Catalyst

by Kristin Smith

  “I’m here for the same reason you are. To escape.” His smile adds mirth to his words, but his dark eyes remain serious.

  I don’t want to ask. I shouldn’t care to know. But I do. “From what?”

  He ignores the question. “You were at the Extravaganza?” It sounds more like a statement than a question.

  I nod.

  “I know. I saw you.”

  “So?” Defensiveness prickles through me.

  “So you know what happened.” He runs his fingers through his wet hair. “Kind of a wake-up call, you know?”

  Again, I wonder—Where is Arian?

  My mouth finds a way to give a voice to my thoughts.

  He shrugs in response. “After I made sure everyone was okay, I left.”

  “You didn’t get on the hovercraft?”

  He shakes his head. “I had to get away. I needed time… to think.”

  My mouth drops open a little. “They let you leave? By yourself?” Doesn’t he realize his father isn’t the only one with a target on his back?

  His smile shows a row of perfect white teeth. Then again, I don’t know why I expect any less. He is, after all, a super human. A perfect specimen.

  But I don’t see anything perfect about him. His nose is too straight. His smile too white. His shoulders too broad. His waist too trim. Nope. Nothing perfect about him at all.

  I shake my head in disgust. Why is he still here talking to me?

  I turn to leave, calling over my shoulder, “Good luck staying alive.”

  “Wait. I didn’t get your name.” He follows me to my bike.

  “That’s because I didn’t give it,” I retort.

  He grins. “I think I deserve to at least know your name, considering I’ve saved you twice now.”

  “I already told you—”

  He laughs, a deep sound that bounces off the rocks around us. “I know. You didn’t need saving. But that’s not how it looked to me. When I see a girl jump off a cliff and not surface, what am I supposed to think?”

  He has a point. But I won’t admit it to him.

  Climbing on my bike, I rev the engine. I think I see a flash of disappointment in his eyes.

  As I pull away from the lake, I call over my shoulder.

  “It’s Sienna.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  I didn’t even think about the complication Zane causes. Tonight, I’m supposed to sneak into the celebratory ball at Zane’s house and poison his father. Now that Zane “knows” me, things have become infinitely harder.

  When I open the package left on our doorstep, I find a black cocktail dress inside. I swallow my disgust. Can’t have the poor girl looking like trailer-park trash in a multimillion-dollar mansion.

  When I try on the dress, it only reaches mid-thigh. I want to curse the thick-necked man. Is this his idea of a joke?

  I park several blocks from the palatial home. I figure it’s best if I don’t pull up to the house in my mother’s beat-up Asher, its fender-wing dangling precariously by a few strips of metal. Everyone else uses the valet that waits in front of the fifteen-thousand square foot home.

  I tug the dress further over my rear and try not to gape as I walk up the driveway toward the white chateau-style home. Large, arched windows and a grand balcony on the second story decorate the front. An oversized stone courtyard shows off an exquisite fountain I could practically swim in, and pencil-like spruce trees outline the property. I’ve never seen a house so imposing, and the very thought of going inside sends a buzz of nervous energy shooting through me.

  The mahogany door swings open before I even have a chance to knock. My heart pounds, and I try to swallow the fear in my throat. I flash my fake invitation at the man I assume must be the Ryder’s butler, and he offers me a warm smile and invites me in.

  My gaze moves around the foyer. If entering the Ryder’s home was under different circumstances, I might enjoy seeing the inside of such a beautiful estate. The curved double staircases, giant crystal chandeliers, and overflowing vases of fresh bouquets make me realize how far out of my league I am. Never in my life have I been around so many nice things or so many people with money.

  Focus, Sienna. You have a job to do.

  I follow several other people as they enter what must be the grand ballroom. Hundreds of wealthy Citizens mingle, eating hors d’oeuvres and socializing. Diamond-studded hands wave to friends, while the jewelry embellishing the arms, necks, and ears of the young GM women makes the room sparkle.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my swiftly beating heart. I don’t belong here, and I know it. It’s only a matter of time before they know it, too.

  My eyes scan the room. I’m hoping I can avoid Zane. Tonight will be tricky enough without his questioning brown eyes. And the last thing I need is for him to ruin my only chance of getting close to Harlow Ryder.

  I try not to think about what I’m going to do. It’s just an assignment. A horrible, atrocious, unforgivable one, but it is still just an assignment. And it’s one that will deliver swift justice and reunite me with my mother.

  A tray filled with glasses of champagne moves past, and I grab one, hoping the alcohol will calm my nerves. After chugging the golden liquid, I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I search the crowd, trying to locate Mr. Ryder, but as I turn, I spot Zane instead. From across the room, he stares at me with the same amused expression I saw earlier today.

  Biting my lip in frustration, I duck into a crowd of people, trying to hide from his gaze. I still don’t see Mr. Ryder. He’s probably in a room smoking cigars with a bunch of wealthy, old men.

  I scoot to the wall and watch the GM girls in their fancy apparel—gaudy blue sequins, diamond-studded bodices, and red taffeta skirts. They talk in groups, sway to the music, and chat with their handsome GM matches, while their parents monitor their interactions from across the room. From what I understand about GMs, the amount of time they spend with their future match is minimal. Seems as if Zane and Arian are the exception; I don’t think they’d ever even met until today.

  A cascade of illustrious, golden hair mocks me from across the room. Rayne turns around, smiling wide, her gown barely covering all of her important parts. I try not to gape at her exposed belly and the slit in her dress. It comes up so high it shows off the entire length of one long, perfectly sculpted leg. I only hope she’s wearing panties underneath.

  This is a different lifestyle. A completely different way of thinking. These people have had things handed to them on a silver platter, while my family lives day to day. If I don’t work, we don’t eat. If I don’t bring home money, we have no place to live. And if I don’t kill Harlow, I’ll never see my mother again.

  Hot tears sting the back of my eyes when I think of my mom lying on a hard, cold surface somewhere, alone and scared. This is my fault. This is all my fault. If I had never taken the assignment to steal the computer chip, none of this would have happened. Because of my stupidity, I’ve placed all that I have left in this world in danger. And I don’t know how to make it right other than by killing Harlow Ryder.

  I hurry over to the veranda and step outside. Thankfully, it’s empty except for some large potted plants and a few wrought-iron tables.

  The tears I’m holding in fall on the white balustrade as my mind churns with unanswered questions. How did I get mixed up in all of this? What did my father know that made him a threat to Harlow Ryder? How could he leave us in such a position?

  The door opens behind me, and I quickly wipe the tears away.

  A melodic voice speaks. “Sienna? Are you okay?”

  I regret telling him my name. Why did I use my real name?

  Be charming, Sienna. That’s how women at these parties act. Charming.

  I turn slowly and find Zane staring at me. He looks every bit the part of the Chromo 120 poster child in his expensive black tuxedo.

  “I’m fine,” I say, but my voice comes out tighter than I would have liked
.

  He eyes me as if trying to determine the truth. “You sure? Is there something I can do?”

  Sure—kill your father for me?

  I force a smile. “I’m fine, really. I’ve just had a lot on my mind lately.”

  Zane’s smile is rueful. “I know the feeling.” He stares at me, his gaze bringing heat to my cheeks. He finally speaks again. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

  “I… I’m a freelance reporter,” I say, using my preconceived cover. “And this is the biggest celebration Pacifica has seen in quite some time. Naturally, this is the place to be.”

  His brows lower. “You’re a reporter?”

  My heart pounds. He’s suspicious. Please don’t let him call my bluff.

  “That’s right.”

  “Were you on assignment at the Extravaganza today?”

  I nod slowly. “Yes, I was.”

  Zane grimaces. “I bet you got a good story.”

  “Sadly, yes. People will always tune into three things: murder, political conspiracy, or betrayal.” I shrug. “It’s the nature of the beast. But I was hoping you might have time to chat tonight? Maybe answer a few questions?”

  “Of course, I’d be happy to.” He motions to a small bistro table with two metal chairs. “Shall we?”

  A breeze blows across the veranda, carrying with it the scent of jasmine. The moon hangs low in the night sky as if it’s trying to listen in on our conversation. I take the offered seat and pull out a transcriber from my purse, relieved I thought to put it in there earlier. Gliding my finger over the record/transcribe button, I look up at Zane. “Ready?”

  “Will you take it easy on me?” He grins.

  I want to roll my eyes, but instead, I force a chuckle. “I can’t make any promises.”

  He winks at me, and I want to curse my heart when it starts to beat erratically.

  “Well, then, fire away.”

  “What happened at the Extravaganza today?”

  Zane shrugs. “Some crazy Fringe member tried to kill me. End of story.”

  “Do you have any idea why someone would want you dead?” Or your father? I hold my breath and wait for his answer.

  Irritation flashes across his face. “You heard them. I’m an abomination. Abominations need to be destroyed.”

  “Have the Fringe always been violent toward your family and your company?”

  “No, not until recently. There’s growing agitation about Chromo 120 and government interference.”

  “Government interference?”

  Zane glances at the transcriber before speaking. “Can we take this off the record?”

  I switch the transcriber off and lean forward. When he speaks, Zane sounds tired and looks much older than his twenty-something years.

  “A division of the government called AIG—Agency for Intelligence & Genetics—is very interested in our company. They’ve been approaching my father for years, wanting to buy the company from him, but just recently—” He pauses and glances behind him. Leaning in, he speaks softer. “Recently, someone broke into our Legas facility and stole an important computer chip. This chip houses all the codes, all the information we use to run the company. With the wrong person in possession of it, I’d hate to see what would happen.”

  My heart skips a beat and breathing becomes a chore. Radcliffe’s words fill my brain: I’m a colonel in the military and head of the AIG branch of government.

  “What do you think might happen?” I whisper.

  “Any number of things. Someone else could develop a prototype similar to ours.”

  “Why would this AIG be interested in it?”

  “Why else? To create a perfect race. A master race. One more advanced than any other. Whereas my father is interested in eliminating diseases and bettering marriages, I think the AIG’s motivation for this perfect race would be very different.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “Like I said before, they’ve been approaching my father for years. And I’ve done a little of my own digging.”

  My mind whirs. A perfect race? A race of genetically modified people? And what happens to those who aren’t perfect? Are we shunned? Eliminated? Did I just make this more possible by stealing the chip?

  Zane places a hand on the table and leans in. “Don’t you find it odd that we keep running into each other? First the Megasphere, then the dam, now here—”

  “Coincidences,” I say quickly, and then force a smile to soften my harshness.

  He stares at me, his eyes roving over my face until I grow uncomfortable. When he speaks, his voice is low. “I’ve thought about you a lot since that night.” He says it casually, but his words hit me hard.

  Why is he telling me this?

  I pretend that I don’t understand the meaning behind his words. “Off the record, why were you on top of the Megasphere? I thought I was the only one crazy enough to go up there.”

  His playful grin fades. “My brother and I don’t always agree on how the company should be run.”

  “Steele?”

  His jaw clenches. “Yeah. Steele. If it were up to him, we would have sold our prototype to the government ages ago. It’s a good thing he spends most of his time at the Match 360 headquarters in Rubex.” He shakes his head. “I like to go to the Megasphere to think. I seem to find clarity when I can look out over the whole valley.” He laughs, but it’s not convincing. “Seems childish, huh?”

  “Not at all. Same reason for me. To think. Figure things out.”

  Zane’s warm brown eyes widen in surprise, and then he grins. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks, and I bite down on my lip.

  Before I have a chance to respond, the door leading to the veranda swings open. His brother stands in the doorway, taking up most of it. A large man, Steele looks about as cuddly as a prickly pear. His mouth is set in a hard line, and his eyes rake over Zane, announcing his disapproval.

  “Zane, a word, please.” Steele strides to the far corner of the veranda and waits for Zane to join him.

  Zane rolls his eyes and mutters, “See what I mean?” before sauntering over to his brother.

  Steele makes me wary. I don’t like how he keeps glancing in my direction or the stone-cold look in his eyes. He seems like a ruthless man. One I’d rather not be involved with.

  Since Zane is engrossed in a conversation with his brother, I hurry across the veranda and slip inside the ballroom. I immediately spot Mr. Ryder across the room conversing with two gentlemen in tuxedos. My heart leaps to my throat. This is it. It’s time.

  I picture the unfeeling glassy eyes of the dead man in the Square. Then my mind replaces the image with that of Harlow Ryder lying on the cold, marble floor. His eyes open, glassy, unmoving, and unfeeling.

  I fight back a wave of nausea. I can’t do it. I’m not a murderer.

  How did I ever think I could go through with this?

  I hurry toward a hallway on my left and push open a door, relieved to find an empty bathroom. After locking the door behind me, I lean against the bathroom counter and stare at my reflection in the mirror. A pale, almost ghost-like, red-haired girl stares back.

  I splash cold water on my face and pinch my cheeks until the color returns. As much as I don’t want to poison Harlow Ryder, I have to. He killed my father. This is revenge. Justice. This is what he deserves. And it’s the only way to get my mom back.

  I bang my fist against the counter until my hand aches. Taking a step back, I breathe deeply. In. Out. In. Out.

  I stare once again at my reflection. My mouth is set in a firm line. My eyes are cold, unfeeling like the man in the Square.

  I can do this. I have to.

  Slipping the vial from my beaded purse, I fling open the bathroom door before I lose my nerve.

  I repeat the following phrase in my mind: I am hard. I am cold. I am a murderer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The kitchen is bustling. Women in cocktail dresses s
imilar to my own grab trays of hors d’oeuvres and drinks and carry them out through a second swinging door. A white server apron hangs on the wall. I quickly don it, put my purse in the pocket, and grab a tray of champagne. Another girl with short, blond tresses is restocking her own tray with beverages. She flashes me a friendly smile before exiting the kitchen.

  My heart pulses frantically as I glide to the swinging door. Deep breaths. What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?

  Before I push open the door, I pretend to adjust my apron. The cap to the vial comes off easily, and I pour the clear liquid into the closest glass.

  Balancing the tray, I make my way to the ballroom. Mr. Ryder is still talking with the same group of men. I start toward him.

  Twenty feet.

  Ten feet.

  Five feet.

  My fingers slide around the glass, and I’m about to hand it to Mr. Ryder when a man in a black business suit strides over to his side. My feet stop moving when he leans down to whisper something in Harlow’s ear. I take a few steps back when a confused look passes over the company owner’s face. The man takes Harlow by the arm and steers him out of the room while the guard in the navy suit from the Extravaganza stands on top of a chair to make an announcement.

  “Ladies and gentleman, we hate to cut the party short, but Mr. Ryder is unable to entertain guests for the remainder of the evening. We thank you all for coming and wish you a safe trip home.”

  A murmur ripples through the crowd. First, the attempted murder of his son. And now this.

  Swallowing hard, I shrink back against the wall. They’ve discovered me. They must know someone is here to kill him. Did Radcliffe rat me out? Is this all some sort of sick game? One where I end up in Confinement for the rest of my pathetic life?

  I hurry to the kitchen where I dump the glasses of champagne down the sink.

  “Hey! What are you doing? We could drink that,” a voice exclaims behind me.

  Trust me—you don’t want to drink this. I turn to confront the accusing eyes of a short, pudgy woman.

  “Sorry,” I respond flippantly, trying to sound like a ditzy teenage girl. If only I had some gum to smack in between my teeth. “I didn’t know. My bad.”