by M. D. Waters
“Emma . . . ,” Noah warns.
“Are we a go?” Miles asks.
I glance to my left and catch Miles’s back to me on the far side. Farrah watches over the rim of a champagne glass.
I can do this.
I look up at Declan. The plan is to keep a constant eye on him and stall in case anything goes wrong. Time is of the essence, and Noah is nowhere in sight. Minutes ago, he was headed to the other side of the room, and the crowd grows too thick for him to get back to me in time.
I set my champagne flute on a table beside me and take his elbow. “Why not?”
Reid answers Miles’s question. “We are a go.”
Declan walks us to the middle of the floor and skips the graceful turn Noah would have started with. He pulls me right into his arms. I wait for his hand to sit low on my waist, but instead, he places it near my midback. He even keeps a respectful distance between us.
“Have you known Tucker long?” Declan asks.
Glancing up, I shake my head. “We just met. What about you? How do you know Mr. Tucker?” The last thing I want to do is talk, because if anything gives me away, it will be my voice. I can only hope the accent and string quartet are enough to camouflage my true identity.
“We’ve had a few business dealings together.”
I pick at nonexistent lint on his lapel to avoid looking up.
“So,” he says when I do not speak, “if you just met Tucker, then I take it you aren’t one of his employees.”
“No. A last-minute call whose schedule happened to be free tonight.”
“I see you,” Noah says through the com. “Twenty seconds.”
“I see,” Declan says. “You’re a professional escort.”
“I am. You look disappointed.” And he does, which I do not understand. Why would he care about Noah’s date so much?
“Not at all. I guess I hoped Tucker might have finally decided to settle down.”
“With a potential wife.” These days, I suppose all women are prospective partners if they can be talked into cloning.
He nods. “I was like him once, taking escorts to events because my focus was on my business. But once my wife was well enough . . .” He trails off and looks over my head, lost in some memory.
“You must miss her,” I say before I can stop myself. I already know the answer, but it has always surprised me how deeply he seems to care. He acts as if I am everything. As if we are everything. A part of me wants him to have that back, except half of everything will never make a whole. My everything will always be someone else entirely.
Declan looks confused by my statement, so I clarify. “I keep up on current events, Mr. Burke. I know all about your wife. I can only imagine how scared you must be, given her poor health. And all the media can focus on these days is how she knew that clone who died. Shameful.”
Declan gives me a tight smile. “The media can focus on whatever they want, Miss Wiseman. I’ll still find my wife and make those bastards pay with every last drop of their blood.”
A chill tingles down my spine. “I have no doubt in your ability to do just that, Mr. Burke. No doubt at all.”
Noah’s soft musk surrounds me from behind, and I want to sink into the heat of his fingers grazing along my lower back.
Declan stops dancing and smiles over my shoulder. “Tucker. There you are.”
“If you wanted to borrow my date, you could have asked.” Facing Noah, I find him smiling as if he had not just heard every word Declan said. He wears this friendly mask well. “For a fee, of course.” Casually, he pulls me out of Declan’s space. His fingers are tight on my wrist, and his palm radiates heat.
“Oh, of course,” Declan says with a laugh. “Let’s get a drink so we can discuss this fee of yours.”
“Alpha Team,” Reid says, “you are clear to go.”
I release a slow breath. This com means Reid has successfully switched live for prerecorded feed on the two floors where Farrah and Miles will be running separate tasks. Foster and Leigh will monitor the live feed from the hub to forewarn them of any threat.
Off the dance floor, Noah and Declan take champagne from one of the waitresses—I am ignored again—and the two of them proceed to talk business. I tune out the second one of them mentions a recent tax increase that has gone into effect.
Noah releases my arm to have both hands free so he can emphasize his distaste with large hand gestures. Acting this expressive seems out of character for him, but it works because he does it so naturally. Declan certainly seems familiar with this version of Noah.
While they commiserate over the loss of fortunes they have yet to make, I survey the room and security placement. They are easy to spot, as they wear black tuxes with red shirts. Every now and then, one lifts a hand to his ear to speak to the team. So far they are unaware of the actions going on upstairs.
“Jaybird in position,” Miles says. He has reached the server room.
“Jaybird, hold position,” Foster says.
“Girl Scout in position,” Farrah says, letting everyone know she has reached Declan’s office. “Logging onto server . . . Access code is Delta Bravo seven six two Charlie.”
My heart drums hard and fast. We are so close. In minutes, we will have more data on Declan Burke than we will know what to do with.
Through the com I hear the shiff of a door opening followed by a confirmation of entry by Miles.
Noah’s abrupt laugh startles me back into the room. He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at me and glances back with a light in his eyes. “Who, her? No. I told you. It’s for a cousin of mine.”
I am immediately drawn to their conversation.
“Well,” Declan says, tilting his champagne flute forward, “I’ll throw her in for you if you’d like. I’ll even put her at the head of the line. How does tomorrow sound?”
Noah belts out a single, hard laugh. “I don’t even know this girl.”
I have to bite my tongue. Declan still acts as if he is doing women—all of mankind, for that matter—a favor.
Declan leads Noah aside, but I hear every word through Noah’s com.
He lays a hand on Noah’s shoulder and bends toward his ear. “Think about it, Tucker. I’ll make sure Arthur wipes her memory and she’d never be the wiser. You need an heir to that empire you’re building.”
“Come on—”
“You’re doing me a huge favor with this Emma situation.”
Noah shifts his weight and tucks a hand into a pocket. His champagne lies poised against his lower lip, ready to tip back. “I haven’t found anything yet.”
“But you will. I have every confidence.”
The two men stare at each other for a protracted moment before glancing my way. Dumbfounded, I cannot move. I would love to storm off in a rage or step forward and slap Declan in the face. Instead, I flutter my fingers in a wave as if I am as clueless as Declan believes.
“Let me test her out first,” Noah says, and a salacious grin tilts across his face.
“Like she’s a car?” Leigh asks.
“He can test all he wants,” I whisper just loud enough for the com to pick up. “He could not handle me.”
Noah chokes on a sip of champagne and I hear several chuckles through the com.
“Focus,” Reid warns.
“Found the server,” Miles says.
“See you downstairs,” Farrah responds.
Miles and Farrah have been little more than background noise until now. Farrah has been searching Declan’s files for the right server number while Declan plotted overturning another woman’s life for breeding purposes. He disgusts me and deserves everything that is coming to him.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Foster says. “Girl Scout, you have company.”
I stiffen and listen as Foster explains how Armand and Daxton have just entered
the outer offices. Armand is showing Daxton something on his computer, and they do not seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.
Farrah is trapped.
I look around for Daxton’s parents and find Charissa dancing with Evan on the dance floor. She looks away as he talks in her ear. Neither looks happy.
“Uplinking data from server now,” Miles says. “We have maybe five minutes, and if I return dateless . . .”
“We can’t run the duplicate video feed for much longer, either,” Farrah says. “Someone’s bound to notice.”
We need a distraction to pull Daxton and Armand from the outer office. Farrah needs only a minute. I exchange a look with Noah, who stands a good three steps away with Declan. Obviously, this is why he planned for backup. Only the look he gives me warns me not to take a single step outside this ballroom.
One of the waitresses passes me on my left, knocking me with an elbow. “Oh,” she says, and smiles. “I apologize.”
“No problem at all,” I tell her.
She turns away while I measure her size because suddenly, I have an idea. One I think might actually work.
I approach Noah and lay a hand on his forearm. “How about I mingle so you two can talk?”
He sets a firm hand over mine. “That’s not really necessary.”
Squeezing his arm, I giggle. “I was trying to be polite, but you have forced my hand, Mr. Tucker. I need to use the little girl’s room, so if you would please excuse me for a few minutes.” I nod at Declan. “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Burke.”
Declan responds, but I do not hear him. I am already following the waitress from a moment ago. She turns down a brightly lit corridor where the waitresses have been coming and going all night.
“Prototype in play,” I say into the com, repulsed by the call name Reid assigned me. He overheard Noah and me refer to Declan that way one day, and stuck it to me as well. “Base camp, prepare to run live feed on floor 182. I have an idea.”
CHAPTER 31
I smooth my hands down the front of the sequined shift dress and give the waitress a sympathetic smile. She cannot see it because I sprayed her with aerochlor and she will be out for at least thirty minutes. My dress, wig, and mask lie across the desk in the shadowed office.
“Ready?” I ask Foster.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says in response.
While I dressed, Foster recorded enough feed to run while I get in and out of the second floor undetected by video surveillance. To Farrah’s annoyance, we have been running live feed on floor 182 while she hides under Declan’s desk. Once I teleport to the same floor, I will let Daxton and Armand “catch me” in the act of something treacherous. I cannot have Daxton witness my arrival without involving the resistance, and Declan cannot believe the resistance has access to the foolproof security system installed by Tucker Securities. Thus the live feed.
“Prototype,” Reid says, “you are clear to go.”
“On my way,” I say and slip out of the office, taking a moment to glance both ways.
The office I chose sits on the corner of the perpendicular hallway leading back to the ballroom. Several feet in the opposite direction is a set of stairs leading down to a bay of teleporters. Declan once took me to his office from there.
I pause at the bottom of the stairs and make sure the way is clear before racing to the nearest teleporter. My bare feet pad quietly on the marble floor. I rest a hand over the HK holstered to my thigh and enter the glass-encased tube. My heart beats loud in my ears, and sweat tickles my brow line.
With a deep breath, I type in the number 182 and appear outside a long hallway with a carpeted floor.
“Security hasn’t caught on yet,” Foster says.
I run down the hall toward the glass doors, which slide apart the second they sense my approach. Inside, I look to the right and let my attention land on both Daxton and Armand in the flesh. It takes them a moment to realize I have arrived because they are deep in conversation on the other side of the desk.
They eventually pause long enough to do a double take. They stand upright from their lounging positions, startled. I hold still to let them take a moment and recognize me. I look directly into the sharp blue eyes of Daxton Thomas and watch the realization take hold.
“Emma Burke,” he says, with a smile that looks far too gleeful for my taste.
“Up here plotting against me, boys? Or was the plot against Declan? I forget which. They both sort of run together.”
They have barely started to come around the desk before I dart back down the hallway.
“You’ve been spotted by security,” Reid says. “Get back down to the first floor. We’ve got your tracks covered from there.”
The second the glass door closes me inside the teleporter, Daxton slams against the outside. He tries getting in but the machine is already set to go and will not open for safety reasons. He slams a fist against the outside and meets my gaze. I punch in my sequence of numbers and watch him melt away.
The running taps of feet echo through the first floor when I reappear. Heart in my throat, I step onto the cool marble and recognize the unmistakable hum of another teleporter in use. Across the aisle from me, a woman appears wearing a red dress that is a perfect complement to her auburn hair.
Lydia Farris.
She steps down, her eyes wide and entranced as they look at me. “Emma?” Her voice comes out a whisper.
“Damn it,” Reid says. “Take her out and teleport her body out of there. It’s the only way.”
“What? No.”
“Once the witness gives you up, they’ll figure out we have control of the feed because you won’t be on it. You’ll have to kill her.”
Kill her? I cannot have any witnesses, but the last thing I am is a cold-blooded murderer. She only wants to be a good wife and mother. Just like me. I can almost feel the shift of places as I put myself in her shoes, staring into the end of my gun. I would think of nothing but my husband and child, because that is how much has changed in the last year. It is no longer about me. It is all about them.
“That’s an order,” Reid yells.
Tears brim my eyes and I reach down for my gun.
Lydia squeaks when she realizes I have gone for a weapon. Her chin trembles and she holds both hands up to stop me. “Please. I have children. You know how much they mean to me. I just kissed them good night, Emma, please. Don’t let them wake up without a mother.”
Her pleading tears at my heart. I do not want to hurt this woman, children or no. Damn Clint Reid. There has to be another option. Maybe if I make her understand.
I take my hand off the gun. “I have a daughter, too. Declan took me from her. He would take me from her still.”
Hands still held aloft, Lydia glances from side to side, but no one is coming. The security has headed upstairs to floor 182.
“Goddamn it. What are you doing? Get rid of her,” Reid yells.
I pull the earpiece out, cutting off communication, and cross the space. “I cannot have any witnesses to my being down here, Mrs. Farris. Do you understand?” Come on, Lydia. Help me save your life.
Lydia looks at me, tears shining in her eyes. “I will not tell. For the sake of your daughter.”
“Promise me,” I whisper.
Lydia takes one of my hands. “I swear on my life.” She places a hand over her heart and closes her eyes. “Let the void finally have my soul if I break this promise to you.”
She says these words as if they are a benediction. They are so much more than that.
“The void?” I ask, my chest tightening. A void wants her soul. An abyss struggles for mine.
The running tap on marble sounds closer, drawing my attention.
“Go,” Lydia says.
But I cannot go. Not with all these questions struggling to burst free. Except there is no
time. I will have to find a way to talk to her when this is over.
“Thank you,” I say, then dash up the stairs to the second-floor offices.
• • •
After one last check to be sure the waitress is still passed out, I tie my mask back on. I am back to seeing things with limited eyesight, and it takes a moment to find the door activation switch in the dark.
One step outside, I run right into a man wearing a white tux jacket. My heart leaps, sure he must be Declan, and I start to back into the room. The door clips my shoulder blade on its way shut and cuts off my escape route.
I look up and let out a relieved breath. Noah. “I thought you were—”
“Caught?” He shrugs theatrically. “How would you even know? You removed your com.”
The tensing of muscles in his jaw reveals how angry he is. His half-mask is long gone, probably tucked in a pocket, and I feel a pang of jealousy. My face is hot beneath mine.
“I know, but I have it right here.”
Noah closes a hand around my fist where I have palmed the earpiece. “You were given a direct order to take out that woman.”
I straighten, unwilling to let him or anyone else turn what I did into a bad thing. “I trust her,” I say, and step away from the door.
There is a hard tug on the back of my mask and it falls, clattering against the wall. Turning, I discover one of the strings caught when the door shut.
I reach for the activation switch to retrieve my mask, but Noah puts a straight arm between me and the button. “You don’t have the luxury of trusting anyone, and neither do I.”
He pauses to listen to his com. With a roll of his eyes, he reaches up and removes the piece from his ear. He continues as he pockets the device. “You know the risks here better than anyone. Coming here tonight was a risk. Going upstairs after Farrah the way you did was a risk. But this . . . letting that woman live was the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Emma, and you’ve done a lot of dumb things, believe me.”
My blood boils beneath the surface of my skin. He has spent so much time asking me to trust him. Why can he not trust me? “Good thing I got that clean slate when Dr. Travista cloned me, then. I can start all of these dumb things over from scratch.”
