by Jenna Black
Nate stood still as his father looked him up and down with a frown of concentration, examining him for flaws. Nathaniel Sr. was a pro at finding flaws. He frowned at the open collar of Nate’s shirt, but he could hardly have been surprised that Nate had forgone the tie.
“It never ceases to amaze me,” Nate’s father said finally as he gestured for Nate to take a seat. “Such a perfect likeness.” If he felt any grief over the real Nate’s death, he was doing a great job of hiding it. But Nate had never really mattered to his father as a person, merely as an heir. And thanks to Replica technology, that heir still existed even though the person was dead. Not that Nate was bitter about their relationship or anything.
As far as Nate knew, he was only the third human Replica ever to be created. The technology was only about ten years old, and the astronomical fee Paxco charged for storing backups and creating Replicas assured that only the wealthiest of the wealthy were able to afford the privilege. Not to mention the considerable number of governments, moralists, and religious groups that considered Replicas an abomination, the ultimate example of playing God.
“What happened to me?” Nate asked, remaining on his feet just because his father had gestured for him to sit.
His father gave him a disapproving look as he sat at the head of the table, adjusting his chair so it was just right. Another little power play, letting Nate know he wasn’t getting answers until he sat down as ordered.
Grinding his teeth to keep from saying anything that would annoy his father and cause further delays, Nate pulled back a chair and sat, clasping his hands in front of him on the table like an obedient schoolchild.
“What happened to me?” he asked again, meeting his father’s cold gray eyes. He suppressed a shudder as he realized nothing had happened to him: it had happened to the real Nate Hayes. But damn, he felt like the real Nate Hayes.
“You were murdered,” the Chairman said, no trace of emotion in his voice.
“Murdered,” Nate murmured, hoping he sounded surprised despite Gregson’s tip-off. He shook his head. “Murdered.” The word tasted sour in his mouth. How could someone possibly have murdered him? Nate knew he had a gift for rubbing people the wrong way—it was a gift he cultivated with great care—but he couldn’t imagine ever annoying someone so much that they would kill him for it. And it wasn’t like killing him accomplished anything, when he was sure to be brought back as a Replica. It seemed a hell of a lot to risk for very little reward.
Mosely, standing behind the Chairman’s shoulder, took over explaining. “You were last seen last night, leaving the reception with Nadia Lake. She returned to the reception alone. Presumably, you argued.”
Nate had to think a moment to figure out what reception Mosely was talking about. Then he remembered today’s date and realized the big state wedding must have been the day before.
The implications of Mosely’s words sank in, and Nate’s eyes widened. “You don’t think…” Nadia wouldn’t hurt a fly, no matter how badly they’d argued. He shook his head. “There’s no way I was murdered by a sixteen-year-old girl,” he said, almost laughing at the absurdity of it.
Mosely shrugged. “She isn’t a suspect, though of course she is being questioned. You were found stabbed to death in a hall closet at the mansion just after midnight. There were no witnesses to the murder itself, but three people confirm seeing a man who matches the description of Kurt Bishop fleeing the hallway in an agitated state with blood on his hands. They didn’t stop him at the time because he was holding his nose, and they thought he had a nosebleed. Only after the body was found did they realize they let a killer escape. His current whereabouts are unknown.”
A chill ran down Nate’s spine, and his pulse kicked up. “There is no way in hell Kurt killed me,” he said as calmly as possible, but warning bells were clanging away in his head. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kurt would never hurt him. But Kurt made the perfect scapegoat, born and raised in the Basement and refusing to shed the trappings once Nate made him an Employee. How easy it would be for everyone to believe that Nate had been taken in by a predator, to believe that Kurt had bitten the hand that fed him like the disreputable Basement-dweller he was.
It wasn’t until he noticed the look that passed between his father and Mosely that Nate realized he’d just made the mistake Nadia had always warned him he’d make: he’d used Kurt’s first name in public. An Executive did not address or refer to a servant by first name. Then again, Nate had never met a social convention he didn’t want to break, so perhaps they would think he was just being his usual self.
“You don’t know that,” Mosely said. “You’re missing almost two weeks of memory. Maybe something happened during those weeks, something that put you and your valet at odds. I know you fancied him something of a friend.” There was no missing the sneer in Mosely’s voice, and for a moment Nate feared Mosely knew exactly what was going on between him and Kurt. But no. If Mosely knew, then Nate’s father knew, and if Nate’s father knew, Nate would be in reprogramming right now.
“Bishop did not kill me,” Nate repeated.
“Then where is he?” Mosely asked. “Why did he go missing on the very night you were murdered?”
“Because he knew he’d be the prime suspect,” Nate countered, fighting to keep his temper in check. “And he knew there was no way he’d get a fair trial.”
“And he was seen fleeing the scene with blood on his hands because…?”
“Because those ‘witnesses’ were lying. Or because he touched the body, trying to help me.”
“You have an explanation for everything, don’t you,” Mosely said. “So tell me: if Mr. Bishop isn’t the murderer, then who is?”
“How the hell should I know? Figuring it out is your job, last I heard.”
“Give me a suspect. Someone who had access to the residence and who had a reason to kill you even knowing there’d be a Replica.”
Nate wished he could snap back a quick answer, but he had to admit he was stumped. If he really stretched, he could think of people who might want to get rid of him, but none of them would even consider trying it when they knew he’d be almost instantly replaced by a Replica. Cold logic suggested Kurt killing him in a moment of passion was the most reasonable explanation. But cold logic was wrong.
“Enough, Nathaniel,” his father said. “If you wish to believe in Bishop’s innocence, feel free. But the evidence says otherwise. He murdered you. Stabbed you to death and then left you in a pool of your own blood. For that, he will die.”
There was no give in the Chairman’s voice—not that there ever was—and Nate knew his father’s mind was closed and sealed up tight. His father had disapproved of Kurt from the beginning, considering him unworthy of being a valet for any Executive, much less the Chairman Heir. If he saw a way to dispose of Kurt, he’d jump at it, whether Kurt was the killer or not.
Guilt niggled at Nate’s conscience. Kurt’s life in the Basement had been predictably ugly, but he was a natural-born survivor. He’d carved out a place for himself, and he’d been secure in it, no matter how unappealing it might seem to an Employee or an Executive. Nate had told himself he was doing Kurt a favor, rescuing him from that life. He’d been confident he could protect him, as long as they were careful. Had he been fooling himself all along?
“I’m telling you, you’ve got it wrong,” Nate said, wishing the third time could be the charm. “Bishop didn’t do it, and if you decide in advance that he did, you’ll never get the real killer.”
Nathaniel Sr. pushed back his chair, shaking his head. “I’m glad to see my son’s Replica is as naive and foolish as my son himself was.”
The paternal affection was overwhelming. Nate glared at his father’s retreating back. “I’m not as naive as you think,” he said. If his father truly knew him, he’d know just how far from the truth he was. Thanks to Kurt and repeated clandestine visits to the Basement—or Debasement, as its residents called it—Nate knew more about the ugly side of l
ife than his father ever would. And someday, when the Chairmanship of Paxco passed to him, Nate was going to do something about it.
The Chairman didn’t even bother to acknowledge Nate’s words as he jerked open the conference room door and stepped out. Mosely stopped to give Nate a quick, sly smile over his shoulder before leaving. Nate refused to let the bastard see how much that smile chilled him.
He had to find Kurt before Mosely’s security team did.
* * *
No one had openly accused Nadia of having murdered Nate or of being an accomplice to his murder. From the moment the security team had come to her apartment and asked her to come to the station for questioning, they’d been unfailingly polite. She certainly couldn’t blame them for wanting to talk to her when she was apparently the last person to see Nate alive. But being questioned three times by three different officers made her feel very much like a suspect all the same.
She couldn’t be sure exactly how long she’d been at the station, except that it was a long time. There was no clock on the interview room wall, she wasn’t wearing a watch, and they’d confiscated her phone. They’d brought her lunch, and the door wasn’t locked, but she was under no illusion that she would be allowed to walk out.
Where were her parents? When the security officers had come to the house, her father had been at work, despite it being Sunday, but her mother had hugged her—an unusually affectionate gesture—and sworn they’d have her home in no time. But the moment they’d set foot in the station, Nadia and her mother had been separated, and she’d been alone ever since. Her understanding of proper legal procedure was slim, but Nadia thought that as a minor, she would have been allowed to have at least one parent with her at all times. The enforced isolation seemed like a very bad sign, and her imagination filled with images of dank prison cells and iron chains. Which was ridiculous, of course, but also no doubt what the security team wanted her thinking about.
Her cold had worsened overnight, her throat painfully raw and her sinuses so stuffy her head felt like it would explode. She wanted desperately to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. Her requests for cold medicine were ignored, though one of the nicer officers had brought her a box of tissues and a trash can.
The lights in the room dimmed sometime in what Nadia guessed was the late afternoon, and her heart fluttered. Creating a Replica took so much power it could cause a citywide blackout if not managed properly. She hoped the dimming lights meant Nate’s Replica was being created.
Tears stung her eyes as the stark, awful reality slapped her in the face yet again. Nate was dead. Sure, there would be a Replica, and it would be just like him. But it wouldn’t be Nate. Not the Nate she’d known all her life. Not the Nate who was her best friend, who was the only person in the world who didn’t care about her social standing or her political value. Worse, the last conversation she’d had with him had been a bitter argument. She’d been so angry with him last night.… And now he was gone.
How could anyone believe she had anything to do with Nate’s death? Couldn’t they see she was heartbroken?
She couldn’t possibly fall asleep, not sitting in this cold, stark interview room, and not with her constant need to grab for the tissue box, but she did drowse a bit, her mind wandering. Unfortunately, it didn’t wander anywhere she wanted to go. This extended stay at the security station and the veiled suspicion that she might have had something to do with Nate’s death would cast a pall on her and on her family, no matter how unfair. Her parents were going to be furious with her for wandering off with Nate last night and giving the authorities reason to detain her. Perhaps that was why they weren’t working harder to get her freed, or at least get her an attorney. When she’d asked for one herself, she’d been told an attorney wasn’t necessary because she wasn’t under arrest.
Nadia jumped when the door to the interview room squealed open. She wondered if the squeaky hinges were part of an insidious torture technique designed to drive detainees mad. If so, it was working.
Her heart gave a nasty thud when she saw who had entered the room: Dirk Mosely.
Nadia had had little contact with Paxco’s chief of security, but she’d heard the rumors, and they weren’t pretty. A middle-aged man of average height, with a bald spot and just a hint of a paunch, Mosely didn’t look particularly dangerous. If anything, he looked like a mild-mannered accountant, the kind of person who went through life barely being noticed by those around him. But if Nadia were to believe even half of the whispered stories, he was a monster, one barely controlled by the tight leash the Chairman kept on him.
Nadia’s nose started to run; she grabbed for the tissue box, using that moment of distraction to pull herself together. She was the daughter of Gerald Lake, one of Paxco’s most powerful Executives. Mosely wouldn’t dare do anything to harm her. Not unless she were guilty of a crime, which she wasn’t.
“I hear you’ve been under the weather,” Mosely said as he pulled out a chair and sat at the table across from her.
Nadia blew her nose and tossed the tissue into the trash can, which was already halfway full. She figured that was answer enough to his inane observation. She pulled another tissue out, knowing she’d need it sooner or later.
“I’m sorry for the … inconvenience,” Mosely said, sounding not the least bit sorry. “However, you were the last person to see Nathaniel alive, and you could hold the key to us capturing his killer.”
She shook her head, deathly tired of all this. “I’ve been over this at least three times,” she said. “Yes, I went off alone with Nate, and yes, we argued.”
“About what?”
Nadia was certain Mosely had already read the transcripts of her last three interviews and knew the answer she’d given. She was also certain he’d insist she answer again. “He wanted to take more liberties than I would allow.” Which was sort of true, if you thought about it, though not in the way Mosely and his officers would take it.
“Surely you knew he planned to take liberties when you left the party with him.”
“Yes, I knew.” As had everyone else who’d noticed the two of them leaving the room. “I just didn’t know exactly what liberties.”
“So what liberties did our Chairman Heir have in mind?”
Nadia felt a chill of alarm. No one else had asked her that, having made natural assumptions of what Nate was after. She had the immediate suspicion that Mosely already knew more than he should, that he might be testing her honesty. He was said to be uncanny in his ability to tell when people were lying, which meant she had to stick as close to the truth as possible.
“I don’t see that that’s any of your business,” she said. “It’s personal.”
“The Chairman Heir was murdered,” Mosely said, staring at her intently as if he thought she would burst out with a confession at any moment. “Everything about last night is my business.”
“I’m not answering any more questions without a lawyer present.”
Mosely smiled, but there was a hard—and strangely self-satisfied—glint in his eye. “Very well,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing up. “It should take about a week for legal counsel to be arranged and all the paperwork properly filed. I will have you transferred to the Riker’s Island Detention Center while the arrangements are being made.”
Nadia hugged herself, shivering. “You can’t do that,” she said, though not with any certainty. “My father is—”
“A citizen of Paxco, subject to the same laws as every other citizen of Paxco. As are you.”
In theory, perhaps, but everyone knew how unequally the laws were applied. Still, if they thought she’d had something to do with Nate’s murder, then her family connections couldn’t protect her. Nadia’s pulse was racing, and dread was a cold lump in her stomach. She didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to spend a full day—much less a full week—at Riker’s Island. And never mind the kind of taint being sent there would cast on her and her family. You didn’t have to be guilty of any
thing to be socially ruined.
“Fine,” she said, her stuffy head aching. She blew her nose for the millionth time. “I’ll answer your questions.”
Mosely smiled at her. “I knew you could be reasonable. Now, tell me exactly what happened between you and Nathaniel last night.”
Nadia took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts before she spoke, planning her words to avoid any outright lies. “Nate wanted to have sex,” she said, her cheeks heating with a blush as she stared at her hands. A true statement, even if it wasn’t her he’d wanted to have sex with. “I turned him down. I knew when he asked me to leave the party that he meant to, um, take liberties. I just didn’t know he was going to try to take things that far.”
“What happened after that?”
“Nate threatened to do something scandalous if I didn’t give in. I wouldn’t let him manipulate me, so I left.”
“Something scandalous? Be more specific.”
“He threatened to do it with or without me.” Her cheeks burned even more as she let Mosely draw the natural conclusion that Nate had threatened to go find another woman.
Mosely raised an eyebrow. “And you called his bluff?”
Nadia nodded. If she hadn’t called Nate’s bluff, if she hadn’t left him and Bishop to their own devices, would they both be alive and safe right now? Was whatever had happened to them her fault?
“You are a remarkable young woman,” Mosely said with an oily smile. “You would rather your presumed husband-to-be sleep with another than give up your own virtue? Such admirable strength of character.”
Nadia wanted to throw her snot-covered tissue right in Mosely’s smug face, but she was in quite enough trouble already. “I didn’t think he would actually do it.”
