully pats my hair. “Maybe Rayelle gives freelance hand massages.”
“Is that legal?” I ask.
He ignores me.
“We’ll find a salon where she can offer massages for an extra charge as long as she splits the proceeds with the shop owners. That way she won’t have to program the nails. Fewer variables. Rayelle may have to massage some strangers, but if she leaves soon after we do—change of plans—she can hand the ring off to Chloe, who can pass it to you during the performance, Bets. That way we don’t risk Nicki recognizing Rayelle. And in the meantime, we’ll plant our exit story and make sure Nicki is comfortable with the new ring.”
“And you want me to hold the ring through the rest of the performance?” I ask, my palms sweating at the thought.
“Yes.” He dismisses me. “Are you up for the challenge, Rayelle?”
“Absolutely.” She grins, her eyes bunching up.
“Let’s start practicing, then,” Garrett says. “We don’t have a lot of time. The last Ring Around the Rosie performance is tomorrow night. Bets, you be Nicki.”
“So soon?” My heart leaps into my throat as I slip the replica ring onto my left middle finger. It fits perfectly.
He shrugs. “The sooner the better. The quicker we get the ring, the less chance of our covers being blown, and who knows when Simon plans to launch his Quinn update. The quicker we get the ring, the more time whoever is going to steal the algorithm will have to prepare.”
“This is so exciting,” Rayelle says. “Never say live.” Grinning, she puts the Italian ring on, turning the stone so it faces her palm.
“Always say die,” I respond, holding up my hand for her to massage.
Garrett arches an eyebrow.
“Just go with it,” I say.
“Always say die,” he repeats with a slow smile.
My insides flutter, and I press my lips together.
Rayelle lotions my hand and begins the massage. I immediately feel the ring move.
“Stop. I felt it.”
She tries again.
“Felt it.”
And again.
Garrett tries to teach her everything Kyran taught him, and we practice for hours until, at some point, we pass out.
As the first rays of sun light the sky, Kyran arrives.
Laying snuggled on the couch with my head on Garrett’s shoulder and my arm flung across his chest, I crack my stiff neck, then bolt upright. Rubbing my bleary eyes, I get my bearings. Rayelle is asleep in a chair, and Garrett stirs, sitting up beside me. I scramble to create as much distance between us as possible.
“What happened?” I ask.
“We fell asleep,” he says, running his fingers through his hair, seemingly unfazed. “Hey, Kyran. We could use your help. We only have a few hours to teach Rayelle how to get Nicki’s ring off her finger…”
Waking R
ayelle, we all four huddle around the coffee table, and I offer my hand up for lotion again. And again. And again.
As the day wears on, dread seeps through me.
We’re never going to get this.
Chapter Forty-One
March 20X6, San Francisco
“I’m so excited,” Nicki says, surrendering a hand to the manicurist. “I’ve been wanting to go to Ring Around the Rosie, but my dad thinks it’s too dangerous.”
“What’s so dangerous about it?” I ask, hyperaware of Nash’s presence behind me. He’s sitting next to Garrett in the salon lounge, but there might as well be a wall between them the way they’re ignoring each other. Scanning the room for an exit, I plot my escape should I need one. My feet are coated in a goopy mask and stuffed in plastic bags, and I picture myself slipping and falling on my butt, my pink dress flipping up to reveal my tool garter, should I need to run. It’s not an ideal strategy, and I wiggle my toes, impatient for them to be free.
“Nothing. He just doesn’t like me going out in public,” Nicki says. “He’d keep me locked in our VR room if he could.”
I eye the ring on Nicki’s finger, watching the manicurist remove the acrylic chips from her nails and start filing.
“How did you get him to let you come, then?” I ask as my manicurist finishes filing my nails and holds them up for my approval. Rayelle appears over her shoulder, her eyes visible above the white mask she wears but disguised with matching black starbursts.
“Massage?” she asks.
My heart knocks so loud in my chest I’m sure everyone can hear it. Before we left, Rayelle managed to get the ring off my finger a few times without me feeling it. Her success rate was nowhere near 100 percent, but it had to be good enough. We were out of time.
“No, thank you.” I nod my approval at the manicurist, and she glues my chips on. “I wish my joints weren’t so sore,” I say as an aside to Nicki. “Everything hurts.”
“You’re going to feel a million times better once you get the transplant. I promise,” she says.
Rayelle moves on to Nicki, and I hold my breath.
“And to answer your question, my dad doesn’t know where I’m going.”
“Massage?” Rayelle asks.
Nicki doesn’t reply but offers up her hands. Rayelle squirts lotion onto the hand without the ring.
“I told him I was going to dinner with Eric,” Nicki continues. “Dad trusts Eric, but we still have to show up at this stupid party he’s hosting at our downtown penthouse by nine.”
“What about your bodyguards?” Garrett asks. “They must be able to track you. Won’t they tell your dad where we are?”
Nicki looks over her shoulder at him. “Not since Eric caught one of them making out with my publicist. Now they’re eating out of my hands. Besides, now that I’m getting new nails, I’ll have new tracking. They won’t be able to find me.”
“How did you catch them?” I ask Eric.
“I was in the right place at the right time,” he says. “They were in the backseat of Nicki’s dad’s Corvette.”
“My dad collects old cars. It’s such a waste of space,” Nicki says.
Rayelle switches hands.
I can barely hear the conversation over my pounding heart. Sweating, I keep focused on Nicki’s face, waiting for her to snatch her hand back and accuse Rayelle of tampering with her ring.
“I have a thing for old cars, too,” Eric/Nash says. “It’s awesome how they were built before computers. And since gas engines are illegal, her dad’s collection is totally contraband. It’s so cool.”
“Dad’s collection isn’t illegal. It’s above the law,” Nicki says. “He’s one of the few people on earth permitted to drive a gas car.”
“I was in the garage seeing if we could borrow his ’67 Lamborghini Miura,” Eric/Nash says. “And there they were, steaming up the windows—”
“Eric is not above the law,” Nicki interjects. “It is illegal for him to drive my dad’s cars.”
Eric/Nash smiles. “What’s wrong with a little bit of danger? I like to keep things interesting, but not so interesting you could get hurt.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Nicki says. “I love danger.” She says it to Garrett.
I wait for his reaction, for that flirtatious smile to spread across his lips, for his laser eyes to pierce her like they always do me, but all he does is nod.
Rayelle places Nicki’s hand on the table and walks away.
Is it done?
I suck in my breath. The manicurist applies Nicki’s nail chips, and I check to see if the new ring is in place. It’s identical to the original, so I can’t be sure, but in my periphery Rayelle straightens a vase of flowers. When she turns to her next customer, a white daisy is front and center.
Relief floods me, and I exhale as my manicurist shows me my rainbow-colored nails—ten little computer-chip beacons that will broadcast my whereabouts to anyone who cares to find me. They are heavy on my fingertips, and I can’t wait to rip them off.
“You’re going to love having chips,” Nicki says. “I can’t believe you’ve gone this long without them.”
“Between the chips and the kidney, you’ve changed my world,” I say. “How can I ever thank you?”
She reaches out and squeezes my forearm. “No thanks needed. Just be my friend.”
Sickness rises in my throat as I deliver the lie. “Friends.”
When our manicures are finished, a Bubble Car arrives and takes us to Fisherman’s Wharf for the start of the Ring Around the Rosie performance. Eric/Nash and I sit facing Garrett and Nicki. His leg presses against mine, and I’m highly aware of his smoldering presence at my side.
“When we get out to participate in the show, remember to stick together,” Eric says as the car weaves its way through the streets. “I wouldn’t want anyone getting lost.” His eyes remain on my face as he says it, and I wonder if he suspects something.
“I won’t be letting this one out of my sight,” Garrett says, taking Nicki’s hand in his and covering the ring with his fingers.
“Anywhere she goes, I go,” Eric says. His voice is ice.
“This is a great way to see the city,” I say, cutting the tension. “I’m glad we’re getting a little tour before we have to leave.” I shoot Garrett a look, reminding him we need to plant our exit story, but he’s busy whispering something to Nicki that makes her laugh. My foot jerks forward, and I want to kick him, but I pull it back before it connects with his shin.
“You’re leaving?” Nicki straightens. “When?”
“I didn’t want to tell you until later because I didn’t want it to ruin tonight,” Garrett says with a micro-glare at me. “But Stanford asked me to come early to work on a top-secret project, and I have to go. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We leave tomorrow.”
“Oh no,” she moans. “We have to make tonight last, then. Will you come to my dad’s party with me?”
His lips stretch into a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it. Ouch!” His eyes assault me as my foot hits the target it was craving earlier.
“Sorry,” I say, keeping my voice innocent. “It’s a little cramped in here. I needed to stretch.”
“You should come to the party, too, Betsy,” Nicki says.
“You can be my date.” Nash slips his arm around my waist, and I curl into him, pretending I’m into him for Garrett’s benefit, but mostly I’m still disgusted that I fell for his lies and want to push him away.
“Sounds fun,” I say, dying to peek at Garrett but keeping my eyes on Nash, a sweet smile plastered on my face.
A voice fills the car.
“The story begins, as many stories do, with a ghost. Peer into the fog. See her rising out of the mist.”
Outside, the sun sets beyond the wharf, and a girl appears, dancing on the sand, her
tattered dress swirling around her, whipping at her legs in the breeze.
“Ring-around-the rosie, A pocket full of posies,”
The ghost is joined by two girls in similar dresses. They join hands, swinging in a circle as the voice chants, “Ashes, ashes…”
The lights from the wharf shimmer through their transparent skin, and, though I know the Bubble Car’s glass is augmented, goose bumps race up my arms all the same.
“It’s rumored her lover was being kept at Alcatraz for a crime he didn’t commit. She and her sisters were worshipers of the Rosy Cross. They were clairvoyants who could access the Akashic records—the experiences and desires of every earthly creature since time began. They had the power to control their etheric selves.
“Though she was a Compassionate One, who had advanced beyond the cycle of rebirth, it wasn’t enough to save her. It is common belief that she drowned trying to swim to him, her beloved. That is a lie. She was murdered. But to truly understand her death, to learn who had the power to extinguish a light so bright, we must experience her life.”
The lights on the wharf go dark, and the Bubble Car glides forward. It’s a short drive to the next stop.
“If I had a special power, I’d want it to be clairvoyance,” Nicki says.
“Not me. I’d want to read minds,” Eric says. “To hear what the person next to me is thinking. Not enough people speak their thoughts these days.”
I keep staring out the window, refusing to let him get to me.
Garrett remains silent, but when I sneak a glance at him, his eyes are flitting back and forth between me and Nash, like he’s trying to figure out our connection.
The last thing I want is for Garrett to know Nash and I have a past, to think I’ve been lying to him, for him to stop trusting me. Regretting trying to make Garrett jealous, I scoot away from Nash.
We arrive at the top of Lombard Street. The city lights sparkle below us, beyond the cobblestone street’s twists and turns.
“The night they met, there was an earthquake. Even the earth was moved by the power of their connection. But first, they danced.”
The car doors open, revealing the girl dancing in a rose-colored drop-waist dress under strings of multicolored lights. She’s now portrayed by a real person, her amber curls peeking out from a red hat that conceals half her face. Behind her, a band appears with trumpets, trombones, and banjos playing a jazzy tune, their rollicking music contagious. More dancers fill the street, luring audience members out of their cars.
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