The Hunt

9

Ariane

TWO-HOUR SHIFTS, I DECIDED ON my way down the stairs, my hand clinging to the railing so tightly my knuckles throbbed. That made the most sense. Enough time for the person resting to get some decent sleep but not so much that the one on watch duty would get overwhelmed and too tired.

Yes, two hours. I nodded decisively, even though absolutely no one was around to see me. If I just kept myself focused on the task at hand, everything would be okay. Except…

I love you. Zane’s voice echoed in my head. Half surprised, half relieved, as if it hadn’t been a conscious decision to speak the sentiment aloud.

My heart ached at the instant replay.

Don’t do this, Ariane. Don’t do this to yourself.

But he said, “I love you.” Words I’d never imagined hearing from anyone. Ever.

I should have been elated. I’d never felt anything like the warmth and affection that had accompanied his words. I wanted to wrap those feelings around me and live in them forever.

He loved me. The mix of exhilaration and adrenaline was like carbonated bubbles in my bloodstream, a physical representation of joy. This is what joy felt like. No wonder people lived and died for this feeling.

I’d known days ago that I loved him. I’d felt it before we’d even left Wingate, before he’d known who and what I was. I’d broken the rule expressly against falling in love, #5, for Zane.

But in all of that, I’d never considered the idea of him loving me in return. That concept was, absurd as it sounded, completely foreign to me.

I wanted him to like me, to care about me, of course. And to want me. That, to me, was the most important idea. As someone who’d been wanted only for what I represented to others, the idea of being wanted for who I was seemed both impossible and impossibly wonderful.

But love?

I swallowed hard. People did crazy things for love. And being responsible for someone else’s feelings like that felt powerful and terrifying. As if I’d been given some delicate and fragile object to carry over rocky and uneven terrain with shaky hands.

What if I screwed this up? Or, worse, what if he figured out I wasn’t worth everything he’d just given me? My own disappointment, hurt, and brokenness—that I could handle. But seeing all that from Zane? It might kill me, saving everybody else the trouble.

With a sigh, I settled myself at the base of the stairs, where I could easily hear Zane if he called. I didn’t want to rely on hearing his thoughts, not now, when I was trying to give him some privacy.

I covered my face with my hands. Up there, I’d reacted on instinct. Confronted with my own panic, I’d done the only thing I knew how, what I’d been trained to do when confronted with an unknown threat: I’d retreated. (Retreat to reevaluate your strategy and your options.)

You can’t allow this to distract you, my logical side argued. You must stay focused on the mission if you want to survive. The cool and implacable portion of my heritage was especially tempting right now, a pool on a blisteringly hot day. I didn’t have to care. It could be just as simple as that. Zane’s love for me could be nothing more than a resource, a tool to use to my advantage, if the opportunity arose.

No. I shook my head violently, letting my hands drop. I wouldn’t do that to him. He’d taken a chance, made himself vulnerable, and I couldn’t do any less. I loved him. I’d fought for the chance to feel that for someone, and that he felt it in return was a miracle, one I would not ignore.

Tell him, my humanity urged. You need to tell him how you feel.

It’ll make you weaker, my logical side advised. Slow your response time, cloud your thinking, and put you both in more danger.

Maybe. Maybe not. Having something—someone—to fight for could make all the difference in the right situation. There are countless examples in human history.

But you’re not human, not entirely.

True. But I wasn’t entirely anything.

I was a mix, a mutt, an unnatural concoction that probably couldn’t draw firm conclusions from (without conclusive allegiances to) either side of my heritage because of it.

Not that that would stop the internal argument. I rested my head on my knees. This was going to be a long day.

At midnight, with no change in the situation at Mara’s house, I slipped out to the van and retrieved the duffel bag, one of the sleeping bags, and the snacks we’d accumulated at various points on our road trip. Ordering a pizza was a little out of the question, so we’d have to make do with what we had.

Not that Zane complained when I handed everything but the sleeping bag off to him for safekeeping. (It seemed only logical that the person who was awake should be in charge of the money and the food.)

He didn’t say much at all, actually. To be fair, neither did I. In our shift changes so far, we’d exchanged a minimum of words. Yes, the SUVs were still present, as was the mysterious man in the empty house.

God, was it possible that I was going to screw this up simply by trying not to screw it up? That thought had haunted me equally during my two-hour “rest” periods and on-duty shifts.

The only few minutes of respite I had was when I changed places with Zane, and then only because I was on alert, my palms sweaty and my head full of things I wasn’t sure I should say, as we passed each other.

Downstairs again, after my shift at two A.M., I’d finally managed to doze off when something woke me up.

I blinked, checking the dull green digits on the stove clock, just visible around the corner in the kitchen. Five forty-one. So just a few minutes before my six A.M. shift was due to start.

“Ariane,” Zane whispered urgently from the top of the stairs, the sound echoing through the silent house, off the bare walls and floors.

That’s what I’d heard. He’d been calling me.

I shook off the last vestiges of sleep and a dream that involved climbing a never-ending mountain of corn chips—another lesson against eating junk food for meals—and sat up. “What’s wrong?” I asked, careful to keep quiet, my heart catapulting inside my chest.

“Something’s going on.” There was an odd thread of excitement, mixed with tension, in his voice.

I shoved the sleeping bag away and scrambled to my feet.

Upstairs, it was dark, but the bathroom was warm and damp, smelling of fresh soap and shampoo. Zane had taken a shower at some point, using the toiletries I’d snagged from the motel.

“Come here. You’ve got to see this.” He waved me forward to his position by the window.

The room was small, but there was plenty of space for me to pass without bumping into him. And yet I didn’t take it. I brushed against his side on my way to the window. He smelled so good and looked even better. In the gray predawn light, he was deliciously rumpled with his dark hair damp and not styled and more stubble on his cheeks and chin.

I wanted to wrap myself around him with an intensity that frightened me. I wanted to feel the scrape of his unshaved skin against mine, taste the mint of the toothpaste in his mouth, and sink my hands into his hair.

“One of the SUVs left,” he said, his attention on the view outside.

Huh? I shook my head, my brain somewhere else entirely.

“The other is still there, but with the engine running now.” He pointed, and I reluctantly abandoned my fantasies to step up on the closed toilet and peer out.

Sure enough, he was right. The forward-most SUV was gone, leaving the second in place, the dim glow of the interior lights confirming at least one dark silhouette inside.

“And check out our mystery dude,” Zane added, near enough to my ear to send a bolt of heat through me.

Get a grip, Ariane. I forced myself to pay attention. In the house directly behind us, with lights blazing in the upstairs window, I could see the unknown man, his hair ruffled and standing on end, frantically shoving things into a bag. He was packing up his stakeout. In plain view of anyone who happened to glance in his direction.

I rolled my eyes. Amateur.

“He’s not GTX, that’s for sure. I don’t even think he’s…” I paused and shook my head. “I don’t know what he is except really, really bad at this.”

“What are they doing?” Zane asked, tilting his head toward the remaining SUV.

I focused on his mom’s house, where the lights were on now, movement flickering as shadows. From this distance, it wasn’t easy to pick up on specific thoughts. General emotional impressions were easier. Dread, resignation, the pinch of uncomfortable clothes, bitterness, anger.

I closed my eyes, concentrating, picturing Mara and attempting to focus in on her mind.

…toast is burning! I don’t need an escort to work…just want an excuse to spy on me some more…keys, keys, where are my keys?

Then a strong surge of worry and a very clear image of Zane. Please, let him be safe.

Not yet, but I was doing my best.

I opened my eyes to find Zane studying me.

“I think she’s going to work,” I said, my face warm under his appraisal. “The SUV is going to follow her.” Maybe to observe and protect her, a response to her claim of seeing one of the hybrids at the grocery store. Or more likely, given how angry she’d been on the phone earlier when talking to Laughlin, a reminder of who was running her life. She was not a free woman, but a resource owned by Laughlin Integrated Enterprises.

Either way, it meant we wouldn’t get the opportunity to talk with her alone.

I frowned. Unless we were willing to take a chance.

I leaned closer to the glass, taking in the angles, the different approaches between our location and the target. We couldn’t walk up to the front door and ring the bell again, not with the occupants of the SUV watching, plus our mystery observer. And I was willing to bet that barging in through the back door probably wouldn’t get us a better response from Mara.

Our only option might be to take her by surprise without letting any of the others see us. The garage was attached to the house, and if she was taking her own car to work…

“What are you doing?” Zane asked.

“Thinking. Working on timing,” I said, distracted. “Do you think your mom locks the door between the house and the garage?”

He gave a strangled laugh. “You saw her,” he said. “I think she locks everything. Twice, at least.”

Fair enough. That would cost us an extra second or two, but it would also force her to take more time before leaving the garage. Of course, if she’d barricaded the sliding glass door at the back of her house with anything more than a standard security bar, I’d never be able to get it open in time and we’d be out of luck, but, barring any other, better ideas, it was worth a shot.

I turned to Zane. “How do you feel about running?”

“To or from something?” he asked, and I could see the wariness in his expression. He was wondering if I was going to try to force him to leave.

“To.” I outlined my plan.

When I finished, he was shaking his head.

“What?” I asked.

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said, “Sometimes I forget you’ve got all this…stuff in your head. Plans, schemes, skills. It’s like you’re two different people sometimes.” He didn’t seem to be sure if that was a good thing or bad thing, or just weird.

“Tell me about it,” I muttered.

I led the way downstairs and out the back door of “our” house. If we stuck close to the walls, the dark blue shadows of the early morning would likely cover us. Plus, we needed to be outside to hear Mara’s garage door going up. Our signal to run.

I took a deep breath and shivered in the damp air. The overgrown grass was slippery and cool with dew that would be burned off as soon as the sun was up, but for now it was soaking into my shoes and the hem of my jeans.

Next to me, Zane raised a questioning eyebrow.

I nodded. I was okay. It was just that this was the second day in a row that I’d been awake to see the sunrise.

Actually, the third. Today was Monday.

Saturday morning, I’d just been stuck underground in the lab and unable to see it.

I felt tired suddenly, worn down. I needed a vacation. Or at least a solid night of uninterrupted sleep. But I wouldn’t turn down a hammock and the peace of mind of being on a distant island where no one could find me.

Us. I altered the mental image of the hammock to include Zane and found I liked it even better. Maybe when all of this was done.

A low rumbling noise sounded in the distance, sending my pulse into high gear, and Zane tapped my arm lightly, his whole body tensed and ready.

I nodded, and we ran.

I was fast, but Zane’s longer legs gave him equal advantage, matching me stride for stride as we bolted through backyards on a parallel to the street. Once we reached the far side of the third house, we made a hard left, putting us directly in line with the rear side of Mara’s duplex.

At least that was the plan. But rounding the corner, I slipped on the grass and started to fall. I flailed, reaching for power to correct my balance, but my concentration was too scattered. My body stiffened, preparing for impact, for pain. We were moving too fast for me to roll through it. There would be broken bones. A wrist, most likely, and those were a bitch.

But Zane grabbed my elbow and yanked me upright before I hit the ground, his quick reflexes honed from years of sports, probably.

I shot him a grateful look but didn’t have time for more; the sliding glass door at the back of Mara’s duplex was looming large.

My hand up, I focused on the locking mechanism and flipped it up, and then turned my attention to the white security bar, stretched across the glass. One solid yank at the joint with my mind and it was dangling like a broken elbow, clattering against the door. Then, with another mental shove, the sliding glass door retracted so hard it bounced when it hit the end of the track.

Zane and I jostled up the concrete steps and into the kitchen, which reeked of charred toast. Our shoes squeaked on linoleum.

“This way,” I said in a rough whisper, broken by my panting. A left took us into a tiny living room with a small TV on a tray table and a tired-looking sofa, stuffing leaking out of one cushion.

On the far wall, a door with three shiny dead bolts. The garage.

Once again I pulled at the locks in advance of our approach. Only this time, I accidentally pulled the locks from the wooden door with a small explosion of splinters and sawdust—oops. But good enough. We burst through into the garage, with Zane ahead of me, as planned, just as Mara was backing up in her little silver Mazda.

She braked with a sudden screech, her face pale even behind the windshield tinting. “Zane.” Her mouth formed the word clearly even though the sound didn’t reach us over the engine noise. Then her gaze fell on me, and her mouth pinched in displeasure. But she didn’t leave.

I pulled Zane back a step, trying to keep him in the shadows as much as possible. I wasn’t sure what the SUV guys would see if they looked in the garage, and I didn’t want to risk it.

He gave me an unhappy nod—I knew he hated this part of the plan—then I slipped past him, down the steps, and climbed into Mara’s backseat.

“What are you doing?” Mara gasped, as I closed the door with a quiet thunk.

I ducked down to hide in the footwell and leaned to one side so I could see her in the gap between the seats. “Just go.”

She didn’t move.

“If you don’t, those guys in the SUV will be up here to check, and they’ll find Zane.” I didn’t like using her drive to protect her son to manipulate her, but it would work, and that was what I needed.

She released her foot from the brake and the car rolled backward again. “If you get him hurt, I will make you sorry,” she snarled, glaring at me in the rearview mirror.

“I believe it,” I said without hesitation. “Close the garage.”

Mara obeyed immediately, pressing a button on the remote clipped to her sun visor, no doubt recognizing the benefit of hiding Zane from view.

From my position on the floor, I couldn’t see him, but I imagined him standing there alone, his mouth turned down, watching us leave. I hated leaving him behind, but I figured that bringing Zane along, therefore putting him in further danger, would have made Mara even less cooperative.

“Now just go to work like you normally do,” I said.

Mara gave a strained laugh as she put the car in drive. “Because this has so much in common with normal. What do you want, 107?”

Oddly enough, with the adrenaline pumping, I didn’t even flinch at the numerical designation.

“If you’re looking for a hostage, you picked the wrong person,” she continued. “They’re not going to do anything to save—”

“I don’t want you as a hostage,” I said, swallowing my impatience with her. “I just need information.”

“I don’t know anything,” she protested. “They don’t tell me—”

I cut her off. “Where are Laughlin’s hybrids? Ford and the others.”

She inhaled sharply. “What do you want with them?”

“I’m changing the game,” I said grimly.

“What does that mean?”

I ignored her. “You said they’re in public sometimes, right? At school for training.”

“Yes, but—”

“Where?” I persisted.

“What are you planning?” she asked suspiciously.

I stayed quiet. I doubted Mara would turn me into Laughlin right now, not when doing so would jeopardize her son. But I couldn’t be sure.

“You don’t want anything to do with them, I promise you,” she said darkly.

“I don’t have a choice,” I said. “Where can I find them?” I concentrated on the buzz of her thoughts. Even if she wouldn’t say the name, she might think it.

But Mara’s mind was an uncoordinated scramble of half-finished thoughts.

I can’t—

If I tell her, then Laughlin will…Oh God.

Why not? Let them finish each other off and—

A, B, C, D, E, F, G…

She was attempting to block the name from surfacing by focusing on something else. The alphabet song. It would work. For a while. But eventually, she’d slip. I just had to wait her out. And she knew that.

Inside, her voice was shaky with panic. But on the outside, she was silent. The only noise came from the tires on the road and the low hum of the engine. It was lulling, particularly in combination with the rhythmic chanting of the song.

So when the melody in her head abruptly cut off and she spoke aloud again, it startled me. “If I tell you where to find them, you have to leave Zane alone. Drop him off somewhere, send him home to Wingate,” she said, the words tumbling out as if she’d been barely holding them back.

Ah, that I’d been expecting. She loved Zane, regardless of the crappy ways she’d chosen to show that. “He is free to leave me anytime he wants,” I said, though just the thought of him walking away ripped at me with sharp teeth. “But he’s made his choice, and I won’t abandon him.” Unlike you.

I didn’t say the words, but she picked up on the implication anyway and flinched.

Instead of protesting, though, she nodded stiffly, as if this had decided something for her. “Assuming you can magically resolve this—” she began.

“It’s not magic,” I interjected. “You should know that better than anyone.”

“—by killing Jacobs and Laughlin or negotiating with them, whatever your plan is,” she continued as though I hadn’t spoken, “do you think you’ll be happy with a normal life?”

The question took me by surprise, and I answered honestly before I could stop myself. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“But you’ve never lived it,” she pointed out. “You’ve been on a mission your whole life. First, in the lab, to learn your abilities, and then to hide them once you were thought you were outside. Will you be able to shut off the part of yourself that enjoys what you are?” she pressed, sounding almost sad. “Will you be satisfied using those same skills to calculate the closest parking space at the store or figure out who keeps letting their dog do his business in your yard?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but 107, you are not made for a normal life.”

Her words echoed something Dr. Jacobs had said to me the other night in the lab. You weren’t created for high school, dates, and football games.

It sent a chill through me. At the time, I’d thought he was simply trying to convince me to cooperate. But what if they were both talking about something far more complicated? Like I somehow lacked the capability to live a normal life? Like, I don’t know, a dishwasher trying to make toast.

I jerked my head in denial. No, I was being ridiculous. Human or not, I was still a person. I still had choices. “You’re wrong,” I said firmly.

“I was there. I’ve studied you, seen your test results,” Mara said in that same soft, pseudo-compassionate tone.

“Studying me doesn’t mean you know me,” I snapped. “Dr. Jacobs made that mistake. Look how that worked out for him.”

“All right, all right,” she said soothingly, and I felt her nervousness increase. She knew all too well what I could do if I felt threatened. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” I said through gritted teeth. I wanted her to take it back, to admit that she was lying to manipulate me into doing what she wanted.

I could feel my power building up, a tingling in my arms and legs that had nothing to do with my cramped position. I hadn’t lost control in days, not since destroying the mental block that had kept me from accessing most of my ability. But now, the car windows were shaking in their frames and the radio was giving off an alarming squeal of interference.

“Okay, fine. Forget what I said. How about a token of good faith? Ford and the others are at Linwood High School in Lake Forest.” She lifted her shaking hands from the wheel momentarily, as if to show she held no weapons. “No coercion, no promises.”

Strangely enough, that did more to convince me that she truly believed what she’d said about me. The mounting power within me dissipated abruptly, and I felt dizzy, empty. She had to be wrong. Had to be.

“Just keep my son safe,” she added, her mouth tight.

Until you realize that I’m right.

This time, it was her turn to leave words hanging in the air, unspoken, but I heard them all too clearly, just the same.