The Legacy Series Boxed Set (Legacy, Prophecy, Revelation, and AWOL)

by Ellery Kane

  “Lex!” Edison tugged my arm, but I didn’t turn away.

  “Let’s go, Croft!” The abrupt snarl of a police officer ended the exchange. I watched String’s Mohawk disappear behind secured doors, still waiting for him to finish his sentence.

  I took an audible breath, pushing String from my mind. “Let’s begin with why you went to Green Briar.” So much for starting with an easy one. Detective Katherine Brewster—she’d said to call her Katie—smiled at me, as if she already knew the answer. She probably did. According to Mr. Van Sant, she was smart and exacting, but fair.

  “Go ahead, Alexandra. You have nothing to hide.” Mr. Van Sant sat on one side of me, Edison on the other. A Van Sant sandwich, any criminal’s dream. Except I wasn’t a criminal. Just a liar. Lucky for me, my skills at subterfuge were on a definite uptick.

  “My dad—he’s a journalist—he was hoping to get an interview with Peter Radley.”

  “I see.” She typed a note onto her computer tablet. “So why did you go inside alone?”

  “Green Briar doesn’t allow media on the premises.”

  “And you used someone else’s name at the front desk …”

  Before I could answer, Mr. Van Sant held up his hand, stopping me. “Is that a question?” he asked.

  The detective rolled her eyes but nodded. “Did you? Did you use an alias?” Alias. That sounded bad. I hesitated, glancing at Mr. Van Sant.

  “Just tell her the truth.”

  “Yes,” I finally replied. Mr. Van Sant coached me well. Only answer the question asked of you.

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want to give my name—Knightley—because my mother used to work there.”

  “Who is Emma Markum?”

  “A girl I don’t like.” I wasn’t even sure that was the truth anymore.

  “Did you know she was in the Guardian Force?” That was unexpected. I waited for Mr. Van Sant to interrupt, but he didn’t.

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “How is this relevant?” Mr. Van Sant demanded.

  “We’re not in court, Nicholas. I decide what’s relevant here.” I watched Mr. Van Sant for signs of an eruption. No one called him by his first name. Ever.

  “She’s a young girl, Katherine. She’s been through a lot. I’m sure you can appreciate the courage it took for her to show up and answer your questions. Now it was my understanding Peter Radley is the reason we’re here, not Emma Markum. Am I wrong on that?”

  The detective didn’t answer, but asked another question instead. “What happened in the room with Peter?”

  I went back there in my mind—his gritted teeth, his rubbed-raw arms, the hollow desolation in his voice—but I couldn’t tell her everything. Mr. Van Sant agreed with Quin. Xander had most of the police force in his pocket. “He told me that he failed his mission, and then he jumped.”

  She opened her eyes wide at me and leaned in. “That’s all?”

  I shrugged. “I wish I could be more helpful.” I sounded earnest, but I doubted she believed me. She was probably accustomed to being deceived.

  “Did you notice anything—anything at all—that seemed odd or suspicious? Were there EAMs in the room?”

  “It happened so fast, and then I just got scared and ran. I didn’t see anything like that.”

  After typing a few more notes, Detective Brewster gathered her things. Her face was still water—serene, hiding its depths. “Okay, Alexandra. Give me a minute to finish up my notes, and I’ll be back.”

  With the click of the door, I relaxed. That wasn’t so bad. I stayed quiet, congratulating myself in silence, knowing there was a camera watching and listening. Meanwhile, Mr. Van Sant was typing furiously. He passed me his computer tablet.

  Something’s off. She’d never give in like that about Emma. Be ready.

  I stared at the words, the letters, until they blurred. I tried to be ready, but I wasn’t sure how. I squirmed in my seat, tapping my fingers on the table until Edison shushed me with a nudge. Seconds passed, then minutes. I watched them go by on the large clock hung just across from me. Aside from a folding table and four chairs, it was the only thing in the room.

  “Sorry that took so long.” The detective returned to her seat. “I just have a few more questions. Then I’ll let you get back to your life.” Right. My life. Dad in jail. Ex-boyfriend consorting with the enemy. A psychopath as an ally. Let me get back to that.

  “I apologize for asking again, but how well do you know Emma Mar—?”

  Mr. Van Sant interrupted her. “My client won’t be answering any questions about Ms. Markum.”

  “Ms. Knightley, would it surprise you to learn she’s been staying at your house?” And there it was. The sucker punch I was supposed to be ready for.

  “Detective Brewster, are you planning to charge my client with a crime? If not, we’re done here.” Mr. Van Sant stood up. Edison immediately followed. I just sat there, legs leaden, until Mr. Van Sant pulled me to my feet.

  The detective sneered at him. “Fine. Have it your way, Nicholas.” Her veneer of politeness vanished, she turned to me with obvious disapproval. “After you escaped from military custody this morning, they went looking for you at your house. Emma Markum and Carrie Donovan were arrested there.”

  I opened my mouth, still unsure what I would say, when Mr. Van Sant yanked me toward the door. “We’re done here.”

  “They’re being charged with possession of emotional-altering medication and—”

  “Done.” Mr. Van Sant repeated. He was already speed walking down the hallway, dragging me alongside him. All I could do was keep up.

  CHAPTER FORTY - THREE :

  BLANK SPACE

  Mr. Van Sant was boiling. Red-faced and sweating, he let out a primal yell the moment Scooter rounded the corner from the station. I looked at Edison with alarm.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “He does this all the time.”

  We rode in silence, the air conditioner blasting Mr. Van Sant’s face. Finally, he loosened his tie and spoke. “Well that was a complete disaster.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us Carrie was staying with you?” Edison asked.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. I should have. But she was already so paranoid. After she left the rehab program, she was convinced the government was after her.”

  “Looks like she might be right,” Mr. Van Sant muttered.

  Edison tapped his father’s shoulder. “What about your source?” he asked. “Do you think he knew about the arrest?”

  “Former source,” Mr. Van Sant corrected. “And apparently not.”

  Mr. Van Sant asked Scooter to let us out a block from the house. I felt like a burglar, sneaking in through the fenced back entrance, past the pool and the gardens. Through the picture window, I saw Elana. She was sitting on the sofa, looking up at someone, gesturing wildly with her hands. Even from here, I could see her face was panicked. As we neared the door, the rest of the room came into view. A mildly interested Augustus lounged in Mr. Van Sant’s recliner, Barry guarding him hawklike. Standing over Elana, just as animated, was Max. When we opened the door, all we heard was his frantic voice.

  “ … and then, they just took her away. Emma too. And a whole bunch of boxes from Dr. Knightley’s—Lex!” Max ran over to us. His hands were shaking.

  “Sit down.” Mr. Van Sant guided Max to the sofa, where he reluctantly lowered himself to the edge. “Now take a deep breath and start from the beginning.”

  I could hear the tremble in Max’s breath as he inhaled. “I had a fight with String. That’s how it started. Last night, he showed up at my house a couple of hours before the curfew. He was acting funny, asking me a lot of questions about when I saw you last. So I finally confronted him about … ” Max paused and cut his eyes to Augustus. They opened wide, as if he was just seeing him for the first time. “Uh … ” His voice quivered. “Does he belong here?”

  Mr. Van Sant nodded at Barry. “Take him in the other room.
”

  “With pleasure.” With one hand and not much effort, Barry seized Augustus by the arm. Augustus was much taller—but Barry outweighed him by at least fifty pounds of muscle. On the other hand, Augustus’ sheer will had a weight of its own. The two of them jostled with each other as they walked toward the kitchen.

  “I don’t like you keeping secrets,” Augustus remarked, pointing with his free hand at Mr. Van Sant. “How can I trust you’re a man of your word if I’m shoved out of the room by this—” Barry tightened his grip on Augustus’ shoulder, causing him to grimace. “—this heathen every time something important goes down?”

  “So then, you’ve been completely honest with us?” I asked.

  “As honest with you, Ms. Knightley, as you’ve been with me.”

  “Let’s go,” Barry snapped, giving Augustus a forceful push through the kitchen door. “You did say you were hungry again, didn’t you?”

  Max stared after them with utter confusion. “We’ll tell you about it later,” I reassured him.

  Mr. Van Sant touched Max’s arm. “Continue.”

  Another deep breath and Max began where he left off. “I confronted String about everything—Radley and the picture of George McAllister.” Now it was Mr. Van Sant who looked dumbfounded. “I found it in his backpack just before the trial ended. I was scared to ask him about it. I wasn’t sure what it meant. But yesterday, it just spilled out. I couldn’t keep it inside anymore.”

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  Max shook his head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He just left.”

  “Not even a word?”

  “Just that I wouldn’t understand.” Suddenly, Max’s eyes were watery. “I told him I would try, but … ”

  “When did you go to the Knightley’s house?” Mr. Van Sant asked, his stern voice yanking Max back from the verge of tears.

  “This morning, after I got the text from Edison’s phone. I went right over to talk to Lex, but they were already there.”

  “Who?”

  “The military. And Xander.”

  “Xander Steele?” It was rare that Mr. Van Sant sounded surprised. “Are you certain it was him?”

  “Yep. I wasn’t sure at first. He looked really bad. His face was bandaged, and he was wearing a sling. But it was definitely him.”

  Mr. Van Sant raised his eyebrows at me. “I told you. Mad as a hornet.”

  “So what happened?” I asked, dreading his answer.

  “When I got there, the house was already surrounded. The door was busted open. I just hid in the car and watched the whole thing. They brought out Carrie first, then Emma. Loaded them into a jeep and drove away. And I just watched.” Max put his head in his hands.

  Patting Max’s shoulder, Mr. Van Sant tried to reassure him. “Son, you did the right thing. If you showed your face, you would’ve been arrested too. I guarantee it.”

  “He’s right, Max,” Elana added. “You were smart.” We all nodded our agreement.

  Without raising his head, Max muttered, “There’s more.” When he looked up again, his eyes found mine. “They took some of your mom’s stuff. I couldn’t see what exactly, but they loaded a few boxes out of her lab.”

  My chest felt tight—my heart squeezed and wrung out like a wet dishrag. “What about Artos?” My voice came out as a whisper.

  Max shrugged. “I don’t know. They were trying to catch him, but he ran off down the street. I called for him before I left—I was afraid to get out of the car—but he didn’t come. Sorry, Lex.”

  “It’s okay,” I told him. But nothing was okay. I wasn’t sure if anything would ever be okay again.

  An hour later, with all our secrets exchanged, Mr. Van Sant allowed Augustus to return to the living room. Still pouting, he dropped down onto the sofa, turned his back to us, and clicked on the television.

  “Do you know what I despise most in this world?” he asked. “Boredom.” He chuckled to himself. “My mother always said the devil finds work for idle minds.” I gave Augustus a skeptical look as Edison and Elana exchanged an eye roll. Augustus had mentioned his mother before—different versions of her—when he was staying on the boat. Sometimes cold and unforgiving, sometimes warm and tender, she seemed to change with his mood. It was impossible to imagine her, easier to believe he’d hatched from a rancid egg.

  “I’m sure Barbara Blake will be happy to keep the devil at bay,” Edison said, gesturing to the screen where Barbara was finishing her report on last night’s violence. Last night. It seemed so long ago. It was strange the way bad things expanded, filling every nook of every second, of every minute, of every hour, slowing time to a laborious crawl.

  Augustus groaned. “I find Ms. Blake as dull as cardboard.”

  “Shh.” I pointed to the television. “She’s talking about Zenigenic.”

  “… is expected to occur tomorrow at Zenigenic’s headquarters in San Francisco and comes on the heels of an explosive interview there with Quin McAllister, son of convicted murderer, George McAllister. As many of you know, the younger McAllister shocked viewers with his statements of support for Xander Steele. Steele appears to be capitalizing on McAllister’s popularity—especially with a recent poll showing increased approval rates for the pharmaceutical mogul and his newest drug, Docil-E, particularly in the 18-to-24 demographic. Before Steele’s recent brush with death, public opinion of him was at an all-time low with protestors regularly stationed outside Zenigenic. Our sources close to Steele hinted that McAllister will likely make an appearance at Docil-E’s unveiling in two days and may even address the crowd.”

  Edison chuckled. “Looks like Quin might be an A-lister after all.” The sound of my own laughter surprised me, mercifully interrupting my thinking, even if it was short-lived.

  “So predictable … Mr. McAllister and his fatal flaw.” Augustus didn’t look at me, but I knew his words were meant for me. Because they stung. Because I knew Quin’s weakness better than anyone. He trusted the wrong men, trusted them until they broke him. Ryker. Augustus. But Xander? He didn’t really trust Xander—did he? I looked at Augustus, wondering, but knowing better than to ask.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Edison demanded.

  Augustus shrugged. “I’m just a small-time con man. What do I know?”

  “Argh!” Frustrated, Edison dialed up the volume of the television, drowning out Augustus’ disdainful snicker.

  Next to me, Max gently tugged at my jacket sleeve. “Lex, I need to talk to you.” He gestured toward the foyer, his voice barely audible. I nodded and followed him. When we were out of view of the others, he whispered, “Quin was there today. At your house.” I just gaped at him, speechless. “He might’ve seen me … recognized the car. I don’t know.”

  I searched for words, any words. “What—why—was he—what was he doing?” I finally spit out.

  “He was with Xander most of the time.” After a quick glance to assess my reaction—somewhere between relieved and appalled—he added, “It’s good, right? It means he didn’t blow his cover.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I wanted to tell you first. To see what you thought.”

  What do I think? My brain seemed to be all out of thoughts. There was only blank space and a dull ache.

  CHAPTER FORTY - FOUR :

  HOME, AGAIN

  Fortunately for me, Edison and Elana had plenty of thoughts about Max’s revelation.

  “We have to go to your house,” Edison announced without pause. We were sitting in his bedroom while Augustus dozed downstairs under Barry’s watchful eyes. Mr. Van Sant was holed up in his office trying to find out something—anything—about the fate of Carrie, Emma, and my father.

  I shook my head. “I agree, but—”

  “No buts.” Edison’s voice was firm. “We have to.” He looked to Elana for support.

  “Lex, I think he’s right. We need to know what they took from your mom’s lab. Plus, what if Quin left something behind? Like a m
essage?”

  “And we can look for Artos,” Max added.

  “But,” I began again, “what about your dad?”

  “Let me handle him,” Edison said. “Since the trial, he’s actually starting to listen to me.” I raised my eyebrows, skeptical. “Or at least he’s gotten better at pretending.”

  A few hours later—and some gentle persuasion from Edison—Mr. Van Sant green lighted our plan. Early the next morning, we were on our way, Scooter tailing us in Mr. Van Sant’s car. Through the Marina, past the Presidio, those familiar red cables broke through the clouds. They were the link between one world and another, the way home.

  “Never gets easier,” Edison murmured as we approached the Golden Gate. Still skittish about bridges, his pride outweighed his fear, and he reluctantly agreed to drive. I heard him inhale sharply when the car shifted in the battering wind. He slowed to a crawl.

  “Just remember your breathing,” Elana prompted. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth.”

  “Trying.” It sounded like his teeth were clenched, air escaping through them like whistling steam.

  Max snickered. “At this point, we’ll be there in a week or so. Oh wait, we might be dead by then.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can, Max.”

  “Sorry, Grandpa.”

  “Are you okay back there?” Elana asked me, probably trying to distract them both. “We’re almost at the checkpoint.” Hunkered beneath a tarp in the backseat, I felt her hand on my head and nodded. With Xander and the military still on my trail, we weren’t taking any chances.

  “Ready for this, Red?” Edison asked, a few minutes later. I figured we were close—the span of the bridge mostly behind us—because his voice was relaxed again.

  “Ready,” Elana replied.

  “I hope I’m ready.” Now Max sounded nervous. I lifted the tarp and poked my head out. He was fidgeting with his phone, turning it over and over again in his hand. He could deny it all he wanted—and he had vehemently, several times in fact on the way here—but I knew Max was hoping to hear from String. When our eyes connected, both of us caught, he slipped the phone into his pocket, and I ducked back into my hiding place. I felt the van slow to a stop, heard the rush of air through the window.