Project Paper Doll: The Trials (18 page)

Except I wasn’t quite ready to let her go. I caught her hand and linked my fingers with hers.

She smiled at me, and I couldn’t stop my goofy grin in response.

“Plenty of time for all of that later,” Justine said, her mouth pursed in disapproval. She pointed to Ariane. “We need to get you out of here.” She turned to me.
“And you need to meet Adam for the switch back.”

Next to me, Ariane went still, her only motion to bite at her lip, a familiar gesture I recognized, and with a sinking heart I realized exactly what was coming next.

“I can’t go, not now,” she said. “They may not have Zane’s family, but they have someone. For me. For Ford.”

At that she looked at me, and the same thought pinged through both of us. “Carter,” she said.

I nodded. There just weren’t that many people that Ford would give a crap about. None, actually, except him. And how convenient that he was here, anyway. Ford had said that Laughlin had
removed him from the premises. I wondered if that was true or if that was simply what Laughlin had told her to keep her from finding out what was really going on.

And Ariane…she didn’t have many people left in her life—not that there’d been that many to begin with. But knowing Ariane, it wouldn’t matter. If it was someone
she’d met once, that would be enough. She couldn’t let even a stranger suffer on her behalf. That just wasn’t part of who she was.

“You can’t end the program,” Justine said. “All you can do is bring everything down around your ears. And then you’re putting the rest of us in jeopardy.” She
shook her head.

“These people don’t deserve to die,” Ariane argued. “Carter and whomever they took because of me.”

“You’re missing the big picture here,” Justine said with frustration.

Ariane stiffened. “Everyone keeps talking about that. As if the here and now doesn’t matter. If every life matters, then every life matters.”

Justine’s gaze narrowed in on Ariane, her posture shifting, shoulders straightening, her hands coming up to rest on the table above her phone. “Is this your final say in the
matter?” she asked in a cool, neutral tone.

My pulse picked up, reacting to the new tension in the air. I couldn’t hear Justine’s thoughts, but I could feel the change. The low-level hum cranking up another notch or ten.

Justine was going to do something. And she wasn’t alone. I could feel it. The buzz in my brain was too much for one person.

Then it dawned on me. The line behind us, all the cranky, corporate coffee-seekers. Crap. How many of them were Justine’s plants? I’d never even thought about that. She wasn’t
going to have black-clad security personnel, like Jacobs and Laughlin. She’d have agents in suits, blending in nicely with all the accountants and bankers in here.

I fought the urge to swing around and count the number of faces turned in our direction, watching too intently. The only slight advantage we had was that, in order to keep their cover, any
agents in the restaurant were forced to blend in. Stand in line. Sit at the booths. But that wouldn’t last.

WE’RE SURROUNDED.
I thought at Ariane, concentrating on projecting the words clearly.

Next to me, Ariane cocked her head, listening. To me, or the others. “Is that my final word?” she repeated to Justine. “No. This is.” She looked to me. “Over the
counter.”

I was still processing that when she moved, boosting herself over the counter and into the area with the bagel shop employees, who seemed equally surprised by her sudden entrance.

Oh. I was supposed to be following her.

I jumped the counter, but not nearly as smoothly, catching a rack of potato chips with my foot and knocking it to the ground.

“Hey!” One of the gape-mouthed employees recovered enough to shout at me.

Ariane ignored it, ducking the grasping arm of a manager and slipping around the three cashiers at their stations to push through a low swinging door, set at counter level.

I stayed as close as possible on her heels as we pushed out into the main room.

I could hear Justine shouting, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw several figures move with purpose, fighting their way toward us, not just lurching out of our way or jumping back in
surprise.

The same people who would now be chasing us.

“You realize we’re running from our one chance to get out of this alive,” I said as we plowed out the door and onto the crowded sidewalk, jostling shoulders and elbows as we
went. Protests and curses surrounded us, and I heard more than one cell phone clatter to the concrete.

Ariane slowed a fraction. “You can go back. You should. I’ve never wanted anything for you but—”

“Shut up. I just needed to state the obvious.” If there was one thing the last month had taught me, it was that I would regret not sticking around for the ride. I would regret not
trusting Ariane.

She looked at me, concerned.

“But if we die in an alien attack a year from now, because they’re blowing up cities and shit, I’m going to be kind of pissed. Just so you know,” I said, pulling even
with her.

She shook her head. “That won’t happen.”

The certainty in her voice was reassuring.

“We’ll have met our fate long before then,” she said, and picked up the pace.

Oh, good.

F
IRST OBJECTIVE
:
DITCH OUR TAIL
.

“You know, it would help if you weren’t dressed like a human highlighter,” I said over my shoulder to Zane.

Zane gave me an exasperated look as he dodged a tourist family clogging his half of the sidewalk. “Not a lot of choice in my clothes, Ariane.”

I’d figured. He’d protested vehemently when I’d made us both dress up in the Linwood Academy uniforms to infiltrate the school and meet Ford and the others. He was not, I knew,
fond of khakis.

In spite of everything, I grinned. I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen, how we were going to untangle ourselves from this mess, but for just one moment, the joy that Zane was alive
and okay—or mostly okay—and we were together overrode the panic and anxiety.

“Please tell me you have a plan,” Zane said, drawing up next to me.

I dared a glance behind us. The crowds of people that helped hide us also made it difficult to keep tabs on the agents pursuing us. But I caught a glimpse of pumping legs and dark suits. They
were still there. “I have a plan,” I said.

“Do you really have a plan, or are you just saying that because I told you to?” He gave an out-of-breath laugh that still managed to convey his uncertainty.

“Come on,” I said, taking a left at the next intersection, another major thoroughfare. We weren’t likely able to outrun anyone chasing us; there just wasn’t enough open
space to get up sufficient speed. But they had the same problem when it came to catching up to us.

I wished I’d had time to memorize more of downtown Chicago.

It seemed the roads ran on a grid, which was good. As long as I kept us out of a narrow alleyway or a semideserted street, we might have a shot of losing our pursuers temporarily, just long
enough to double back on them.

I spied what we needed, up and around the corner ahead. Bright gold lettering on a sign—
THE SHOPS AT NORTHCROSS
—and four stories of windows with glittery
eye-catching backdrops. It appeared to be a mall, laid out vertically instead of the sprawling horizontal mass I was more familiar with. Still, it would work for what I had in mind.

“This way.” I darted into the street, cutting through traffic in the middle of the block. The fastest route to any destination is a straight line.

However, the collection of cabs and personal vehicles in the street disagreed. Loudly. Squealing brakes, honks, and screamed curses followed my path.

“Jesus, Ariane, be careful!” Zane shouted behind me. He sounded far more winded this time.

I slowed once I was on the sidewalk on the other side. “Are you all right?” I asked when he reached me.

“I just…I’m not…” He waved away his attempt at an explanation, concentrating on catching his breath. His face was flushed from exertion. “Let’s just
go.”

I nodded, but made sure to keep a pace closer to his as we headed up the block.

Even without his words, I was pretty sure I understood what was going on. The virus gave him enhanced strength and stamina, not to mention nifty powers that were similar to mine, but it was also
fighting his body. Or his body was fighting it. Either way, not the best condition to be running flat-out with adrenaline pumping.

“We’re almost there,” I said, touching his arm. “Just a little farther.”

I looked back to see three agents closing in. My cross-traffic maneuver had saved us time and given us a clear view of those chasing us. Two men and a woman were currently attempting to navigate
through the traffic. The woman was in the lead, and absurdly, I felt a brief flash of pride in that.

I dropped back a step or two behind Zane so I could guide him. If this was going to work, I needed him ahead of me.

“See the mall up ahead, on the right?” I asked Zane, keeping my voice down. “About a quarter of the way down the block on the cross-street. Don’t move your head, just
shift your eyes.” I didn’t want to telegraph our next move to the agents.

“NorthCross? Yeah, I see it,” he panted. “I didn’t know you hated the highlighter shirt that much.”

“It’s got to go,” I said. “But that’s not our main purpose.”

The sidewalks were crowded here, but in front of the mall, clusters of people loitered. Even better, they appeared to be roughly our age. Camouflage. Not enough, but it was a start.

“We’re going to get lost in the crowd,” Zane said. “Right?”

“Something like that, yes.”

According to my father’s training, the best way to lose a tail on foot is to simply give them what they want, what they’re expecting to see. Human beings track based on sight. And
when they track in a crowd, they fixate on a single characteristic that makes their target stand out.

I knew the agents would be zeroing in on my hair and/or Zane’s bright yellow shirt. We could split up and confuse them momentarily. But I didn’t want to take the risk of separating
from Zane.

So a different tactic would be required.

“Head in and straight for the back,” I said to him as we crossed the street, thankfully with the light this time, dodging tourists, strollers, and people walking with their heads
bent over their phones.

“What if there’s not an exit?” Zane asked.

“We’re not looking for the exit.” We needed a distraction, sleight of hand on a larger scale. “We’re coming back out the front,” I said grimly.

He turned slightly, raising his eyebrows at me in disbelief.

“Trust me,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. God, I hoped this would work.

We threaded through the people on the sidewalk, forced to slow down because there was simply no room to run. I could feel the agents gaining behind us.

I pushed Zane ahead of me through the glass double doors, following on his heels.

Instantly, it felt like the walls were closing in around me. It was so dim inside compared to the brightness of outside. The air was cool—air conditioners working overtime to deal with the
unseasonably warm temperature outside—but heavy with the scent of body spray and new clothing. And the crush of bodies, while exactly what I’d been hoping for, was more unnerving that
I’d anticipated.

I blinked, forced to wait for my eyes to adjust even though I kept expecting to feel fingers locking onto my shoulder.

Gradually, the dark blobs in my vision turned into recognizable objects and features. The mall was a tall, narrow structure, open in the center with an escalator to access the stores on the
upper floors.

“There.” I pointed to the escalator. “Behind it, not on it.”

Zane nodded, still too out of breath to argue or question me.

As we passed a storefront, I focused and
pulled
a deliberately tattered and torn hoodie in dark blue off a hanging rack near the front, praying it wouldn’t have a security tag
attached.

The sweatshirt slipped off the hanger and moved through the air toward my hand, without a sound, like someone had thrown it to me. Which was, I expect, exactly what the middle-aged guy who got
whapped in the face by a trailing sleeve thought was happening.

He glared at me, his mouth open as if he was going to protest. I stared at him until he dropped his gaze, disconcerted.

“Here. Put this on.” I pushed the sweatshirt into Zane’s arms.

He shrugged into it while I kept searching for the other things we needed.

“Hood down,” I said. “We don’t want to look like we’re hiding.”

“Then what exactly are we doing?” he whispered to me, shoving the hood back. He zipped the hoodie up, covering every inch of yellow except for a tiny vee in the front.

“Helping them see what they expect to see.” Concentrating again, I pulled a pale green knitted cap off one of the display mannequins in another store, possibly with less precision
than I should have. The blank-faced dummy, her plastic mouth frozen in an exaggerated duck-face pucker, wobbled and then fell sideways, clattering to the floor loudly as I yanked the hat out of the
air. Fortunately, everyone was too busy looking at the fallen mannequin to notice the levitating hat or me grabbing it.