Don't Look Now (10 page)

But he didn’t
, he reminded himself. And now that he had his bearings, he should be able to do the whole job in under five minutes. Maybe he could get Amanda to keep watch outside the building. . . .

Just as quickly, he dismissed the idea. Amanda had already had one bad encounter with Mason. He couldn’t set her up for another. And what if she had an episode on the street?

Peter tilted back in his chair. It was late, nearly midnight. He’d drifted through his classes today in a reverie, wholly absorbed by the Mason problem. During study hall he’d made some headway on narrowing the search parameters for the Pike & Dolan data, but the software program was still returning massive amounts of information. And every day another heap of it was added to the top of the mountain. He’d spent a few hours sifting through emails and reports, but most turned out to be innocuous, about a new line of conditioner they were bringing to market, and the expansion of vaccine lines.

Nothing related to Project Persephone. In fact, he’d specifically searched for the files he and Noa had found months earlier, when they first hacked into the company’s systems. Not a trace of them remained, so either his bricking had been more successful than he’d dreamed, or someone had systematically eliminated anything incriminating.

The bummer was that it meant those files might be housed on an entirely different server, one maintained separately from their computer mainframe. And if that were the case, those servers would probably be in a more secure location, where he couldn’t just waltz in pretending to be a visiting tech genius.

Peter stared gloomily out his bedroom window. The bottom line was, all the risks he’d taken might have been for nothing. He hadn’t heard from Noa, either. He wondered if the hostage had told her anything. More importantly, would she share the information if he had? It felt like they were operating at a growing remove from each other. Sometimes this all seemed like some terrible, inescapable nightmare he’d been sucked into. And he was in it all alone. He felt a flash of resentment. Where was his army? Instead of a trusted member of the team, he was starting to feel like the guy they kept on payroll to maintain the nuts and bolts of the operation, someone who sat alone at a desk mostly forgotten.

But it didn’t have to be that way, he reminded himself. The Northeastern division of Persefone’s Army was located right here in Boston. He’d met the leader once, a kid named Luke who seemed okay. Maybe he should try to get more involved with their operations.

Peter pushed back from his desk and started to pace. He had class in the morning, which meant he had to be up in six hours. But he felt too wired to sleep. All he did now was go to school, and spend time in front of a monitor trying to help Noa. His friends had pretty much given up on him, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything that qualified as fun.

That wasn’t entirely true, Peter thought, dropping back into his desk chair. The movie the other day had been fun, until Amanda did her spooky walk around the parking lot. He was still torn about whether or not to share his suspicions that she was in the early stages of PEMA. There was no treatment yet, nothing that could be done for her anyway. And what if he was wrong? He’d even toyed with the idea of telling her parents, but that felt like a betrayal. If the situation were reversed, he’d want his parents kept out of it entirely.

He’d left her a couple of messages today, but she hadn’t called back yet, which made him nervous. Kids with PEMA exhibited all sorts of strange symptoms, including walking in circles and narcolepsy. She didn’t drive anywhere, but still; what if she spaced out while crossing the street? Or zonked out in a place where a creep could take advantage of her?

He couldn’t let that happen. Next time they met up, he’d talk to her about it. Maybe even see if her roommate had noticed anything weird. After all, that incident in the parking lot might have been something else, he told himself. Like stress from all her classes and volunteering. Maybe he’d exaggerated this whole thing because he’d become obsessed with PEMA.

Peter couldn’t make himself believe it, though. He’d spent a lot of time on a PEMA ward watching his brother waste away. He knew exactly how the disease manifested itself. And Amanda had been exhibiting classic symptoms.

Which meant that she was going to die sometime in the next year. The realization hit him hard. His initial reaction had been rage at Mason for hurting her; the end result hadn’t really occurred to him until now. Amanda was basically walking around with a death sentence on her head. And there was nothing he could do to save her.

The legs of the chair dropped down hard, jarring him as they hit the floor. Peter blinked back tears. Amanda was the first girl he’d ever loved; no, the only girl he’d ever loved, he corrected himself, although an image of Noa flickered, unbidden, through his mind. Amanda was one of the most amazing people he’d ever met: kind, caring, passionate, and fierce. She should have been destined for a long, productive life. Instead, she wouldn’t even get the chance to graduate from college.

Well, if he couldn’t save her, at least he could punish the man responsible for making her sick. With renewed determination, Peter flipped the laptop open again and started digging through Maurer Consulting’s records. There had to be something here that would tell him Mason’s weakness, and how he could be hurt. And he planned on finding it, even if it killed him.

CHAPTER
SIX

“I
count three guarding the perimeter, which means there are probably at least three more inside,” Zeke said, squinting through the binoculars.

Noa was slumped down in the passenger seat; she could just see over the dashboard. “Can I look?” she asked, holding out a hand.

He passed her the binoculars, and she peered through them. They were parked on a small rise overlooking the warehouse facility. The building appeared abandoned; the only thing close by was a desolate office park a mile down the road.

The rest of the group was in a foreclosed-upon house in a half-finished housing development on the outskirts of Phoenix. Yesterday had been a long day of driving; after dumping the body, they’d decided to do it in one long stretch. Which hadn’t been easy; she, Zeke, Remo, and Janiqua had all taken turns at the wheel, and they’d only stopped twice to buy snacks and let everyone use the restroom. But consequently they’d gotten here in record time, arriving a little after seven a.m. They’d spent the morning scouting for a new safe house, then hunkered down to rest up. A little after dusk, she and Zeke drove out to case their target.

“Phoenix is kind of perfect,” Zeke noted. “Lots of places in foreclosure. I bet they had no problem finding an empty building to rent.”

“Yeah, the bad economy has really been a plus for Project Persephone,” Noa said drily.

Zeke issued a short laugh before adding, “It’s pretty close to the highway, too, so we can get in and out quick. We can head straight to the Forsythes from here.”

“That would be great,” Noa said with a sigh. She could use a few days off. They hadn’t been back to their home base in Santa Cruz, California, in nearly a month. It was one of the few places where she felt safe. The people who had first rescued Zeke lived there, an older couple who had stumbled across what was going on a few years ago. Horrified, the Forsythes had assembled a small group of like-minded people to try and stop Project Persephone. When all their efforts to publicize the experiments were quashed, they resorted to raids, although in a far less dramatic fashion. According to Zeke, they’d mainly snuck into loosely monitored labs in the dead of night, smuggling kids out in maintenance vans. Of course, the Forsythes weren’t exactly young, or trained as fighters; they had been scientists who made a fortune and retired early. And most of the help they’d corralled came from adults with similar backgrounds. So when Zeke and Noa offered to take over the raids and kidnapping intercepts, the Forsythes had accepted with what Noa couldn’t help notice looked a lot like relief.

“So what do you think?” Zeke asked. “Same plan as San Diego?”

“They’ll be expecting that,” Noa said, scanning the scene below through the binoculars. Even at this distance, the sight of the warehouse turned her stomach. It was a nondescript, dusty-brown building that could have doubled as an airplane hangar. No windows visible, and a single door at each end. It looked a lot like the place where she’d woken up after they’d operated on her. No matter how many rescue missions they did, she’d never gotten used to seeing a facility in person. “I think we need to try something new.”

“Yeah, but what?” Zeke asked. “We don’t have enough cash for anything fancy. Unless you want the Forsythes to send a money order . . .”

“We won’t need anything fancy,” Noa said. Her jaw clenched as she watched two of the guards chatting as they smoked cigarettes. They appeared relaxed, casual. Like they could care less about the fact that kids were being sliced open a few dozen feet away. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Awesome.” Zeke flashed her a grin. “I love your ideas.”

She snorted.

“No, seriously,” he added in a softer voice. “You’re the brains of this operation. We wouldn’t have gotten anything done without you.”

“You were doing plenty before we even met,” she reminded him, shifting uncomfortably. If anything, sometimes she thought that her involvement had only made things worse on everyone. Maybe it would have been better if they’d been quieter about bringing the fight to Pike & Dolan. But no, she’d gone trumpeting about her little army all over the internet. A flash of the commando’s dead body swept through her mind, and she winced.

“You’re crying,” Zeke said with surprise.

Angrily, Noa wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. She hardly ever cried. She’d always thought it was a ridiculous display of weakness, a physical tic that didn’t accomplish anything. So why was it happening now? “I’m fine,” she sniffled.

But Zeke was already reaching across the long van seat for her. She stiffened as his arms wrapped around her. “It’s okay,” he said soothingly, drawing her to him. “Just relax.”

At the feel of his breath on the back of her neck, Noa experienced a flash of panic. The tears were one thing, but as he held her and murmured something unintelligible into her hair, she felt . . . something else. Something even more unsettling. She liked this, she realized. She wanted to lay her head against his shoulder and wrap her arms around him, too. She wanted . . .

Abruptly, she pulled away. Noa ran a hand through her hair and slid all the way to the opposite side of the van, pressing herself against the door. The air seemed thick, cloying, like there wasn’t enough of it to fill her lungs.

“What’s wrong?” Zeke asked, his voice filled with hurt and confusion. His eyes, usually so unreadable, were suddenly bottomless enough to drown in. “I was just trying to—”

“I know,” Noa interrupted, wiping her cheeks again to get rid of stray tears. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, still staring at her fixedly. “Anytime.”

“We should go,” Noa said. Suddenly, she had no idea what to do with her hands, or where to look. She felt hot and flushed, like she’d suddenly developed a fever. “The others are waiting.”

Still, he didn’t move. Noa avoided his eyes, focusing on the building below them. Without the binoculars it was hard to discern details; it was just a mass of brown, nearly indistinguishable from the sandy lot surrounding it.

Another minute passed, the silence heavy and palpable. Noa’s mind raced. She was being ridiculous. Zeke was her friend, maybe even the only person on the planet she could trust completely. She’d overreacted—he’d just been trying to make her feel better.

Noa turned to say that she was sorry, but Zeke had shifted in his seat to stare blankly out the windshield. His jaw was set, and he looked angry. As she opened her mouth to speak, he turned on the ignition and threw the van in reverse, spinning it around and tearing back toward the highway.

They drove in silence through the dusty landscape, wide stretches of desert punctured by saguaros, strip malls, and golf courses. Noa rubbed her bare wrist to comfort herself the entire way.

Peter opened the front door wearing pajama bottoms and a plain white T-shirt, his hair rumpled from sleep. “Hey,” he said uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Amanda said, stamping her feet against the cold. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, keeping his voice low.

Silently, Amanda followed him through the darkened foyer and up a flight of stairs to his room. Peter’s house was so enormous she’d always found it slightly overwhelming. Even though they’d shared long rants about how over-the-top and ostentatious it was, deep down she felt a slight twinge of envy as she mounted the main stairway. Carved of wood and set with inlaid marble, it was like something out of a movie. Amanda had never admitted it to Peter, but she loved the plush Oriental rugs, the insanely expensive furniture, and the enormous kitchen stocked with every possible amenity. Her family wasn’t poor, but they could never afford a house like this.

Peter held the door to his room open, then eased it shut behind her. Not that he needed to worry—his parents’ bedroom was in a whole other wing of the house. Still, he seemed unusually jumpy tonight.

“Everything okay?” Amanda asked, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. As usual, it was messy: Clothing spilled out of the closet and drawers, the bed was unmade, and there were stacks of papers and computer equipment everywhere. The walls were covered with vintage movie posters:
Star Wars
,
Indiana Jones
,
Star Trek
. A few months ago she would have dismissed them as immature, but now she found them oddly charming and sweet. The room had that particular teenage boy musk, too, which should have been unpleasant but wasn’t.

“You tell me,” he said, dropping down on his bed and cracking his knuckles. “It’s the middle of the night, Amanda. What’s going on?”

Amanda stared at her hands. She knew this was nuts. Part of her was tempted to make up some lame excuse, then bolt for the door. The entire T ride here, this had seemed like the right thing to do—the only thing to do. She didn’t trust anyone but Peter with this.

But now that she was standing in front of him, she didn’t know what to say.

“Sit,” he said, patting the space beside him. “And take your coat off. You might as well crash here tonight, the T won’t be running again until morning.”

“But, your parents—”

Peter snorted. “Yeah, like they care. Please. If you want, I’ll make sure they’re gone before you leave.”

Amanda pulled off her hat and sank down on the bed beside him. As Peter helped her out of her coat, his hand brushed hers. Usually when that happened, one of them ended up yanking it away. But this time, unless she was mistaken, his hand lingered.

Amanda carefully laid her jacket on the bed beside her. Crossing her hands in her lap, she tried to figure out where to start. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He waved a hand, his light-brown eyes fixed on hers. “Don’t be. I was up.”

“More Noa work?” she asked, unable to contain the sharp edge in her voice.

Peter hesitated, then said, “I was working on something else tonight, actually.”

He didn’t seem to want to discuss it further, which was odd—she’d assumed that over the past few months, he’d been sharing everything with her. A terrible thought suddenly struck her—maybe he hadn’t been working at all, maybe he’d been talking or texting with a girl. It would explain why he was suddenly being so secretive. Not that she should care, Amanda reminded herself. She’d broken up with him four months ago. Peter had the right to date whoever he wanted.

But she did care, Amanda suddenly realized, taking in his sleepy eyes and wavy brown hair. A lock of it hung over his left eye; looking at it, she remembered how surprisingly soft it was, how she used to love running her hands through it.

“Amanda,” he said gently. “Tell me.”

After seeing Mouse yesterday, she’d gone home and fallen into bed. Even though it had only been five p.m., she’d felt completely drained, and figured she had time for a nap before dinner.

A slant of light in her eyes woke her. Groggily, she checked the clock: It was eight a.m.; she’d slept for nearly fifteen hours. On the plus side, she felt great, well-rested and hungrier than she’d been in weeks. She devoured breakfast in the student union and headed to class. Maybe she’d had a low-grade cold that had finally run its course, and didn’t need to go to the medical center after all.

The next thing she knew, it was dark outside. It was like she’d blinked on the path to class, and been transported to an entirely different world by the time she opened her eyes again. She was standing in front of the diner, staring at the
CLOSED
sign hanging on the front door. Amanda had no idea how she’d gotten there, or how long she’d been standing on the deserted street. Checking her cell phone, she saw that it was nearly midnight. It was only slightly comforting to see that at least it was the same day.

A lot could happen in fifteen hours, and Amanda fought rising panic as she flashed back to months earlier, when she’d woken up on a park bench with a warning scrawled across her back in black marker. So she’d rushed into the bathroom of a fast-food restaurant a block away, tore off her jacket, and pulled down her shirt.

She craned her head in the mirror to check: Her skin was unblemished. If she had been abducted again, this time there was no sign of it.

Which should have been a relief, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something else. Maybe something even worse.

The diner wasn’t far from the green line. She’d purposefully marched into the station and caught the last train out to Brookline, making a beeline for Peter’s house.

Amanda still wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe because Peter was the only person who knew about her previous abduction, so she could trust him with this. Plus, he would know better than anyone whether this was the sort of thing Mason would do.

Or maybe it was because she felt terrified and alone and wanted to see him. Wanted to feel his arms around her, if she was honest with herself. Maybe wanted even more.

And now she was here, and Peter was sitting next to her on the bed, his eyes filled with sympathy. And she found that part of her didn’t want to tell him, because the very worst thing would be for him to pity her. She didn’t want to feel like a victim; she wanted to feel something else for a change.

So she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Peter froze for a second, then his lips relaxed, and he kissed her back. His hand reached up to stroke her cheek, then he ran it through her hair and pulled her head closer. And suddenly the kisses were deepening, and she had her hands up under his shirt, feeling the muscles of his back tauten, and they were lying down. . . .

A cell phone rang. Peter abruptly pulled back, a puzzled expression on his face. “That’s not the iPhone,” he said reluctantly after it rang again. “I need to get it. I’m really sorry, Amanda.”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “Just . . . be quick.”

She watched him cross to his desk, straightening his shirt as he went. Peter dug a TracFone out of his backpack. Her eyes narrowed.
Of course—Noa
. A knot of resentment formed in the back of her throat. She knew that most of their communication involved coded messages exchanged on that Quad message board only hackers knew about. So if Noa was calling, there must be some sort of emergency.