Hunted (Talented Saga # 3)

by Sophie Davis

  “Warden Arnouse,” a deep voice boomed, the words reverberating through the tunnel. My breath caught in my throat and my body went rigid. I recognized that voice: Mac. Erik recognized Mac’s voice instantly, as well. His entire body tensed, and he swore under his breath.

  “Director, how are you?” the man I assumed was Warden Arnouse called back.

  “Doing well,” Mac answered.

  The thought of Mac, impeccably dressed in his perfectly tailored navy suit and crisp white dress shirt, standing amid the filth and squalor of the metro station was almost comical. A bubble of hysterical laughter managed to escape my mouth before I could prevent it.

  “Talia!” Erik admonished me.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t help it,” I replied, burying my face against his chest to stifle any further outbursts. Luckily, my voice hadn’t traveled beyond the depths of our tunnel and neither man heard me.

  “How was the ride from Tramblewood? Has the prisoner spoken?” Mac asked back on the platform.

  “Tramblewood!” I exclaimed. “What’s going on?” My heart thudded loudly in my chest, and blood roared in my ears.

  Erik didn’t answer. I hadn’t actually expected him to.

  “No, sir. Been nearly comatose the entire way,” the Warden said.

  “Excellent. Irene is anticipating your arrival at Rittenhouse within the hour. She has guards standing by as an added precaution, but I do not really expect any trouble,” Mac replied.

  “Neither do I, sir. The drugs should keep TI-912 sedated until Dr. Thistler has taken custody.”

  Dr. Thistler? What did she have to do with anything? Dr. Thistler was my doctor. Well, technically she was Head of Medical Research for Toxic, but she’d been assigned to handle my medical treatment since she was supposed to be the best. And Rittenhouse was one of Toxic’s smaller medical research facilities located in Bethesda, Maryland. That much I knew.

  “Would you like to see TI-912?” the Warden asked Mac.

  “Yes!” Mac sounded giddy now. Uneasiness crawled over my skin like a spider. I didn’t like his tone or the excitement radiating from his thoughts.

  I heard Mac and the Warden board the train. Muffled words followed by uneasy laughter filled the station. What was so funny? Nothing about this situation seemed funny. Maybe if I weren’t pressed against a filthy, damp wall, hiding with the rats, I would have gotten the joke. I concentrated on my auditory senses, straining to hear the low conversation taking place above.

  “Information is not the only way you are useful to us,” Mac was saying.

  I assumed he was talking to the prisoner. He got no response.

  “What do you have planned for our guest?” the Warden asked.

  “Research. I think this just might be the breakthrough we need.” Mac’s glee was palpable; the raw desire dripping from his words tasted sour and sickened my stomach.

  This wasn’t the Mac I knew, not even the one who lied and kept secrets from me. This Mac radiated a feverish, almost manic desire for......something. Desire to understand what was going on and revulsion over Mac’s intensity warred in my mind. Curiosity won out. I plunged into his head. Maybe it was my lack of familiarity with his brain patterns – it had been years since I invaded his thoughts – or his constant vigilance, or even my instructions on blocking mental intrusions, but I couldn’t penetrate his barriers. His thoughts were impossible for me to read, but his feelings were so strong, they sucked me in. Triumph. Determination. Vindication. Relief. I nearly gagged.

  “I will let you be on your way,” Mac told the Warden. “Inform me once you have made the delivery.”

  “Yes, Director.”

  One set of footsteps exited on to the platform. The train doors slid shut with a soft whoosh. I remained glued to the dirty tunnel wall, vaguely aware that Erik’s coat was likely covered in grime. I felt the ridiculous urge to apologize for ruining it.

  The sound of the train coming to life squashed any further thoughts of ruined clothing. I felt rather than heard Mac’s retreat from the platform.

  Neither Erik nor I moved, even once the only sound in the station was deafening silence. I tracked Mac using my mind, finally exhaling when I no longer felt his presence.

  “He’s gone,” I sent Erik.

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. I can’t feel him anymore.”

  Tentatively, Erik crept forward. He held up a hand to signal that I should wait when I tried to follow. He walked on his toes, making virtually no noise. The station seemed darker than it had before the train came. My eyes adjusted quickly, though, and I could make out Erik’s form as he jumped, grabbed the platform edge, and pulled himself up in one swift motion. Even though I was confident that Mac was gone, I still held my breath when Erik vanished from sight.

  Just when I had convinced myself something had happened to him, Erik called to me. “All clear.”

  I blew out a long exhale. Close one. Anyone else I could have handled. Mac was a different story entirely. And lately he hadn’t been in an exceptionally forgiving mood.

  I jogged to where Erik leaned over the platform, arms extended to help me up. His fingers were slick and I worried he wouldn’t be able to get a firm grip. He hauled me easily over the edge, though.

  “That was close,” Erik sent.

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

  As we retraced our steps to the surface, my mind wandered to the conversation between Mac and Warden Arnouse. It didn’t make any sense. Admittedly, I didn’t know all that much about the Agency’s prisons or what type of research took place at Rittenhouse. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t actually know much about the Agency I worked for in general. I thought being a part of the McDonough family made me privy to the inner workings of Toxic and agency politics. Apparently, I was wrong. None of our dinner table conversations had centered on prisoners or using them for human guinea pigs. The thought made me shudder. What sort of research was the Agency conducting that they needed human test subjects?

  “When Mac said they were going to use the prisoner for research, what did he mean?” I asked Erik.

  “You probably don’t want to know,” Erik sent back, his grip on my hand tightening.

  That was what I was afraid of. But I did want to know. I hated how ignorant I was. For years, I had thought Toxic did great things for the Talented. Protected our rights. Gave us jobs. And even more importantly, they protected the entire country from threats. But at what cost?

  “Does the Agency use human test subjects a lot?” I asked as we started up the first escalator.

  Erik seemed conflicted, like he wasn’t sure how much he should say.

  “Does the Agency use human test subjects?” I repeated, growing angry at the thought that maybe I was the only one that didn’t know the dirty little secret.

  “I don’t know for sure, Tals. Some people think that they do. Some people think that the School and Toxic are just one big experiment. Let’s just say that it doesn’t surprise me that they are sending a prisoner to a research facility.”

  I didn’t like his answer. I wanted Erik to be as appalled as I was. The fact that he wasn’t sent Crane’s words flying through my mind. You have no idea what your Agency does to innocent people.

  “Conditions at the prisons, particularly Tramblewood, are not good. I’ve heard that some inmates go crazy after years without sunlight and proper nutrition. The Agency may be conducting a study on the long term effects of incarceration.”

  “Maybe,” I replied, noncommittally. I knew Erik meant to comfort me by suggesting a benign alternative to the nightmarish alternatives parading through my thoughts, and I might have bought it if I hadn’t been absorbing Mac’s feelings. Whatever research Mac had planned for TI-912 was serious, vital to the Agency even.

  By the time we made it back to the gate, the adrenaline rush that came with our near miss was gone, replaced by confusion and frustration. I would find out what Mac was up to. I just had to wait until his gua
rd was down. Then I could infiltrate his thoughts. In theory, it should be easy. In practice, I doubted it would be.

  Chapter Seven

  “Damn it, Kelley. I thought for sure you’d been caught,” Arden said by way of greeting the moment we stepped through the gate.

  “You underestimate me.” Erik’s tone was light, jovial even. His mental vibrations told a different story, a dark and disturbed one. Mac’s appearance in the metro had obviously unnerved him, whether he was willing to admit it or not.

  “Just get back to the hotel before you get me in trouble.” Arden made it sound like an order. He gestured in the direction of the Hamilton with his startlingly large gun.

  “You got it. Thanks again,” Erik replied giving the older boy a mock salute. Arden didn’t look amused in the least. I honestly couldn’t blame him. If we had been caught, Arden probably would have been in just as much trouble as us.

  “Thanks, Arden,” I muttered when I passed him. He managed a small, strained smile in response.

  Erik and I walked back in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Desmond and the other guards nodded to us when we entered the hotel. Erik pushed past without stopping to talk, dragging me behind him before I could thank them again for letting us out.

  At the door to my room, Erik kissed me softly on the cheek, running his hand absently through my curls.

  “Don’t you want to come in?” I asked, surprised when he turned to leave.

  “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head regretfully.

  “Why? I haven’t seen you in weeks,” I demanded. I blanched at the harshness in my voice. Softening my tone, I added, “Besides, I really need you right now.” I knew that I was being unfair. I wasn’t the only one showing the telltale signs of stress and exhaustion. Erik’s tired eyes stared down at me as he contemplated his next words carefully. Then embarrassment clouded his thoughts, and he averted his gaze.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “I kind of promised the Director I wouldn’t spend the night with you,” Erik mumbled, actually reddening slightly.

  “What?!? Why?” I couldn’t believe Mac had actually sought Erik out and made him promise not to sleep in my room. If I weren’t so angry, I would have been mortified.

  “The Director really didn’t want me here in the first place. Between the situation with my family and this,” Erik gestured from me to him, “he doesn’t think that I am an ideal choice for testing. Fortunately, Mimics are so rare that the Testmaster needed all the ones he could get. Even so, I practically had to beg the Director to give me the assignment. After a lot of groveling on my part, he agreed, obviously. But he made me promise that I would limit the amount of time we spent together outside of the actual testing. He was real specific about nighttime visits being strictly forbidden.” Erik cringed slightly, probably recalling the uncomfortable conversation he’d had with Mac.

  My agitation lessened slightly. I could tell how much it wounded Erik’s pride to beg Mac. And I was willing to bet that Mac enjoyed watching Erik cowed. Erik was proud to a fault and so confident, it verged on cocky. Mac didn’t value those traits. And Erik’s past would always be a black mark in Mac’s book.

  “And you agreed.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement on my part. Obviously, he’d agreed; he was here, after all. I felt a rush of warmth for Erik and a flush of anger for Mac. Dominance and control, that about summed up the Director.

  “Of course, I did,” replied Erik, looking both hurt and irritated. “I wanted to see you, spend time with you. I would have agreed to just about anything to spend a couple of hours with you, let alone the next three weeks. Besides, the Director said you haven’t been sleeping well, that you’re still having nightmares.”

  I shrugged. Truth be told, the nightmares were frequent, waking me several times on bad nights. When they first started, I’d confided in Dr. Wythe. That lapse in judgment was what had led to Dr. Thistler increasing the dosage of my medication. The nightmares stopped as a result, but the drugs made me listless, barely functional, a member of the walking dead. When Mac and Dr. Thistler finally agreed that my zombie-like existence couldn’t go on any longer, they reduced the levels and the nightmares returned. I swore up and down that I was fine and I thought Mac believed me. It surprised me to learn that he knew I was lying the entire time. Even more than that, I couldn’t believe he hadn’t confronted me.

  “I would sleep much better if you stayed with me.” I regretted the words the moment I said them. Not that they weren’t true; they were. But making Erik feel guilty wasn’t fair and I knew that. The guilt trip was made worse by the fact that, without meaning to, I had put a little extra emphasis on my words, unconsciously forcing my will on Erik – manipulating him. What was wrong with me?

  Indecision flickered in Erik’s eyes. Normally, he had a high tolerance to my Talent. Not tonight. I felt sick to my stomach. Here I was, looking down on Mac for forcing Erik to beg in order to spend time with me and I was using my manipulation to get him to defy Mac’s orders.

  “I haven’t been sleeping well,” I finally said. “Mac’s right. I do need rest or else I will never get better.” My smile felt thin and forced. The disappointment coursing through Erik nearly broke my heart. Erik genuinely believed it was his own idea to come sleep with me. My desire had become his, making my subsequent refusal to let him stay sting that much worse. I could count the times I’d been more disgusted with myself on one hand.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” I promised Erik, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him goodnight. Erik waited while I unlocked the door and entered my room. I felt his presence while I changed for bed. It wasn’t until I had the covers pulled snugly around my shoulders that only emptiness remained in the hallway.

  Nightmares didn’t keep me awake well into the night; guilt did.

  Mac knocked on my door while I was still brushing my teeth the following morning. His patience must’ve been thin because he didn’t do me the decency of waiting until I answered the door. Apparently, he had his own key. His cold, appraising eyes darted around the confines of the small space as though he were looking for something askew. Then I realized that it wasn’t something; it was someone – Erik.

  “He’s not here,” was what I wanted to say. But starting a fight with Mac before breakfast didn’t hold any appeal.

  “Good morning, Mac,” I called instead, my speech garbled by a mouth full of spearmint toothpaste.

  “You’re almost ready. Good,” Mac commented, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in his navy blazer. The only difference between the one he wore today and the one he wore every other day was the Toxic logo embroidered over the left side. Every Operative working with the Aptitude Council to administer the exams – Mac included – was required to wear Agency-issued clothing with the emblem of their home Division. Since I didn’t technically have a home Division anymore, my jackets also bore the Toxic seal, just like Mac’s.

  “I am,” I agreed, ducking back into the bathroom and spitting the foamy green liquid into the black porcelain sink.

  The sound of Mac tapping the toe of his expensive brown loafers against the plush carpeting set my teeth on edge.

  “I can meet you down there if I’m taking too long,” I offered, hoping he would accept. I wasn’t keen on being in such cramped quarters with the Director after witnessing his clandestine meeting the night before. The chasm that had developed between us made the room impossible to navigate.

  The urge to ask Mac about the prisoner on the train and the “research” he wanted to conduct was like a physical itch. I formulated a thousand questions in my mind, knowing full well I would never ask any of them. Admitting I was down in the tunnels was not something I was prepared to do. I’d find out the truth another way.

  “I am not in a hurry, Natalia. We have plenty of time before the first appointments,” Mac replied, glancing in the direction of the time, prominently displayed on the screen of my communicator.

  I nodded at my reflect
ion in the mirror over the bathroom sink. As per usual, my curls were unruly, hanging in tight coils down to the middle of my back. I’d applied a liberal amount of cream to hide the red blotches that dotted my cheeks. Purple crescents no longer marred the skin beneath my eyes; concealed beneath copious amounts of flesh toned makeup. I’d even gone one step further and brushed a light coating of bronze eye shadow across my lids and liberal amounts of black mascara to thicken the appearances of my lashes.

  When I exited the bathroom and donned my own black Agency-issued jacket over my black dress shirt and black dress pants, Mac nodded approvingly. “You look rested this morning,” he said with as kind a smile as I’d ever seen cross Mac’s hard features.

  “I slept well,” I lied easily. In fact, I hadn’t slept well at all, hence the need for the extreme beauty regimen. But I knew if my sleeping habits didn’t improve soon, Mac’s moratorium on Erik’s late night visits would be the least of my troubles.

  Reluctantly, Mac had agreed to let me stop seeing Dr. Wythe once I’d agreed that Penny’s images were false. Yet he wouldn’t hesitate to restart the sessions if he thought I was still dwelling on what happened with Penny in the courtroom.

  “Are you going to wear a color besides black the entire time we are here? If you are not careful, Natalia, people will begin to think you are in mourning,” he replied, sending his blonde eyebrows skyward and challenging me to contradict him.

  “I’m wearing color. See?” I pointed to the emerald green scarf threaded through the belt loops of my dress pants. I’d added the accessory for exactly this purpose. I knew Mac was going to comment on my colorless ensemble and so decided that preemptive measures were necessary.

  I held his gaze and let the snappy retort to his mourning comment die on my lips. Another surefire way to land back on Dr. Wythe’s leather chaise was admitting that I was grieving the death of a traitor. I had to be careful, though. If I appeared too agreeable, Mac would know something was off. My ornery attitude had become a staple of my personality since returning from Nevada and Mac expected a certain amount of antagonism from me. I couldn’t disappoint him. Every day, the tight rope I walked became harder to navigate and it was only a matter of time before I fell.