Faded Flare Page 4

  “You want ideas? We need to move. They saw me at Fanieul,” she reminded. She speculated aloud. “Taxi? No money. Hitchhike?” The list rapidly formulated, transferring from her head to her mouth, eyes squinting in thought.

  Ace shook his head. “I don’t need ideas. I need you to hot-wire a car.”

  ∆∆∆

  Writing the note took longer than coming up with the code. Ace had been conversing with his contact in code for years, long before she sent him to BTI, and he became Buster Acton. What she hadn’t prepared him for was working with a team, particularly one that interrupted his counting every moment to ask for directions again or make unnecessary small talk.

  “Left here?” Jen asked.

  “No,” he said for the umpteenth time.

  “I’ll need warning before the turn so I don’t miss it.”

  Ace counted an eleven-second inhale and an equal-length exhale before responding in an inflection-less tone. “Obviously.” He started counting his line again.

  “Where are we going?” Henley piped up from the backseat of the car she’d chosen. She asked too many questions.

  “Valerie,” Jen responded for him.

  The answer wasn’t quite accurate. The directionality of their course didn’t change with the inaccuracy, however. She didn’t know more details than that. He remained focused on finishing the note, listening with only a portion of his brain to the conversation, resolute in his avoidance of contributing to the inane. None of anything they said changed the plans.

  “Why? Who is she?”

  “Some chick with power. Bus here says she can protect the specimen.” Jen’s tone conveyed that she was not annoyed by the lack of information.

  “It’s Sirena,” the passenger in question amended quietly but dryly.

  “Right, sorry. Sirena.” Nothing seemed to upset Jen.

  “You said you named me that,” Sirena accused Jen.

  “Yeah, but I only called you that to you. And you’ve been gone for months.” Jen continued her explanation for Henley. “Valerie has the means to keep Sirena out of Professor Hutchins’ evil clutches.” She laughed to herself. “Dang, we sound just like a comic book.”

  “Why are we protecting her? No offense, Sirena.”

  That made Ace smile internally. He would have had a similar thought in her position. Deleting was the best way to remove evidence you didn’t want others to find. Hiding was impermanent.

  “I don’t need protection,” Sirena hissed. “At least not from you.”

  “Based on your past, doesn’t look like it,” Jen tossed in with a snort, passing a slow-moving car on the freeway.

  Ace would have preferred to drive, but he needed to finish the note, and they didn’t have the time to pause.

  Henley whistled. “Wow, rude.”

  “You don’t know my past,” the experiment snapped at Jen.

  Jen glanced in the rear-view mirror and shrugged, unapologetic. “I know what happened before—you don’t. I mean, I wasn’t at BTI back then, but trust me, my mom talked about work at home. My dad was overjoyed with that as you can imagine,” she added with heavy sarcasm. “You’re essentially my mom’s other baby—a Petri dish baby. Almost like you’re not—”

  “Human?”

  Ace looked up to see Jen finally wince at Sirena’s comment.

  “I don’t see myself as human either,” Sirena stated bluntly then fell silent.

  “You’re human. That’s the whole point—why we do have to protect you,” Jen concluded fairly.

  Ace finished his note in the too-short silence.

  “So… who’s Valerie?” Henley changed the direction of her inquiry.

  Jen laughed again. “What a scientist you are. Always curious.”

  That was a different way of putting it. Except— “She’s not a scientist. She’s an engineer.” Much more useful in most cases.

  “Tomato,” Jen flipped a hand. The car veered slightly. “Valerie, our lordess and savior, works for the government.”

  Her statement was followed by silence from Henley. BTI was against the government and passed that opinion on to its students— forcibly if there was any resistance.

  “With Nor and Reed?” Sirena broke the palpable tension.

  “Who?” Henley’s question actually mirrored Ace’s this time.

  “The Stanley brothers,” Jen decoded. “They, for all those in the car, Sirena included, are not with the government. They’re a private firm for hire. A hippie-dippie, non-profit, I’m sorry to say, who wants the Earth left to its own devices.” Jen did not hide her disdain with regard to this idea. She didn’t seem to mind offending the subjects.

  “The let-humans-die-out side of things?” Henley inferred.

  “You got it. So they—”

  “—Want me out of the picture? Just like Henley?” Sirena interrupted Jen. Unlike her creator, the lab rat’s tone was more cautious than outright condemnation. It seemed as though she was extracting Jen’s opinions about the brothers rather than actually asking and absorbing facts.

  “I didn’t say want,” Henley objected, her emphatic tone telegraphing shame.

  Jen raised two fingers in a peace sign to count off their concerns. “Our second evil villain.” She was stalwart in her opinion. Good for her.

  “But Nor…” Sirena faded off, disbelieving.

  “Interesting.” Henley was visibly fascinated by the dichotomy. He wondered if she was trying to decide who to believe, calculating which hypothesis was more valid. Neither seemed to have evidence to support their claims.

  Ace withheld any opinion in such circumstances.

  “Valerie is your protection. And I guess we are until we get to her?” Henley summarized everything succinctly.

  “Here’s hoping.” Jen crossed the two fingers that had been hovering in the air for a moment. The hand returned to her task as get-away driver right when Ace was about to request her focus return to the wheel.

  There was still one piece missing from this explanation—a glaring factor that mostly involved Henley but, by association, impacted everyone else in the car. The curious engineer wasn’t going to let that go.

  “So, Jen. Since Buster didn’t answer me earlier.” Henley’s voice dipped from mild to acidic when she mentioned him. “How am I pertinent to the bodyguard team?”

  Jen shrugged, which Henley doubtless couldn’t see, being behind the driver’s seat. He was pleased she didn’t guess, sticking to what she knew. He didn’t need them assuming a conclusion and making unhelpful decisions based on that.

  “Beats me. All I needed was Buster. He added the plus one.” Jen steered into the far lane, driving faster as she talked.

  Ace noticed the exit ahead.

  The suspicion was thick in Henley’s voice when she spoke. “I thought he planned the escape.”

  “Yeppers.”

  “Then how did he know you needed to get Sirena out?”

  Jen shrugged again. “Ask him yourself.”

  Henley didn’t seem to want to. She waited until they’d gone around another car. “Buster. Why am I here?”

  That wasn’t the right question. She kept asking the wrong questions. The answer to what she’d asked Jen was simple: he hadn’t. His contact had. That wasn’t the right question either.

  “Turn here,” Ace commanded.

  Jen swore, and they swung about in their seats as she veered across several lanes to their exit so he could post his coded message.

  ∆∆∆

  “Buster.” Henley’s voice was sharp, and she rounded the front of the car, catching up to him as he slammed the passenger door and headed toward the post office. Strong nails dug into Ace’s arm.

  He paused in surprise at the strength of her grip. Then again, her dexterity should have been expected what with her academic excellence, which required precise skill with her hands.

  Immediately, her cheeks pinked, and she whipped her hand off him, flipping from furious to chagrined. “Sorry.”

 
He waited. Slowly, her anger seeped back in, and the hand she’d pulled back curled into a fist. His father would be jealous.

  “If you don’t answer my question, I’m taking off on my own.”

  “You won’t get far. Surveillance,” he reminded her.

  Her head shook adamantly, dark blond strands sliding in a cascade with the momentum, and crossed her arms. “I can just fry ’em.”

  Ace blinked, flashing back seventeen years.

  “Short them?” A brow raised like he was slow to catch on.

  Ace supposed he was. He had a hard time dissociating Henley from thoughts about combustion. That was essentially why he’d brought her. “I need you.”

  Henley’s mouth fell open.

  Jen, who’d just appeared behind Henley though he’d specifically told her to wait in the car with the engine running, gave a snort of laughter.

  Henley’s teeth made a snap as her jaw tensed shut, regrouping.

  “Was she kidnapped, too?” Sirena asked, accusative, also joining the argument. Her bedraggled hair looked a lot greener next to Jen’s platinum. The clothes they’d found in the trunk fit her more poorly than Henley—she was thinner, too thin. Sirena needed to remain hidden to avoid arousing attention.

  This was why he didn’t like working in groups. People were self-centered. They took things personally. They endangered others by disregarding orders.

  “We need you,” he amended with annoyance. Right now, he just needed to deliver the note. This argument was stalling him and wasting time.

  Henley’s brows furrowed. They were darker than her hair, a similar color to her eyes, hardening her delicate features. “Your contact? Valerie?” She turned to Jen questioningly, who raised two palms.

  “Don’t look at me. I told you. He organized this shindig.”

  Henley turned back, waiting.

  Ace’s jaw clenched.

  “For what?” Henley asked, incredulous.

  “Your skills.”

  “To protect Sirena? How?”

  “I need to mail this.” Ace tried to divert the chaos of the conversation. “We can talk more in the car, away from any potential eavesdroppers.”

  “No. If you don’t tell me your intentions with me, I’m separating. I told you. I don’t need you. I need to get—Wait. This is a post office,” Henley realized, delighted and totally distracted from the debate to Ace’s relief. She darted around him, heading toward the building, saying, “I can contact my family!” renewing his frustration.

  He took a few strides to catch up. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no? It’s open, look.” She gestured at the sign on the door.

  “You can’t contact your family.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I can.”

  His wanted to roll. “You may not.”

  Jen snorted again from the background. “You sound like a dad. Jeez, BTI really aged you.”

  Henley snapped at Ace. “You are not entitled to direct my choices. Especially when you won’t tell me why you dragged me with you.” Her stare smoldered. “Am I being kidnapped, like Sirena said?”

  “I didn’t drag you. I asked for your assistance, and you accepted.”

  “Yeah, but you haven’t told me what that assistance is! Regardless, my family, on the other hand, does need me.” She turned again.

  “Stop.”

  “No.” She kept walking. “I need to get in touch with my sister before she makes the same mistake as me and gets trapped in that hellhole—without some cryptic misogynist, a scientist who is atrocious at driving, and an inhuman walking science experiment.” She ignored Jen’s outraged, “Hey!” Sirena didn’t respond.

  “You can’t.”

  “Quit telling me what I can and cannot do, Bus. You can’t plow over people forever.”

  “I’m not… plowing.” He used her term, unsure of what exactly she was accusing him.

  Ace grabbed the door as she tried to pull it shut behind her, slipping into the air conditioning, leaving the other two girls outside.

  “I’m telling you that any contact you attempt will not reach them,” he whispered exasperatedly in the quiet.

  Finally, Henley stopped, stood still, and let him catch up.

  “Where’s my family?” Her tone was direct, too loud, though her voice wavered. “What do you know?”

  “They’re fine. I assume.” He shrugged. He leaned in close to her ear, smelling coconut shampoo. “We’re not.”

  She jerked back to look at him with some rising fear. He appreciated the distance.

  Ace nodded his head to the side. Finally, she focused on their surroundings, taking in the automated tellers at the front of a very short line of people. He heard her inhale as she acknowledged the jeopardy in which she’d just put their entire group.

  “They monitor the entire country’s mail?” she hissed, floored. “I thought it was just BTI’s.”

  A young mother scanned them over her shoulder, pulling her young child closer by the hand. They were drawing attention.

  “Follow me.” Ace got in line behind the woman, who turned again with a wary glance. He smiled.

  She was not mollified. People.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Henley attempted a pleasant smile, only slightly strained, and stepped over, finally obeying his instructions. She was dangerously headstrong.

  “Good morning.” Henley’s voice was still soft, but it had lost the venom she’d used when speaking to Ace. When her smile transferred to the little girl at the woman’s side, it widened. Genuine. “Hi, there. How old is she?” she asked the mother.

  “Six. Is that your boyfriend,” the woman asked, still hostile.

  “No,” Henley said the same time Ace said, “Yes,” in an attempt to calm the mom.

  The man in front of the woman glanced back curiously.

  Motherly instincts kept Henley the lady’s point of concern. “Is everything okay?” Ace received a distrustful side-glance.

  “Fine,” Henley said curtly, grin held steady. Her warm hand slipped into Ace’s, and she moved close enough that her arm brushed against his. “Just haven’t quite gotten to the boyfriend-girlfriend part yet, according to one of us.” She ducked her chin demurely. “We’re on a short weekend trip. Just mailing a postcard to my family.”

  Stubborn girl.

  The woman softened at the romance. “How sweet. You should check out the mountains nearby. Beautiful hikes.”

  “I appreciate the suggestion. We might make a detour.”

  Like Hell. Besides, these were merely hills—eroded mountain remnants. The only real mountains were on the west coast, at home.

  “Well, enjoy your trip.”

  This was one reason, that she might acknowledge and accept, why Ace might need Henley’s assistance. Perhaps she would leave the question alone if he placated with pointing out her much better ability to interact with the world. It was useful, he admitted to himself. BTI colleagues had been hard enough for him.

  His palm was growing sweaty. He resisted the itch to release her.

  “Thank you,” Henley said, sounding truly appreciative. “Bye-bye.”

  The little girl waved back to Henley as she and her mother shifted forward to the left teller while the man in front of them moved to the right, and an elderly woman and businessman exited out the door.

  Jen and Sirena had better have gotten back in the car. They’d have to find a new one soon now that this one could be recognized as associated with them by witnesses.

  Ace was conscious of how small Henley’s hand was as they took a step closer to the front of the line, and he pulled her round to face him. Thankfully, no one had come in behind them.

  Keeping their faces averted from the cameras on the two teller machines, he whispered the plan to her. It would have been easier if she hadn’t walked in with him, easier if he hadn’t brought her at all.

  That hadn’t been an option, knowing who she was. They shared a past even if she didn’t know it.

  Ch
apter Three

  Henley’s heart was still hammering as Jen sped them down the highway. Her criminal nature had now escalated to public assault. She had anticipated anxiety as a result. It seemed, in contrast, she was really embracing this rule-breaking side of her. It truly felt euphoric.

  “Must’ve gone well; you look satisfied,” Jen observed, watching Henley in the rear-view. “Did you get a letter to your family?”

  “No.” Henley had resigned herself to delivering the warning in person, once she’d seen that BTI had control over the post.

  “Then why are you grinning like a maniac?”

  “I did something else I had been wanting to do.” Henley’s mouth tugged up involuntarily. It had felt great.

  “What?” Jen was intrigued.

  “Punch me in the stomach,” Buster grumbled from the passenger seat. He was moderately hunched over with residual pain.

  Henley’s hand was uninjured—a plus side to its rigidity and her ability to turn off the nerve sensors when desired.

  Jen whooped. “Go, girl,” she cheered.

  Henley let out a laugh.

  “Abuse is not funny,” Buster tempered.

  “Usually no, but man, you’re a lot less strong than I expected you to be,” Jen told Buster. “I guess that comes with the territory of being a computer geek—atrophying at a desk.”

  He grunted. “The hit served its purpose.”

  “Two purposes, actually,” Henley corrected. “You’re welcome.”

  Their couple’s argument hadn’t been all that faked though her uncontrollable sobbing was. It enabled her to cover her face with her hands and hide behind a curtain of hair while zipping out of the building.

  The punch had been bonus, dually relieving Henley’s frustration at the Bus and disobeying his order for a slap to the face so he could avert his features from the camera. In favor to him, it had doubled him over, allowing him to mail the letter ducked below the camera. They hadn’t had to tamper with the machine at all. That way, no one would be tempted to investigate.

  And for the past four years, ten months and three weeks, since the gossip had spread about the Bus, Henley had thought he was smarter.