Renegade (9 page)

And if he was V.O., why hadn’t they made their move? What could they possibly be after? The same knowledge I was seeking? Or something else?

And, ultimately:
what the hell did I do now?
I couldn’t run, not without the information I’d come for. In fact, I couldn’t do anything that would give away that I knew the truth about Hunter. Until I came up with a plan, I had to play along.

I consulted my sensors before easing the front door open and creeping into the house. I paused to listen before heading to the stairs. Safe, until I stepped into the hallway, when I heard Hunter’s voice from around the corner, bidding Ashleigh good night.

Traitor.

My insides contorted in anguish while I whirled, racing for the bed. Hunter’s footsteps padded down the hall. I couldn’t face him. Not until I’d had time to process.

With no time to spare, I tossed back the quilt and slid underneath. My eyelids shut right when the door opened.

“Mila?” he whispered, his footfalls soft as he edged closer to my bed.

I kept my face relaxed and my eyes shut, breathing slowly and deeply, while under the covers, my fingers dug into the sheets and a cyclone whirled in my head, tearing away at every certainty and shredding it to pieces.

The irony crashed down like a falling plane, landing right smack-dab in the center of my chest. Here I’d been planning on leaving him to save his life . . . and the whole time, he’d been planning to betray me. And for what?

That was a mystery I needed to uncover. And fast.

Head turned to the side, I waited, the crush of betrayal never relinquishing its grip. I waited while he rustled in his duffel bag. Waited while he left the room for the bathroom and returned. Waited while he crawled into bed, whispered, “Good night,” and rolled onto his other side, earbuds in his ears and music faintly seeping through.

Waited until the bitter tears stopped slipping beneath my lashes and dampening the pillow.

When his breathing had quieted for long enough, I waited some more, considering and discarding plan after plan.

Run? No. Now, more than ever, I needed the information Mom had sent me after.

Subdue Hunter and demand answers? Not yet. I couldn’t risk that he’d alert the V.O. somehow. The last thing I wanted was for them to know
I
knew they were monitoring my every move.

Tell Grady? Uh-uh. That would only potentially put him and Ashleigh in more danger. Besides, how did I know Grady wasn’t double-crossing me right this very moment? If this had taught me one thing, it was that the command Mom had given me before we reached Holland’s compound still stood.

“Don’t trust anyone.”

As it turned out, her advice was excellent. If only I’d heeded it a little sooner.

I needed a course of action, though. Something to do. I would not sit around, waiting on a man who might or might not be an ally, in a bed less than three feet away from a known enemy. I couldn’t.

No, I would hunt down the information myself.

After reassuring myself that Hunter still faced the wall and wasn’t stirring, I crept out of bed and into the hall. I hovered in the doorway, listening for any signs of activity.

Faint tapping, from the direction of Ashleigh’s room. Nothing from Grady’s.

I dried my tears, tucked my pain into a compartment somewhere deep inside, and turned the key. Then I eased my way down the stairs. I had to reassess everything now, and I couldn’t do that without information. I needed a new plan of action.

Grady had asked if I’d vetted Hunter. Now was as good a time as any to rectify my oversight.

T
he hall was clear, as my enhanced hearing had insisted it would be. My bare feet made little sound as I padded down the stairs, pausing outside the doorway on the left. Grady’s study.

The door was barely ajar, so I eased it open, slowly, just in case. Darkness greeted me.

The office illuminated with a reddish-hued glow, and I took everything in with a quick sweep. A framed family photograph on the wall next to another of Ashleigh’s drawings (this one of a dragon, probably recent, based on the advanced technique), shelves with assorted nonfiction books and espionage thrillers, heavy wooden desk with old laptop and wireless printer. Gray carpet, with faint marks in four spots on the far side of the room, indicating the furniture had been moved recently. Odd end table constructed by flipping a car wheel onto its side and attaching a circle of glass to the top. A faintly floral smell, which I attributed to air freshener, since it was too far for the roses to permeate and neither Grady nor Ashleigh were wearing perfume. No other access to the room except the door I was standing in.

I crossed the floor to the swivel chair, careful not to make it squeak as I scooted it toward the desk. I touched the closed laptop—which was adorned with a large sticker featuring a stick man that said “Life is good”—and realized that he hadn’t turned it off. It was just in sleep mode. I opened it and bright blue flashed as the laptop fired up. Not especially stealthy.

Then, the icons popped up and I rested my fingers on the keys, and as I did, the hum vibrated inside me, starting in my core and working its way up to my head. Like before, I sensed two separate networks—one accessible, one blocked.

We’d have to see about that. I’d start by running a simple search. Using my hands to anchor myself, I issued the command.

At the same time, I heard a creak
.

The sound stopped me, and the glowing data ceased its humming whirl. My eyes slowly lifted upward, to where I’d heard the noise overhead.

It had come from Grady’s room.

I waited, unnecessary breath caught in pseudo lungs, while the creaking continued in a rhythmic pattern. Creak. Creak. Creak.

He was out of bed . . . and walking.

I waited. I couldn’t be caught in here, going through his things. No way he’d swallow any story I concocted.

I heard more creaking, only . . . not in the direction of his door. Instead, he headed to the left. Silence loomed for a few moments while I stood, undecided, not sure whether I should abort the mission or not. And then a whir of water. Flushing.

A few louder squeaks of the bed, until finally, everything was quiet again.

The data whooshed inside this time, with the electrical burn accompanying it up my arms. My entire head tingled, crackled with the seductive gleam of information, the strands glistening and twirling as if performing a freeform dance. It was like I could feel them slide between my fingers, sleek and sinuous. The knowledge poured into my mind like water from a pitcher, lit with an iridescent glow.

I embraced the power, the knowledge, the reality that I could acquire any information I wanted.

Within the strands, I searched for one name.

Hunter Lowe.

Of course thousands of possibilities flew through my head, so I backtracked, seeking information linking any of them to the military or other suspicious activity. Nothing. So I sorted results until I found my Hunter.

Only, he wasn’t mine anymore.

The internet confirmed that he’d attended a San Diego high school, before coming to Clearwater.

Nothing remarkable in his family history, either. His stepfather ran his own software company, and his mom taught for an online university. I studied their faces—his mom, pretty with high cheekbones and wide-set eyes, a darker blue than Hunter’s. Her dishwater blond hair cut in a short, carefree style. His stepdad, with a broad forehead, emphasized even more by a receding hairline, brown eyes smiling slightly at the camera. Nothing especially remarkable about either of them. Did they have any idea what their son had gotten involved in?

I searched further, but didn’t find much. A reference to a childhood soccer game here, a listing under National Honor Society there. But no red flags. Nothing that jumped out and shrieked, “V.O.!”

Whatever the answers were, I wasn’t going to find them here. I considered waiting for Grady to provide more information, but I hadn’t vetted him. And after what I’d discovered at the Jeep, I was finding it difficult to believe anyone was truly a friend. Who had Grady been talking to on the phone earlier? Why had he insisted we stay the night instead of just giving me the information so we could go? Was he as dishonest and conniving as Hunter?

I had little doubt that the answers I sought would be hiding in the secure network, GrSecureNet.

Once again, I opened myself to the energy shimmering around me, and felt for the slippery, less solid pathway that led to the hidden network.

There. Found it, and slam! Hit up against a mental door.

Access denied,
the network communicated.
Verify user?

Oh, no you don’t.

The command slid from me with ease:

That familiar roar. Muffled at first, then growing in volume; like a wave crashing toward shore. A surge in current. Then, the barrier holding me out yielded, a door swung open.

GrSecureNet: Access granted.

An exhilarating rush surged beneath my skin. Grady couldn’t keep me out. No one could.

I traced his pathways, like tracing dangling threads back to their spools. The threads led to little green boxes, hovering in midair.

Files.

I shifted their positions, trying to get an idea of which would be the best place to start.

That seemed like as good a place as any.

Even before I tried the usual command, I knew that something about this door felt different. More secure.

Crap! Password? I didn’t have the password. Given enough time, I could probably hack one, but not in—

Three seconds!

In desperation, I tried one more time.

It was like a dimmer switch had been turned on, inside my head. The shimmering green faded, and in the next instant, vanished. In its wake was a hollow echo—a void where mere moments ago, there had been life.

Damn.

A rapid-fire blinking filled the void a moment later, the lights rearranging themselves into words.

Grady. Shock shot me to my feet, and I stumbled back from the desk. What . . . ? How . . . ?

I only hesitated for a split second.

Creak.
My head whipped toward the door. I’d been so involved in the search, so engrossed in unlocking levels, that I hadn’t monitored my external environment.

“Grandpa? Grandpa, I have to show you something—”

Ashleigh appeared in the doorway, still in her shredded jeans and T-shirt from earlier, clutching her phone in her hand. She froze when she saw me heading her way.

“Where’s Gramps?” Her arm shot out to block my path and I stopped short to avoid a collision. No smile now; her mouth was a grim line as she studied my face. “Pretty good, but they got the chin wrong. Still, I knew it was you.”

I drew in a steadying breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, keeping my voice even while creasing my brow into an expression of confusion. “What chin?”

“I ran a search when you let it slip you knew Gramps worked for the government. Took a photo with my phone and uploaded it, and hit on the police sketch. If that’s not you, then you can explain why it looks exactly like you to the cops.”

I stepped forward. “Look, it’s not what you think,” I said urgently. “I didn’t do anything. I swear, I’m not planning on hurting anyone. Just let me leave and we’ll be out of here. We won’t bother you again. Ask your Grandpa—he knew my mom!” I said.

“Yeah, right.”

I ducked to cross under her arm, but her foot whipped out, catching me in the stomach. I tumbled onto my butt, the gray carpet masking any sounds of my fall.

“You aren’t going anywhere. The cops are on their way—they’ll be here soon.”

Cops.

Pushing hard on the palms of my hands, I launched to my feet in one smooth, effortless motion. Ashleigh still blocked the doorway, her body lowered into a defensive stance, but all I saw was an obstacle to my escape.

I would not let the police find me. No matter what.

I feinted left, followed her motion that way, then darted right at the last second, when she was still midlunge. She recovered her balance in time to shoot out her right hand, but I saw it coming a mile away.

I spun to face her back and reached out to wrap my arm around her neck, but hesitated. She wasn’t a bad guy—just a girl trying to protect her grandfather.

Too late. Her elbow smashed into my face. I hit the edge of the doorjamb before stumbling out into the hall. While I regained my balance, all the while cursing my hesitation, she picked up the chair and swung.

This time, I was ready.

As the chair back flew for my face, I grabbed it with my right hand, stopping the motion with ease as anger flared.

I watched Ashleigh’s eyes widen, heard her gasp. Felt the wood crumble beneath my fingers as my hand clenched harder and harder. Pieces fell to the floor like so much sawdust, and she scrabbled backward like a crab.

“What are you?” she whispered, gaze glued to the ruined chair.

Her horror-stricken expression said it all.

Freak.

That triggered an answering fear inside me, but I shoved it away, allowing the anger to take its place. So when her foot shot out, I grabbed it. I wrenched her ankle to the side. Her body followed, twisting into the air before slamming the wooden floor with a loud thud
.

In the far-off distance, a siren wailed.

No more time for games.

I allowed her to push to her knees, wincing, but her tense shoulders and narrowed eyes told me she was still full of fight. This time, I didn’t hesitate. When she stumbled to her feet, I grabbed her arm, whirling her around. As I wrapped one arm around her neck and used the other as a brace, pushing her head down until I started to feel her body weaken, I whispered, “I’m sorry.”

And when her body slipped to the floor, and the red light flashed—

—I tried to take comfort in the knowledge that the effects were only temporary. When she regained consciousness, she would be fine. Now, I had to get upstairs, get my files from Grady, and grab Hunter—before the police arrived.

Here I’d been preparing myself to let Hunter go, and as it turned out, the circumstances behind having to take him with me hurt a thousand times worse. I could possibly use him for leverage. At the very least I needed to find out what he knew.

Thumps sounded from overhead. “Ashleigh?” Grady yelled from his bedroom. “Everything okay?”

Out of time. I leaped over her body and raced up the stairs, when Grady burst from his room. His thin hair was disheveled, his striped pajamas rumpled. He held a gun.

“What the hell is going on? Where’s Ashleigh?”

He pointed the gun straight at me, but that wasn’t what held the oxygen captive in my chest. It was the rectangular piece of plastic in his left hand.

I zeroed in on the object. A SIM card.

The siren in the distance was still far away—too far for Grady to catch with his normal human ears—but I knew they were drawing closer.

“Is that for me?” I said, nodding at the card.

He cocked his head, brows hunched over grim eyes. He lowered the gun. “Tripped something when I pulled it off the computer. Some kind of alarm that shouldn’t have been there.”

“Why would they—”

“Files are encrypted. Does them no good without a decoder.”

Who knew about the files, had set the alarm? The V.O.? Or Holland? At this point, I didn’t know if it mattered. All I knew was that I had to get out of here.

“Here, take it,” Grady said. “I can’t break into the files, but I know you can.”
I know you can.

Slowly, I raised my eyes from the tiny scrap of plastic and metal up to his face, in time to see him give one curt nod. He knew. He knew what I was. He was afraid, but he was helping anyway.

“Before I forget, Nicole wanted me to tell you that the answer is always close to your heart.”

Before I could process that, a faint moan rose from downstairs. I stepped closer to Grady. Close enough to catch a faint whiff of his cinnamon toothpaste, and the sudden flare of his nostrils. There was no time to explain. My hand snaked out and closed on the drive before he could snatch it away while he scooted to the side to peer down the stairs.

“Ashleigh?” he whispered. Then, his eyes narrowed and the gun lifted.

“You know that can’t hurt me,” I said, then cursed my impulsive tongue. He put two and two together almost as fast as I did, and lunged for the guest room door.

For an instant, my feet stayed planted, a logical voice insisting that this might solve one of my problems. If Hunter were dead, he couldn’t talk.