Authors: Michelle Gagnon
Peter dropped his head into his hands. He’d hacked into the databases of every hospital in a twenty-mile radius, and none of them had Amanda listed as a patient.
The fact that there was no sign of her confirmed his worst fears. Amanda must have fallen into Mason’s hands again. And this time, he wouldn’t be leaving her on a park bench. He hadn’t sent any more messages, and when Peter tried to open a Word doc, there was no response on the other end.
Peter tried to calm down. He was back in his room at home. No point sneaking around anymore, hacking into places from a parked car. No wonder there hadn’t been anything on Mason’s laptop, and most of the phone conversations were so innocuous. Peter felt like an idiot. He thought he’d been so sly, like some sort of smooth secret agent. Instead, he’d bumbled everything. Had they managed to track Noa through him? He wanted to contact her, but didn’t dare, now that he knew his every move was being monitored.
Still, even if Mason knew exactly where he’d been in the physical world, that didn’t mean he’d been able to track him through the virtual one. Peter had always taken extraordinary precautions. Even with access to military-grade technology, it was unlikely they’d been able to monitor him online. And if Mason needed help hacking into the server, it suggested he didn’t exactly have a crack team at his disposal.
Obviously, Mason was using Amanda for leverage, to get Peter to do what he wanted. And it was working. He didn’t have another option. Mason would keep her alive, as long as she still had value as a pawn in his sick game.
But unless Peter figured out a way to gain the upper hand, Mason would get rid of Amanda in the end. She knew too much for him to let her live.
Peter collapsed on his bed. He’d never felt so tired in his life. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d slept for more than a few hours at a stretch. He wanted to close his eyes and pass out. Sleep for a few days, and maybe when he woke up this would all turn out to be a terrible nightmare.
But he couldn’t. Amanda was counting on him—no one else even knew she was gone. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her parents, and her roommate couldn’t do anything for her.
Besides, the fewer people who know, the better
, he told himself. Maybe if he kept it quiet, Mason would let her live.
He toyed with the idea of contacting Noa. If she was following standard procedure, she’d be holed up somewhere. She’d never told him where her home base was located, but made it clear that it was with people she could trust. That in and of itself was a mystery to him; it was hard to believe there were people who’d known about Project Persephone for years, and had been fighting it before they ever came on the scene. But at least it meant there was somewhere safe Noa could go between raids. He hoped she was there now.
Peter peered out his bedroom window. It was dark, and cold; whorls of white frost ate away at the edges of his windowpanes. He set his jaw as he stared out past the trees, toward the lights of the city beyond.
His only play here was to cut a deal with Mason in person.
But first, he needed to cover his back. Noa was too far away, and he didn’t want her involved anyway. But there was someone he could turn to for help—someone who had a lot more experience with this sort of thing. Peter flipped open his laptop and logged into The Quad, typing in the code for the Northeast chapter. After a pause, he wrote,
Mayday
, then hit Send. The team leader, Luke, was supposed to check the page every night. Peter had only met him once, but he seemed pretty capable—a seventeen-year-old who’d been living alone on the street for years. And his unit was almost as good as Noa’s in terms of their capabilities.
Peter closed the laptop, feeling moderately relieved. Mason wouldn’t expect him to have backup. And maybe if they worked together, they could bring him down once and for all.
R
oy recovered quickly. A second after the explosion he was tearing toward the house, moving much faster than she would have guessed a man his age could run. Noa followed close on his heels. The lower floor of the house was on fire; the bomb, or whatever it was, had been in the dining room. Luckily, unless they’d moved, most of the kids were still on the other side of the house.
“What was that?” Noa yelled.
“I don’t know,” Roy shouted back grimly, circling around to the kitchen door. As they approached, it flew open. Teens spilled out onto the lawn, their faces masks of terror. Everyone was yelling, their voices sharp with fear and confusion. Noa scanned them quickly, doing a head count. Daisy and Teo were missing; so were Zeke, Taylor, and Matt. Monica wasn’t there either; she was probably still with the unconscious girl. And the makeshift infirmary was in the front of the house, right beside the dining room. “Where are the others?” she yelled.
They stared at her blankly, as if too dazed to process what she was saying. She grabbed Remo by the arm and shouted, “Daisy and Teo, Zeke and Taylor and Matt. Where are they?”
“Uh, Daisy and Teo headed back to the bunks,” he said, snapping out of it. “And I think Zeke and Taylor . . . um, they went upstairs. Haven’t seen Matt, I thought he went to bed.”
“We have to help them!” Noa yelled. “C’mon!”
Roy was already pushing through the cluster of kids, making a dash for the door. He stumbled on the bottom step and almost went sprawling. Catching himself at the last minute, he vanished into the smoke that rolled out the door in thick black waves.
Noa followed, with Remo at her heels. The kitchen was filled with smoke, tendrils of it wafting almost languorously toward the door. She pulled her scarf up over her face, instantly experiencing a wave of déjà vu; had it been only the night before last when they’d nearly burned to death in the warehouse?
Suddenly, the floor shook as another explosion rocked the house. Noa instinctively ducked as the glass windows lining the kitchen shattered. It sounded as if that one had ignited upstairs. . . . Where Zeke was.
“Go help Roy find Monica!” Noa said, waving Remo toward the front of the house.
He nodded and vanished through the door to the living room.
Noa took the stairs two at a time. It was much hotter upstairs, and the fire roared like a living thing. She fought off an inner wave of raw panic and terror, forcing herself to keep going. Zeke was up here somewhere. And no matter what the hell he was doing with Taylor, she owed him her life many times over. Noa staggered down the hall, struggling through rapidly increasing clouds of smoke. From the sound of it, the second explosion had hit the side of the house fronting the driveway. The fire had almost reached the door to Zeke’s room; it was licking along the walls toward her. . . .
Noa squinted against the heat and smoke, tears forced from her eyes. Already her lungs felt charred, and her skin prickled from the heat. She pulled down her sleeve and touched the knob quickly: still cool. Noa turned it and hurled herself into the room, almost afraid of what she’d find.
Empty.
She backed up, puzzled. The front bedroom was engulfed in flames; if Zeke was in there, it was already too late. Which left her room.
She drew a deep breath and checked the knob: cool. Noa said a silent prayer and flung it open.
Zeke was standing with his back to her. And facing him, brandishing a small gun, was Taylor. At the sight of Noa, her lips turned up in a snide grin and she said, “Good, you’re here. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Teo had floated through the day. He’d spent most of it helping Remo, Zeke, Janiqua, and Roy fix up an old barn. At first he’d been hopelessly clumsy, repeatedly hitting his fingers with the hammer. But Roy was a really cool guy, patient and nice, and he spent a lot of time giving Teo tips. By the end of the day, he was securing boards in place with the same ease as the rest of them. The whole experience had been refreshingly novel: being outside in the sunshine, a cool breeze blowing off the ocean, and no cup in his hand. A full belly, working with kids who teased each other, but without the nasty undertones he was accustomed to. It felt . . . normal.
When they got back to the house, Daisy was waiting for him. Over sandwiches she bragged about staking tomatoes, proudly showing him the mud encrusted under her chipped nail polish, like it was a badge of honor. She hadn’t bothered with the full Goth paint since they’d left Oakland, and her cheeks were slightly burned from the sun. He thought she was pretty much the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen in his entire life. The whole time they ate, she surreptitiously held his hand under the table.
And now they were lying side by side in his bunk bed. They’d been assigned to a converted shed a few hundred yards from the house, which Roy jokingly referred to as their “finest guest hut.” It was actually pretty nice inside. Wood floors, a small bathroom, two sets of bunk beds on either wall, and a thick rug. And the bunk bed was surprisingly comfortable, with a really soft mattress and warm blankets.
Daisy had stripped down to a tank top and boy shorts before slipping under the covers. His heart was thudding so hard in his chest he was sure she could hear it. Daisy pressed closer to him. She dropped her head, leaned in, and kissed him.
Teo’s breath stopped entirely as he kissed her back. Her lips were so unbelievably soft, and she tasted so good. He was suddenly hyperaware of his own breath. He’d brushed his teeth, but only with his finger because there’d been toothpaste but no toothbrush. Was she totally disgusted, and wishing she hadn’t started this?
Daisy pulled away, smiling dreamily. She gently trailed her index finger down the side of his face. “I really like you, Teddy.”
“I really like you, too,” he said, embarrassed by how hoarse and raspy his voice sounded.
“So can we take this slow?”
“Slow?” The distance from his ears to his brain seemed to have widened into a vast gulf. “Yeah, sure. Slow is good.”
“Good.” She smiled, and snuggled up against him. Teo wrapped both arms around her.
Daisy made a small happy noise in the back of her throat, which he took as encouragement. Throwing caution to the wind, Teo started to draw slow circles with his fingertips, inching up her back gradually. She tilted her face toward him, and they started kissing again. . . .
Daisy pulled away, a small frown creasing her features.
“What?” he asked anxiously. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Do you smell smoke?”
Teo sniffed the air. It did smell like smoke, but nothing like the nasty, chemical burning smell at the warehouse the other night. “Probably just from the fireplace,” he said dismissively. He parted his lips hopefully, pulling her back toward him.
“That’s definitely too strong to be from the fireplace,” Daisy stated bluntly, pulling herself up. “Something’s wrong.”
Teo sighed, wondering if this was just an excuse. Obediently, he sat up too, taking care not to knock his head on the upper bunk. He inhaled obediently, and frowned. She was right: It did smell unusually smoky. Crap.
“I’ll go check it out,” he said with resignation.
Teo shuffled over to the door, readjusting his clothes as he went, his toes curling in protest against the cold floorboards. He opened it and peered out into the night, then turned back to Daisy with a dumbfounded expression on his face.
“What?” she asked.
“The house. It’s on fire!”
Mason had the nerve to look surprised at finding Peter on his doorstep. He was dressed for bed in a pair of navy pajamas and a dark robe. Somehow, even in that outfit he managed to look intimidating. “Well,” he said after a beat. “Bit late for a social call, isn’t it, Peter?”
“There’s nothing social about this,” Peter snarled, pushing past him into the living room. Inside, his entire body was quaking, but he wasn’t going to give Mason the benefit of seeing that. He plunked down on the sofa.
Mason remained standing, arms crossed over his chest and a bemused smile on his face. “I see you’re accustomed to making yourself at home here.”
Peter snorted. “Honestly, first time I walked in, I figured this must be the wrong address. You decorate like a grandmother.”
Mason raised an eyebrow, but a stronger emotion flickered in his eyes. He settled languidly on the easy chair opposite. “So you came here to insult my decor?”
“You know why I came,” Peter spat. “So, fine. I’ll hack into the server. But if I do that, you let Amanda go. Unharmed.”
Mason continued studying Peter speculatively.
“What?” Peter demanded.
Abruptly, Mason got to his feet, so suddenly it made Peter flinch. But he simply crossed to the kitchen and poured two glasses of water, then came back. “Well, then. I’m glad you changed your mind.”
“Whatever,” Peter mumbled. Mason held the water out to him, but he didn’t take it. After a second, Mason set the glass on the coffee table between them and settled back in his chair. “I still don’t get why you want
me
to do this.”
Mason shrugged. “It came to my attention during our last . . . encounter, that you are quite skilled at what you do. Too skilled for your own good, obviously.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“It really is a shame that we got off on the wrong footing, Peter. If your parents had any grasp of your talents, they would have suggested bringing you into the fold themselves.”
The thought of his parents enlisting him in the kidnapping and murder of other teenagers turned Peter’s stomach. The worst part was that, considering the amount of money involved, they might’ve done it. If Project Persephone succeeded, and Pike & Dolan discovered a cure for PEMA, there were millions of dollars at stake.
Which was probably, he realized, precisely why Mason wanted those medical files. “So,” he said carefully, “what am I looking for on the server, exactly?”
Mason narrowed his eyes. “Wondering what I’m after, Peter?”
“Yeah, actually.” Peter reached for the water. The way Mason was looking at him had made his throat go dry. “You trying to rip them off?”
Mason waved a hand. “That’s really none of your concern.”
“Sure it is.” Peter drained half the glass, then set it back down, perversely pleased when it left a ring on the table. “I mean, I’ve got to know what to look for, for one thing. I can’t just pull everything off the server.”
“Really?” Mason cocked an eyebrow. “You did just that last time.”
Peter shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to go into detail about how he’d managed to get the information off P&D’s servers before bricking them. “That was different. It’s complicated.”
“I see. You still have those files, I’m assuming?”
Peter shrugged. No harm in admitting that—obviously he wouldn’t have gotten rid of them. He’d buried them deeply, though, scattered across a dozen servers in as many countries, with full backups in place.
“Good.” Mason steepled his fingers, looking satisfied.
“So you just want me to hand those over?” Peter demanded.
Mason shook his head. “No need. That research only served to lay the groundwork.”
Peter was confused. If the files were worthless, why had anyone bothered keeping tabs on him? “So, what, they had some sort of breakthrough in the past few months?”
Mason stared at him. Peter shifted, disconcerted. Mason’s black eyes looked particularly creepy in the dim lighting.
“What?” Peter finally said, turning his palms up. “Is it some big secret?”
“Actually, yes, Peter. It is.” Mason still hadn’t touched his own water. “One that Charles Pike paid dearly for.”
Something struck him. “Wait. Have they found a cure for PEMA?” In spite of the situation, his heart leapt. If he could get Amanda back, and a cure was about to be released . . . maybe she’d be all right after all.
“Close,” Mason said. “But not entirely.”
Peter’s heart sank. “So why are we bothering to steal the files? Just because Charles Pike pissed you off?”
“He more than ‘pissed me off,’” Mason said, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. “And what happened between us isn’t your concern. Suffice it to say that there are people who will pay dearly for this research.”
“It is about money.” Peter snorted. “I already told you you’re a jerkwad, right?”
Mason moved so swiftly, Peter barely had time to register it before being hauled bodily out of the chair. Mason held him by the front of his jacket, lifting him nearly off the ground. His shirt collar was gathered so tightly, Peter choked for air. They were face-to-face, inches apart. As calmly as if they were still sitting across from each other, Mason said, “You should watch yourself, Peter. I would hate for anything to happen to you.”
Peter struggled, and Mason abruptly released him. His knees knocked hard against the rim of the coffee table as he hit the ground, making him wince. He swallowed, his heart still drumming against his ribs at about a hundred miles an hour. Mason, meanwhile, didn’t even look flushed from the exertion; it was as if the encounter had never happened.
“We leave in five minutes,” Mason said.
“Wait a minute,” Peter stuttered. “You want to do this
tonight
?”
Mason was already strolling toward the bedroom. He called back over his shoulder, “While you’re waiting, I’d advise wiping the water ring off my coffee table.”
Noa couldn’t help herself; her immediate reaction was to snap at Zeke, “Told you we couldn’t trust her.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, obviously. Sorry. Feel better?”
“A little.” In spite of the situation, she felt vindicated. “Is that your gun?”
He didn’t reply, which was answer enough. Noa sighed. This was exactly why she didn’t like guns. It was far too easy for them to be turned against you. “So what’s your plan?” she asked Taylor.
Taylor shrugged. “We wait.”
“Really? Here, in a house that’s on fire?” Noa threw up her hands, exasperated. “In a few minutes, this whole place is going to be burning.”
“Oh, they’ll be here before that,” Taylor said confidently.
“Crap,” Zeke muttered.