Читать книгу Mila 2.0: Renegade - Debra Driza, Debra Driza - Страница 6

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.”