by Stacey Kade
Her forehead pinched with worry, Ariane snagged a napkin from the holder on the table and handed it to me.
“Give him the code,” she said to Justine.
I held out the phone, and Justine, after a long pause, reached out to type in a code and then hold her index finger to the screen with a sigh of disgust.
With the napkin pressed against my nose, I punched in my home number, the phone at the house in Wingate, my fingers shaking enough that I misdialed twice. Finally, I got it right.
I didn’t have any other number for my mom. But I was hoping that if Quinn was still there recuperating, she might have stayed with him.
Right as the phone started to ring, it occurred to me, very belatedly, that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. They all thought I was dead. Or, missing, best-case scenario.
Guilt sat heavily on my chest. Yeah, I’d been acting under orders, keeping it a secret so that it wouldn’t jeopardize everything. But I wasn’t going to be able to explain that—or, anything really—to their satisfaction. My mom might understand, given her experience with both Jacobs and Laughlin, but that did not mean she wouldn’t be pissed, especially when she found out I’d stayed on voluntarily.
“Do you have any pull to stop this?” Ariane asked Justine quietly, as I counted off rings, imagining the phone on the kitchen wall echoing through a quiet and empty house.
Two…three…
My stomach clenched.
“Two separate departments, remember?” Justine said. “So, no, not without revealing our involvement.”
Four…Oh God, someone should have picked up by now.
“Hello?” My mom answered the phone, sounding wary.
I exhaled loudly in relief. “Mom.”
An audible gasp. “Who is this?” she demanded, her voice shrill.
I grimaced. “Mom, it’s me.”
Next to me, Ariane went very still.
“Do you think this is funny? To pretend to be my son?” she hissed.
“It’s me, Mom! I promise.” I closed my eyes, frantically searching for something to say that would prove it to her, something that would stop the pain and hurt in her voice. “When I was five, I got the Millennium Falcon for Christmas. But the decals, they were from the wrong box, some My Pretty, Pretty Princess or Barbie thing. And Quinn let me put all the stickers on before telling me.” Han Solo had had a glittery ride, despite my best efforts to peel everything off.
A woman in line peered through the bakery rack of to-go items to frown at me. Shit. I needed to remember to keep my voice down. I waved at the eavesdropping woman, and she flushed and turned her attention to her phone.
My mom choked on a sob. “Oh God, Zane, where are you?” She drew a ragged breath, one I could hear as clearly as if she were standing next to me. And the guilt in my chest increased until it felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“Are you okay? What happened? They couldn’t find you at the hospital, but—”
“Mom—”
“—I knew you had to be there. I saw you get shot.” Her voice broke. She was crying.
“Mom,” I tried again. “I’m okay, I promise. Please…please stop crying.” I winced at the jagged sounds from the other end of the phone. “I need you to listen to me. I only have a few minutes.”
“What?” She sounded confused, her voice thick and ragged. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?” Suspicion darkened her tone. “Just tell me where you are. We’ll come get you and—”
Oh boy. My mom wasn’t stupid; she was going to catch on quickly. “You’re there at the house,” I said. “Is Quinn there with you?”
“Quinn?” she asked, startled. “Yes, he’s here.”
“No, I mean, can you see him?” There was no way I was going to get by with that question, but I had to know. Before, when GTX had taken him, it had been days before we knew it because everyone simply assumed he was at school and doing his thing.
“Zane Alexander Bradshaw,” she said through clenched teeth.
I flinched
“You’re still mixed up in that mess, aren’t you?” she demanded.
“Mom, I can’t talk about it.” I fidgeted, refolding the napkin and pressing it against my nose. The bleeding was slowing now. “I just need to know if you’re all okay.”
“Zane, God, if I’d known what I was doing all those years ago, I never would have gotten involved. And I’m sorry that you were pulled into this. That was never my intention. But you are done now. You are coming home.” Her voice was iron, reflecting her will. If she could have reached through the phone and yanked me back to Wingate, she’d have done it.
I shifted my weight uneasily. “I can’t.”
“It’s because of that…girl. She’s with you?” Her tone was carefully neutral.
But that was enough to trigger my temper. I turned away from Ariane, even though I knew she’d be able to hear, anyway. “She’s not ‘that girl,’” I snapped. “Her name is Ariane. And my choices are mine.”
“You’re in over your head,” she said. “And you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I crumpled the bloodied napkin up, trying to find a clean side. If only she knew. But her dismissive tone set my teeth on edge. As if she’d done so much better?
“Mom. I just need to know if you guys are all right. People’s lives are at stake. Including mine,” I added, though I wasn’t sure if that would help or just make things worse.
“Quinn’s on the couch,” she said icily. “I can see him from here.”
“And Dad?” I pressed. I couldn’t imagine that they’d risk messing with him, but I had to know for sure.
“At work,” she said. The “of course” was implied.
“Good.” I relaxed slightly. “But don’t let anyone in, even if they look…official. Okay? In fact, maybe just leave town for a while.” Theoretically, no one should be coming after them. The trials were already in process. But better safe than sorry.
“I realize you care about her,” she said. “And that’s…admirable.”
And there she went again, ascribing my feelings for Ariane to charity, as if Ariane was something lesser that didn’t deserve to be loved, just pitied. I had to grit my teeth to keep from shouting at her. How I felt about Ariane had nothing to do with pity or even sympathy. I admired the hell out of her, thought about her constantly, and hoped to see her naked at some point. That was definitely not compassion.
“But I’m not losing my son,” my mom said fiercely. “I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking you were dead. I’m your mother, and it’s my job to protect you, even if it’s from yourself. If you’re not home by tonight, I’ll be forced to take measures that you won’t like.”
I gave a tired laugh. “Mom. If you’re threatening me, you’re going to have to get in line.”
Justine cleared her throat loudly behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. She gave me the “cut it” signal, a finger across her throat.
“I’ve got to go.” I hesitated. “I’m sorry. About everything. I’ll be in touch again, when I can.”
“Zane, no! Wait, please. Just tell me where you are,” she begged. “I can help you, please! I have contacts who—”
I lowered the phone from my ear and disconnected the call, even as she continued to plead with me, which tore at my heart.
“They’re okay,” I said with effort to sound casual, collected. “Everyone is present and accounted for.” I stuffed the bloodied napkin in my pocket, not sure what else to do with it.
“You were a last-minute surprise, as designed,” Justine pointed out. “They were counting on Adam participating. Odds are that they didn’t have time to find someone and get them in place for you, but they were curious enough about St. John’s approach to let you in.” She hesitated, glancing at Ariane. “Or they were counting on motivating you in another way.”
Meaning Ariane’s death would serve equally well to provoke the need for vengeance, assuming I survived Round One.
“She didn’t k
now you were alive,” Ariane said, startling me.
“My mom? No,” I said grimly. “I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell anyone.” I handed the phone to Justine.
Ariane closed the distance between us abruptly, startling me. She wrapped her fists in the front of my shirt and pulled herself up on her tiptoes, her lips brushing the bottom of my chin before I realized what she was trying to do.
I bent down, and her mouth was on mine, open, warm, and insistent. Aggressive, almost. Everything else faded into background buzz. She wasn’t waiting for me; she was taking charge, and it was hot.
Justine cleared her throat loudly to get our attention. It was gross and an obnoxious tick in her behavior, but it worked.
Ariane pulled away a few inches but still close enough that I could feel her breath against my skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, before releasing me.
Except I wasn’t quite ready to let her go. I caught her hand and linked my fingers with hers.
She smiled at me, and I couldn’t stop my goofy grin in response.
“Plenty of time for all of that later,” Justine said, her mouth pursed in disapproval. She pointed to Ariane. “We need to get you out of here.” She turned to me. “And you need to meet Adam for the switch back.”
Next to me, Ariane went still, her only motion to bite at her lip, a familiar gesture I recognized, and with a sinking heart I realized exactly what was coming next.
“I can’t go, not now,” she said. “They may not have Zane’s family, but they have someone. For me. For Ford.”
At that she looked at me, and the same thought pinged through both of us. “Carter,” she said.
I nodded. There just weren’t that many people that Ford would give a crap about. None, actually, except him. And how convenient that he was here, anyway. Ford had said that Laughlin had removed him from the premises. I wondered if that was true or if that was simply what Laughlin had told her to keep her from finding out what was really going on.
And Ariane…she didn’t have many people left in her life—not that there’d been that many to begin with. But knowing Ariane, it wouldn’t matter. If it was someone she’d met once, that would be enough. She couldn’t let even a stranger suffer on her behalf. That just wasn’t part of who she was.
“You can’t end the program,” Justine said. “All you can do is bring everything down around your ears. And then you’re putting the rest of us in jeopardy.” She shook her head.
“These people don’t deserve to die,” Ariane argued. “Carter and whomever they took because of me.”
“You’re missing the big picture here,” Justine said with frustration.
Ariane stiffened. “Everyone keeps talking about that. As if the here and now doesn’t matter. If every life matters, then every life matters.”
Justine’s gaze narrowed in on Ariane, her posture shifting, shoulders straightening, her hands coming up to rest on the table above her phone. “Is this your final say in the matter?” she asked in a cool, neutral tone.
My pulse picked up, reacting to the new tension in the air. I couldn’t hear Justine’s thoughts, but I could feel the change. The low-level hum cranking up another notch or ten.
Justine was going to do something. And she wasn’t alone. I could feel it. The buzz in my brain was too much for one person.
Then it dawned on me. The line behind us, all the cranky, corporate coffee-seekers. Crap. How many of them were Justine’s plants? I’d never even thought about that. She wasn’t going to have black-clad security personnel, like Jacobs and Laughlin. She’d have agents in suits, blending in nicely with all the accountants and bankers in here.
I fought the urge to swing around and count the number of faces turned in our direction, watching too intently. The only slight advantage we had was that, in order to keep their cover, any agents in the restaurant were forced to blend in. Stand in line. Sit at the booths. But that wouldn’t last.
WE’RE SURROUNDED. I thought at Ariane, concentrating on projecting the words clearly.
Next to me, Ariane cocked her head, listening. To me, or the others. “Is that my final word?” she repeated to Justine. “No. This is.” She looked to me. “Over the counter.”
I was still processing that when she moved, boosting herself over the counter and into the area with the bagel shop employees, who seemed equally surprised by her sudden entrance.
Oh. I was supposed to be following her.
I jumped the counter, but not nearly as smoothly, catching a rack of potato chips with my foot and knocking it to the ground.
“Hey!” One of the gape-mouthed employees recovered enough to shout at me.
Ariane ignored it, ducking the grasping arm of a manager and slipping around the three cashiers at their stations to push through a low swinging door, set at counter level.
I stayed as close as possible on her heels as we pushed out into the main room.
I could hear Justine shouting, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw several figures move with purpose, fighting their way toward us, not just lurching out of our way or jumping back in surprise.
The same people who would now be chasing us.
“You realize we’re running from our one chance to get out of this alive,” I said as we plowed out the door and onto the crowded sidewalk, jostling shoulders and elbows as we went. Protests and curses surrounded us, and I heard more than one cell phone clatter to the concrete.
Ariane slowed a fraction. “You can go back. You should. I’ve never wanted anything for you but—”
“Shut up. I just needed to state the obvious.” If there was one thing the last month had taught me, it was that I would regret not sticking around for the ride. I would regret not trusting Ariane.
She looked at me, concerned.
“But if we die in an alien attack a year from now, because they’re blowing up cities and shit, I’m going to be kind of pissed. Just so you know,” I said, pulling even with her.
She shook her head. “That won’t happen.”
The certainty in her voice was reassuring.
“We’ll have met our fate long before then,” she said, and picked up the pace.
Oh, good.
FIRST OBJECTIVE: DITCH OUR TAIL.
“You know, it would help if you weren’t dressed like a human highlighter,” I said over my shoulder to Zane.
Zane gave me an exasperated look as he dodged a tourist family clogging his half of the sidewalk. “Not a lot of choice in my clothes, Ariane.”
I’d figured. He’d protested vehemently when I’d made us both dress up in the Linwood Academy uniforms to infiltrate the school and meet Ford and the others. He was not, I knew, fond of khakis.
In spite of everything, I grinned. I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen, how we were going to untangle ourselves from this mess, but for just one moment, the joy that Zane was alive and okay—or mostly okay—and we were together overrode the panic and anxiety.
“Please tell me you have a plan,” Zane said, drawing up next to me.
I dared a glance behind us. The crowds of people that helped hide us also made it difficult to keep tabs on the agents pursuing us. But I caught a glimpse of pumping legs and dark suits. They were still there. “I have a plan,” I said.
“Do you really have a plan, or are you just saying that because I told you to?” He gave an out-of-breath laugh that still managed to convey his uncertainty.
“Come on,” I said, taking a left at the next intersection, another major thoroughfare. We weren’t likely able to outrun anyone chasing us; there just wasn’t enough open space to get up sufficient speed. But they had the same problem when it came to catching up to us.
I wished I’d had time to memorize more of downtown Chicago.
It seemed the roads ran on a grid, which was good. As long as I kept us out of a narrow alleyway or a semideserted street, we might have a shot of losing our pursuers temporarily, just long enough to double back on them.
I spied w
hat we needed, up and around the corner ahead. Bright gold lettering on a sign—THE SHOPS AT NORTHCROSS—and four stories of windows with glittery eye-catching backdrops. It appeared to be a mall, laid out vertically instead of the sprawling horizontal mass I was more familiar with. Still, it would work for what I had in mind.
“This way.” I darted into the street, cutting through traffic in the middle of the block. The fastest route to any destination is a straight line.
However, the collection of cabs and personal vehicles in the street disagreed. Loudly. Squealing brakes, honks, and screamed curses followed my path.
“Jesus, Ariane, be careful!” Zane shouted behind me. He sounded far more winded this time.
I slowed once I was on the sidewalk on the other side. “Are you all right?” I asked when he reached me.
“I just…I’m not…” He waved away his attempt at an explanation, concentrating on catching his breath. His face was flushed from exertion. “Let’s just go.”
I nodded, but made sure to keep a pace closer to his as we headed up the block.
Even without his words, I was pretty sure I understood what was going on. The virus gave him enhanced strength and stamina, not to mention nifty powers that were similar to mine, but it was also fighting his body. Or his body was fighting it. Either way, not the best condition to be running flat-out with adrenaline pumping.
“We’re almost there,” I said, touching his arm. “Just a little farther.”
I looked back to see three agents closing in. My cross-traffic maneuver had saved us time and given us a clear view of those chasing us. Two men and a woman were currently attempting to navigate through the traffic. The woman was in the lead, and absurdly, I felt a brief flash of pride in that.
I dropped back a step or two behind Zane so I could guide him. If this was going to work, I needed him ahead of me.
“See the mall up ahead, on the right?” I asked Zane, keeping my voice down. “About a quarter of the way down the block on the cross-street. Don’t move your head, just shift your eyes.” I didn’t want to telegraph our next move to the agents.
“NorthCross? Yeah, I see it,” he panted. “I didn’t know you hated the highlighter shirt that much.”
