Designer Genes - The Boyfriend Cut (25 page)

The message storage on my receptor blinked "full" and I scrolled through the missed calls finding a rapid succession from Jordan that ended around noon. Rick's started after. The hair on my neck prickled. Rick answered on the first ring, his tone harsh.

"Marli! Why haven't you answered your receptor?"

Because I'm torturing Jordan.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I left early this morning and forgot my receptor." Great. Now I added lying to my impulsive actions. "I thought I'd be back before now, but the party lasted longer.

"Party? What kind of party?"

"Doug's family party." I knew my itinerary wasn't the reason he called. "Dad, what's wrong?"

His sigh sounded weighted. "Grandma's dying."

Grandma Davis was my last living extended family. According to my father, she'd suffered a massive stroke and not expected to survive.

"They want to disconnect her from life support and I have to be present when the procedure's done. I'm flying to Los Angeles in the morning. Mars, I hate to ask, but could you change your plans and meet me? I don't think I can handle this alone."

My dad asked very little of me, the one person who constantly turned his world upside down.

"I'll take the first flight I can get."

Making a mental list while listening to Dad's instructions, I realized my first task, and not a pleasant one, would be to call The Program's corporate headquarters. Only they could change my travel arrangements on such short notice. The last time I called, I needed an emergency grant to travel across the country without documentation...the night I left my mother.

The clock in the living room chimed half past eleven. Too late to call Chuck, my counselor and the one person who could talk me off the ledge I unexpectedly stood on. He put my world back on its axis when it tilted three years ago.

Rubbing my temples, I couldn't fight the flickering memory creeping forward. I remembered every horrid detail of the day things went sideways as if it just happened.

…I'm meeting with my old counselor who's asking me questions about school, my friends—all the trivial things making my teenage world spin. His secretary buzzes him with some crisis and he leaves the room. While we talked I watched him doodle something on the side of his notes so when he leaves, I decide to check out his artistic talent. That's when I see it on his monitor.

A digital copy of a check for $100,000 signed by Grandma Davis and a note to the side from my mom—a "thank-you" for helping find someone to forge my dad's name on my enrollment forms.

Dad didn't give his permission. That's why he yelled at mom and we left in the middle of the night. She lied! I grasp my candidacy is fake. Maybe illegal. But why?

My counselor is doing something to his assistant's computer, so I quickly print a copy. I fold the paper into a tight square and tuck it in my jeans pocket.

Later, I'm working on my homework at the kitchen table waiting for Mom to get home from her job at the hospital. We live on the military base with her boyfriend, Jake, or I should say "Captain Jacob Randall." Mom calls to say she has to pull an extra shift—news that comes several beers too late and sends Jake into a rage.

He throws his bottle at the wall, sending shards of amber glass across the tile and narrowly missing my head as I duck into my bedroom to hide. I'm
ordered
back into the kitchen to fix dinner. Jake wobbles slightly and falls into his chair at the table. I feel his eyes on me as I nervously make grilled cheese sandwiches.

Cautiously, I walk through the broken glass in my bare feet with his dinner. His eyes are glazed half shut. I lean across him and place the plate on the table. A sick smile curls on his face and he snatches me, pulling my body against him. The jerk tries shoving his tongue between my lips while his hands paw my chest.

His fork is still in my hand and I manage to free one arm from his grasp long enough to thrust the prongs into his face, catching the corner of his eye. Blood instantly spatters my white T-shirt. Jake keels back in the chair, screeching, and releases me.

Two sharp chunks of glass slice the bottom of my foot on my retreat through my bedroom door, which I promptly shut and lock. I throw everything off the top of my small dresser and push it in front of the door.

While Jake screams threats and pounds on the door, I shove my mini-computer into my backpack and utter a silent prayer for help. I scoop my sweatshirt off the floor, push out the screen of my bedroom window, and escape into the darkness, hearing Jake's rants boom behind me.

Ducking around the side of the fuel station on the corner, I call Rick. After my horrifying recap through hysterical tears, he tells me to stay hidden until Daniel arrives. He forbids me to call my mother.

Maybe fifteen minutes pass before Daniel's car skids on the gravel to the side of the building. I jump on the seat next to him, locking the door, and we speed toward the interstate. Daniel peppers me with questions, but I'm too embarrassed to tell him what happened. He demands to know why I'm covered in blood and when I tell him about stabbing Jake with the fork and cutting my foot, he figures out the rest.

Two days later my shuttle arrives in Cleveland. I'm in a state of shock, but safe in Rick's arms. After I show him my discovery, still tucked in my pocket, he arranges for both Daniel and me to move to Ohio, without my mother's consent.

I'm assigned Chuck, my new counselor, who becomes Rick's ally and the force field buffering me from The Program…

I wiped the tears washing my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater. Several calming breaths returned my focus to where I was—sitting in the center of
Doug's
bed, in the middle of another fine mess, courtesy of The Program.

15

BURYING THE PAST

I
drifted weightless, the world above silent. Sunlight swirled overhead, the rays bent and jagged through the water. A cool blanket of aqua held my body hostage in a peaceful, suspended state. I closed my eyes.

I could just let go, never surface. No more Program, betrayal, heartache. No more feeling torn, guilty…responsible. No Doug Peterson staking a claim on my future—me. No Jesse tempting me to break rules. No more Jordan…feeling his arms wrapped around me, lips kissing, tasting, torturing.

"I love you" whispered through my mental reverie, the voice warm—beckoning, awakening sizzling tendrils of excitement in my body. A couple of bubbles rumbled through my lips, tickling my nose with the sudden smile. I opened my eyes, hoping I manifested a glorious image of Jordan floating next to me, but found only a powder blue emptiness surrounding me.

Really Marli? Death by hotel swimming pool? You should have bought a new swimsuit for the news reports. Now you'll be hauled out of the water wearing last year's bikini.

I kicked my pathetic ass to the surface, face-planted onto my lounge chair, defeated and grateful to be the only one poolside.

What the heck was wrong with me?

Jordan Mason, Jesse Mason, and Doug Peterson, in that order. My hormones soared, my body ached in new ways, and my mind never shut off. I never slept, barely ate, and tears hovered constantly.

I flipped onto my back and pulled the sunshade from the top of the chair forward. Maybe Grandma's death looming made me unsettled. Tomorrow morning marked the official "date of death" and an involuntary shiver raked through me with the thought.

I reached into the bag beside me, retrieving the handkerchief I always carried. Jordan's—the one he wiped my tears with that first morning in my kitchen. A sudden ache squeezed my heart. I wanted him here, holding me and kissing me until I became oblivious to my fears. He hadn't returned my calls or messages and I worried he changed his mind about his feelings…or his "ex" wasn't "abroad"—or an "ex."

Hiding inside my bright striped bubble, I dialed his number one more time. The sound of his voice soothed and the dimples set deep in his cheeks, made me want him with me even more.

"Hey baby. Poolside? Can you get a tan this far north—I mean in Alaska?"

Huh?
"I'm not in Alaska."

"You're not
here
—er—wait. Did something happen? Did
he
do anything to you? If he did, I swear I'll—"

"Don't. Can you talk?" I struggled and failed to keep the sadness from my voice.

"Marli, what's wrong? Should I worry?"

"My Grandma Davis is dying and Rick's the one assigned to, um, 'pull the plug.'" Tears trickled over my cheeks. "Jordan, I'm scared. Dad begged me to come, but honestly, I don't want to be here."

Regret consumed me. My relationship with Grandma Davis held few warm fuzzy memories. I let my resentful feelings toward her, my mother, and The Program keep me from visiting. I justified my anger as the reason for staying away.

"Babe, please don't cry—not when I'm so far away and can't help. When are they on doing this?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Which hospital?

"Cedars-Sinai. Why?"

"I want to know where you'll be, that's all. Marli, about Alaska—"

An urgent call from The Program broke in and I had no choice but to answer. I hated saying goodbye to the only solid piece of ground in the quicksand mire presently surrounding me, but relief swamped me when Chuck's face filled the screen.

"Marli, why is my favorite project in California? I received notification you unexpectedly left Alaska right after your interview with Douglas Peterson. What's going on?"

"Grandma Davis is dying and Rick asked me to come."

"Am I sorry to hear that?" He likely took some twisted pleasure in knowing someone who'd hurt me would no longer be an issue in my life.

"Be nice. Say, how did you know about Doug Peterson?"

"Whenever you're on an interview, you're tracked for safety reasons. I'd barely received notification before you vanished from my radar. Frankly, Marli, I'm surprised you accepted another interview."

"Long story."

"I figured as much. When will you return?"

"Friday."

"I want to see you in my office Monday morning, ten o'clock sharp. We need to get matters in place before you turn eighteen and discuss your interviews. I received Mr. Peterson's report. Glancing at the first page, he's quite impressed with you." Something in his tone made me guarded. "In fact," he continued, "Mr. Peterson filed a ninety-day hold for you."

Panic instantly consumed me. "What's a 'ninety-day hold?'"

"It means he's not exercising his option to choose you at this point, but wants priority in case someone else tries. You're basically off the grid for three months."

This couldn't happen. No way would I let Douglas Peterson keep me from Jordan. But…what if this wasn't Doug's doing?
"…It's just business…"

"Can he really do that? Put my life on hold at a whim?"

"Afraid so. You interviewed, Marli. That sets protocol and with his status—"

"Five diamonds."

"Yes. Five diamonds, which—" Chuck's voice suddenly faded to a curious tone. "Wait a minute. Well, this is interesting."

A burning sensation started in my chest, either from skipping lunch or anxiety over new information Chuck would offer. The side of my face tingled and I worried a heart attack loomed. "What?" escaped on a tight breath.

"Jordan Mason apparently also instated a hold, only his registered first."

"Jordan? When?"

"According to the information I have, last Wednesday afternoon. I don't know why I didn't receive notification. Seems we have a dilemma."

"
We
? I'm pretty sure it's only me. You better have some answers when I see you Monday," I warned before disconnecting.

I stared in shock at the blinding shimmer of sunlight on the pool. Jordan stormed out Wednesday morning, ending our relationship, only to turn around later the same day and place some kind of invisible cage around me. Maybe it was the stupid red envelope and the fear someone else could claim me. Maybe he wanted to make sure no one separated us until we worked through the whole Jesse mess. While thrilled he cared about me that much, even after my confession, he used the same sneaky tactics my grandmother had. He froze my future without my knowledge.

Gathering my things, I marched into the hotel, grateful Rick had gone to the hospital so I could be alone with my thoughts. Maybe after taking one of the four timed ten minute showers allotted a standard room, I'd calm down. Fat chance. Once I stepped under the hot stream of water, I screamed.

"Dammit Jordan Mason! How could you? What gives you the right? What gives Douglas Peterson the right? My life! My. Freaking. Life! Doesn't anyone get that?"

My fingernails scraped my scalp hard enough to bleed. Shampoo suds drizzled over my face and I sputtered when they seeped in my mouth during my raging declaration. The water shut off before I'd rinsed completely and I slid to the shower floor, angrily slapping the puddles of soapy water. My whispered echo bounced inside the tiled box.