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Mila 2.0: Renegade
Debra Driza
She’s made of more than you think… the heart-pounding second installment in the action and thrill-packed story of Mila 2.0.There is no one left for Mila to trust. Except for a boy she barely knows. With her mother gone, Hunter Lowe is the only person Mila can turn to for help, the only person who really cares about her. But he has no idea who – and what – Mila really is.She cannot bear to reveal her secret, and losing the last tie to her normal life just is not an option. But is Hunter who he seems to be, or is he hiding something too?The road to the truth is more dangerous than ever…



MILA Renegade 2.0
Debra Driza


Table of Contents
Cover (#uffec2e26-f983-508f-bef9-c2f74f7bbb3d)
Title Page (#u9cd41af3-bba2-520f-a4d1-18943867c2a1)
Chapter One (#u8068582b-7c62-5459-b69e-3d16fbf9b03d)
Chapter Two (#u6203a036-c6af-5c97-a3e9-25f3478a3acf)
Chapter Three (#uaa469426-8a67-5272-8a02-48a6607c6427)
Chapter Four (#u20f4eed0-01e1-565f-90bb-b8d9d9ea42bd)
Chapter Five (#u035434ea-b2e9-5958-964c-1da3c6e3a545)
Chapter Six (#u3ce92c3f-28a3-5cee-8bc4-3127730140c4)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


(#ulink_42612049-3d30-5ba9-9c31-0a5ea86f5bfa)
If I could record real-life moments in my head like a DVR, this afternoon would top the list as one of the most replayed. Far-fetched? Maybe for a normal girl. But normal wasn’t a word that applied to my life anymore. Though, at this precise moment, I was giving it my best shot. Focusing on the now—just me, salt, sand, and the blazing sun baking my skin and reflecting off the dark-haired boy’s head like a million tiny sparklers.
White froth lapped at the shore mere inches from my toes—6.15, to be exact—but my focus remained intent on his head, bobbing out past the breaking waves. He dove under them with the fluid ease of a sea creature, and even from here I could catch glimpses of the sheer bliss on his face. Hunter was completely in his element.
Enjoy it while you can, I silently urged him. We wouldn’t be staying long.
Or maybe we would. I had decisions to make yet, about my future.
Overhead, a seagull squawked before dive-bombing a leftover morsel on the sand. At the harsh cry, something rippled in the far recesses of my mind, then disappeared.
I shivered, like the sun had dipped beneath a cloud.
Hunter swam with sure strokes in my direction, water curling behind him in a huge arch. I held my breath. Compared to the wave, he looked so small and insignificant. The water swept him up, and in an explosion of white foam, he vanished.
I jumped to my feet, but then he rose from the water like an offering from the sea. My phantom heart returned to its regularly scheduled pumping cycle. I sank back onto my motel towel. Silly. Of course he was fine.
Not that I didn’t have reason for major anxiety issues.
He padded toward me, water beading on his bare skin, his shaggy hair clinging to his neck and causing rivulets to rain down his chest.
“Sure you don’t want to come in? The water feels great.”
“No thanks.” Too hard to be on alert when you were in the middle of the ocean. But of course, I hadn’t said that. My no-swimsuit excuse was much less of an eyebrow-raiser.
Hunter threw himself onto the sand beside me, flinging tiny droplets onto my bare arm. I watched them cling to my skin, and Hunter’s gaze followed mine.
“It’s not because of that, right?” His gaze skimmed my left shoulder, which was covered by the sleeve of my slightly rumpled T-shirt. “Your arm’s okay in water?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” But his attention made me self-conscious. I folded both arms over my bent knees, making sure the right one ended up on top. Not because I was bashful about my prosthetic limb, like Hunter assumed when he saw wires protruding from it like busted bicycle spokes back in Clearwater, but because my arm wasn’t really prosthetic.
Not in the true sense of the word, anyway. Though, technically speaking, I guess you could consider all of me prosthetic. One of the many pitfalls of being an android.
My stomach twisted, making me sigh. Another pitfall? Finding a tactful way to tell the boy you liked the truth about your little issue with nonhumanness.
In my defense—I didn’t know him all that well. Not unless you considered a shared truck crash, a late-night interlude involving a barn, and a date gone wrong to be the cornerstones of a profound relationship. Yet from the moment I’d met him, something about him called to me. Maybe because we were both loners. Maybe that was what formed the basis for our instant connection. All I knew was that after my world had imploded two days ago, I’d made a panicked phone call and Hunter had answered and here we were, in Virginia Beach.
He trailed his fingers along the area between my sleeve and elbow. I could feel the individual granules of sand that clung to his skin, but I was more focused on the thrill generated by his touch.
“I can’t get over how real it feels,” he said. “I had no idea they’d come so far in prosthetics.”
“It’s a prototype.” I looked into his eyes. “Experimental. Seems to be working okay.”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I’d have the courage to be a test subject.”
Test subject, ha. That was one way to describe it. Not that I’d really had a choice in the matter. “The risks were low.”
“Still, you’re like on the frontier of science.”
If only he knew …
“Do you realize how many people will benefit because you were willing to take a chance?”
“Don’t make me sound like a hero. I’m not.”
He grinned. “Modest, too.”
I flicked some sand at him, hoping to get us off this subject. His eyes narrowed. Then, he leaned over and shook his mass of dark hair. Water drops flew everywhere, catching me in the face. I threw up my hands and squealed.
“I’m sorry, did I get you wet?” he said, all false innocence and fluttering lashes.
“Fiend,” I said, but my smile faded after a few moments. Silence hung between us, filled with the repetitive roar of waves, voices of the scattered tourists enjoying the early October sun, and the expectant hush of things left unsaid. I’d yet to explain to Hunter the reasons behind the panic-struck phone call that had summoned him to my side.
He hadn’t pressured me, but it was only a matter of time. I couldn’t expect someone to drive across five states at the drop of a hat without rewarding him with some kind of feasible explanation. The problem was—in my case, the truth sounded less feasible than the most fantastical lie.
“Are you sure your parents are okay with this?” I swept my arms wide to indicate him, me, us, Virginia Beach. All of it.
I saw his broad shoulders stiffen, watched his toes shovel into the sand. He averted his gaze. So apparently I wasn’t the only one hiding something. That probably shouldn’t have made me feel better, but in a perverse way, it did. “Do they not know you’re here?”
A shadow passed over his expression, but it was chased away an instant later by his smile. “Oh, they know. They told me that I should come help you. As a matter of fact—and don’t take this wrong—but when I told Mom about the first time I saw you at Dairy Queen, she encouraged me to get to know you, make new friends.” His smile eased into a wide, off-center grin. “Not that I needed any encouragement.”
Warmth blossomed beneath my ribs. I remembered that day when he’d walked into the Dairy Queen while I’d been there with some other girls. Something about his easygoing demeanor and searching gaze had pulled me in instantly, but I’d never realized he’d felt the same.
I stood and skipped a few feet forward to where the sea lapped at the shore. Stooping down, I cupped my hands and scooped up a handful of frigid water, careful to keep my back to Hunter so he couldn’t spot my growing grin. The next instant, I whirled.
“Catch!” I said, flinging the water at Hunter.
He sputtered when the water unexpectedly hit his face, and the sight of his shock—open mouth, wide eyes—was so comical, I giggled. I backed up, skipping and dancing away.
“Oh, you’re in for it now,” he mock-growled, jumping to his feet with that same lithe grace I remembered. With his low-slung board shorts and his wet hair glistening in waves around his neck, he looked like a beach bum. My gaze skimmed his bare chest and I swallowed. Make that god. Beach god.
I backed away down the shore and he raced toward me, kicking up water at my legs. We exchanged splashes, laughing like toddlers, and then he grabbed my hand and pretended to drag me toward the oncoming waves. He stopped before we went too deep, and we stood there together, allowing the foamy white ocean to swirl over our ankles.
The water, the sun beating down, the drag of the tide. All of it flitted through my mind, reminding me of … something. Before I knew what I was doing, I was spinning in a circle, twirling with my arms outstretched. Feeling the wet sand squish between my toes.
Twirling, in the sand. Another niggle. A pinch, in a corner of my mind.
I remembered this joy, this gladness.
The next instant, it was gone.
I felt a tug at my hair, and opened my eyes. Hunter’s face was only a few inches away. I inhaled salt and sweat, sandalwood and a hint of sunscreen. “Don’t worry about looking too cool or anything,” he teased. But his wink suggested approval of my beach antics.
He stepped closer, until our toes touched beneath a tiny hill of sand. The instant shock of awareness intensified when he bent forward, his breath tickling my ear, triggering my heart to pound harder. A slow, steady warmth traveled through my body, from my head to my arms, all the way down to my tingling toes. I yearned for his nearness in a way that I longed for nothing else. Maybe that was the reason I’d called him. Grief and fear had nearly dragged me under, and in the past, Hunter had been one of my only sources of comfort.
“Sorry,” I said, struggling to keep my tone light.
“Don’t be. You’re just … you.”
I turned my head, gazing off into the distance. Just me? And who might that be?
In a stroke of irony that thankfully only I could see, red words blinked to life in my head, accompanied by an all-too-familiar digitized voice. My voice.
Apparently the universe’s way of reminding me of exactly who—no, what—I was.
Threat detected: 4.52 mi.
I froze. Four and a half miles? What the—
Two jets, due west.
I whirled, searching the air for a sign of them.
“What are you looking at?” Hunter asked, cupping a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.
There.
“Jets.”
“There’s a huge naval base in Virginia Beach, isn’t there? Cool.”
Not cool. Not cool at all. My hands tightened as images from the past deluged me, with crystal-clear precision. Suburbans, men with guns. An airplane filled with soldiers, transporting Mom and me to a secret compound. Tiny, barren holding cells. The salt-and-pepper hair of General Holland, and the smug satisfaction that oozed from him when he issued the order to have me terminated.
Mom. Bleeding out after being shot on Holland’s command. By one of Holland’s men.
The gasp-clench of loss wrenched my chest and almost doubled me over, reminding me that Mom was gone. Dead. Murdered by a madman under the guise of defending his country.
I’d never see her smile at me again. Never hear her voice. Never tell her that I loved her.
“I wonder what kind they are?” he said, snapping me out of the dark place.
I didn’t answer, because just then, something moved within my eyes. I actually felt my pupils contract. A thin layer slid open, accompanied by a subtle clicking that only I could hear.
Zoom: Activated.
Another click, and the planes enlarged to fill my field of vision, like I’d fired up a pair of high-tech binoculars. The images grew and grew in size, until I could capture enough detail to place them.
F/A-18 military jets.
A 3-D schematic of the jets burst to life before me, rotating to show me all sides.
Red letters blinked behind my eyes:
Presently unarmed—drill mode likely
“Not sure,” I murmured, turning away in relief. But as the weight drained from my limbs, a heavy certainty filled my heart. The planes served as a forceful reminder that this carefree beach time with Hunter was coming to an end. No matter how hard I tried to push reality away, it kept sweeping back over me, as surely as the tide rolled in.
And like the rhythmic cycle of the tide, two names repeated themselves, over and over again.
Richard Grady. Sarah. Names that had slipped from Mom’s lips not long before she’d died. I was most confused by Sarah.
“You always were so brave, Sarah. So brave,” she’d said. But she’d been talking to me, looking at me. Why would she mistake me for this unknown Sarah?
Abruptly, I started in the direction of our motel. “Let’s go.”
I could tell Hunter was confused by my sudden urge to leave, but at the moment, I wasn’t up to explaining everything. I needed to get away, to return to the relative safety of the motel room.
As we walked, we passed an amusement park across the street, a motionless Ferris wheel towering in the sky. As if mocking me with all the normalcy I would never have. Hunter had once taken me to a carnival. In those brief moments, I’d caught a glimpse of a real life. What it might feel like to actually be human.
Maybe that was another reason why I’d called him. He always made me feel as though I was more than just some fancy gadget created in a lab.
After one last longing glance, I looked away. I couldn’t live in the past, but I also couldn’t have a future until I learned everything I needed to know about my past.
Richard Grady. This Sarah person. The other Milas.
Maybe once I knew everything, I would finally be free to create a real life. Maybe even one that included Hunter.
We continued down the boardwalk, though I could sense Hunter’s concern in the way he kept sneaking quick glances at my profile. To the east, the waves rumbled toward the sand, mingling with the excited squeals of the few scattered children. From Hunter’s brief conversation with the woman selling ice cream earlier, we knew the crowds had dwindled considerably since summer. But there were still plenty of tourists and locals out sightseeing and soaking up the sun.
My gaze caught on two men up ahead. I quickly dismissed them. Not fit enough. No weapons.
Too many people here for comfort. But at least we didn’t look conspicuous amid a sea of other pedestrians. Plus, Virginia Beach had seemed like the perfect spot—I had such great memories of this place.
Even if those memories were programmed rather than real.
“So, is everything okay? You seem pretty tense.”
“I’m fine. Just a little headache,” I said with a carefree wave of my hand, even though carefree had long ago fled my capabilities. A shriek jerked my head to the right, before I realized it was just a young girl, fleeing an older boy and his two handfuls of wet sand.
My hand closed around my emerald pendant while something flashed in the back of my head. A man, and a woman, dancing along the shoreline. Gulls shrieking overhead, the roar-crash of waves—
Memory banks compromised, defragment.
Image recall.
The flicker of memory, gone. No—more like, stolen.
I shuddered, and Hunter was there in a flash. He put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Maybe we should go back to the room—it’s going to be dark soon anyway. And we still need to talk.”
Talk. Right. I couldn’t tell you how much I was looking forward to that.
I mean, how did that conversation go, exactly? Thanks so much for coming and oh, by the way—I’m an android.
I must have stiffened, because Hunter sighed. “I’m here for you, okay? You have to know that.”
I allowed the unnecessary air to exit my nonhuman lungs in a huge exhalation. I peeked up at him, afraid of what I might find in his faded-denim eyes, but they were soft. Warm. Inviting.
Like he was just waiting for me to open up and let him in.
“Thank you.”
He lifted my hand and traced my knuckles with his thumb. Then he shrugged, a loose-limbed movement of his shoulders, and I was transported back to homeroom, where I’d seen him perform that motion for the first time.
Homeroom. I’d been in homeroom less than two weeks ago. Now, classrooms and blackboards and high school cafeterias seemed impossibly out of reach. Funny how torture and death could do that to you.
We rounded the final corner, to where the Sea Breeze Motel sat about half a block down. The lobby was tiny. Shabby, too, with faded green upholstered chairs and scarred wood floors. Rooms at the Sea Breeze came cheap for a reason—nothing looked to have been upgraded in decades. But at least it was clean.
The pulse of anxiety in my ears throbbed louder and louder the closer we came to the motel. Once we got to our room, I was supposed to magically conjure up a way to tell Hunter the truth. Right.
Why wasn’t there an android program to facilitate the important stuff?
The motel room mirror was still fogged with steam from my shower. I rubbed a small, blurry opening in the cloudy white and my face stared back at me. I lifted my hand, turned it this way and that, then traced my knuckles with my thumb. The way Hunter had earlier. I rubbed a bigger circle, my skin glistening under the harsh light. I looked up and down my figure, trying to see myself through Hunter’s eyes. I looked real enough—skin, muscle, curves—but would I feel real to him?
That thought made my face grow hot. My gaze floated upward and I was surprised to see a hint of pink blooming in my cheeks. We’d never even kissed. Why was I thinking of him touching me?
As I shoved the mortifying thoughts from my head and lifted the brush to my short, platinum blond hair—which I’d dyed from black just after Hunter arrived—my hand trembled. Another motel room, another mirror. My long, brown hair floating to the floor, while Mom stood behind me, her blue eyes worried.
I turned away and finished drying off with the skimpy motel towel. I slipped into a pair of navy sweatpants with a big “I
Virginia Beach” on the butt—classy—and a plain white tank. Even less couture than my cozy flannel jammies from home, but hey, what could you expect for $8 on the clearance rack? I couldn’t afford to squander the money Lucas had given me on fancy clothes.
Lucas. I winced, like I did every time my thoughts turned to the guy who’d been injured helping me escape from General Holland’s secret SMART Ops compound. Lucas, the nerdy proctor of my insane tests—the budding scientist with a heart of gold. Thanks to him, I not only had my life, such as it is, but I also didn’t have to strut around in an outfit I’d bought off a homeless woman in D.C. That shirt had been covered in stains that refused to yield—at least not to the tiny packets of detergent provided by the coin dispenser downstairs.
I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror and grimaced. Procrastination, thy name is Mila. After sticking out my tongue at my bedraggled reflection, I reached for the door and opened it with what I hoped was a confident smile. Time to face Hunter and his questions. Time to face the truth. I had this.
Or not. I barreled forward, only to feel my resolve fizzle when I caught sight of his lanky form, sprawled across the bed by the window.
“Ahem.”
He bolted upright; as if the state of Virginia had just broadcasted that motel-room reclining was illegal. He snagged the remote from between folds of the crumpled comforter and turned down the volume, then scooted to the edge of the bed. Very proper, with his feet on the ground and hands in his lap.
O-kay. I sat opposite him, combing my fingers through my wet hair to give myself something to do. The quiet thickened, so I distracted myself by counting red circles on the curtains—fifty-two.
He looked at me before quickly averting his eyes. “I forgot to tell you, I like your new haircut,” he finally blurted to the remote in his hands.
“Thanks.” No need to tell him I was on version two already since the last time we’d met.
At least not yet.
The bed creaked like an old floorboard when he shifted his weight. His gaze skimmed me again, taking in my bare shoulders, dampened from where my hair dripped down, and then his eyes dropped to his lap again. He cleared his throat and that tiny “ahem” crackled between us.
I crossed my arms, his unease making me all too aware of the fact that I was in a motel room with a boy, not a chaperone or parent in sight, and oh by the way, we were going to spend the night together.
For the second time in under two minutes, heat crawled up my cheeks. Not spend the night, spend the night. But still. When I’d called Hunter and begged him to come help me, the potential for extreme awkwardness hadn’t really been front and center in my mind. I’d been consumed with grief and panic. Thoughts of Hunter had gotten me through some of the darkest moments—before my mother died in my arms. Then thoughts weren’t enough. I needed someone I could trust. Even though we’d only known each other for a few weeks, the way Hunter looked at me as though I were important, as though I mattered … it made me feel safe. There was no one else I could call.
Hunter started tapping a drumbeat on his thigh—a nervous habit I’d noticed when I’d first met him—and even though his nearness made my artificial nerve endings fire and my synthetic heartbeat quicken, I felt the tension between us like a concrete wall.
Oh, wow. This was going so well.
“Is it just me, or is this cohabitating thing kind of weird?”
“Not just you,” I replied in a rush. So fast that his lips lifted into that familiar, quirky smile. Something sizzled down my spine, once more making me want things that could never be mine. Things I could have if I were more than a bundle of circuits and transmitters. Things like a normal life.
Things I could maybe have if I chose not to follow through on Mom’s dying words.
We faced each other across the short gap between the beds, our knees close to touching.
“How about we make a pledge?” he asked. “I’ll start. I, Hunter Lowe, solemnly swear to stay in my own bed, except in case of emergencies. Or if you’re snoring really loud—then I can come over and elbow you. Or, you know, if you invite me over—just to watch TV or something,” he tacked on hastily, when my eyes widened. “Wow, I never realized that you had a gutter mind. Tsk.” He shook his head.
“Whatever.” I grinned back, then remembered my exact thoughts in the bathroom and tried not to cringe in embarrassment. “And I pledge to stay in my own bed, unless you make more terrible jokes like that. In which case I’m going to clobber you with your own pillow.”
“You drive a hard bargain, but deal. And now that the horribly awkward moment is over, are you ready to tell me what’s going on?”
His smile didn’t waver, but that was because he was totally clueless. The truth was sure to slap that smile right off his face. I’d had a difficult time believing it. I still hadn’t accepted it. How could I expect him to?
I bunched my hands into the comforter, rough from multiple washings, and squeezed. I could do this. I could do this. I could—
The words congealed in my throat. I swallowed hard.
“I promise not to judge,” he said.
So many things about him got to me: The softness of his voice. The way he leaned toward me, as if his life hung on my every word. The slowness of his hand sliding down my hair. The way he twirled several errant strands around his finger.
My eyes fluttered shut. There was something about his sincerity, and how it mingled with the sparks his touch ignited, that filled a tiny bit of the void inside me. I couldn’t lose that, and being honest with him might lead to him walking out the door without ever looking back.
I know this is going to sound crazy …
What would I do without him to remind me that a part of me, at least, was alive?
You see, the thing is …
And what if he left and told someone what I really was?
The secret I’ve been hiding all along …
I opened my mouth to tell him the truth, but my backup story came pouring out instead. “Mom and I got in a huge argument …,” I started, then faltered.
Was I really doing this? Lying, to the one person I had left in the world?
“Because you were moving to Germany, right?”
The attentive tilt of his head encouraged me to continue, but I was momentarily blindsided. I remembered the frantic phone call I’d made to Hunter from the airport in Canada, before Mom and I were snagged by Holland’s men. I’d told him I was leaving Clearwater, and that was probably the last time I’d told him the truth.
I willed myself again to set things right with him, but failed.
“No, she … she told me I was adopted.”
It was selfish of me to lie. Utterly, unforgivably selfish. I couldn’t deny that.
But then I thought of the day Mom handed me that iPod. The day a power-hungry general’s drawl changed my life forever and ripped away my very identity. Simply by telling me the truth, he’d erased my entire life, stolen my parents, and blasted my hope. Truth—was it really that great? Because in my experience, it was a taker. It took away all that was good, leaving behind pain and fear and an endless funnel of betrayal.
“She just dropped that on you, out of nowhere? So the guy who you thought was your father, the one who just died …?”
“Not my real dad.”
“Wow. That’s … wow.”
I bit my lip and averted my gaze, my stomach clenching, revolting against my betrayal of Mom’s memory. Yes, she’d programmed me with false memories of a father who didn’t exist, but as a way of protecting me. And it had worked. While I’d known sadness before that day in the barn, I hadn’t really known despair.
So perhaps keeping Hunter in the dark right now was actually less cruel?
“I’m sorry, Mila. That must be really tough.”
Even though I was trying to convince myself that I was somehow doing Hunter a favor, his sympathy was just too much. I rose and strode over to the window—there was no way I could look him in the eye right now. I stared outside while my fingers curled around the worn wooden sill.
Crunch.
Crap, too hard. I eased up immediately, but not before new jagged lines branched out into the already faded white paint. Hopefully Hunter wouldn’t notice.
“So, what now? Did she tell you anything about them?”
When I didn’t answer right away, he added, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
I felt like such a fraud, even when I was silent. Justifications for lying kept filing through my mind, like someone shuffling a deck of cards. For instance, if Hunter was going to stay with me, then I had to have a valid reason for hunting down Richard Grady. And him knowing the truth about me could possibly put us both in danger—if he remained unaware of the situation, I could have more control.
But the guilt building inside me made me doubt I could keep up this charade for more than a day.
I just needed to work my way up to breaking the news.
Tomorrow. I’d tell him tomorrow.
“No, it’s fine. That’s what this trip is all about. She gave me a name, Richard Grady. But that’s it. She’s refusing to help me find him, or give me any other clues whatsoever. She got incredibly pissed when I told her I’d look for him all on my own.”
“When you called, you said your mom was … gone.”
I nodded jerkily, like something was suddenly wrong with one of my mechanisms. “I know. I meant she … she left me behind.”
Mom’s broken body appeared behind my eyes. I saw her sinking into the depths of the Potomac, and her voice echoed in my ears.
Find Richard Grady … he knows …
Her last words, right before one of Holland’s bullets killed her.
Holland. Just the name ignited a fiery, churning hatred within my core.
My fingertips had been sliding down the smooth glass, but now they pushed harder, full of pent-up frustration. The window creaked in protest, and I hastily yanked my hand away.
“So does this Grady guy live in Virginia?” Hunter asked. “Is that why you’re here?”
“I thought he was. I’d found some information, but it turned out to be a dead end.”
Please don’t ask me any more questions. I don’t know how many more lies I can tell you.
My back still to him, I said, “Anyway, thank you so much for coming. The thought of continuing to do this on my own … it just … thank you.”
I heard the bed creak, heard his soft footfalls. I spun around to face Hunter. His soulful eyes, filled with compassion and understanding, nearly had me confessing everything. In this moment, I wanted to believe he could accept what I was, but in the likelihood that he couldn’t, the dangers to me would increase. Again I tried to reassure myself that my lies offered him a shield of protection as well. He couldn’t reveal what he didn’t know.
“Any time,” he said gently. “I could tell when you called that something bad had happened. I can’t believe she went to Germany without you. Who does that?”
“Well, I can meet her there, if I want to, but I’m not sure if I do,” I said, hoping to salvage some sliver of Hunter’s respect for my mom. “I know being adopted isn’t the end of the world, but I have a right to meet my real father, and she just didn’t see it that way.”
“I don’t blame you for wanting to find him. It sucks that your mom never told you the truth.” Then he cocked his head, like he was noticing something strange.
“What?” I demanded, inwardly panicking. Had he seen me crack the windowsill?
“Nothing. It’s just—don’t be mad, but based on how jumpy you’ve been, I was sort of expecting something a little crazier. Like your mom was abducted by aliens.”
I stared at him incredulously for a moment, before losing it. “I can’t even—” I gasped, trying to talk through the laughter and failing.
“What can I say? I had a crush on Scully from The X-Files growing up.”
The ball of tension that hadn’t left my gut since I’d been on the run was beginning to disintegrate. “You hide it well, Hunter Lowe, but you are a total nerd.”
His eyes suddenly filled with shock, and he glanced toward the window. I was on instant alert again. “What?” I said, listening intently, pulse starting to pound in my ears.
No human threat detected.
A car, a group of kids in the distance, the faint rumble of the ocean. Nothing of concern.
“Shhh, be careful how loud you say that. I don’t want my secret getting out.”
I groaned. “Hate to tell you, but it’s too late for that.”
“Those are fighting words.” With a mischievous smile, he grabbed my wrists and pulled me toward him, whirling me around at the last second until my back was pressed firmly against his chest. One of his arms wrapped loosely around my neck, the other around my waist.
I stiffened at first—hello, there was a cute boy pressed against me—but then the sensation of belonging coursed through me, too potent to resist. I closed my eyes, savoring the solid feel of his body. This … this was exactly what I needed. Hunter was exactly what I needed.
“Don’t worry. I promise I won’t leave you behind. I’ll be with you every step of the way, if you let me.”
Hearing him say that, I didn’t think I could ever feel so amazing and awful at the same time.
“We should probably get some sleep, since we’ll be on the road tomorrow,” I said.
I slipped under the covers of my bed and despite everything, I was completely conscious that he was climbing into the next bed over. Heat fanned itself through my arms and legs, a feeling that I was pretty sure had nothing to do with the slight weight of the frayed blue comforter.
“Good night, Mila.”
“Good night.”
I clicked off the light and willed my body to relax in the darkened room.
Night vision: Activated.
With the help of one of my android functions, everything blazed back into view. Ugh, so not helping. Meanwhile, Hunter’s breathing turned rhythmic and slow and for the first time I could remember, I envied him.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Take that, stupid night vision. But the blackness only sent my tension skyrocketing. Because instead of seeing our motel room, now I was remembering a different one. The last time I’d stayed in a motel, Mom and I had been woken in the middle of the night by scouts from the Vita Obscura, an organization that wanted to gut me like a fish to see how I worked—and then sell my technology to the highest bidder. We escaped, but who was to say it couldn’t happen again?
A perfect image burst into my head. Mom tackling one of the men, binding his hands with a zip tie. Mom, back at Clearwater Ranch, her long blond hair pulled back into a practical ponytail as she headed to the barn.
Mom, staring at me as the light in her blue eyes faded.
A sob unfurled and I put a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle it. No good. The other bed creaked. I heard Hunter’s bare feet pad onto the carpet, and then a moment later his arms surrounded me.
I went rigid at first—I’d never been in bed with a boy or been held this tightly before—but as he whispered, “Shhhh, it’s going to be okay,” I gradually snuggled against him.
My back fit against his chest so perfectly, and oh god, he was so warm. I could feel his breath ruffling my hair. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to turn over and be face-to-face, to feel his lips graze mine.
I lay silently for a moment, summoning up the courage to do just that. Minutes passed and after a while, his body felt heavy against mine. Had he fallen asleep again?
A whirring in my brain, and then the red lights flashed:
Pulse: 48 bpm.
Breathing rate: 8 bpm.
Sleep state: Likely.
Leave it to my android functions to remind me that really, truly being with Hunter was something that would never be possible.
After ten minutes of lying there, motionless, I eased myself out from under his right arm, my body freezing when his breathing altered. But it evened out again, so I slipped to my feet, feeling his fingertips slide against my arm before falling away, the loss of physical contact both freeing and terrifying at the same time. A sharp pang almost made me climb back in and nestle up against him.
But the strange room, the noises, even Hunter’s presence—everything was foreign and the ghost of the past still hung over me. Sadness, anger, fear … a whirlwind of emotions threatened to consume me, and a giant android self-implosion was about the last thing I wanted to foist onto Hunter right now.
Grabbing the key from the bureau, I put on my shoes and crept to the door.
Sometimes, when my feelings overwhelmed me, I wondered if I shouldn’t try to emulate Three, just a little. My android twin never struggled with terror—or fear—or the heartbreaking pain that made your phantom heart feel like it might crumble to pieces.
Sometimes, when the agony of Mom’s loss felt like someone had picked up a saw and excised the most important part of me, I wondered if maybe Three was onto something.
Then I pictured Hunter’s sleeping face and the thought slowly disappeared.


(#ulink_bbbf4244-9c93-55d5-9d47-cf6dd830e2fd)
Where are you going?”
My hand was on the doorknob when I heard Hunter’s voice, a little roughened by the bit of rest he’d had. A part of me wanted to stay here with him, but everything was closing in on me. I needed to get out of this motel room.
“I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d take a walk, tire myself out.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Mila, it’s late. I’m not letting you go out there by yourself.”
His protectiveness touched something deep inside me. If there were any dangers out there, I was better equipped to handle them, but he didn’t know that.
“Besides,” he added, “you still owe me a date.”
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. Our little trip to the carnival a few weeks ago had been met with continual interruptions, including horrific memories of a past I didn’t know existed. As much as I wanted to be alone, I also hoped maybe this time our date would be normal.
I heard him tying his shoes, tugging at the laces hard, and then his soft footfalls as he approached. I opened the door and stepped out.
I gulped down huge breaths of salty humid air—useless, since my lungs weren’t really lungs, though I seemed to have a hard time remembering that. Not many pedestrians were out at this hour. Weeknight, off-season.
Hunter shut the door behind us and tested to make sure it was locked. Then he stepped up beside me and threaded his fingers through mine. “Let’s head down to the boardwalk.”
As we walked along, a little orange dot blinked on a map before me, showing my trajectory and every street option nearby. I was thankful that my internal GPS system had finally kicked in again after conking out for a while post-escape. Not that I needed the GPS right now. Hunter was guiding me.
We reached the boardwalk. The fragrance of the salt air seemed heavier, and a cool breeze surged off the ocean, whipping my hair in periodic bursts. An almost-full moon dominated the sky, lighting patches of inky water with a soft, silvery glow.
“Thank you for coming out here with me.”
Turning his head slightly, he met my gaze. “That’s why I’m here.”
As if summoned by his sincerity, the truth bubbled up in my throat. Right here, right now. I could end the subterfuge. I wanted to. Desperately.
I glanced back out at the ocean, at the secrets churning underwater, and the moment passed.
“What about school?” I asked.
He tipped his head to the side. “Fall break. We have a week before we have to be back. Not a lot of time to find your dad, but enough maybe.”
Maybe, and if not, I couldn’t ask him to flunk out because of me. But the thought of moving forward with no one to turn to—
“Hey, you’re shivering,” he said.
“Little cooler than I expected it to be out here.” Another lie.
In a gesture as natural as breathing, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, brought me in against his side. I put one arm around his back.
Suddenly, everything seemed so very … effortless.
We continued on down the boardwalk, the planks reverberating and echoing our footsteps. I could see the stationary Ferris wheel again.
“Shame the amusement park is closed,” he said.
“I don’t know. Our last date at the carnival didn’t turn out so good.” It had been going well—up until I recalled torture inflicted at General Holland’s hands.
A devious grin crawled across his face. All of a sudden, he removed his arm from around my shoulder, closed his hand tightly around mine, and started jogging down the boardwalk toward the amusement park. I was able to keep up easily, could have outraced him, but all I wanted was to stay near him.
It seemed there were even fewer people now than when we first stepped out of the hotel. Only an occasional straggler. Hunter slowed down, glanced around, then walked past the entrance and continued on down the street, taking a turn down a dark path that seemed meant for special personnel.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“Finishing our date from before.”
We stopped. I shifted my weight from foot to foot. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Just hold on.” He released his hold on me and began examining the wire fence in front of us. “Here,” he finally said. “I think we can get in here.”
“We’re going to break in?”
He shrugged.
“It’s illegal.”
“What’s the worst thing that could happen? They’ll kick us out. It’s not like we’re stealing, or damaging property.”
True. At least, that was the worst thing that could happen to him. He didn’t have my baggage with the law.
I chewed my lip. Even so, he had a point. If we were caught, surely they wouldn’t haul us in. But I didn’t know how far of a reach General Holland might have right now. Had he alerted authorities? Or had he hired some sketchy PI to track me down?
This seemed too risky. Until my sensors proved otherwise.
Search radius: 100 yards.
Human targets: Zero.
No threat detected.
Even so, I felt nervous.
“Look, if someone comes, you can tell them I coerced you.” Hunter bent down and intertwined his hands, providing me with a stepping place so he could vault me over the fence.
Never mind that I could most likely rip a hole through the fence with my bare hands.
“Brawk, brawk,” he teased. I let out easygoing laugh, but I could feel pinches of worry hitting me at the base of my neck. Still, I had to put my trust and faith in what my scans were telling me. Hunter and I were alone; no one would see us. With all the rides turned off, all we could do was walk around.
I owed him this silly and sweet romantic gesture.
More than that, I wanted it. For me.
I placed my foot on his hands, and he hoisted me up. I grabbed the fence and vaulted over, landing firmly on my feet. Then I watched in amazement as he scaled the taut web of metal and wires in the blink of an eye.
“Impressive,” I said.
“Used to go rock climbing with my dad.” He took my hand and began leading the way.
“Are you and your dad close?” I asked.
“Not so much anymore. But let’s not talk about him. This is a date. We’re supposed to talk about you. What’s your favorite ride?”
He was probably not going to believe that I had no idea because I’d never been on any rides, but as we passed the carousel, an image flashed through my mind—a wooden horse that was going up and down, small hands clutching the pole. The world spinning by, faster and faster.
Another errant pseudo memory. I was sure of it.
Only this time, recalling these thoughts caused the faux skin near my temples to burn and my vision to blur. When I tried to take a step forward, I stumbled and caught myself by latching on to Hunter.
Weird.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, sorry, just missed my step in the dark.”
He studied me for a moment. “You sure? We could head back if you wanted.”
I gazed into Hunter’s eyes and thought of how close we had been to kissing on our first date; how I had pulled away from him when those disturbing images of the first MILA being tortured had suddenly flashed before me.
How from there my life had crumbled to pieces.
But if I could just forget everything for a few hours—forget the reality of who I was and how I got here and what I’d lost along the way—maybe he and I would have a chance to make something out of whatever was happening between us. Even if it only lasted for a little while.
“Are you kidding me? We’re so doing this.”
“Yes! I knew you had it in you,” Hunter said, full of unabashed glee.
I smiled and took his hand, my sensors immediately recognizing his racing pulse. It seemed all too clear he was more excited about this adventure than I was.
“So you never answered my question,” he said, leading the way for us.
“Hmmm?”
“Your favorite ride.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “The carousel, I guess.”
Hunter gave me a funny look. “Seriously?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
He tapped his chin in faux concentration. “What isn’t wrong with it?”
My mouth fell open in mock dismay. “Take that back. The carousel is a classic.”
“Classic? How old are you? Forty?” he replied.
Um, more like a few months old. If we were using created-on dates. “You’re just jealous of my excellent taste in rides.”
“No. It’s just that I picture you on the front of a roller coaster, screaming your head off and laughing with your arms in the air.”
Something guarded inside of me gave way. I could see the image clearly, and I wanted it. I wanted to be that girl. Happy and free; excited about the unexpected. I wanted to see myself through Hunter’s eyes.
Acting on a whim, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him. His chin rested on my head, my cheek against his chest.
Subject’s heart rate: 92 bpm.
Inspiration levels: Elevated.
Hyperventilation unlikely.
“What was that for?” he whispered.
I glanced up at him, whispering the words in my head I wasn’t brave enough to voice. Because you make me feel alive. But ultimately, “Just because” was all I said aloud. His lips grazed my forehead. The contact was brief, but the warmth inside me lingered. “So, are you going to prove me right?”
“About what?”
He tipped his head in the direction of a gigantic roller coaster named the Blazing Inferno. The ten-foot sign for the ride was engulfed in flame-like streamers and the winding track was painted bright red.
“I would, but I don’t think we can run the roller coaster by ourselves,” I said.
“You happen to be looking at a trained professional.”
I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Nope. Back in California, I spent a whole summer working as a carnie.”
“You never mentioned that before.”
He took my hand and began pulling me along, his smile broadening. “So I have a few secrets.”
As we closed in on the ride, prickles of concern traveled up my arms. Starting up the roller coaster was going too far, wasn’t it? Were there silent alarms on these things? What if some security guard showed up and found us here trespassing? We’d be brought somewhere for questioning—and questions about who I was and where I came from were pretty unanswerable at this point.
“Hunter, this is crazy,” I said the moment we arrived at the Inferno’s entrance.
“We’re not going to get caught. Trust me.”
“It’s not that,” I lied.
God, I was getting so freakishly good at it.
He squinted at me curiously. “Would you rather go on another ride? The Ferris wheel would be easy. All I’d have to do is throw one lever, and we’d be up so high, we could see for miles.”
I had to admit, that sounded wonderful. So wonderful I was finding it hard to say no.
“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he pleaded.
I closed my eyes for a minute as my android brain performed another scan. This time to make sure there weren’t any cameras or secret security systems hidden in the shadows. This amusement park seemed rather antiquated, so maybe the owners didn’t have the right technology in place. We did hop their fence, after all.
Advanced perimeter scan.
Video capture capabilities: Zero.
Alarm triggers: None.
I opened my eyes to Hunter biting his lip with anticipation. Resistance was futile.
“All right. One lap on the wheel.”
“You won’t regret it,” he said.
That was the problem. I didn’t regret any of the time I spent with him. Not even when it wasn’t in his best interests.
We jogged over to the entrance gate of the ride, our fingers loosely intertwined. I climbed onto the bench seat while Hunter got behind a few of the controls, his brow furrowing together as he tried to familiarize himself with them.
“You okay over there?” I asked, my legs swinging back and forth, the tips of my shoes skimming the ground below.
Hunter glanced up and winked. “Piece of cake.”
He flipped a switch and the frame of the ride lit up with hundreds of tiny white lights. My stomach plummeted and we weren’t even moving.
Wattage: 10,000 watts.
Visibility: High.
A voice inside my head said I should put a stop to this. All of it—this date; this relationship or whatever it was. Especially when a giddy-looking Hunter dashed over, slid next to me on the seat, his eyes beaming.
What was I doing? Every second I spent with him was putting him in danger. I just had to accept that, no matter how much it scared me. No matter how lonely I’d be without him.
Without anyone.
“I have it on autopilot. Prepare to be dazzled,” he said, locking the bar into place. It reverberated with a metallic clang and suddenly I felt trapped—like I was being held in that coffin-like device within Holland’s nightmarish compound.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” I mumbled.
“Are you afraid of heights?” Hunter asked, and I heard the skepticism in his voice.
I shrugged, even though that so wasn’t the case.
“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” he said softly. “I can go stop it now.”
The disappointed slump of his shoulders sealed it for me. “No, it’s fine.”
With a slight jerk, the huge wheel began turning and we were slowly lifted toward the sky, our feet dangling beneath us.
“I have a confession,” I said quietly.
These words came out and I hadn’t meant them to.
“Yeah?” He looked at me intently.
More silence. Even though I was trying desperately to eke out the truth. Then I realized I could just simply break things off with him. Tell him we have to go our separate ways after this. I didn’t even need to give him a real reason. I could just say what boys in Clearwater would tell my ex-friend Kaylee when they were done with her: It was for the best.
But eventually, the truth won out.
Well, not exactly.
“I’ve never ridden a Ferris wheel.”
Hunter looked at me, stunned, before his lips twitched up. “You see? This is what happens when you like the carousel. You go all soft.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. Hunter joined in.
He wanted to be here with me. Why was still a bit of a mystery, but I knew that sending him away—whether I told him who I was or not—was going to hurt him. Not physically, of course. But there was no way he’d understand. Calling him across the country to see me one minute, sending him away the next. He’d think I was playing some kind of cruel joke.
I turned my head and looked out toward the edge of the park, watching as the world below grew smaller. I started telling myself I could spare him that hurt. I could protect him, better than I protected Mom. Together we could make it.
Together was for the best.
“Not bad, huh,” Hunter said, gesturing at the view.
Scattered lamp posts lit the boardwalk, the moon reflected off the ocean. It was all so beautiful, peaceful. The salty breeze wafted over us. Hunter’s fingers lightly squeezed my hand, and I realized he was doing it without thought.
Like we were a couple.
As we reached the top, I wanted to stay here forever, just Hunter and me above the fray, away from all the troubles that plagued me. I found myself wondering if finding Richard Grady was something I needed to do right now. Hunter only had a week with me—maybe the search could wait. We’d still have to go on the road, though. There were too many people trying to track me.
Actually, capture and dismantle me was more like it. If Hunter was with me when I was found by Holland or the VO, I didn’t even want to think about what they might do to him.
“I have a confession, too,” he said, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts.
I turned to face him as the wind ruffled his hair. “Should I be scared?”
“No,” he replied. “Well, maybe a little bit.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
He blew out a nervous breath. “Mila, I really like you.”
An embarrassingly goofy grin started forming on my lips so I quickly tried to cover my mouth with my hand.
“Wait, did you already know?” he said, smiling.
“I had a feeling,” I said.
Too many feelings, in fact.
Always.
“Well, I don’t just say that to every girl I meet,” he said as the Ferris wheel embarked on its second revolution. He paused a beat, and then added, “Only every third one or so.”
I poked him in the ribs, and he fake winced before pulling me closer. “I’m joking. I only say that to girls I travel cross-country for. Which, to date, has only been you,” he whispered, his mouth close to my ear.
I closed my eyes, forgetting how many times we circled, forgetting everything but how close Hunter was. Tonight was special, a memory that was real and that I could call my own. No one would be able to take this moment away from me. Ever.
Another reason why I wasn’t sure I could let him go.
He made me want to live a life I wanted to remember.


(#ulink_92af112c-a198-5913-8aa4-f2626e9cd963)
My sleep cycle ended at precisely 8 a.m. the next morning. I opened my eyes to Hunter sprawled across his mattress, one hand flung out to the side, the other curled up on the pillow. The blue comforter had long ago been kicked to the floor, and the sheet was bunched up over his chest. He had earbuds in his ears, totally unaware that we needed to remain vigilant and alert to any strange sounds. Unaware that I was a moving target.
Unaware that I wasn’t worthy of his Ferris wheel confession.
He looked so innocent, with his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks. And so very kissable, with his lips softly parted.
The mattress squeaked as I climbed out of my bed, but Hunter still didn’t move. Carefully, I sifted my fingers through his hair, relishing the silken feel of the strands. He breathed deeply, but thankfully didn’t stir.
I knew I shouldn’t be touching him. No, I didn’t deserve to touch him. What I should do was send him home, where he would be safe. My hand wavered hesitantly, before I gave in and traced the curve of his cheek, the rasp of five-o’clock shadow on his jaw.
His eyes flew open, and his hand shot up.
Threat detected: Feint back.
My body started following the android command and then I remembered—this was Hunter. With effort, I forced myself to relax and let him tug my hand over until my palm covered his mouth and I felt his lips press a soft, feather-light kiss to its center.
My other hand braced me, flat against his chest, and beneath it, I felt his heart race. As if momentarily hypnotized, I lowered my head to his, slowly, like the invisible line that connected us together was shortening and I had no choice but to obey its pull. I didn’t know how long I’d been imagining this kiss, and even though I knew deep down doing this was woefully inappropriate of me, I wasn’t able to reel myself in.
He turned his head to the side at the exact same moment the red words flared.
Human threat detected.
A muffled clang of metal came from outside the window.
I stiffened, yanked away, and straightened just as something rapped at our door.
“Housekeeping.”
“Come back later,” I hollered, my face flushing. Even the arrival of the worker couldn’t mask the fact that I’d just been rejected. I walked over to my bag and started packing it, keeping my back to Hunter. I couldn’t meet his eyes. Not now.
“Mila?”
I moved a few things around in my bag, making sure my hands stayed busy. “Mmm-hmm?”
“Turn around and look at me.”
I stopped, hands buried. Then, steeling myself, I turned to face him. “Yes?”
He pushed himself up until he sat on the bed. “Don’t feel weird. I just—you’re clearly going through some things right now. I don’t want to feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”
While I stood there, absorbing his words, he smiled. “There’s no reason to rush into this. We’re cohabitating, you know.”
A wave of relief swept through me—he wasn’t rejecting me, he was just being a gentleman—but I still felt pretty humiliated and ashamed.
Because I was totally taking advantage of him.
“I’m going to run to that internet café and grab us some coffee,” I said, my voice wavering a little.
“Sounds good. I’ll hit the shower while you’re gone.”
Hunter pushed back the covers and stretched his arms overhead, the hem of his shirt lifting and revealing a thin sliver of perfectly cut abs. I felt a surge of heat rush up my neck and averted my gaze, cursing myself inwardly for acting like such a dork. For goodness’ sake—I was an android, not some real teen girl raised in a convent. And they were just muscles. Rectus abdominis, transverse abdominis, obliques—see, I could even name them all, and knew their functions. Everyone had them—no big deal.
I swallowed hard. Yeah, right. Tell that to my stupid traitorous imagination.
Hunter rose and grabbed his duffel from where he’d stashed it under the bed, and carried it toward the bathroom. Then he paused, surrounding me with the sweet-musky scent of sandalwood and soap. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning,” I said, holding back a dopey, breathless sigh.
He turned to enter the bathroom, whistling a little, when I realized I had something important to ask him.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Surprise me,” he said over his shoulder.
Oh, yeah, I could do that.
When I stepped outside, another beautiful Virginia Beach morning greeted me. The sun blazed low over the ocean like a golden ball, spreading sparkling reflections off the water and looking almost close enough to caress the distant waves.
Nine minutes later, I ducked into the internet café. It was long and narrow, with rows of computers at individual desks arranged neatly along walls painted with graffiti-style art. The bitter aroma of coffee wafted from behind the circular counter in the middle.
I should get the coffee and head straight back to the room, but the computers were calling to me. No matter what was going on with Hunter, Holland was out there, and I needed to know what details he’d leaked to the public, if any. The one thing that had kept me from all-out panicking so far was the fact that the general had a giant ego. Creating a true APB for me would involve admitting to his superiors that he’d allowed their top-secret, billion-dollar experiment to escape. Again. I was willing to bet he’d keep that information locked away for as long as possible, and send his men to find me in a clandestine operation.
But I needed to know for sure.
I settled into a brightly upholstered chair on the far left side of the desk housing the computer and performed a quick scan of the café’s occupants.
A group of three high school boys, laughing and nudging one another as one of them pointed at the monitor. A middle-aged man, dressed in sagging jeans and a Hawaiian shirt, being nagged by a similarly middle-aged woman on his right. A young girl, alone in the back corner. And the twentysomething guy behind the counter.
Weapons scan: No guns found.
None of them looked remotely interested in me.
As I reached for the keyboard, an odd eagerness pulsed through my fingers. Behind my eyes, a red light blinked to life.
Open ports?
My body tensed as I remembered. In order to get Mom out of Holland’s secure underground compound, I’d had to communicate directly with the computer that held me captive. Machine to machine.
The code, glimmering into being—an endless stream of numbers, symbols, letters.
A roar that slithered into me, a presence all around me, one I could reach out and touch without ever moving my hands.
The portal, bursting open under my command.
Open ports, I thought with more conviction.
A roar of energy as a connection was formed, and just like that, a door in my mind flew open. Like a vacuum sucking in air, colors and information burst inside. As if the information had been lying in wait this whole time, hoping for an opportunity.
A spark ignited, deep in my chest. A tiny thrill of excitement.
This time, all of it so, so simple. Like my body, my brain, had been born for this, had been craving this very thing without me even knowing it. Strands of code rushed through my head in glimmering streams, without any of the terror from before. Instead, I practically buzzed with an awakening power.
With ease, I separated the strands, searching for a name.
Mila Daily.
No news reports, nothing that looked ominous. I didn’t even see a record of my enrollment in Clearwater High—how had Mom managed that?
On to the next name, then, the one on my phony passport: Stephanie Prescott.
Nothing.
Nicole Daily.
Nothing.
Feeling my shoulders lighten with each nonproductive search, I decided to search one more name.
Lucas Webb.
My proctor-turned-helper back at the compound. I never would have escaped without him, and how had I repaid him? By getting him shot in the leg and smashing up his classic Camaro, which Mom and I had “stolen” with his help for our getaway.
Lucas. Whose parting words to me had been, “I think you make an excellent human.”
I angled my head away. Surely Lucas was okay. We’d been careful to cover our tracks, to pretend that he was a hostage.
He was fine, he had to be. The alternative was too awful to even consider.
I cross-referenced with MIT, and found him almost immediately. I felt a jolt of recognition in my chest, a flicker of warmth, when I pulled up his college photo. His disheveled hair had actually been tamed, but the shirt was a little rumpled. No smile, just an intense stare into the camera.
His bio flashed before me, and I zeroed in on his mother’s name:
Joanna Holland Webb.
Holland. So, Lucas really was General Holland’s nephew. And even though I’d guessed, back at the compound, shock still held me captive. If anything, the confirmation only made Holland more of a monster. What kind of man designed an elaborate test that revolved around his nephew being tortured?
I shivered, the memory of the wrench in my hand all too vivid. Not a pathway I ever wanted to explore again.
I searched for anything postdated from the time I’d escaped the compound, hoping for some shred of evidence that he was okay. Anything to stem the guilt twisting me into knots.
And I found it. A single tweet, short and vague. I met an excellent human.
An inadvertent smile tugged at my lips, and my lungs collapsed with relief. A signal—the same words he’d told me, back at the compound.
Lucas was okay.
I slumped into the chair, my lips moving in a silent thank you.
Straightening, I searched Washington, D.C., and the date of Mom’s death, pushing away the feeling of anguish that suddenly stabbed at my core.
A headline shimmered into view.
Woman Found Murdered in Downtown D.C.—Witnesses Questioned.
As I sat bolted to my chair, I processed the rest of the article:
An unidentified woman’s body was pulled from the Potomac early this morning. Preliminary reports indicate the woman was in her mid-to-late thirties, Caucasian, and suffered from multiple gunshot wounds. Several locals near the area where the body was recovered claimed they saw a young girl, with short dark hair and between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, leaving the area under suspicious circumstances, wearing a blood-splattered shirt. Authorities are trying to track down more information.
A sketch materialized. A drawing of a face. My fingers pressed hard on the keyboard. A drawing of my face. And a surprisingly good one, at that. Apparently the transient I’d traded clothes with in the wee hours of the morning near the Potomac had a good eye for detail.
The wide deep-set eyes, the strong curve of the jaw … even the smattering of freckles. For anyone who knew me, that sketch was easily recognizable. The words accompanying it were even more ominous. I was the lead suspect in Mom’s murder. That was outrageous. Of all the—
A heaviness pushed against my ribs, filled my chest like hardening cement. Because while I might not have been holding the gun that shot Mom, there was no doubt she was dead because of me.
Holland might not have released that sketch, but I felt his peppermint breath burning down my neck all the same. And now that the police had this much, what if someone recognized me and reported in? What if it got back to someone in the military other than Holland—someone in the military who knew what I looked like, outside of his lackeys? Well, not the military, exactly—but SMART Ops. The clandestine unit that dealt in artificial intelligence and cutting-edge research. The secretive military group headed up by a man who was more than willing to sacrifice lives in pursuit of his twisted agenda.
I braced myself against the hatred that burned in my heart, waited until my skin no longer felt like it would split down the seams. One thing was for sure—the investigation had started. Mom’s body had been recovered, which meant a medical examiner, fingerprints … Sooner or later, they were going to uncover her real identity. And when they did—
Any fleeting thoughts of flying under the radar with Hunter for a day or two flew out the window. I had to find Richard Grady. Now.
In less than a second, I’d discarded thousands of Gradys through an advanced search. None of them relevant. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was looking for, but the facts sped through my head at lightning speed.
Gradys, from all over the country. The world. I sifted through facts, searched for holes in stories—Gradys missing big chunks of their lives, which might suggest involvement in a clandestine organization. Gradys from military families. Nothing was ringing a bell, and although only a few seconds had passed, I knew I was operating on limited time.
Finally, I found three possible candidates.
One was a buff blond man who looked vaguely Scandinavian, had worked in Homeland Security, and now lived in Denver.
The next was retired military, a thin man with a receding hairline and puffy eyes who’d gone through an ugly divorce where, in an article, his former wife had blasted him for spending too much time on covert ops and not enough on his kids. Interesting.
But the one who made my heart pound with excitement had been named in a tell-all book by a former government operative as a CIA data analyst, even though according to his online persona, he’d worked for a military supplies company. There were no photos online, either—not a one. In this day and age, an oddity, for sure—and one that most likely wasn’t coincidental. But the thing that really made me sit upright was his grandmother’s birthplace.
Clearwater, Minnesota.
If that was a coincidence, it was one I was willing to gamble on.
His current residence was listed as Knoxville, Tennessee.
I began recording all the details.
“Hey, anyone else having a Wi-Fi issue?” Somewhere to my left, I heard an irritated male voice.
“Yeah, I just got booted,” returned a younger voice to my right. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the teen boys scowling at their monitor, fingers pounding on the keys.
Crap. Maybe my supersecret android method of using the internet wasn’t so supersecret after all. Was I jacking up the Wi-Fi for everyone else? Hogging it, somehow?
Just as that thought materialized, somewhere, in a dim cavern in my mind, I felt a tiny pinprick of awareness. A needle-sized hole, worming its way into existence. I hadn’t opened any new ports, or issued any new commands. I’d never felt that spot before.
So what was it?
Around me, the disgruntled voices were growing louder as the Wi-Fi refused to cooperate.
Close ports.
In a flash, my mind cleared. The wormhole disappeared. And a loud “Yes!” sounded from the scraggly-haired boy on my right, accompanied by a fist pump.
Apparently, Wi-Fi was back.
“What are you doing?”
I whipped around and faced Hunter.
He dropped his hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just that I got a little worried when you weren’t back in the room when I got out of the shower.”
His jaw was freshly shaved, his hair damp and curling at the ends. He looked amazing, but I couldn’t just put off my search for Grady on the basis of cute hair and smooth cheeks. I had to ensure that Mom hadn’t died in vain, which meant that I needed to survive. The only way to do that was to keep moving and stay vigilant.
And the more I stared at him, the harder it was to fit him into the equation.
“I was doing a little more research. On my dad.”
“Did you have any luck?”
I nodded. “I think I may have found him this time.”
Hunter looked surprised, not that I could blame him. “Really? That’s great. Where is he?”
“Knoxville.”
“Tennessee?”
At my nod, he plucked his phone from his pocket. “So we should try to call him, right?”
I shook my head. “There was no phone number listed.” Considering his previous occupation, I doubted that he had a traceable phone at all.
“Then I take it we’re driving out there?” Hunter asked.
I sort of half shrugged, like, Who wouldn’t want to drive across the country in search of a total complete stranger?
As we stood there, in the middle of the café, I noticed one of the teens elbow his friend and nod at us. Fear twined icy tendrils through my body. Why were they staring? Had they recognized me, from the drawing?
I yanked on Hunter’s arm and started for the counter. “Why don’t we grab that coffee I was supposed to get and map out a plan?”
As we stood in line, I knew it may be the stupidest move ever, but I had to know if they were still looking, so I peeked over my shoulder. They were. And when they caught me staring, the middle one’s grin widened and he elbowed his friend again. Then, he proceeded to make obnoxiously loud kissing motions on his arm.
Turning back to study the menu mounted on the wall, I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh or roll my eyes. I did neither. I just allowed the relief to wash away my fear. Still, even though they hadn’t seen anything suspicious, that didn’t mean my concern had just gone away. There was a picture of my face, circulating out there on the net.
Now more than ever, I had to try to be someone else.
Or flat-out disappear.
Fifteen minutes later, Hunter and I sat on the back of a wooden bench, our feet on the seat, our elbows on our thighs. As we sipped our coffees, I watched the waves roll in and thought about how carefree he’d appeared yesterday as he’d swum in them. Then in the distance, one of the military jets zoomed across the sky, and I hunched my shoulders, my mind reeling back to all the suffering Lucas had gone through because he’d befriended me. Even though he was okay now, the consequences he’d experienced were more than anyone should endure.
I crossed a line inside of myself and made a choice. I couldn’t put Hunter in danger any longer, and now that a police sketch of me was being broadcast online, we were in much too deep.
“So …” Staring hard at the horizon, gathering my resolve, I cleared my throat. “I figure you can just drop me off at the bus station.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him snap his head around, his brow furrowed. “What?”
I forced myself to look at him, to keep my voice and gaze steady. “Look, I don’t know anything about this man or how he might react to me showing up on his doorstep. He could be really pissed that I tracked him down. Besides, there’s no point in you giving up your fall break for what might turn out to be another wild goose chase.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
I was relieved by his acceptance, but disappointed at the same time.
“It’d be way more fun sitting in my room playing video games.” Then I heard it, the sarcasm in his voice. “Come on, Mila. I don’t have anything better to do. And if this guy does turn out to be a jerk, you don’t want to be by yourself.”
I shook my head. “I can’t ask this of you. I can’t be that selfish.”
“Why do I get the feeling that there’s more to it than that? Are you upset about this morning, about the kiss that didn’t happen?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
I finished off my coffee and looked at a nearby trash can. Calculations of distance, angle, velocity, and wind speed flashed through my mind before I tossed my empty coffee cup—perfect shot, no rim.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Talk about a loaded question. I fiddled with my hands in my lap, with the fraying fabric of my jeans. Waiting for the words to come. “Look, Hunter, I …”
My throat tightened, trapping the rest of the sentence inside. I pictured the horrified look on his face when I answered him honestly. Him backing away in disgust.
I coughed and tried again. “Here’s the thing …”
I closed my mouth without finishing my thought and Hunter’s eyes glazed over, like his mind was suddenly someplace else. The bench creaked as he vaulted off it, tossing his cup into the trash can at the same time. He headed toward the waves.
I guess he was fed up with me.
“Hunter,” I whispered into the stillness, but of course he couldn’t hear me.
The space inside my chest shrank, or at least it seemed that way. Because all of a sudden, this enormous pressure smashed and shoved at my synthetic heart, my stomach, everything, until it felt like they were flattened, distorted into much smaller shapes. Should I go talk to him? I wondered, as I watched him pace back and forth at the water’s edge, kicking up sand with his steps. Or should I just leave, make my way to the bus station on my own? Or maybe—and here was a timely thought—maybe I should never have called him in the first place.
The cramp in my chest intensified as I slid off the bench and my shoes sank into the warm sand. I walked over to where Hunter now stood with his arms at his sides, just staring into the dark blue water beyond. I reached for his closest hand, and laced my fingers with his. But even though we were touching, I felt his distance. It was like a Grand Canyon of distrust was forming between us, and it was all my fault.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come with me.”
That was the truth.
“Then why won’t you let me?” he muttered.
One manufactured heartbeat. Two. By the time I got to three, I hoped I could give him an explanation, anything that might make this easier—for the both of us.
“I … if I told you, I don’t think you’d understand.”
Hunter had traveled across multiple states at the drop of a hat to help me, and yet this was all I could bring myself to say.
When he didn’t reply, I started to pull my hand away, but then I felt him curl his fingers more tightly around mine and the panicky stomach-plunging-to-my-feet sensation that had taken over me a minute ago subsided.
I just didn’t want him to hate me.
A ragged sigh erupted from Hunter, and like we were somehow connected, the easing of his tension flowed into me, through our linked hands. He turned and he drank in my features like he could absorb every tiny line and curve. Read every lie.
His voice was barely audible over the sound of the ocean surf. “My dad walked out when I was nine. My mom got remarried when I was eleven.”
He dropped my hand and stuffed his own into his pockets, kicking at the sand beneath his feet. “You know how when some dads walk out, the mom makes up a story about why? Something nicer than what really happened?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Not my mom. She and my stepdad don’t believe in sugarcoating. So when she thought I was old enough, she told me all about him. How he had a drug problem, got arrested. Went to jail and repeated the same mistakes again and again after he was paroled. Finally, he realized having a son cramped his style, so he stole her spare cash, her jewelry she’d inherited from her grandmother. Stole her wedding ring, which she took off every night to clean. Then he bailed.”
Oh my god. “Hunter, I’m so sorry. I had no id—”
But he held up his hand. “Let me finish. I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I’m telling you because—you’d think because of her being so honest, I wouldn’t want to find him, right? Wouldn’t want to get to know him? I mean, what kind of kid would want an asshole like that in his life? But I do. I feel like something is missing—like, how can I know myself if I don’t know my dad? Even if he’s a total douchebag.”
He gazed off into the distance again. His next words were so soft, even my superior auditory functions had to work overtime so I could hear. “Sometimes, I think I would have been better off if she’d lied. Because now all I can wonder is—what if I turn out like him? What if there’s something wrong with me?”
A fierce protective instinct flooded my nonheart. I wanted to assure him that there was nothing wrong with him, not even close. That he would never turn out like his deadbeat father. But I held my tongue while he continued to talk.
“My point is, I do understand. I know what it’s like to want to find someone, your family. There’s this part of me that hopes maybe my mom got it wrong. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe he had to leave us for the good of mankind or something, just pretend to be bad. That’s what always happens in comic books, anyway.”
He rubbed one hand down the back of his neck and exhaled. “It’s just … I get it. I know what it’s like to be searching for your family. I want to help you. You have the courage to do what I’ve only ever thought about doing. I know it’s scary, but what I don’t understand is you calling me to come here, just to push me away.”
“I promise it has nothing to do with you,” I told him. “It’s all me.”
Groaning, he looked up at the sky. “I can’t believe you said that.” Then he dropped his head and skewered me with his gaze. “Look, if you’re not into me, just say so.”
I barked out a strangled laugh. “Actually, the problem is I like you way too much.”
Hunter tried to hide a smile, but wasn’t able to squash it before I could notice. “And how is that a problem exactly?”
I could stand here all day, ticking off the reasons. And I’d spent the last twenty-four hours batting them away like a persistent swarm of mosquitoes. But I’d made a decision. Being together wasn’t for the best. As much as I wanted to protect him, I couldn’t guarantee that I would be able to. Hunter’s safety mattered above everything.
Even the truth.
“It just is,” I said.
“Can’t you give me one day?” Hunter asked. “I need one day to show you that having me around is a good thing.”
“Hunter, I—”
“If you want me to go after that, I swear I won’t argue with you,” he went on.
I was so touched by how hard he was trying to persuade me that my throat locked up, refused to work for a minute.
One day. Hunter thought it was enough time, but I knew otherwise. Life could go from beautiful to ugly in a fraction of a second.
“Also, Tennessee is on my bucket list! You can’t deny a man the chance to check off something on his bucket list,” he added, his eyes wide and pleading, like he was scrambling for more excuses to give me.
There it was again. Laughter. Coming out of my synthetic belly, traveling out of my fake lungs, and then carrying on the wind. The corners of my lips turned up into a smile, and I was happy.
Legitimately, authentically happy.
How is that a problem exactly? Lately, happiness—even just a shred of it—had me buying into the lies I’d told. Not only to Hunter, but also to myself.
One more day. Everything will be fine.
“Okay, but I think you might need to revise that list,” I said, finally giving in. “It sounds kind of lame.”
Hunter smiled—the quirky, lopsided grin that hooked me back in Clearwater—and slipped an arm around me.
“I can’t think of anyone better to help me with it than you.”


(#ulink_71ae94ef-e482-5f03-bba7-d288f485115b)
I should have been panicked, or ready to attack at the slightest provocation. The way I’d felt when Mom and I were on the run. Today was no different from the day we tried to cross the border into Canada, or get on a plane to secretly fly out of the country.
But on the first leg of what Hunter dubbed “The Bio Daddy Road Trip,” all I could feel was relaxed. Ridiculously relaxed, given the circumstances.
Hunter insisted on taking the first turn at the wheel, and as he steered, we talked. Or rather, he talked, clearly a not-so-subtle but considerate attempt to keep my mind off my traumatic personal life. He talked about his manga collection, San Diego, the friends he’d left behind, more manga. How much he missed the ocean but not the traffic. How he hoped that he could take me with him to visit someday.
“You’d love it there. We could go to the beach, stay late, and have a bonfire. Then the next morning, we could drive up to the mountains and go for a hike. My friend’s dad has a cabin in Big Bear, so we could stay for free. It would be amazing,” he said with a sigh.
“Especially if we could read some manga while we were there,” I teased. “Seriously, though, it sounds amazing.”
And it did. Once I found Grady and put together the broken pieces of my past, then I had … nothing. No plans, no family, no idea of what my future would be like—only that I’d be constantly looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life. Even so, the fact that Hunter liked me enough to include me in his visions of the future … it meant everything to me.
I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek before sliding back into my seat.
“Just because?” Hunter asked. With a sudden boyish grin, his fingers traced over the spot. So endearing that I was tempted to kiss him again.
“Just because,” I said.
Over the next few hours, I still kept a careful eye on the cars around us, and performed quick scans whenever we stopped. But that never seemed to prevent me from enjoying myself. Like when we pulled over for an impromptu Slurpee—
Me: “Why is there a tiny shovel on the end of the straw?”
Hunter: “What, they don’t have Slurpees in Philly? There’s always a tiny shovel on the end of the straw.”
Me: “So you don’t know either.”
Hunter: “Just drink your Slurpee.”
—or flicked water at each other while Hunter washed the bugs off the Jeep’s windshield. Times like these, I could almost forget the reason we were on the trip in the first place.
To pass the time, we played a game where we took turns naming animals in alphabetical order. As it turned out, Hunter liked to take a little creative license.
“Hare,” I said.
“Icky bird.”
I folded my arms. “You’re making that up.”
He shrugged, his face a picture of innocence. “Am not. They’re indigenous to Tibet, and they were named for the sound they make during mating rituals. Icky, icky, icky.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Oh, no. I don’t kid about icky birds.”
“You could have just said ‘iguana,’ you know.”
“But then the icky bird would have felt slighted.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll let that one slide. We wouldn’t want to offend such a prestigious Tibetan avian species.”
He turned to grin at me. “Now you’re getting it.”
By the end of the game, we’d both done more laughing and fabricating than anything else.
“Wow, I haven’t played that since I was a kid,” Hunter said, once we’d finally settled down.
“Did your parents teach you?”
A pause. “No, my friends’ parents did on the way to soccer meets.” A lengthier pause, and then, “do you ever wish you had a brother? Or a sister?”
I stole a glance at his profile while he drove, but his eyes remained intent on the road.
Images flashed in my head. My face, only not mine, staring me down right before we had to race through an obstacle course designed by a madman. Her quizzical expression when I tried to talk about Mom. Her insistence that we were sisters of sorts. Sisters who competed to see if one would have her entire existence erased, with the push of a few buttons.
A chill wrapped around me like a night breeze. “No,” I said. “Not really. Why? Do you?”
A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw, a stiffness echoed in the way his shoulders squared against the seat back and the curl of his fingers on the wheel. He waited a tick, then deflated. “Yeah, I do. Mainly just to have someone to talk to at home. My parents come and go a lot, and they’re … well, let’s just say they’re all over the place with their attention. One minute they’re all in my business like I’m ten or something, but the other fifty-nine, they act like I’m forty and don’t need anything from them. Sometimes I pretend that I have a brother, and we make fun of how weird they are while we hole up in my room and watch really shitty TV.”
The tiny lump that had started forming in my throat grew in thickness, but I swallowed it away. I’d give anything to have Hunter’s dysfunctional little family.
At least he knew them. At least they were alive.
“Do you ever feel like that? Like you just wish you could rewrite history, somehow, to make it play out more in your favor?”
I reached across the seat and rested my hand lightly on his cheek. He leaned into my palm, and my heart swelled. “Every day,” I whispered. “I wish I could change the past, every single day.”
His eyes met mine, and something flared between us. My heart catapulted in my chest, while suddenly I became aware of how close his thigh was to mine, and of his scent, and the thrum of his pulse beneath my fingers, speeding up its pace.
I let my hand fall away, coughed to clear my confusion. Car. Driving. Not crashing, really important. “None of us gets to decide where we come from, but we can choose where we go from there.”
I wasn’t sure where the words had originated, but once I uttered them, they felt right. I couldn’t allow the circumstances of my creation to drag me down. Nothing could change that. But that didn’t mean my entire life was predetermined. I had choices, beyond what Holland envisioned for me.
And I’d be damned if I let him steal my life from me, like he had Mom’s.
“You think so?” he said, his lower lip caught between his teeth.
“I do. I also think that your parents suck, if they don’t realize what an amazing person you are.” He didn’t say anything, but the right side of his mouth turned up. “And, for the record—I’m always available to watch bad TV. In fact, hold that thought …”
I rummaged through my bag, pulling out the pen and paper I’d taken from the motel. I scribbled on the top sheet, tore it off, and handed it over. “Here you go.”
He unfolded it on the steering wheel and read, his smile turning into a full-fledged chuckle.
I owe you one entire day of room holing-up and all the shitty-TV watching your alphabet-game-cheating brain can handle.
Mila
“So I might get another day with you, huh?”
I stared at the stretch of road ahead through the windshield and beyond, avoiding the traveled road in the rearview mirror. “I’m thinking about it.”
Later, we switched positions. I could tell Hunter was getting tired as the sun lowered in the sky, because he talked less and instead zoned out to whatever song was playing on the radio, his eyelids slowly lowering. Finally, the steady hum of the tires must have lulled him, because his eyes closed and his face turned soft with sleep.
As I stared at the long, monotonous road ahead, I quickly realized that I didn’t like it when Hunter slept. It left me with too much time alone with my thoughts.
Way too much time. Enough time for me to replay images from the past that I’d happily erase from my memory for good.
Android parts, everywhere. Me, wading through piles of discarded arms and legs and other bits of machinery masquerading as human, their skin dry and lifeless under my hands. Flames, roaring in my ears, red-orange waves licking the floor by Mom’s bound feet—and the impact my shoulder made when I hit the glass separating us. Lucas’s body, crumpling when I struck him in the kidney with my fist—even though it was the last thing I’d wanted to do.
All part of Holland’s sick, sadistic tests. All for nothing when he ordered me terminated anyway.
Remembered terror tore through my body—the horror of not knowing what was happening to Mom while I was locked away in the tiny, barren cell in Holland’s compound … and the never-ending heart stab of realizing that now, she was gone. Was that pain ever—ever—going to go away?
Mom had told me I was brave, only she had called me Sarah. A part of me was so determined to figure out who this mystery girl was, and the other part didn’t want to know. What I knew now was horrifying enough.
As the tires rolled on and Hunter slept, I played our escape scene, over and over again. What could I have done differently? If I’d taken a different route through D.C.? Not made that desperate, wrong-way turn on the Kutz Bridge?
The road blurred before me and I took a vicious swipe at my eyes.
If you want to help me, you know what you can do? Live.
Mom’s voice, already losing strength then but filled with a surprising ferocity.
Live.
I straightened in the seat, pushed my shoulders back. Everything Mom had done had been for me. To give me a chance to really live—in whatever capacity that meant.
I wasn’t about to let her down.
I pushed the button on the door, and the window whirred. The fresh air whipped me in the face, full of damp earth and, yes, some smoky car exhaust, but mostly the slightly sweet decay of leaves falling from trees. Crisp—chillier than I’d expected.
Ambient temperature: 49.5 degrees F.
Instead of refreshing me, though, my body stiffened as Holland’s wrinkled, smug face swam in my mind, accompanied by the scream of bullets. The explosive shatter of glass.
In my head, I saw flames licking high, but this time he was the one bound to a chair. His sun-weathered face glistened as the heat drew closer, panic lightening his steel-gray eyes. His fear was a palpable thing, every bit as alive as the artery pulsing in his throat, and a strange sweetness swept through me.
The rage nestled away in a dim corner of my mind roared its approval. I’d give him fire. I’d give him everything he deserved, everything—
“Mila, look out!”
Hunter’s shout startled me, and I just reacted. I slammed on the brakes, which resisted, then gave with a sudden jerk—at the same time Hunter threw his hand out, trying to grab the steering wheel. The Jeep careened wildly to the left.
Car approaching, 12 ft.: Collision possible.
Adjust right.
I yanked the wheel to the right, overcorrecting in my panic, straight for a line of orange pylons. Construction zone. The Jeep’s front right wheel smacked one of them, and the crunch reverberated through the interior. The steering wheel jerked under my hands as the tires crunched across the debris scattered over the restricted shoulder.
I hit the brakes. No resistance at all.
Another pylon kicked up and cracked against the hood before it went flying, and in desperation, I swerved back to the left. Which plunged us directly toward a parked construction vehicle.
My heart plummeted to the floorboard at the same time my android instincts took over.
Obstacle, 3 ft.: Veer 5 degrees to the right.
Straighten.
Veer 10 degrees to the left.
Pump brakes.
I hit the brake pedal repeatedly. Nothing. The brakes wouldn’t catch, wouldn’t stop the car. Meanwhile, the Jeep kept rocketing forward. From my peripheral vision, I caught a glimpse of Hunter’s pale face. His arm was extended across my chest in a vain effort to protect me.
Collision imminent, 11 ft.
I tapped the brakes again. Again, no sign of resistance.
8 ft.
The Jeep bucked as an explosion like a shotgun blast was emitted from under the passenger side. Blowout.
In desperation, I pumped the brakes once more. The car jerked, then jolted to a stop. I stared at the back door of the massive truck on the other side of the windshield, the two bumpers so close they could have been kissing.
Obstacle, 3 in. ahead.
Three inches. We’d missed crashing by three freaking inches.
I let my head fall forward onto the steering wheel while Hunter drew in a deep, shuddering breath. “That was …” He trailed off.
“Yeah.”
Then I shot upright and turned to him, anger suddenly short-circuiting the relief. “What were you thinking, yelling at me like that?”
His jaw hung open, reflecting the dazed expression in his eyes. “The lights …,” he finally blurted. “You were driving without the headlights on.”
No lights. My night vision had initiated, and I hadn’t even noticed. The lines behind my human self and the machine were blurring, faster than I could have ever imagined. I guess the truth wouldn’t be denied.
My hands trembled, while at the same time, a steady stream of power burned through my limbs. Power that had once felt like a burden, but was starting to feel like an absolute necessity.
Holland’s face flashed again, but this time the fire licked at his toes. I could almost smell the acrid char of smoke, feel the heat singe my own skin, and the sensation sent a shiver through me.
Overhead, clouds cloaked the moon like a shroud, and in the distance, a solitary star glittered, barely lighting the dark night canvas. The rolling green hills on either side of us were devoid of businesses, of houses. Of streetlights.
I could only imagine how dark it looked without the lights on. Impossibly dark.
I kept my mouth shut and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Waiting.
Hunter peered out the windshield, forehead all furrowed in puzzlement. He muttered under his breath. “How the hell …” Then, with an angry shake of his head, his voice grew louder. “You could have killed us.”
No, I couldn’t have. But that wasn’t something I could share. No, really, we were never in any danger, because I’ve got this great night vision built into my head.
“But I didn’t,” I said. Because I felt like I had to say something. I hoped he’d leave it at that. I also hoped he couldn’t hear the thump-thump-thump pounding in my ears.
He rubbed the back of his neck, shook his head. “That’s the thing. How? How did you not kill us?”
It was a good question, really. One that deserved an equally good answer.
Under the unrelenting weight of his stare, my hands tightened on the wheel. The interior of the car suddenly felt way too small.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a good answer to give him. But as the clouds eased away from the moon, providing a little bit of illumination, I gave it my best shot. “I have really good vision, and my eyes must have adjusted as the darkness crept in.”
What an understatement.
“I might buy that if you were some sort of supernatural being, but there are no streetlights out here. None at all.”
“There’s the moon and stars … and it’s just not all that dark. I was distracted, thinking about meeting my father. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a heart attack.”
“I’m not looking for an apology.” He opened the door, got out, and trudged around to my door. When he tried to open it, he discovered it was locked.
Considering the tension undulating off him in waves, I hesitated, which was a totally human reaction. It was like I was scared we were about to have our first real fight. But I opened the door anyway. He reached in, closed a hand firmly around my wrist, and pulled me up. Then his arms were around me and I was pressed to his solid chest. I could feel the tiniest of trembles, the fading adrenaline rush.
“When the car started careening,” he began, his voice raspy, “I was so afraid you were going to get hurt … or worse.”
Holding him close, I sank against him. “We’re okay. And I won’t let myself get distracted again.”
More promises I wasn’t sure I could keep.
“No, it was my fault. I guess I didn’t realize how upset you are. I should’ve sucked it up and driven a few more hours.” He drew back and held my gaze. “You know, no matter what you learn about him, it doesn’t change a thing about who you are.”
I wanted to believe him, but knowing my history, it was probably going to change everything—on so many different levels.
“Hopefully the next town has a place to grab a real tire,” he said, as he left our embrace and walked to the trunk of the car. As he pulled out some emergency flares and a spare, he said, “Let’s try to keep the lights on from here on out, okay?”
“I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
“Nope,” he said, smirking. “Can you do me a favor and find something good on the radio? This is going to take a while.”
“Sure,” I said, getting back into the driver’s seat of the Jeep. “Any requests?”
“Yeah, something with a lot of drums and no Auto-Tune.”
“You got it.” I reached over and started scanning through channels, finding nothing but static. Then, without any command from me, my mind opened, and the red words blinked.
Searching clear frequencies.
As bits and pieces of audio began ripping through my brain, I started trying to pinpoint a local classic rock station. But instead another fragmented image floated before my eyes. Guitar chords accompanying a woman singing; the smell of oatmeal cookies in the air. Small feet standing upon two men’s tennis shoes; legs swaying back and forth, back and forth.
Within a few seconds, the song sped up in my mind, the pitch reaching such high levels, I instinctually covered my ears. But that did nothing to stop the music, which was now just an insanely loud screeching sound that was splitting my head in two.
Internal malfunction.
Audio capability compromised.
Reconfiguring … please wait.
As the vision faded, I sat there in the car, unable to hear anything but this awful, excruciating noise. My hands began to tremble, so badly that I feared the shuddering would overtake my entire body. Then suddenly I couldn’t move an inch—legs, arms, neck. Nothing was moving. Luckily, Hunter was still rummaging around in the trunk and noticed nothing. Whatever this was had better wear off or I would find myself having to explain to Hunter why I was paralyzed.
If it wasn’t so alarming, it actually might have been funny. All this time, I’d been worried about the threats in the outside world. Holland. The V.O. Three. The cops. But it wasn’t until now that I let this realization sink in.
There was something strange happening inside me that I didn’t understand and couldn’t control.
What could be a bigger threat than that?


(#ulink_e05a8388-3f1a-5bdb-9ef5-d0528d171186)
We arrived in Knoxville well into the early evening. Hunter couldn’t push the Jeep over forty-five miles per hour due to the spare, so it took a little longer than expected. I was quiet for a good part of the drive. I spent an hour or two with my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep while my internal clock counted down the minutes of this one day I had promised him, and praying that these increasingly debilitating false flashbacks would stop.
But when we finally found this Richard Grady’s house, I blocked everything out and focused, instructing Hunter to park across the street. House was a pretty tame word, though, given the size of the place. From where we sat in the car, I had a slightly obstructed view of graceful arched columns and beautiful brick construction, broken up by the bars of a fancy, wrought iron gate that led to the horseshoe driveway. Pristine green lawn peeked through, and with the window cracked, I caught a mix of sweet grass smell, chemicals, and the perfume of roses.
Video surveillance detected.
I froze.
Zoom activated.
I heard the clicking near my eyes, felt them narrow. Then my visual field changed, nearby objects racing past while the tree flanking the gate grew larger.
There. A tiny black video camera, nestled in branches that flanked the front gate. Just what I didn’t need—someone with CIA ties getting a good shot of my face for posterity.
I blinked, and with an almost inaudible whir, my visual field returned to normal. Only seven cars visible on the street—it was a weekday, after all—all of them newer, pricey foreign models, with the exception of one slightly older but impeccably washed Honda Accord, five houses down on the left at 15432. Five with Tennessee plates, one with Oklahoma, and one Georgia. No rentals.
Access DMV database?
The prompt tempted me, but no. Doubtful anyone knew we were here, and if they did—well, they’d know to cover their tracks.
“We don’t have to do this,” Hunter said, drumming his fingers on his jeans while he stared toward the gate. Even though I was acting like I’d rather be anywhere but here, I was surprised he could read me so well.
The problem was, my emotions tugged me in two opposing directions. One part was all tingly with excitement over the idea that, at long last, here was someone who might be able to answer the five thousand and one questions I’d been left with when Mom died. Someone who might allow me to finally let her rest in peace. But the other part writhed with nerves. What if this was the wrong Grady, and we’d traveled all this way for nothing? Or the right Grady, but he refused to talk?
Or worse—this guy was ex-CIA. What if I said or did something that landed Hunter and me back into Holland’s hands?
A virtual avalanche of bad outcomes, just waiting to topple down on our heads.
I scanned the sprawling yard beyond the gate and the quiet, tree-lined street in a panoramic sweep, taking in every tiny detail.
Four weapons detected.
But the guns were scattered among the houses. Surely not Holland’s men, who’d be armed to the teeth?
Yet what about the V.O.? With all that technology at their disposal, maybe they had weapons that were undetectable.
Human threat detected: 76 ft.
Just a couple of early morning joggers, clad in well-worn, appropriate-looking athletic attire, chatting as their sneakers hit the pavement. Nothing suspicious.
“Let’s do it,” I finally answered. No point in further delaying the inevitable.
“Remember, I’ve got your back,” he said, creaking open the passenger door. “Like Batman and Robin. Tarzan and Jane. Michael Knight and Kit.”
I paused with one hand on the handle. “Who?”
He laughed. “Never mind. Just this stupid old show about a guy and his car. They play reruns on TNT.”
I climbed out and put my hands on my hips. “And who’s the car in this scenario?” Though tension still plucked my android nerves like harp strings, I was thankful for Hunter’s interjection. The way he made me laugh was one of the many reasons why the thought of setting him free was tearing me apart inside. But I had to do it, and I would. Tonight. Once we were back on the road and our day together was officially over.
He loped around to my side of the car and stood in front of me, gently easing a loose strand of hair back behind my ear. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teased. “Seriously, though, I’m here for you.”
My smile wobbled, and I averted my eyes. He was here for me, but only because I’d been hiding things. Holding him close might feel like a dream come true, but in reality, I was exposing him to a nightmare.
The perfumed scent grew stronger as we approached the gate, and just inside, there was a burst of color in reds, peaches, and yellows blooming along the wall—wild and beautiful. Rosebushes, all full of flowers—well, except for that one bush nearest the street—it looked a little picked over compared to the rest.
At five steps out, I realized the gate was electronic. Grady probably had a remote button he could push from inside the house. Troublesome, because I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to turn us away before we’d even had a chance to meet.
As I stepped forward, I opened my mind to the networks buzzing all around us. I was intentionally seeking out a thread of communication with the system I knew must be lurking out there, the one that controlled the gate. I found the gleaming silvery strand right away.
Signal detected: Override lock?
Yes.
The briefest of pauses, followed by a tiny burst of power. And then—
Override commencing … 3, 2, 1 …
Under my command, the gate whirred to life, hissing open with a slow glide to reveal the path to the house. So simple. Barely more trouble than walking. For a tiny, ecstatic moment, I felt like I could accomplish anything.
“Wow, guess someone knew we were coming, huh?” Hunter said.
I watched the gate slide across the track with a small smile, that same thrill of power tingling beneath my skin. Yes, someone did know. Me.
The thrill dimmed when I noted the camera again, watching us from up in the tree like a giant eye. I tilted my head away. When we passed directly under it, I lifted my left hand and pretended to scratch my forehead, using it as a shield. Twenty more steps, then fifteen.
Motion detected.
Human threat detected.
My legs tensed under me and my head whipped toward the door. The elaborate wooden structure swung inward with a heavy groan, making Hunter stop short and me jump back, curbing the urge to shift into a defensive stance.
Target: Visualized.
Engage?
What? No! I ignored the glowing red query as a middle-aged man whirled into the doorway like a ninja, sun glinting off an object in his right hand.
Gun? My human mind formed the thought, at the same time my android brain responded:
No weapons detected.
With a warrior-like yell and the slip-smack of slippers hitting concrete, the man leaped onto the porch. “Caught you!” And despite the android reassurance, I reared back, my hand shooting out to block Hunter from harm. A split second later, I realized two things: the object in his hand was a water gun, and there was no way he would pass for my biological father. Besides being short and scrawny-thin, and having a receding hairline and a few days’ worth of stubble, this Richard Grady was black.
As I digested all of this and felt Hunter grab my hand in sympathy, water streamed from the gun and splashed Hunter in the face.
“H-Hey!” Hunter sputtered, flinging up his hands and ducking.
The man’s nose wrinkled. “Now, wait a second. You’re not that little fiend from down the street!”
He had a thick drawl—Southern—and the sound sent ice prickling across my skin. The effect might be soothing and inviting for some people, but I didn’t trust the friendly cadence.
Holland had taught me that.
Grady’s gaze shifted from Hunter to me. His gun hand jerked. But if that was a reaction to my appearance, he recovered quickly. No trace of recognition showed on his craggy face. Almost like he was trying to look unfazed.
Hunter swiped water from his eyes while drops dribbled down his chin. To his credit, he managed a smile—albeit a slightly damp one. “Uh, no.”
The man’s eyes slid from Hunter to me. “Did the fiend send you? To sneak up and pick more of my flowers? Damned kid, climbing my fence all the time, nabbing my prize roses, all for that hair-flipping girlfriend of his.” He hoisted the water pistol again and took aim.
I held my hands palms-out in front of my face, in case he got trigger-happy again. “No, I promise! We’re not, uh, flower thieves.”
Hunter snorted and made a noise deep in his throat, one that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. I shot him an evil look, but in reality, I was groping for a way to make this work, since direct questions were out. It wasn’t like Hunter was ever going to buy that this guy was my biological father.
I stared at his unfamiliar face, at the water gun he held aloft. His antics weren’t doing anything to keep my wariness at bay. If anything, his unpredictable behavior made him a wild card. I didn’t trust it, or him.
“We’re not even from around here,” Hunter added.
“That so? You just happen to stumble across my house? Well, I don’t need any solicitors, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No, we’re not selling anything,” Hunter said hastily. “We tracked you down on purpose.”
I winced, and watched as Grady zeroed in on that notion. Such a tiny bit of information, but still, more than I wanted this man to know. Yet. I’d hoped to feel him out a little more first.
He crossed his arms and scowled, all pretenses of playfulness falling away. “And why the hell would you do that?”
I focused on his face to catch even the most minute change in expression. “I was trying to track down a … relative of mine.”
Grady gave an incredulous snort. “What, you need glasses or something? Because if this here is some kind of joke, it sure ain’t funny.”
Hunter shook his head and shot me an encouraging look, raising a brow as if to say, tell him, already. I sighed. “No, no joke. My mom told me to look for a man with the last name of Grady, so that’s why we’re here.”
Silence. His left eyelid twitched, almost imperceptibly, but for five long seconds, he scratched his chin. “What’d you say your mom’s name was?”
I hadn’t, and I had a feeling he knew that as well as I did. I hesitated a beat, then said, “Daily.” No way could I use Laurent in front of Hunter. Anyway, if this were the right Grady, he would know Mom’s pseudonym.
Right?
I watched Grady watch me, my stomach fluttering with a growing collection of worries. Worries that he did know my mom and therefore, knew what I was. Worries that he didn’t know either of us. Worries that he’d somehow seen the wanted sketch of me floating around the internet and was, at this precise moment, plotting to turn us in.
When Hunter finally started scuffing his foot on the walkway, Grady grunted, but didn’t deign to respond. “Don’t know her,” he finally said.
“Sorry we bothered you. We’ll be on our way,” I said.
“Wait.” As he scratched his salt-and-pepper stubbled chin, he dissected our rumpled, less-than-daisy-fresh clothing, and the way Hunter was bouncing up and down, trying to keep warm in the gathering night air. Grady hesitated, chewing his cheek. Obviously debating something. From inside, I heard a noise.
Motion detected.
Human threat detected.
He turned at the same time I shifted to the side, trying to get a better view. Then, a head popped through the doorway.
“Grandpa, who is it?”
For a moment, Grady’s scowl disappeared. “Nothing I can’t handle, Ashleigh. I thought you were getting dinner started.” With emphatic hand gestures, he tried to usher her back into the house, but she ducked away to smile at us.
She must have been a year or so older than me, with beautiful glowing skin and shiny dark hair bunched on top of her head. Her left ear sported two tiny silver hoops, her right, a ruby stud—one that matched the one in her nose exactly. Her slim figure was wispy-thin, encased in shredded skinny jeans, a simple blue Star Trek tee, and black boots that laced up the front. Super put together and tidy, in an edgy, so-not-Clearwater sort of way. Except for the splashes of color on her fingers. Red and olive green and a hint of turquoise, dried and creasing in spots where it pulled away from her skin.
“Don’t mind him,” she said, ignoring his disgruntled snort. “He’s always this grumpy. Did I hear that you two aren’t from around here?”
I nodded without providing any additional details, but Hunter had no reason to be suspicious so he was a fountain of information. “No, we’re from Minnesota … but we drove over from Virginia Beach.”
My jaw tightened. The dangers of not being totally honest with him were coming back to bite me, and I only had myself to blame.
Ashleigh’s lips parted into a round oh. “Wow, that’s a long way. I’m sure Grandpa would love for you to come in and eat with us—wouldn’t you, Gramps?” she said. When he just stared at us, she nudged his bare ankle with her toe. She had an easy, graceful way about her. The carefree, confident air of someone comfortable in her own skin.
What must that be like?
Grady studied us with that inscrutable stare, then grunted. “I suppose they could stay for dinner. That is, if they’re hungry.”
“Dinner sounds great. Don’t you think, Mila?”
Uneasiness had me rocking onto my heels. No, I didn’t think. This man watched me a little too closely for comfort, and if he wasn’t the right Grady—or worse, was the Grady who Mom had referenced but had somehow had a change of heart—then getting out of here ASAP was the safest course of action. But I had no choice. I had to try to pry more information out of him, get him to open up. Because the reality was, this grumpy, hippo-slippered man with a water gun might be the one person who could give me whatever information Mom had thought I needed. This was my chance to fulfill one of her dying wishes and learn something about my past, and I couldn’t just bail on that now.
“Sure, sounds great,” I said, putting some conviction in my voice.
“Well, then—come on in, I guess,” Grady said, turning and stomping inside. “But don’t expect me to clean up for you.”
Ashleigh mouthed a silent “sorry” behind his back and a tiny c’est la vie lift of her shapely shoulders, then motioned us to follow. Before she closed the door, though, I noticed that Grady took a swift glance behind him. Scanning the grounds outside as if searching for something … or someone. Then the door clicked shut, and I couldn’t decide how I felt. Relieved, to have one more layer of protection between us and the outside world? Or worried that we were now locked inside with a man who seemed far too astute for comfort?
A man who had the potential to lead us right into the enemy’s hands.
From the outside, the house looked a lot like its neighbors—colonial style, white pillars. Elegant. However, I was pretty sure the inside was nothing like the other houses on the block.
The bright aqua paint slathered on the walls grabbed my attention the instant I entered the foyer. Adding even more color to that in the living room was a ton of drawings and paintings, each painstakingly framed and hung near eye level.
“Wow,” Hunter murmured, as my gaze traveled the wall. Some of the art, on the farthest wall, appeared quite skilled—a three-legged Doberman pinscher, catching a Frisbee, and a little girl digging in the sand. A trio of colorful cartoonish-looking characters, with wild hair and clothes and … swords?
“Cool manga characters,” Hunter said, nodding at the piece, while I continued my inspection to what appeared to be earlier works from the same artist. Still the bold lines, but these weren’t quite up to par: lopsided stars, haphazard hearts, rainbows in only two colors—pink and purple. Ashleigh’s painted knuckles suddenly made a lot of sense.
And then, in the middle of the room, what looked to be part of an old convertible sports car—red and shiny. The roof and windows were missing, and what was left had apparently been converted into a table.
The man caught my interest and said, “Found her rotting in a junkyard. Bastards—who treats a classic like that?” When neither Hunter nor I responded, he grumbled, “What, never seen a car as a coffee table before?” then walked into the next room.
Hunter coughed to hide his laugh while Ashleigh whispered, “Weird, right? But cool. That pretty much describes Gramps to a tee, actually.”
“I heard that,” Grady grumbled from the next room and Ashleigh just shook her head, walking up behind him to drape her arms around his shoulders. For a kook, he was pretty observant—undoubtedly courtesy of his CIA training.
“You love it, and you know it,” she said, pressing a quick kiss to his rough cheek. She tilted her head toward us and winked.
“This way,” Grady barked, and Hunter and I scurried through the arched doorway that led into an open kitchen, full of stainless appliances, a glass and wrought iron table, and a long, burgundy-speckled granite counter. My gaze zeroed in on the butcher block, which magnified in the side of my visual field. Information flashed.
Potential weapons: Chicago Cutlery, butcher knife, 6 in. blade.
Um, good to know, I guess.
The floor was wooden, with black-and-white stripes. A nod to the kitschiness of the rest of the house.
Networks detected.
The red words flashed. Blink. Blink. Blink.
GradyHome Network: Accessible.
GrSecureNet: Access blocked.
I frowned. So this was much weirder and more intriguing than the decor. Grady had two networks, one of which was so guarded, even I couldn’t obtain access? Unusual enough that my fingers curled and released, to help deflect some of my growing unease.
Grady motioned to the table, toward two of the red-cushioned chairs. “Sit down. I don’t like it when people hover.”
Hunter pulled out a chair for me, then sat in the one beside it. I followed suit more slowly. I didn’t like having commands barked at me. It reminded me way too much of Holland.
“What did you say your names were?” Grady asked.
I went still, my palms pressing down into my thighs. We hadn’t actually, and I’d prefer to keep it that way. But Hunter had no such reservations.
“I’m Hunter, and this is Mila.”
I pretended to pick at a hangnail while I watched Grady for even the slightest change in expression. Nothing. Not so much as a twitch when Hunter said my name. But his stare drilled right through me.
“You one of those girls who slinks around and never talks?” he said with a scowl.
My head flew up, startled. Then I shrugged, deciding to go with it. Me, passing as a sullen teenager? I should probably be flattered. I doubted Three would ever be accused of that.
Ashleigh padded over to straddle an empty chair at the table. Completely unself-conscious, she draped her forearms over the chair back and rested her chin on top. “So, what brings you guys to this less-than-thrilling part of town?”
Grady frowned at her. “They’re looking for Mila’s relatives—the O’Dailys.”
Did it mean something, that he’d gotten the name wrong? Or was he feigning ignorance?
Hunter shifted position in his chair so that he could once again rest a hand on my shoulder. “Just Daily,” he corrected.
Grady’s gaze slid back and forth between Hunter and me, before he grunted. “Hope you kids like steak, because that’s what we’re having. I threw some on the grill right before you came, and I always cook a few extras. Or, if you’re one of those vegetarian people like that one,” he said, nodding at Ashleigh, “we’ve got some healthy crap—grilled eggplant.”
Ashleigh grinned. “Do you really want to get into another debate of factory farming practices in America?”
Grady held up his hands as if deflecting a punch and backed away. “I didn’t say anything.” But he winked at her, brown eyes shining. I bit my lip and had to look away, my heart aching. These two shared the kind of bond I’d never have again. Not with Mom gone.
“I’ll take steak, thank you,” Hunter said.
“Me too,” I murmured, having lost what little fake appetite I’d possessed.
Grady grunted a reply, then opened the dark oak cabinet doors and rummaged around, before pulling out an oversized platter. He headed toward the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard, opened them, and walked outside, to where a built-in grill was the centerpiece of a brick-lined patio. A huge yard, at least an acre.
A harsh ring came from somewhere down the hall. Grady appeared in the doorway. “Ashleigh, keep an eye on those steaks for a second—I’ll be right back.”
As I watched him depart, Ashleigh laughed. “Gramps doesn’t believe in cell phones—he thinks they’re too risky. Old folks.”
I shifted uneasily in my chair. She’d cemented my observation that Grady was the suspicious type. Speaking of which, who was calling him, and did we have any reason to be concerned?
I stared in the direction Grady had gone, then pushed to my feet. “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked.
Ashleigh pointed. “Around the corner and down the hall.” I saw her pull a black and maroon smartphone out of her pocket as I sped out of the room. “I don’t know how he survives without one of these. I mean, seriously, how do you keep in touch with your friends without one?”
I started down the hall, then paused outside of a closed door. From the other side, I could hear the low murmur of Grady’s voice, but still couldn’t catch what he was saying. I bit my lip in frustration. Surely there should be some kind of way to hear?
Voice amplification requested?
The new prompt just appeared, popping into my head out of nowhere like an uninvited guest. But not unwelcome.
Yes.
A pulse in response. And then:
Tap left ear three times to activate.
Hurriedly, I lifted my index finger. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Voice amplification activated.
Choose voice to apply?
A blue circle appeared, and then separated into three distinct smaller circles. Grady, Hunter, and Ashleigh? I guessed. I focused on the one on the left.
Suddenly, every other noise fell away, until all that was left was Grady’s drawl. I’d chosen correctly. The sound was merely a faint whisper at first, growing and growing in volume in time to the numbers that flashed before me.
2x
Tiny concentric rings pulsed outward from the circle, in sync with the increasing volume.
3x
5x
Each time, the rings pulsed, and the volume rose, until finally, Grady’s voice filled my head, loud enough to distinguish his every word with crisp, clear definition.
“I’ll be at the course next week, don’t you worry, John. I’m gonna kick your behind on the back nine holes.”
I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but I did hear an odd tapping.
GrSecureNet in use.
The update notified me with a single power surge, and I realized Grady was typing on the secure network. My gut tightened. Coincidence? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I needed to find out.
“Thanks for calling me back so quickly. Yeah, I’ll keep you posted … that’s right. Three-six-three-seven.”
I took a hasty step back, my manufactured pulse pounding a crazed rhythm in my ears. That number, 3637. Too many coincidences now. I knew that number, and it was one that no one but Mom should know. That was the number in our street address from Philly. Our fictitious address, the one that only existed in my programmed memories.
Or so I’d thought. Was it a real address, and I’d somehow just alerted Grady to check it out? Or was it a code, one that Mom had shared with Grady?
I knew now that Grady was involved somehow, but I still couldn’t tell if he was friend or foe.
By the end of the night, I would find out. By whatever means necessary. But I had to be very, very cautious.
“Talk to you soon.”
I heard a click, and I scrambled away from the door, turning toward the bathroom. Meanwhile, the blue circle representing Grady quit pulsing and shrank in size. I backed out of the Grady circle in my mind and in doing so, inadvertently swept over the other two, activating them.
“I’m glad you guys decided to stay. Gramps is great, but he’s so overprotective. He wouldn’t dream of letting me live on campus, and it gets a little dull not having anyone my age around to talk to, you know? I want to travel so bad, and of course he won’t hear of it.”
“Why’s that?” Hunter’s voice this time, loud and clear.
I reached the bathroom doorway, ready to dart inside the second Grady’s door opened. Now, I just needed to figure out how to turn this sucker off.
Deactivate volume amplification?
Yes.
Tap left ear three times to deactivate.
“Not safe, too many crazies, blah blah blah. It’s so awesome that you get to travel with your girlfriend! She seems pretty cool.”
My fingers froze in midair. Girlfriend? I didn’t want to hear Hunter shoot that down … but I couldn’t seem to make my hand move.
“Yeah. She is. And we are lucky to travel together—it’s been great.”
With fingers that were suddenly less steady, I tapped a third time, then entered the bathroom and just stood there in a trance. She’d called me his girlfriend, and Hunter hadn’t argued. That was insane. Ridiculous. And utterly, completely amazing.
My phantom pulse pounded; my almost heart swelled in my chest. For that one, fractured moment, I let myself forget everything, and just feel all the giddy elation of being a real girl. I allowed myself a few moments of fantasy life—me, Hunter, a romantic road trip with nothing more to do than explore foreign places and hold hands while the sun set. Then, I forced my mind to return to reality, and my grin fell away. If Hunter really was my boyfriend, we were about to have the shortest relationship ever.
Because nothing had changed. I had to figure out exactly what Grady knew.
And then I had to tell Hunter good-bye.


(#ulink_8fbb5323-5b42-51a0-be9f-45652e03acba)
We settled in to dinner, but if I was hoping for a silent meal, I was quickly dissuaded of that notion.
Grady surveyed me over his plate as he stabbed a piece of meat. “So, tell me where you’re from again?” he said, in a bland manner.
Too bland? I wondered, a whisper of unease threading through me.
“I’m originally from San Diego, and Mila’s from Philly, but we met in Clearwater, Minnesota,” Hunter said.
“That right?” Grady’s fork paused a beat. Then, he shoved a bit of steak into his mouth and started to chew.

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