Replica (15 page)

“Did you ever consider
asking
me if I wanted a cup of tea first?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I crossed paths with Mr. Mosely on my way here. I figured a visit with him warranted a cup of tea. Unless you want something stronger?”

Nadia glanced up sharply at the tone in Dante’s voice, but he’d turned his back to her again and headed to the refreshments table to start gathering the dirty dishes and trash. Maybe she was reading too much into what she’d just heard, but it sounded as if Dante didn’t much like his boss. Maybe there was dissension in the ranks. Or maybe Dante was trying to lull her into speaking too freely with him.

Of course, he had his back to her now and was clearing the tea service, not trying to talk to her. Maybe she should give her paranoia a rest for a while.

Another wisp of steam wafted her way. She’d wanted that cup of tea before Mosely’s visit, and she wanted it even more now. She reached for the cup and took a grateful sip, savoring the warmth as it slid down her throat. Dante had put just the right amount of honey and lemon in it. Obviously, he’d paid attention to how she fixed her tea when she made it herself.

“Thank you,” she said, almost reluctantly. It seemed wrong to thank the enemy, but she had to admit he was being rather nice to her.

He looked over his shoulder at her and quirked a smile, making Nadia wonder if he’d heard the reluctance in her voice. “I live to serve, you know,” he said.

Nadia surprised herself by returning his smile. He might have denied being here under false pretenses when she’d commented on it yesterday, but he obviously wasn’t making much effort to fool her.

“Yes,” she agreed drily, “I can see that you’re naturally subservient.”

He laughed briefly, then carried the dishes to a cleverly concealed dumbwaiter at the far end of the room. What had led someone like him to work for someone like Dirk Mosely? Unlike Executives, Employees could choose their own career paths, at least to the extent their talents allowed, and she’d never before met anyone associated with Mosely who could even remotely be described as easygoing. And yet that was how she would describe Dante after their limited acquaintance.

That’s the persona he’s put on for this job,
she scolded herself while taking another sip of tea. To think he was showing her his real self while he worked undercover was the worst kind of naïveté.

The thought made the sweet tea taste just a little sour, and she put it aside. Perhaps it was now time for her to stop skulking in the schoolroom and get on with things. The tracker wasn’t going to plant itself, and she doubted Mosely would have much patience with any delays.

Dante returned to the refreshments table to continue clearing, but she must have been wearing her emotions on her face, because he stopped in his tracks and gave her a look full of sympathy and concern.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked, and the kindness in his voice was almost more than she could take.

“You don’t happen to have a cure for Dirk Mosely sitting around somewhere, do you?” she asked. She was being too open with him, too unguarded, but Mosely had weakened her defenses, and the quip escaped before she thought better of it.

His smile looked almost sad. “If I had that, I’d be making a killing selling it on the black market.”

“How can you stand working for him?”

The warmth and openness faded from Dante’s face. “I work for your father, not Dirk Mosely. And I’d better get back to it if you don’t want anything else.” He turned his back to her. As if he hadn’t already hammered home the fact that their conversation was over. Apparently hinting that he worked for Mosely was all right, but coming right out and saying so wasn’t.

Nadia stood up, wincing as her abused stomach muscles protested the movement. It was lucky Dante had turned his back to her again, because if she’d seen another look of sympathy on his face, she might have screamed. Or cried. He didn’t get to be all warm and nice and sympathetic, not when he worked for the enemy.

It took more effort than she’d have liked to admit to keep her pace steady and unhurried as she headed for the door, trying not to long for things she couldn’t have. Thanks to the hint of scandal that had attached itself to her, she was cut off from Chloe’s warmth and sympathy—though in truth, their friendship had never been half as deep as Nadia’s friendship with Nate. Thanks to Mosely’s blackmail, she could no longer rely on Nate either, and if he ever learned the truth, she would lose his friendship forever. And thanks to Mosely’s scheming, her father had been forced to accept a spy into their household. The fact that she was intrigued by said spy didn’t make him any less of a spy.

All her current woes could be squarely laid at Mosely’s feet. Somehow, someday, she was going to turn the tables on him. She didn’t yet have the first idea how, but if it took her whole life, she was going to find a way to destroy him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Despite
all the effort she’d put into avoiding Nate—and potentially learning too much that she’d have to share with Mosely—Nadia ended up going to see him instead of the other way around.

After her encounter with Mosely, she realized she couldn’t stand to go to her Teen Charity League meeting anyway. Though they had no interest in helping those less fortunate than themselves, the Trio always attended the meetings, reveling in the chance to prance and preen and lord their lofty status over lower-ranking Executives. Dealing with Jewel was bad enough, but fending off verbal jabs from the entire Trio—in front of their adoring fans, no less—held no appeal. And Chloe would be there. Nadia wasn’t up to pretending she wasn’t still angry and hurt by her friend’s desertion, no matter how well she understood it.

Besides, if she didn’t get the tracker planted on Nate as soon as possible, Mosely might get impatient with her. More impatient than he already was.

Getting in touch with Nate turned out to be harder than she’d expected. He wasn’t at home, he wasn’t at work, and he’d either turned off or was refusing to answer his personal phone. According to his majordomo, Nate was dodging his father, who wanted him to make some commercial. Eventually, Nate got word that she was trying to reach him and asked her to meet him at his apartment—after the workday was over so his father was less likely to ambush him with a camera crew.

The first thing she noticed when she saw him was that Nate looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a droop to his shoulders she’d never seen before. He was dressed as if for the office, but he’d dispensed with the coat and tie—if he’d ever worn them—and rolled his sleeves up to just below his elbows. Mosely had suggested she plant the tracker in Nate’s wallet, but she wondered whether he took it with him when going to the Basement. If she planted the tracker in his wallet and he didn’t take it with him, Mosely was probably going to hold
her
responsible for it.

Her eyes caught the glint of the gold chain Nate wore under his shirt, the one holding the locket she’d supposedly given him. He might not take his wallet to the Basement, but he wore that locket
everywhere,
and it could be easily concealed under his clothes.

Nate smiled at her in greeting, but the smile didn’t light up his eyes as it usually would. No doubt some of it was worry about Bishop. However, if Mosely was telling the truth about Nate’s venture into the Basement last night, Nate might very well be every bit as sleep-deprived as he looked. Nonetheless, he managed a shadow of his usual jaunty grin as he invited her in.

If she were being a proper Executive, Nadia would have been careful to make sure that she and Nate stayed within sight of the servants, preserving her reputation, but Nate had long ago broken her of that particular cautious habit. She might hesitate to go off alone with him in public, but in the privacy of his home—or hers—she was willing to make exceptions. No servant who couldn’t be trusted to keep his or her mouth shut would hold on to a job in the Chairman Heir’s household.

Accordingly, Nate led her to the private sitting room right outside his bedroom. It was a cozy, comfortable room, with overstuffed chairs, bookshelves that might be considered full with only half the number of books on them, and a large gas fireplace that Nate flipped on automatically, even though it wasn’t cold. Nadia would have grumbled about the waste, except she knew how much Nate liked having a fire going.

“Want a drink?” he asked, ignoring the comfortable chairs and pacing in front of the fire.

Nadia didn’t think her stomach would welcome any company, and she almost refused. Then she realized a drink could give her the opportunity she needed to plant Mosely’s tracker. She needed to get Nate to take off the locket, and she suspected the only time he did that was when he showered.

“A hot cocoa would be nice,” she said, though she knew that wasn’t the kind of drink Nate had in mind. Nate
might
decide he needed to shower if she spilled wine or beer on him, but he might just change his clothes. The chocolate would make a more significant mess, which was just what she needed. If Nate hadn’t been so busy staring moodily into the fire, he probably would have seen the guilt playing across her face and wondered about it. But he didn’t, and she did a decent job of keeping her voice light and guileless.

“Maybe with some Bailey’s in it?” Nate said, but didn’t wait for her approval before ducking his head out the door and signaling to a servant. “Two cocoas with Bailey’s.”

Nadia shook her head at him behind his back. It never occurred to him that she might want something other than what he suggested. Sometimes, it amazed her that he could be such a good guy and yet be so oblivious to everyone and everything around him. Just more proof that Nate’s Replica was
exactly
like the original Nate—to the point that she had a hard time remembering that he wasn’t.

“It’s like he never died,” she murmured to herself, but Nate heard her and shifted uncomfortably.

“The original Nate, you mean. I never quite know whether to use first person or third when I talk about stuff that happened to him. I mean, it happened to
him,
but I remember it happening to
me
.” His brow furrowed, his expression becoming uncharacteristically serious. “But someone really did die. There’s a body and everything. I feel like I should … I don’t know, be more torn up about it or something.”

Nadia nodded. “I should be grieving for him,” she said, “but it’s hard to feel like he’s dead when you’re here.”

“Guess that’s kind of the point of Replicas.”

They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. Nate stared at the fire, and because she was too restless to sit still, Nadia perused the overloaded bookshelves—although she’d done it before and knew better.

Nate very much enjoyed shocking people, so of course the books he kept so prominently displayed in his sitting room were predictably
not
what a respectable young Executive should be reading. In fact, if Nadia’s parents had any idea what sorts of books were sitting here out in the open where she could get her hands on them, they’d never allow her into the room.

Nadia blushed and smiled ruefully as she read the spines of a couple of books that, based on their titles, looked to be gay porn of some kind. To someone who didn’t know better, those books probably seemed to be there only for their shock value, or to complete his collection of erotica. In reality, they were probably the only books on display that he’d ever read. If Nate were paying any real attention to her, he’d be teasing her for looking at them, pulling favorite titles from the shelves and trying to get her to look at pictures. It showed just how troubled he was that he didn’t even seem to notice.

With a sigh, Nadia moved away from the bookshelf while her luck held, and moments later the hot cocoa arrived. Nadia thanked Nate’s butler on both their behalf, and Nate quickly shut the door behind the man. He must have been feeling especially paranoid, because he flipped on his sound system, scanning the contents until he found a soundtrack that seemed to be a thunderstorm at the beach. The kind of sound that would mask their voices if anyone was listening outside the door but wouldn’t force them to shout to hear each other. It was the first sign she’d gotten that Nate truly understood the seriousness of the situation. He gestured her to a pair of wing chairs in the far corner of the room, and they both sat, putting their cocoas on the small table between the chairs.

The chairs were overstuffed and made for comfort, and the high backs and the corner location made Nadia feel almost as though she were sharing a secret cave with Nate. If there was a more private place to talk anywhere in his apartment, she didn’t know of it. She took a quick sip of cocoa, both to moisten her throat and to test its temperature. Too hot to “spill” yet. She wanted to get the whole ugly thing over with, but she fought down her impatience. She wondered if she dared question Nate about his efforts to locate Bishop.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to.

“I went to the Basement last night,” Nate blurted.

Nadia recoiled as if shocked, widening her eyes and letting her jaw drop open. “You did
what
?”

Was she overdoing it? He would expect her to be shocked, maybe even angry with him for his recklessness, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t used to him doing shocking things. She should probably recover quickly from her initial reaction, so she snapped her mouth closed and tried to make herself relax.

She felt like an actress, playing a role for which she was not adequately prepared. Sure her guilt was written in big, bold letters all over her face, she dropped her gaze and grabbed for the cocoa, desperate for something to look at other than Nate’s face.

But though Nate might be feeling paranoid enough to put on the thunder and waves to cover their conversation, it never occurred to him that the real threat might be in the room with him. He went on blithely without even glancing at her to see her reaction.

“I have to find Kurt, and the only place I can think of to start looking is in the Basement.”