The Rule of Luck (20 page)

I stared out the flight-limo's window, reliving what I'd just witnessed. I couldn't think what it meant; my mind refused to process the details. My mother was making illegal full-body clones. Not just clones, but ones with impaired neural development. How did this relate to my blacklisted status? No, my whole family's status? I drummed my fingers on my lap. I needed my cards. My palms practically itched with the need to consult the Tarot.

Abruptly Petriv placed his hand on mine. “I realize you're anxious, but please stop.”

“Sorry. Nervous habit. Just thinking about running my cards,” I explained, feeling sheepish he'd caught me struggling with myself.

“You believe they will provide some insight?”

“I know they will. I ran them this morning and saw the children. I just didn't know what it meant. Sometimes the readings don't make sense because they defy my own logic. Now that I know what I'm looking for, I can refocus.”

“I know what she's looking for.” He glanced out the window and ran a distracted hand through his hair. “In fact, I suspect she's found it and is researching how best to exploit it.”

I watched his profile and bit my lip. “The luck gene. Did you know she wanted to manipulate luck this the whole time?”

When he swung back to face me, he looked so serious, I swallowed my questions.

“No, not at first,” he said, settling back in his seat. “I surmised it based on the research I'd uncovered, but I couldn't fathom the expected outcome. First, luck is a fickle thing. How do you quantify it? What's lucky for one isn't necessarily lucky for all. Second, if she could mass-produce luck, no one would truly be lucky—each person would cancel out the other. No one would hold the advantage. There's no far-reaching financial gain for any multinational if only a select few benefit in the short-term. Yet somehow TransWorld has found a way to profit from it. Perhaps not as they intended, but certainly in some way. It's obviously through the children, but I don't understand how.”

“Did you know about them?” I pressed. “Did you know about the clones? Did you ever suspect I was just a science experiment to her? That all she wanted from me was my luck gene?”

“No, I didn't.” He said it gently, as if I were some wounded animal he might spook into fleeing. Maybe it would have been better if he'd told me some fabulous lie. But no, I refused to live in a cocoon anymore. “It could be there's more going on we don't yet know.”

“Neither of us believes that. I was a means to an end.” I sighed and looked at my hands. “I'm not going to whine about my life being awful because I grew up without a mother. It wasn't. But it still hurts. She was there all along and I didn't matter because she already got what she needed from me. It pisses me off knowing how thoroughly she manipulated my life.” I shot him a look from the corner of my eye. “You're right, by the way. Part of me does want to kill her.”

“For making you her experiment,” he clarified.

“Not just that. She cloned me! Was the real thing not good enough for her? We only saw seven. Who knows what else she's done? Full-body cloning is illegal, though she's obviously not concerned by the fact that they're not legally human.”

“So you're not opposed to the clones. Just their treatment.”

“Everyone grows partials to replace failed organs; hell, it's part of the Renew program. It's that she's taken some essential element of me and twisted it to suit her needs. The fact that I'm a person with feelings and wants doesn't matter. In her eyes, the clones hold more value than the original. I'm a second-class citizen to…to myself. And what is she doing with them? Why would she make these…things and purposely take away their wills and thoughts so they're mindless slaves? What kind of lives do they have? What does it say about her as a person that she could do this?”

“I would venture to say people have done worse with better intentions,” he answered. He sounded both unhappy and thoughtful, or maybe I was just projecting my feelings onto him.

“Funny, but that doesn't make me feel better.”

We both resumed looking out our respective windows until we reached the hotel. Petriv climbed out before turning back to help me from my seat. Chain-breakers closed around us, escorting us through the lobby.

“Now what?” I asked after we stepped into the first available elevator. Three chain-breakers followed us inside, making for close quarters. My shoulder bumped Petriv's chest. His hand went to the small of my back, steadying me. The move felt possessive and I turned my body into his.

“Now I firm the specifics for the next phase in the plan.”

Ah yes, the plan. For Petriv, I was also a means to an end.

The elevator stopped at my floor. From what Oksana had told me, Petriv occupied the penthouse one floor up. I wasn't sure why we weren't all staying nearer to one another or in a suite of rooms, but I wasn't footing the bill.

“I'll run the cards. I'll see if I can come up with anything useful and let you know what I find. See you tomorrow,” I said, trying to edge toward the open elevator door. Hopefully I didn't sound as pathetic as I felt.

Petriv had yet to move his hand from my waist. “I'd like to watch, if that won't disturb you.”

The door started to close. One of the chain-breakers had to catch it with his hand. Sudden heat shot through me at the thought of Petriv in my room and my stomach lurched, but in a way not remotely comparable to a rough flight-limo landing.

“But if you prefer to be alone after today, that's perfectly understandable.”

“No, it's fine,” I managed after a ridiculous length of silence. “Sometimes it helps to have another person to trade ideas with.”

He smiled. “Good, though I'm not sure how useful I'll be. I'm more interested in seeing how you work.”

“You saw in Nairobi,” I countered.

“Then, you were humoring me in an attempt to rush me out the door. This is different.”

Yes, it was. Then, I'd had another set of priorities and thought I knew how events would play out. Now I was at loose ends, attracted to a very dangerous and powerful man from whom my gut and the Tarot cards wouldn't let me stay away. Frankly, it scared me.

“Just try not to get in my way,” I said, fighting to keep the tone light.

I stepped out of the elevator, waiting as Petriv murmured to his security detail in Russian. They didn't sound pleased, but he ignored their complaints and followed me to my room. The door opened when my bracelet touched the handle, the lock keyed to the citizen chip in my c-tex. Thankfully, the door opened on the first try rather than the twentieth. The curtains were open and sunlight streamed through the sitting room's filtered windows. Normally, I would have kicked off my shoes and flopped on the bed. Petriv's presence left me at a loss as to what to do next.

When I looked back at him, he'd removed his jacket and proceeded to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt. He'd also undone another button on his shirt to expose more of his chest. There wasn't anything sexy about it, I decided. It just seemed like he wanted to get more comfortable. It wasn't his fault if it made me drool.

“The cards are in the bedroom. I'll be right back,” I called, then dashed into the other room.

I caught myself in the mirror. I looked flushed and overexcited, and the green dress, while flattering, was
too
flattering. I needed to tone down this whole scene. After today, Petriv was right: I didn't think my nerves could take any more stimulation. Diving into the closet, I found sedate flannel shorts and a cami, both in blue. I changed quickly, though I left my hair alone since Oksana had worked so hard to style it.

When I returned, Petriv was sitting on one of the settees, a low table in front of him. He'd closed the window shades and turned on a lamp. It made the space seem more intimate and my heartbeat picked up a notch. I had nowhere to sit but beside him unless I wanted to make a fool of myself and rearrange the furniture.

“Room service will be here shortly,” he said as I sat on his right. “I don't know about you, but I'm starving. We did miss the picnic, after all. Plus I would hate for you to miss out on the extra consumption points before they disappeared.”

“True,” I agreed, shuffling the cards without thinking, their feel and texture as familiar as my own skin.

He watched me shuffle. “What happens next?”

“I think about what I want to know and how complete an answer I want, and lay the spread. Then I interpret what the cards tell me.”

“Are you always accurate in your predictions?”

“Usually, but it depends on how you slant the interpretation. For example, the Death card doesn't necessarily mean death. It could refer to a change in your life, like the death of a bad habit or a new job, although not necessarily a good one. Or, it can mean exactly what it seems like it means. It depends on the cards around it, influencing events.” I started to lay a ten-card spread, concentrating on keeping my hands from shaking.

“Has the Death card appeared in any readings you've done about me?” he asked. I stilled and looked at him, uncertain how to answer. “Come now, Ms. Sevigny. I know how much you rely on your cards. I suspect your accuracy is a manifestation of your luck gene. I also think you've done several readings on how this venture ends, as well as on the key players. I just want to know what you've discovered.”

“Maybe there are things you're better off not knowing.”

“So yes to the Death card.” He shook his head and laughed softly as if I confirmed what he'd always suspected. “Anything else?”

“I don't feel comfortable discussing this.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because I don't want to plant ideas that aren't necessarily true,” I said, hedging.

He leaned toward me, eliminating the space between us. “Is there another card in your readings about me that bothers you?”

“The Lovers.” I bowed my head, feeling my cheeks flush. “It appears in all the readings.”

“Well, that's not unexpected. You already know what I want,” he said. “Although I'm sure you would say I shouldn't take it as a literal interpretation of future events.”

“It's your future. You can interpret it however you want.”

“Yes, I suppose I can.”

Silence descended as I laid the remainder of the spread. It was all I could do to hold back a sigh as the reading charted the course of my relationship with Petriv. The eighth card, representing outside influences, was Death. And there, in the hopes-and-fears slot as Card Nine, was the Lovers.

“I assume that's the answer for whatever it is you asked,” he said, instead tapping the final card in the spread. “What does it mean?”

“Two of Cups, reversed. It means there are problems getting in the way of this.” I tapped the Lovers, my hand next to his, and forced myself to fall into the patter I used when reading for customers. “This is the beginning of a partnership. Based on the Lovers, I'd say it's a romantic relationship with immense potential. However, there are obstacles in its path that could be possible showstoppers because of this.” I touched the Death card. “It represents the people around you, reacting to you. Sudden change is coming and you could lose everything you hoped to gain.” I also touched the card in the seventh position: the Hermit, reversed. It had also come up in many of the readings I'd done. “There's also a problem here. This shows your attitude toward what's happening. You're concealing the truth, or spreading misinformation. There's something you're holding back, and until that secret comes out or you change how you react to the world, you're not going to get your happy ending.”

I bent to gather up the cards in one swoop. Petriv's hand on my wrist stopped me. I looked up at him and my breath caught; he watched me with an intensity that made me shiver. I swallowed and left the cards, holding his gaze.

“It's your future too,” he said simply. “What do you want?”

I blinked. I'd never thought about it that way—that this future could be mine as well and that if I wanted it, if I wanted
him
…The truth was sitting right there on the table in front of us, for both of us to see…Maybe with Alexei Petriv, even if he was a man I had no business being with, I could somehow have something more.

So, what did I want? “I don't want to ever wonder where I stand with someone. I don't want lies or secrets, or have to hide who I am. I don't want anything like the disastrous relationships I've had in the past.”

“A tall order, considering.”

“You asked what I wanted. That's what I want.”

A resigned look flitted across his face and he sighed. “We both know that whatever might happen between us will never be anything but complicated.”

I thought my heart would beat its way out of my chest with both fear and anticipation. “True, but I think we both knew that right from the beginning.”

“Unfortunately, I have never wanted complicated. I would have you on your back or your knees in less time than it takes you to draw breath, but this…The thing you want is impossible for me.” He took a deep breath, let it out, and ran both hands through his hair, creating a sexy mess. It was a gesture I noticed he made whenever he was agitated with me.

Then to my absolute horror, he stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair where he'd left it. I watched openmouthed as he slipped it over his shoulders.

“You're leaving?” I think I actually shrieked the words. “I do one Tarot reading for you and
this
is what happens? You run away? Because this is too
complicated
? What about the restaurant, or the day before when you said you wanted nothing more than to touch me? I thought you…wanted me.” My voice hitched and I found myself dangerously close to tears. How could I have been so wrong about him? “Why did you say all those things to me if you didn't mean them?”