As soon as we enter the shop, she grabs things off tables and racks, stuffing them into my hands. A few colorful shirts peek through the pile. When she moves to snatch up a pair of red thigh-high boots, very similar in style to her own, I give a fervent shake of my head.
“No way. I’m not wearing those.”
Trina sighs and places them back on the floor underneath the table. “Well, I think I found the most boring clothes possible, so you should at least like those.”
A few minutes later, as we’re pawing through more clothes, she nudges me with her shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“Just thinking.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “About your mom? I’m really sorry we weren’t able to get her last night.”
“About my mom. Garrett. The soldier. Everything.”
“Hey.” Trina grips my clothes-laden arms and turns me until I’m facing her. “Trey only did that because he had to. He’s not a killer.”
I know all this, but it’s not the only thing that’s bothering me. The whole ride back to the Compound, Trey was silent. And I can’t help but wonder if he regrets saying he’ll help me. Is he upset that he risked the lives of Fringe members for nothing? My mother wasn’t there, and now I have no idea how I’ll ever find her. And I’m sure he doesn’t either.
Changing the subject, Trina holds up a bright pink miniskirt. “Do you have a boy you’d like to wear this for?”
My mind immediately flits to Zane, and my cheeks flush. I shouldn’t be thinking of him that way when he has a fiancée. And I can’t help the guilt that chews at me when I picture Trey’s dimpled smile. What would he think if he knew I might have feelings for Harlow Ryder’s son? Would he refuse to help me find my mother?
“You do!” Trina leans in close. “Spill. I want to know everything.”
Turning away from her, I say, “There’s nothing to tell.” As an afterthought, I add, “He’s only a friend.”
“I knew it! There is someone.” Weaseling her way in front of me, she blocks my path. “Tell me. Please? I told you my embarrassing love story.”
I snort. “You mean your professor?”
“He was really cute,” she protests.
I think for a minute, trying to figure out the best way to explain Zane. “Zane is… a friend who is taking care of my sister right now.”
“Is he cute?”
I clear my throat. “Do you know Zane Ryder?”
Her eyes widen. “Zane Ryder? You’re friends with him?”
When several pairs of eyes turn our way, I pull her over to the dressing room—which is really just a curtain hanging from the ceiling.
“Shh,” I say. “Not so loud.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that I can’t believe you’re friends with him. Is he as bad as his father?”
I quickly shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
When Trina just stares at me, I say, “Please don’t tell Trey.”
Trina gives me a serious look. “I won’t. Trust me. He would not be happy about it.”
My stomach cramps when I think of all the things I’m hiding from so many people I care about.
“But hey,” she fingers a piece of my hair, “your secret is safe with me.” She smiles. “And if you have a crush on him, I say more power to you.”
“He’s engaged,” I remind her.
She shrugs. “So?”
“He’s just a friend,” I repeat, like the more I keep saying it, the more I’ll believe it myself.
“It sounds like what you need is to see your sister.” She gives me an exaggerated wink. “What do you think?”
It would be nice to see Emily… and maybe Zane too. They would both be a good distraction right now.
“I think you’re right,” I say, butterflies already fluttering in my stomach.
Trina grins. “But first, we must do something with that hair.”
My hand flies to my hair. “Is it that bad?”
“I can make it look better.” She looks down at the clothes in my hands. “You done?”
When I nod, she grabs my arm and leads me to the checkout counter where a teenage girl with purple hair is sitting, looking bored. There is no cash register, no chip scanner, nothing.
“This is her first shopping trip,” Trina explains to the girl.
“Name?”
“Sienna Preston,” I say.
“How many items?” she asks, her voice monotone.
Counting them quickly, I reply, “Seven. Three shorts and four tops.”
The girl makes a mark on a notepad and says, “Enjoy your clothes.”
As soon as we’re in the hallway outside the Pavilion, Trina links her arm through mine and says, “Now for the fun part.”
As she leads me back to her room, I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.
***
I ride down the center of the tracks until I reach the sunlight. The sky is filled with clouds, and I love the way the light filters through and settles on the ground beneath. It feels so good to be in the sun instead of under a mountain of artificial light, so I ride my Harley faster than usual. The wind whips against my face and stings my eyes, but it feels right. It reminds me I’m alive, which causes my thoughts to drift to Garrett and the soldier, who aren’t.
I can’t wait to see Emily. I need to feel her small arms wrapped around me. Most importantly, I want to get the image of Garrett trapped beneath the pillar out of my mind. And for a moment, I don’t want to think about the fact that my mother is still missing.
I haven’t had a chance to talk to Trey yet, and even though I’m bothered by what happened with the soldier, I still want to thank him. He was only trying to protect me. If he hadn’t been there… I don’t want to think about what might have happened. Despite everything, I hope he’s still willing to help me find my mother.
I make it to the wealthy part of the city in record time. Weaving through City Square, I’m on high alert for any government vehicles or Suits. Zane’s house sits high on Hampstead Hill with other wealthy Citizens. I didn’t call or message him, but hopefully, he doesn’t mind if I show up unannounced.
Before I ring the doorbell, I say a silent prayer that Harlow Ryder is not around. If I saw him right now, I couldn’t be responsible for anything I might do to him. Knowing what he did to the first wave of GMs, and what he’s doing now to those juvenile inmates, fills me with an uncontrollable rage.
After ringing the doorbell, I smooth my hair into place. Thanks to Trina, my hair now has a style instead of a butchered look. And the blue, cap-sleeved shirt that was my bargain find at the Pavilion fits perfectly.
The Ryder’s butler, an older gentleman with graying hair and a kind smile, opens the door.
“I’m here to see Zane or Emily.”
“Come in, please.” He holds the door open, and I enter the oversized foyer. “I think they may be in the pool. I’ll let them know you’re here. It’s Sienna, right?”
I nod, surprised he knows who I am.
He walks down the hallway and disappears. As I wait, I gaze around the stunning home. My previous visit didn’t afford me the opportunity to look around and truly appreciate it. From luxurious silks to silver candelabras, this house screams money. The expensive canvas artwork from artists like Baun and Gorgeman decorate the walls, and the crystal teardrop chandeliers sparkle without an ounce of dust.
I watch in awe as the morning sunlight filters through the oversized Palladian windows and hits the chandeliers, creating tiny rainbows of color around the foyer. I turn as the rainbows dance around the room. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” a soft voice speaks from across the foyer.
My eyes light on a woman whose blonde bun is streaked with gray. She’s wearing an apron dusted with flour, which leads me to believe she just came from the kitchen.
“It is,” I admit. “I’m Sienna,” I say, taking a step forward and holding out my hand. I wonder if this wom
an is Greta, the one who practically raised Zane. She seems like the motherly type.
The woman moves toward me and grasps my hand between both of hers. Her smile is warm. “It’s so nice to meet you, Sienna. I’m Greta.” She laughs. “We love having a child in the home again. It’s been so long.”
She squeezes my hand before letting go.
“How is Emily?” I smile at the sound of her name. “Has she behaved?”
Greta laughs again, a warm sunburst of a laugh. “Of course! She is such a delight. And so smart!” Greta leans in. “She’s been helping me in the kitchen. I swear, if I don’t watch out, she’ll have my job in a few years.”
My grin deepens, and I long to see my little sister. I anxiously glance around the foyer.
“They’re probably drying off,” Greta says. “They should be up in a minute.”
A few seconds later, I hear the pitter-patter of small feet on the marble floor. I want to yell at her not to run or she’ll slip and fall and crack her head open, but I bite the inside of my cheek instead.
When she sees me, Emily leaps into my arms and buries her face in my neck. I hold her so tight I’m afraid her bones might break. Her bathing suit is still wet, and it soaks through my shirt, but I don’t care. She wraps her legs around me, and I cradle her like a baby monkey. Tears sting my eyes. I will do anything to keep her safe.
“Did you miss me?” I murmur into her wet hair.
She pulls back and places her hands on either side of my face. “Where did your hair go, Si-Si?”
A deep, melodious voice speaks from behind her. “Yeah, where did your hair go?”
My stomach tightens as my eyes rest on Zane’s grin, then wander down to his bare chest and the towel slung over his shoulders. I try not to stare at his fully formed pecs, chiseled abs, and the V-line muscle that dips into his bathing suit.
A flush creeps to my face, and I bury my head into Emily’s hair to hide my embarrassment. I don’t mean to ogle, but it’s hard not to.
“I had to cut it,” I say to Emily, and then immediately regret my choice of words.
Zane moves closer, his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry… did you say you had to cut it? As in, you didn’t have a choice?”
I shift my weight and readjust Emily in my arms. Greta takes it as her cue to leave.
“Well, kids, I better get back to my dough. Sienna, it was a pleasure to meet you.” Greta claps her hands and focuses on Emily. “Do you want to help me roll out the dough for the pie?”
I’m not ready to let go of Emily yet, but she’s already squirming out of my arms, clearly excited about making a pie.
“Yes! Yes!” Emily jumps down and runs over to Greta. “Can we put sprinkles on it?”
Greta laughs and places her hand on the back of Emily’s head, steering her to the kitchen. “Well, I don’t think we should put sprinkles on the pie crust, but maybe we can find some ice cream for you to put sprinkles on. What do you think of that?”
Emily claps her hands. “Yes! I love ice cream. Can I have chocolate syrup too?”
“Sure…”
Their voices fade down the hall, and I turn to find Zane intently staring at me. He takes a step closer.
“What happened? Where were you?”
“Someplace safe.” That’s all he needs to know.
His eyes cloud over. “Why can’t you let me in?”
“Why have you been lying about what’s going on in your lab?” I counter.
“What are you talking about?”
“The juvenile inmates? The experiments? Ringing a bell?”
Zane slowly shakes his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
My eyes narrow as I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you telling me you’re not experimenting on juvenile inmates, trying to change their DNA so they aren’t a scourge to society?”
“What? That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, his voice rising.
“Is it, Zane?” I say, sarcasm ringing through my tone. “Is it really?”
Zane stares at me. “Where did you hear this? Who told you this?”
“I think your father is hiding stuff from you,” I say simply.
His eyes move to my upper arm, and I freeze. I should have picked a different shirt. The scabbed-over tattoo injection site peeks out from my cap sleeve and trails down my arm. My arms drop to my sides.
My breath catches as Zane’s fingers lift my shirtsleeve, exposing the red and tender area. His fingers lightly trace the outline, sending a shiver up my spine.
“I’ve seen this before—” His eyes flash with anger as he takes a step back. “Wait a minute. You were with those people? The Fringe or whatever they call themselves? They’re the ones feeding you these lies?” He pauses and breathes in deep. “You were with the people who tried to kill me?”
“It was a set-up,” I protest. “They aren’t the ones who tried to kill you at the Extravaganza—”
“They bombed the Megasphere,” he says flatly. When I don’t respond immediately, he continues. “And do you know what happened last night? Do you know what they did?”
My eyes widen. Is he referring to the infiltration of the bunker?
Zane crosses the foyer to a room that has a grand piano and a pair of fancy couches and picks up a handheld comscreen. “Iris, show me the news,” he growls.
I stare at the screen in his hands, reluctantly moving toward it. I don’t want to see what’s on the screen. The thoughts in my mind are a torturous enough reminder of what happened last night. But Zane holds out the handheld device, and I take it.
A dark-skinned woman with her hair teased around her head in a classic fro speaks directly to the camera. She is standing in front of a desert landscape, but her exact location is undisclosed.
“Recent reports indicate that members of the Fringe broke into a secure, underground government facility and attacked several soldiers last night. At least twelve were wounded and one was killed in the attack.”
Zane clicks the comscreen off. “Do you know anything about this?”
My first instinct is to lie. But when I look into his warm eyes, I stammer. I stumble. And I fumble.
I finally throw my hands up in exasperation. “Yes! Is that what you want to hear? Yes!” I take a deep breath. “I was one of those who broke into the facility.”
Zane’s eyebrows knit together, and disappointment fills his eyes. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“Because they have my mother.”
Shaking his head, Zane moves to the couch and sinks down on it. “I don’t understand,” he mutters.
I wonder if anyone would care that Zane is sitting on the couch in a wet bathing suit, and then I realize that is the least of my worries.
I take a seat on the edge of the couch next to him. I can’t stand the disappointed look he’s giving me. Like he even has a right to be upset with me when his father is doing who knows what to unfortunate teenagers. But Zane at least needs to know the truth—or a shadow of the truth—so he can maybe understand why I’ve been compelled to do the things I’ve done.
“Look, I don’t expect you to understand, but here’s the truth. A couple of weeks ago, I was hired for a job. I had no idea who hired me, but I was given specific instructions on what to do.”
“As a reporter?” I can tell I’m already losing him, but there are some details he just doesn’t need to know. Like the fact I stole the computer chip, tried to kill his father, and should be trying to seduce him. He really would look at me as if I were nuts.
“No, a little more of a… discreet job.”
Zane nods like he understands.
“I completed the assignment, but when I tried to make the exchange, I was kidnapped by a ruthless man who knew what I’d done. This man had a new assignment for me, and I felt pressured to take it because of the… delicate nature of the other job.”
“He blackmailed you,” Zane says, his tone flat.
“Exactly.” I release a slow,
controlled breath. “He kidnapped my mother as collateral to make sure I didn’t back out. But I couldn’t do it. It was wrong. They’re still holding my mom for ransom. But they don’t want money, of course. They have plenty of it. They want me to finish what I started.”
“What’s the assignment?”
“I can’t say.”
Zane runs his hands through his hair, and I admire the way his biceps flex and the muscles in his shoulder ripple. His hands fall to his lap, and he sighs.
“What happened last night?”
I tell him the most accurate account of the events I can recall. I notice how his eyes narrow when I talk about the soldier who grabbed my rear with the intention of doing more. When I tell him about Trey shooting the guard, he leans back and exhales.
“It sounds like the bastard got what he deserved,” Zane mutters.
I shake my head. “No, he didn’t. He didn’t deserve to die. And his blood will forever be on my hands.”
Zane’s expression softens. “But you weren’t the one who pulled the trigger.”
“No, but it’s because of me that Trey did.”
“Sienna,” he tenderly says. “You have to let that go. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Oh, yeah? If you only knew…
“And then, there’s Garrett.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I couldn’t save him, even though I wanted to—”
“Wait. Who’s Garrett?”
I tell him all about the red-haired boy and his noble death, trapped under the pillar and begging me to leave him.
“I’m sorry, Sienna,” he says, his eyes pained. He reaches for my hands. “But you have to realize, it wasn’t your fault.”
His soothing voice combined with the way he’s looking at me, as if I’m the only person in the world, produces a vulnerability I didn’t know existed. Tears well in my eyes and slide down my cheeks. I reach up to wipe them away, not wanting to cry in front of him, but Zane beats me to it. He moves closer and his fingers glide over my cheeks, his eyes never leaving my face.
Catalyst Page 19
