Don't Turn Around (27 page)

Cody ran a hand over his face wearily. His eyes sagged with exhaustion. “One step at a time, okay, guys? Tell you what. I’ll drop off this blood work, then tell them I’m coming down with something and need to go home. We’ll hunker down at my place and try to find more links to P and D. Then we’ll figure out a strategy.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Peter.

“Yeah?” Cody eyed them both. “Because that sounded suspiciously like you were thinking about going off and doing something stupid.”

“Nope,” Peter said. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Noa didn’t say anything.

“You got the TracFones, right?” Cody said.

Peter held up the drugstore shopping bag. “I activated them while I was waiting.”

“All right, give me the numbers for them,” Cody said.

Peter handed over the bag. Cody dug out the two disposable phones, clicked them open, and punched the numbers into his mobile while they watched silently.

“I want you to call me as soon as you get in,” Cody said, handing them back. “Got it?”

“Yes, Mom,” Peter said.

“This is serious, Pedro.” Cody’s brow wrinkled. “You know, it’s only another few blocks. You could come with me …”

“We’ll be fine,” Noa said firmly. “We’ll meet back at your place.”

“All right.” Cody put both hands on Peter’s shoulders and said, “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t,” Peter mumbled.

“I mean it, man. You’re practically the only family I got.”

With one beefy arm he wrapped Peter into a bear hug, then grabbed Noa with the other and drew her in. She was too startled too react. After a solid ten seconds, he released them both and walked off without a backward glance.

Peter and Noa stood silent for a minute, watching until Cody turned the corner.

“We’re going, right?” he said, turning to face her.

“Definitely.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“M
y car is still at home,” Peter said. “Maybe we could borrow Amanda’s.”

“Too risky,” Noa interjected. “They might be watching it.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Peter thought for a moment. “We need a car, though. No way to take the T or a bus all the way there. I looked it up and it’s pretty out of the way.”

“Well, obviously,” Noa said. “Shame they couldn’t have put the illegal labs in a more convenient location.”

“Seriously,” he said, feigning indignance. Adopting a British accent, he continued, “I’m planning on writing that Mason chap a strongly worded letter when this is over.”

Noa couldn’t restrain a smile. He grinned back. “See, you think I’m kidding. But I’ve already got it started in my head: ‘Dear Dickwad. Thanks for taking my laptop and phone and, oh, yeah, for getting me kicked out of my house.’”

“I really appreciate being cut open,” Noa chimed in. “And much gratitude for the new thymus, it’s working out famously.”

“A million heartfelt apologies for bricking your server and stealing your data. I assure you, it won’t happen again. Most sincerely, Vallas and Rain.”

Noa laughed.

“Wow,” Peter said, still grinning.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just …” He examined the ground. “You look pretty when you smile.”

Noa’s face flushed. “I don’t look pretty otherwise?”

“Not as pretty, no,” he said seriously.

Noa felt her cheeks grow even hotter.

The light turned green. He put a hand on her lower back, guiding her across the street. When they got to the other side, a small part of her was disappointed when he let go.

“Anyway,” Peter said, “we need to get a car.”

They walked down the block. There was a cold snap in the air, and the sky was paneled with heavy white clouds. It was early for snow, but anything was possible. Noa again wished she’d chosen a different pair of boots, something lined that she could run in. Cold seeped through the thin soles, penetrating her socks and nibbling at her toes.

“I don’t suppose …” Peter started tentatively, then said, “Never mind.”

“What?”

“Do you know how to hot-wire one?”

Noa stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling up short so quickly that a guy in his midthirties nearly crashed into her. He tossed them an evil look as he wove around, mumbling about punk kids.

“Why would I know that?” she demanded.

Peter shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I just thought that maybe …”

When he didn’t continue, she glared at him and said, “Maybe it’s something they teach in foster care?”

Peter looked wildly uncomfortable. “I thought maybe you’d picked it up somewhere.”

“Sure. They teach that right before lock picking and after mugging.”

“Yeah? Shame they didn’t throw in charm school, too,” he retorted.

They stared each other down for a solid minute.

“You know what?” Noa said. “I can get there on my own.”

Peter didn’t answer. He had an odd look on his face, gazing at something behind her.

“Hello?” She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “I said, I’m taking off.”

“Too bad,” Peter said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “Because I just figured out where we can get a car.”

Noa stuck close to Peter’s heels as he sauntered into the parking garage. “Hey,” he said, nodding to the attendant in the box. “I’m on six. Should I just go get it myself?”

“If you’re blocked in, come back down,” the attendant said without glancing up from the paper.

“Sure thing.”

They went to the elevator. Peter pressed the button, then tucked his hands in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he gazed at the panel. The floors lit up in progression as the elevator descended.

The doors slid open. “After you,” he said, waiting for Noa to get in before following.

As soon as the doors slid closed, she hissed, “This will never work.”

“Sure it will,” Peter said. “At least the first part.”

Noa chewed her lip, arms crossed over her chest as the elevator climbed six floors to the roof. This was just the type of stunt that could get her sent back to juvie.

“Are you sure—”

“Just relax,” he said. The doors slid open. “Trust me for once, okay? Have I steered you wrong yet?”

Noa didn’t answer. She followed him out of the elevator.

Dusk had fallen, and the lights lining the parking garage roof had winked on. Every slot was full. Other cars were parked perpendicular to those spaces, blocking the cars in.

“Let’s see,” Peter said, walking down the row. “We want something fast, but not too flashy.”

“It doesn’t have to be fast,” Noa said.

He didn’t reply. Peter stopped dead in front of an Audi sedan. He bent over to peer in the driver’s-side window, then lay a hand on the hood. “Perfect,” he said. “Keys in the ignition, and it’s still warm.”

“This is insane,” Noa said. Her eyes darted across the roof. She felt exposed, like a police chopper might descend at any moment to catch them in the act. “That guy will never believe this is our car.”

“Maybe not your car, but I was born to drive something like this.” Peter opened the driver’s-side door. “He’s not even going to glance up, trust me.”

“How do you know?” she demanded.

“Because I spent a lot of time driving in and out of this garage,” he said grimly. “My dad used to joke about the lax security. He always acted shocked when we came back and his Beemer was still there. It’ll be hours before anyone even notices it’s missing.”

He slid inside and turned the engine over. Noa waited an instant longer, then sighed and got in, slamming the door. She clicked on her seat belt without looking at him.

“Ready?” Peter asked.

She didn’t respond.

He eased out of the spot, then drove to the ramp leading down. They descended in silence through all six floors. As they got lower, Noa’s pulse picked up, the rush of blood loud in her ears. A small part of her was screaming to just get out and run. After all, none of this was really her problem. Fine, she had an extra thymus now. And she might have PEMA. But nothing they were about to do would change that.

When she was five years old, Noa had begged her mother to take her on a roller coaster. She was so excited to finally be tall enough to ride it. But the moment that bar clamped over her legs, she panicked. And by then it was too late. Her mother bent over, holding her as she screamed and cried in terror. She’d never ridden one again.

This felt similar. They approached the exit.

“Just relax,” Peter said. “I know it’s an effort, but try to act normal.”

Noa threw him a sour look. She kept her eyes fixed out the windshield as they eased up to the booth. A yellow bar blocked the exit.

“Ticket?” the attendant said. He was an older Indian man dressed in gray coveralls.

Peter fumbled around, checking under the visor, then in the side console. Noa’s throat started to constrict. She could practically hear the clicking noise of a roller coaster ascending, that terrifying moment before the plummet. He reached across and yanked open the glove compartment.

“Sorry,” Peter said apologetically, turning back to him. “Can’t find it.”

Noa debated jumping out and making a run for it. The guy was scrutinizing them now. He licked his lips, then said in a lilt, “You must pay for a full day, if you can’t give me the ticket.”

“Man, that’s a drag.” Peter was trying to sound nonchalant, but Noa detected the edge of stress underlying his voice. “How much?”

“Twenty dollars.”

Peter leaned forward, digging a wallet out of his pocket. “This totally sucks,” he said. “I thought I’d left it in the car.”

He dug out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it over.

The attendant took it but didn’t move, looking past him. “Your friend. She is okay?”

“She’s fine,” Peter said. “Why?”

“She looks ill.”

“It’s a hospital, right?” Peter said. “We’re going to get her prescription filled now.”

Another hesitation, then the attendant punched a few keys. The register door opened with a ping. The yellow bar inched up.

“Thanks,” Peter said with a wave.

“Next time keep your ticket.” The attendant turned back to his newspaper, and Peter put the car in drive.

They turned left out of the garage. Noa released her breath.

“See?” Peter said. “No big deal.”

“How long until we get to Rhode Island?” Noa asked.

“An hour or so, depending on traffic.” He glanced over at her. “You do look kind of sick. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped.

“Sheesh, just asking.” He followed the signs leading to 93 South. Traffic closed in around them, a steady line of cars inching up the ramp. Noa squeezed her eyes shut. The owner would probably be coming back for his car soon. He’d call it in as stolen. At this rate, they wouldn’t even make it a few miles before getting pulled over.

And Peter was right; she did feel ill. Noa tried to pinpoint how much of that was simply due to the stress of the situation, but it felt like more. Her blood was still pulsing hard; she could practically feel it streaming through her veins. She wished she’d asked Cody more about what having an extra thymus might mean. The thing on the monitor had been enormous. Maybe it was putting too much of a strain on her body. And weren’t people who received transplants supposed to take some sort of special medication? Maybe the new thymus was dying inside her. Maybe just having it would kill her.

Bile rose in her throat again. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You want me to pull over?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Noa shook her head. “No.”

“You sure? I could stop and try to find a place that sells water or something … or we don’t even have to do this. We can go back to Cody’s and wait for him.”

Noa hesitated. It was tempting. She could even just ask him to drop her off at a T station. Get on a train and get the hell out of here. Head west, somewhere no one would find her. Start over.

But if she was sick, then there would be no one to help her. Noa flashed back on Alex Herbruck, how small he’d looked lying on that table. How there might be other kids just like him trapped in different facilities. And no one else even knew or cared that they were gone. They’d been written off, just like her.

Noa swallowed hard. “No. Let’s go. Just … talk to me.”

“Talk to you?” Peter glanced over quizzically. “About what?”

“Anything. Just distract me.”

Noa leaned her head against the car window. It felt cool against her cheek, and she realized that she felt uncommonly warm. Especially considering how cold she’d been lately.

“All right.” Peter’s eyes darted around. They’d finally reached the top of the on-ramp and he hit the blinker, slowly shifting over to the left lane. The cars around them crawled forward, taillights glowing red. “You know what I was wondering last night?”

“What?”

“How’d you first hear about /ALLIANCE/?”

Noa closed her eyes, but that made the nausea worse so she opened them again. They were passing the water tower painted with a rainbow. “It was when you nailed that social worker in Carmel who had stacks of kiddie porn.”

“Oh, right. That was a bad one,” Peter said.

“How’d you find out about him, anyway?” Noa asked. She’d always been curious.

“Anonymous tip, the way most of them come in.” Peter glanced at her. “I always figured someone had hacked into his hard drive for another reason and stumbled across the pictures. Why’d you latch on to that one?”

“I’ve known a lot of crappy social workers,” Noa said.

“Oh, man. Did … never mind.”

“No,” Noa said after a minute. “That never happened to me. At least not with a social worker.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Noa was gradually feeling better; the wave of nausea ebbed. The heat under her skin dissipated, and she could sense her heart rate slowing. Maybe it had just been nerves, some sort of panic attack or something.

“He’s in jail now,” Peter noted. “Five years, I think.”

“Should be more.”

“Definitely.” Peter nodded. “We did a good job on that one, though. At least now people will be aware.”

Noa didn’t answer. She’d been truly impressed by the way /ALLIANCE/ had dragged that pervert into the light. They’d gotten cops sent to his house in response to an alleged suicide call. Then while the cops were inside, as the jerk tried to convince them he was fine, every TV in his house clicked on. /ALLIANCE/ had hacked into his home entertainment system, and the cops were treated to a slideshow presentation of all the smut tucked away on his hard drive.