by Driza, Debra
“Hi,” I croaked.
“Hope you don’t mind me showing up unannounced. I just . . . I figured superspies still need friends, you know.”
A knife sliced through my chest like it was made of paper. I was so thankful that Hunter didn’t hate me and had driven all this way, but hearing that word—friends—was more devastating than I could have possibly imagined. He was drawing a line with me, because I’d crossed a line with him. I didn’t blame him for that, but god, acknowledging it was unbearable.
When I didn’t respond, Hunter’s posture stiffened. Cold air swirled between us as he took a step back.
“Was I wrong about that?” he asked.
Actually, he was. I didn’t really deserve him, as a friend or anything more. He probably knew it, too, but he was here anyway, sticking by me even though I’d hurt him.
Hunter being here was very wrong. But as this next step in my journey loomed in front of me, and I had virtually no understanding of where it might lead, I couldn’t help but take him up on his generous offer. As efficient as I was on my own, and despite my newfound resolve to avoid connecting with anyone, I had a feeling I’d need someone to lean on after meeting Jensen. Now that Three was gone and I was currently out of Holland’s reach, the odds were slim I’d ever hear from Lucas again.
There was no one else.
“No, you’re not,” I said.
Relief showered over me when I saw his half smile branch out into a full-blown grin. Then he rummaged around in his pocket and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. “I’ve also come to collect.”
I stared at the paper in wonder, recognition dawning as I read the motel’s name across the top of the page. The IOU I’d written him, back in Virginia Beach. I actually laugh-sobbed, unable to believe my eyes. “Wow, you must really like bad TV.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m addicted,” he said, with an uncomfortable snicker.
I did everything in my power not to read into that.
He gave his head a slight shake. “So, you’re a secret agent. No idea how that’s possible, but I’ve seen enough to know not to argue.”
A cloud of wariness began to form around me. With Hunter here, I’d need to go back to feigning more humanity than I possessed, hide the side of me that had helped me get this far. Not only that, I wasn’t sure how aware he was about the consequences of being my friend.
“Hunter, I should warn you—”
“Don’t,” he said, holding up his hands. “I know what I’m getting myself into. I just didn’t want to abandon you before you found your father. That is, if you’re really looking for your dad?”
Jensen’s face swam before me, triggering that emotional connection to my programmed past. Technically speaking, I was looking for a man who I’d once thought was my father. But that distinction would make no sense to Hunter, so I decided to keep it simple.
“In a way, yes. His name is actually Steven Jensen.”
Hunter crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Okay.”
I glanced back at the house, at the SUV in the driveway. “Before we talk to him, we need to make sure it’s safe. So I’ll want to wait until he leaves and then check out the house for weapons.”
He looked at the house again before shrugging. “Just tell me how to help.”
Startled, I shook my head. “Maybe you should wait in the car, and then I’ll let you know when it’s clear. Speaking of cars, we should both get inside yours for now, instead of standing out here on the asphalt.”
Street scan: Activated.
No human threat detected.
With my vision heightened, I zoomed in on the windows of the surrounding houses. All clear. No signs of life outside, not yet.
Hunter’s car would make do for cover, at least until people were on the move.
Hunter’s lips flattened, and his hands shoved into his pockets. “You don’t—”
I gestured at his Jeep. “Wait until we’re inside,” I whispered, then started for the passenger door at a brisk walk.
Once the doors closed, I turned to him, steeling myself for another fight.
Sure enough, Hunter’s fingers beat a sharp rhythm on the dashboard. “You don’t really think I’m going to sit in the car while you search the house on your own, do you?”
“Yes, I do. Hunter, I’m specially trained for this”—not that I remembered undergoing any of that training, but still—“and you’re not. I promise, I’ll signal you as soon as I’ve cleared the perimeter.”
“No way. I’m not waiting in here for you while god-knows-what could happen inside that house,” he said, nodding toward Jensen’s front door. “You told me that your mom is dead, Mila—dead! How do you think I’d feel if something terrible happened to you and here I was, twiddling my thumbs in the car?”
I could see from the slight red flush crawling up his neck that he was really getting agitated, and honestly, it seemed like the reaction of someone who had feelings that ran much deeper than friendship.
“Look, Mila, you owe me this,” he started, in a much calmer voice. “You have to let me in, so we can . . . you just have to trust me.”
“Okay,” I said, wanting so much to make everything up to him. “You can come. But just know people die around me.”
At that, I pressed a balled fist to my mouth. Too late to take back the words. Hunter leaned forward and gently reached over to squeeze my hand.
“I’m not going to die,” he whispered.
And even though I knew it was a stupid, completely meaningless gesture, the human part of me couldn’t help but ask, “Promise?”
“Promise,” he agreed. And somehow, someway, that made me feel better.
“So, now that we’ve got that covered . . . now what?”
I looked back at the silent house—still no sign of life from within. “Now? We wait.”
As we waited for morning to lead Jensen away from the house, we curled up on our sides, facing each other, our hands lightly grazing.
Just friends, I reminded myself sternly. But my android heart refused to believe.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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THIRTEEN
A couple of hours and false alarms later, I saw the glowing red warning.
Motion detected.
I sat up and sure enough, a figure emerged from the house, carrying a box. He wore a bulky black jacket, a black ski cap, and heavy boots. I shifted down in my seat, so I could watch without being seen.
A man. Based on the clothing, it was a man.
Excitement surged like a sudden wind, but it was tempered by the weight of anxiety. Was this Jensen? The man from my memories? Seeing him, in the now . . . my brain bucked at the idea, confounded by its own version of the truth. I craned my neck, but his features were hidden behind the box. He headed straight for the driver’s side of his SUV. As he turned and opened the door, I sighted the back of his head. Dark brown hair, thick with a slight wave. Tall, and well built without being too bulky. Fair-skinned.
My mind retrieved an image, and I leaned up against the glass, my breath forming a white cloud.
It could be him.
He leaned across the driver’s seat to shove the box into the passenger side, then hopped in. I caught a glimpse of sunglasses, but with the way his collar was turned up against the cold, not much more of his face. The cloud on the window grew, in time with my shallow breathing.
Height: 6.05 ft.
Approximate weight range: 205–217 lbs.
Distinguishing features: 2.75-in. scar on right hand, extending from 3rd metacarpal head toward carpal joint.
I leaned back. Scar? I didn’t remember a scar.
The SUV grumbled to life and within moments started reversing down the first stretch of driveway. I waited for it to turn at the bend and face forward, but no—he angled the car expertly and continued to reverse his way down the second long stretch.
“Is that him? Are we going in soon?”
“Shhh,” I whispered, but despite the nerves fluttering to life in my stomach, I couldn’t help but smile a little at Hunter’s enthusiasm. When the SUV’s rear tires hit the street, I waited with growing anticipation to see which way it would turn. If it came our way, I’d get a look at the driver, but then again, he might get a look at us.
“Get ready to duck,” I murmured to Hunter.
So it was a mix of disappointment and relief that swept me when the man turned in the opposite direction. A few seconds later, the SUV disappeared as it made a right turn onto another street.
“It’s time. Quietly,” I said, before easing my door open.
Hunter was a quick study. He mimicked my actions, making a minimum of noise. Maybe this would work out to my benefit, after all. Checking out the house would go much faster with two of us.
The street remained quiet, so we started a leisurely walk across. I hadn’t seen anyone, but this way if they came upon us, they’d assume we were out for some exercise. On the other hand, if we ran at Jensen’s house like linebackers . . . yeah, that’d be a little more challenging to explain.
“We need to act casual; we don’t want to stick out around here,” I advised.
“Got it,” he said.
He fell into step beside me very naturally.
Like we were good friends.
As we drew closer to the house, I continued to scan the neighboring houses, especially the one right across the street, since it had an excellent view of the front door and garage. We reached the driveway and, without faltering, I steered us onto it.
Hunter leaned over and whispered into my ear. “Shouldn’t we be ducking behind those bushes?” he said, motioning to a green plant with rows of bulbous leaves framing the yard between the drive and the house.
I gave a tiny shake of my head. “Too suspicious. This way, if anyone stops us, we say we’re looking for a lost cat or something. Actually we better come up with a description too, just in case. What about a two-year-old Siamese named Lucy? She could be adopted from the local ASPCA or something.”
He blinked a few times before saying softly under his breath, “You’re really good at that.”
“What?”
“Making people believe everything you say.”
I swallowed hard, wishing that circumstances didn’t force me to be good at this kind of thing. Knowing that the truth of who I was wouldn’t sound the least bit believable to him.
“Come on, let’s keep moving,” I replied.
Two more steps. Then four. Suddenly, we were on the bend in the driveway, and turning. This was going to be easier than I’d expected. No one was out, and nothing stirred—
The high-pitched, rapid barks jerked us both to a stop. And then the sound of a heavy body slamming the fence to our right. At the top, a pair of pointed ears jackknifed over the posts, followed by a pair of dark brown eyes.
A dog. A Doberman.
I recoiled. Dogs—what was it about me and dogs? Please, please tell me this wasn’t going to be a repeat of the Toronto airport, when dogs had chased down Mom and me? As that thought raced through my head, I realized Hunter was walking toward the fence.
“Hunter, get back here!” I hissed, throwing a hasty look over my shoulder. Still quiet across the street, but that wasn’t enough to make me feel safe. Surely the neighbors to our right would be awake now, and if not them, then at least the dog’s owners?
“Hey buddy, it’s okay. You’re a good boy, right? Here’s a treat. Cookie?” Hunter said, using an odd, singsongy voice.
This was nutty. We needed to get out—
But then I heard it. Silence. As Hunter withdrew something from his pocket—was that . . . jerky?—the dog pogoed upward again, his shining eyes glued to Hunter’s treat-laden hand.
“You want this? You have to be a good boy. Quiet, okay? No barking.”
Then, Hunter reached the fence. The next time the dog sprung up, Hunter extended the jerky and, POOF! The dog snatched it and both the jerky and dog disappeared like magic.
“Is that really going to work?” I asked, stunned.
Hunter turned away and shrugged. “We’ll see. Just don’t make any sudden moves or eye contact, okay? But I think he was just barking for attention. He wasn’t growling, and the fur on his ruff wasn’t standing up. And did you hear his barks? Don’t think he meant business—a serious guard dog probably would have been too suspicious to take the food.”
All I’d ever wanted to know about dogs, and more. “What, did you used to train dogs or something?”
He shook his head. “Nope. But my mom watched a lot of Cesar Milan.” He gave me a sideways look and at my blank stare, continued. “You know—the Dog Whisperer?”
“The Dog Whisperer,” I repeated. “You approached a huge, barking dog on the basis of some guy who calls himself the Dog Whisperer?”
Hunter elbowed me in the ribs and I grinned, but it faded when I looked at the house. We still had to get in without being seen—and since we had no idea where Jensen had gone, we could have hours or only minutes to accomplish our task.
“I’m going to check out that back door and see if it’s unlocked—you take the front?” he said, pointing to a door on the nonstreet side of the house that appeared to lead into a room beyond the garage.
“Okay.”
Quietly, I walked along the front of the garage, to where the driveway turned into a brick walkway that led to the front door.
Alarm system detected.
Hurriedly, I took in the surroundings—yellow, pink, and white flowering plants filled a brick-lined planter to my left, and to my right, a pine tree in a cedar-chip enclosure towered overhead. A tiny white sign poking out of the grass.
THIS HOUSE PROTECTED BY EMV ALARMS.
Crap.
I looked up at the moldings around the door, then the windows, and the gleam of wires said it all. The house was rigged with an alarm system. When Jensen had left, had he activated it?
Alarm system armed—override?
“Hunter,” I breathed, backing away from the door and turning to run. “Hunter,” I tried again, a little louder this time. But before I could hit a sprint, I heard it. A noise where there’d been silence before.
A steady, pulsing beep. Which meant . . .
“Door’s locked.” Hunter’s voice floated around the corner.
I whirled back to the front door, horror-struck. Which meant—Hunter had tried the door, and while it hadn’t unlocked, the motion had done something far more disturbing.
He’d triggered the alarm.
While the beep continued its monotonous countdown, I shook off the shock and went to work. Around the corner, I heard the steady clap-clap of Hunter’s sneakers on asphalt. I opened my mind, searching for a signal from the alarm I knew resided just on the other side of that door. Completely conscious that we were running out of time with every single beep.
Beep. Beep.
Beep.
Maybe I should have panicked. Instead, my senses thrilled to the challenge. I had this. I’d been made for it.
I heard Hunter hesitate while at the same time I felt the click of a connection. The spark of awareness when my mind interlocked with the humming machine just inside the house. So simple—as smooth as the gentle slick of a currycomb over Maisey’s haunches back at the stables in Clearwater—and yet forceful. A heady rush that only came from bending power to my will.
Request permissions.
Permissions granted, the alarm responded.
I strode toward the door, even as the alarm continued to beep. The sinewy tendril of code was within my grasp. All I had to do was trace the tendril back to deactivate the alarm.
I toyed with the code as I approached the door. So simple, it was barely even fun. If I timed it just right . . .
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The alarm beeped, while the countdown played in my head.
Three seconds.
&nb
sp; I was two steps away from the door.
Two seconds.
One step.
One second.
I reached for the door handle, at the same time I sent the final command.
Alarm: Deactivate.
At first I didn’t feel the other computer acquiesce, and my confidence slipped. Had I waited a moment too long?
But then I realized the beeping had stopped.
The response slid into my mind:
Alarm: Deactivated. Reactivate now?
Cake. Just like I’d thought.
A heady power soared through me, and I turned the knob, reveling as the lock yielded beneath my hand.
Hunter reemerged around the corner.
“I picked the lock.” That was one way to put it.
“One of your agent skills, huh?” he said, skepticism lacing his voice.
I looked over my shoulder and saw him take in the alarm sign. But there was no time to reassure him or offer any explanations.
“I watched a news report once, and less than half of the people who have alarm signs actually have activated alarms,” I said, opening the door and walking into a faux-wood entryway, stifling a laugh. Oh, Jensen was definitely in the half who paid for guard services.
I gestured at Hunter to hurry, and inspected our surroundings as he rushed inside and closed the door behind us. The house was large—we’d entered into a central landing. Straight ahead was a kitchen, with a living area to our right. Branching out from the kitchen to the left was a set of stairs leading into some kind of basement, and another set of stairs led left and up from the foyer to what I assumed were bedrooms.
Minimal furniture, few decorations. Almost zero knickknacks. The house didn’t look especially lived-in.
I walked into the kitchen, where a long counter made an L around stainless steel appliances. A simple black-and-white Mr. Coffee coffeemaker, a shiny toaster. Takeout menus to Gino’s Pizza, The Greek Café, and Mr. Chung Chinese Food, neatly stacked near the sink.
One lone photo, on the refrigerator.
Oh my god . . .
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HarperCollins Publishers
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