MILA 2.0: Redemption (9 page)

Daniel. He’d always believed something had been off about the fire. But Daniel wasn’t reliable—he was grieving over his dead daughter, desperate to find an explanation.

We needed more. Something substantial. A smoking gun. Evidence that would lead us to Holland’s schemes, both then and now.

“There’s more,” Lucas said, pulling up another article. This one detailed how Detective Scott Pacelli had been convicted of drug trafficking in federal court, six months after he’d taken on Sarah’s case. He was currently tucked away in a federal prison. “Looks like we won’t be able to talk to him either.”

I choked down bitterness as another prospective lead slipped through our fingers. But then I realized that maybe it didn’t matter.

Sonja Lopez. The woman who co-signed Blythe’s reports. I shared the name with Lucas, and he tracked down a recent social-media photo and an address nearby. Sonja was an attractive Hispanic woman, probably in her late fifties. Her brown eyes were as bright as her smile in the
picture. From the conference room in the background and the cake with “Congratulations” scrawled across the top, I guessed the picture was taken at her retirement party.

“Shall we pay her a visit?” Lucas snapped his laptop closed.

I could have kissed him for being so eager to help me fit this gigantic puzzle together, under such insane circumstances. I settled for a hug instead.

“Thank you,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

At first, his body went rigid. Then Lucas’s arms encircled me. His heart pounded against mine for one-two-three beats before he patted my back and retreated.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked first,” I said, worried that I’d invaded his space and upset him somehow.

“You don’t have to ask first,” he said, his gaze settling somewhere beyond my shoulder. “I’m just . . . not used to that kind of affection, that’s all.”

With a pang, I realized just how much I had to learn about him. He’d let me in to a certain degree—I knew about his family; I’d met his brother; he seemed to want to take down his despicable uncle as much as I did—but clearly there was more beneath the surface. Things he hadn’t revealed to me.

At least not yet.

When we walked down the hallway past the other reading rooms, Lucas gave me a playful shoulder nudge, probably to erase any lingering awkwardness.

“I think our next stop should be a fast-food place,” he said. “I’d hate for my growling stomach to interfere with our investigation.”

“Sure, I could go for a burger and fries,” I said, smiling at him.

“It must be nice, being immune to all the health risks associated with trans fats and high fructose corn syrup.”

“Yup. One of the many wonderful benefits of being made in a lab,” I said, and then winked.

Lucas grinned, and the weirdness vanished. As we made our way toward the lobby, we started talking about how to approach Sonja . . . at least until a bright flash of red behind my eyes made speech and movement impossible.

I
couldn’t even draw a breath. Beneath the stammer of my heart, there was a faint, yet totally foreign pulse of energy, growing stronger with every second I stood frozen in the library hallway. The red behind my eyes flashed in time with the pulse, forming a single synchronized beat.

In my mind, I saw pieces of my body disintegrating in an inferno that took out entire city blocks. Bodies of innocent victims splayed across the ground, covered by piles of rubble.

The trigger. It must have activated.

Lucas grabbed my wrist. “Mila? What is it?”

Even if I could speak, I had no idea what to say. If I told him the truth, he’d want to help me get away, and I couldn’t risk that. As the hypnotic pulse spread throughout my
body—up to my shoulders and down my arms—I thought about how I could ditch him, calling on my sensors to come up with escape routes.

But instead of responding with options, my mind filled with a strange alert that I’d never seen before.

Incoming message.

Before I could determine the type of message or mode of transmission, another alert appeared.

Download commencing.

Hologram projection in 1 minute.

Advise accessing a secure viewing location.

The pulse now funneled directly into my right hand and created an icy numbness. Then the end of my middle finger began emitting blue light.

The truth dawned on me. The detonation trigger hadn’t been activated. No, something else was happening, but that realization provided small comfort.

Not when I remembered Three, and how her finger looked, right before—

Lucas positioned himself in front of me. “What’s happening?” he whispered, trying not to draw attention.

“Holland.” I clasped my hands together in an effort to hide the evidence.

Lucas squeezed my arms. “He tracked you?”

But there was no time to explain. The clock was ticking and I had to find a hideaway before my cover was blown.

Staff-only rooms: 3.

Human targets detected: 7.

Supply rooms: 5.

Human targets detected: 0.

Supply rooms for the win. There was one on the floor below us, next door to the microfiche area, which probably didn’t see much traffic these days.

“This way,” I said.

Forty-five seconds left until the message was broadcast. We needed to move quickly without looking like two teenage book thieves on the lam. There were people all around us, so we had to balance speed with caution.

We speed-walked toward the nearest stairwell, Lucas limping under the weight of his laptop bag and the worry he must be shouldering, given how little he knew about this latest danger. Once the heavy metal door shut behind us, we bolted down the stairs, Lucas trailing but keeping up the best he could.

With twenty seconds left, we hurried down the hall in search of the supply room. I put my non-numb hand on the doorknob and twisted while my other balled into a fist. The entire thing tingled now, and my finger glowed even brighter. I tried to open the door, but . . .

It was locked.

“Damn it,” I said. I could force it open, but then what if the door wouldn’t stay closed?

Lucas dug into his back pocket and nabbed his wallet, reaching in and pulling out Tim’s credit card. He pushed me aside and jimmied the lock. Once inside, we were safely surrounded by stacks of printer paper and old Xerox machines. Lucas stood by the door, blocking the path in case a librarian suffered a sudden toner emergency.

“What’s going on?”

Before I could reply, blue light erupted from my finger, startling the both of us.

Signal: Transmission in progress.

The numbness in my hand descended over the rest of me.

Transmission: Initiate.

The light burst from my finger, like water from a hose, to form a three-dimensional picture. Two figures streamed into existence, only an arm’s length away. One of them came into focus. The color and vapor version of Holland looked so real that I could almost feel his gray eyes crawling over me.

“What the hell?” Lucas choked out.

I understood his shock. I’d felt the same way when I saw this happening to Three a few weeks ago. But my feelings—both emotional and physical—were oddly suspended in this moment, and my sensors cued me in as to why.

All properties at maximum capacity.

Diverting energy resources to avoid overload.

“Hello, Mila.”

Under normal circumstances, the sound of Holland’s
voice would have made me shudder. But nothing about this moment—or my life—was ever normal.

“How is this happening?” Lucas said. “Was he able to locate you through my laptop?”

I wished I knew how to answer him. Three had lied to me. She’d told me I didn’t have this capability. Yet here I was, a puppet in Holland’s hands once again.

“This won’t be quite up to the experience we had last time, I’m afraid,” Holland said in his condescending drawl. “Three was wired to transmit live video and sound. But your functionality in this area is very basic. Unfortunate, because that means I won’t know what you’re up to. I’ll just have to make up for that deficit with my message.” His smile was slick and satisfied. Triumphant.

For a split second, I felt triumph of my own. It seemed that Holland had been unable to track me, that he remained clueless about his nephew’s role in helping his prized creation plot against him. For now. But my relief vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only awareness that Holland could infiltrate my body without my permission.

Violated. Unsafe. Dirty. Those three words drifted through my head . . . ready to pounce once my feelings kicked back in.

“You were probably hoping you wouldn’t see me again. At least, not so soon,” Holland continued. “But I think you’ll be interested in who I have with me.”

With a jerk of his computer-generated hand, he grasped the chin of the other mist-and-light figure and yanked until her identity was exposed.

Quinn.

Even the misty holographic image couldn’t hide the damage Holland had inflicted on her face. Black and blue circled her eyes, and her nose bent unnaturally to the left, with blood trickling from her nostrils. Divested of her red curls, her shaved head glowed with a pale light. Livid finger marks stood out against the white skin of her throat.

The numbness prevented me from feeling more than a sliver of sympathy for her, or comfort that Holland’s hostage wasn’t Hunter or Daniel or one of the young members of Quinn’s team. But once this transmission was over, I knew my emotions would storm every inch of me.

A thin rope hung from Quinn’s neck; Holland grasped and yanked it. Her eyes flew open at the sudden tension before her lids drooped again and her chin fell to her neck.

“Wake. Up,” Holland repeated, giving the cord a vicious jerk.

Quinn’s startled scream was hoarse, her throat too damaged to muster much volume.

“I’m sure you recognize my former protégé, although I’ll admit, she’s looking a little worse for the wear.”

Holland’s drawl betrayed no hint of remorse, no reflection of any feelings he might still harbor for the woman
he’d once loved. No sorrow, no anger. Nothing.

“She’s been reluctant to share pertinent information about how she was able to modify your programming, and I find I don’t have the patience I once had.”

Holland’s hand reached for something beyond the scope of the hologram, and returned with a deadly looking knife. His eyes never changed expression. He sighed, as though weary of the whole thing.

“I taped this for a reason, because I knew she’d be too stubborn to talk. I wanted to send a message, though. You belong to me, and I will hunt you down. I don’t let my property go free. See?”

With one hand, he shoved Quinn’s chin up and back. I watched, transfixed and numb, as the knife sparkled in the hologram’s lights, almost like the blade was crafted from glitter. Then he made a calm and deliberate motion across her neck. He tossed the knife in the air as the ear-to-ear slash leached a river of blood.

Carotid artery permanently damaged.

Recovery impossible.

Mortality rate: 100%.

“No!” Lucas’s gasp echoed through the supply closet while Quinn slid down and disappeared from view.

I hadn’t liked Quinn. In fact, I’d hated her for what she’d done to me, and what I did to Peyton under her influence. But that didn’t mean that I’d wanted her tortured, or dead
at the hands of a madman. A madman who had no qualms harming anyone in order to get to me.

The vision of her pale throat slashed open and streaming red would be embedded in my memory forever. Permanent. Undeletable. And while I couldn’t fully experience the terror of what had happened, that respite would end any minute now.

One question pounded a repetitive warning. Who would die next?

Hologram Holland folded his arms, and stared at some vague spot between Lucas and me.

“I’m sure you know about the device by now,” he said with no expression. “If you end this little excursion and come back to me, I’d consider disarming it, you know.” He glanced down at the floor, at the lump that used to be Quinn. When he looked back up, he was smiling. “Then again, maybe I wouldn’t. I can be unpredictable like that.”

He pulled something out of his pocket while his soft laugh filled my head like a nightmare.

Then he waved the item so that we’d be sure to get a clear shot.

A small, black handheld remote.

“Maybe I should just save us all some time and start the countdown now.”

Lucas choked out “No!” as Holland’s finger hovered over the switch. One push, and two hours would be all I had left.

Transmission: Complete.

The blue light vanished, and Holland’s image disappeared. Everything around us looked dim and plain, like a gruesome murder had only happened in our overzealous imaginations.

And then the numbness released its grip.

Operating systems normalizing.

Suppressed emotions slammed through me like a swollen river released from a dam. The force buckled my knees, and I sank to the ground. I covered my mouth with both hands to stop the sobs that lodged in my throat.

Another person gone. Another death I couldn’t prevent.

Lucas stopped guarding the door and raced to my side. He knelt next to me, but didn’t speak. My sensors picked up the elevated speed of his respiration, the stuttered beat of his heart. He had to be battling his own emotions, but he waited, silently, for me to speak first.

I swallowed and parted my lips. Nothing happened. I couldn’t form any words. Not when my mind filled with red blood sprays and the crack of gunshots, the scent of sulfur and Sarah’s harsh gasps for breath. The sight of Mom’s blue eyes, closing forever.

“Mila. We should go.” Lucas’s voice was soft and coaxing, like he was talking to a wounded animal. I allowed him to lead me out of the room.

I didn’t ask him where we were going, because that didn’t seem to matter.

It rarely ever did.

I sat in the motel room that Lucas had hastily booked and stared at the white wall.

A desk supported my lower arm and hand, which Lucas had arranged palm up. He was hunched over now, playing surgeon.

The last joint of my index finger was peeled back and separated into two pieces while Lucas dug inside with the sharp blade of a pocketknife.

When I flinched, he glanced up from the mess. “I’m sorry, Holland’s nasty little surprise is buried deeper than I thought. I’ll try not to leave a big mark when I’m done. Deal?”

I didn’t bother responding. No mark could ever be as big as the permanent soul stain I’d have from watching Holland sever Quinn’s carotid.

He sighed, but didn’t say anything, just got back to work with steady hands.

I was thankful for their warmth.

Minutes passed before I heard him ask, “What’s this?” Seconds later, his head popped back up. “Good news. I can use this same wiring to install a stealth-mode switch. We’ll make it so Holland never tracks you again,” he said, before getting back to work.

“Maybe I should just turn myself in,” I blurted. The thought had been growing ever since we’d left the library.

One of Lucas’s tools clattered to the floor and he muffled a curse. It was so un-Lucas-like that I almost jumped. “Hold that thought,” he said, after retrieving his voltameter.

Half an hour later, he was done. My finger sported a new scar, but no hologram projector. Seemed like a fair trade.

Lucas packed his tools into a soft leather pouch and then perched on the bed near me. “Now, why did you say that? About turning yourself in?”

I fiddled with my altered finger. “I’m tired of everyone ending up hurt. Or dead. Even Quinn. I’m sick of the violence. Maybe this whole thing is futile. Running. Trying to figure out his plan.”

I shot up off the bed and started pacing. “Who am I kidding? I’m no hero. I can’t even save myself,” I said, thinking of the box he’d held. His fingertip hovering an inch or so away from the switch. “Maybe the best way I can help save lives is by turning myself over to him.”

“Mila,” Lucas started. I whirled on him.

“Don’t. Just don’t. Don’t tell me I’m being melodramatic, or that you can’t see that just maybe, I’m right. Don’t lie to me,” I warned. Knowing that my sudden flare-up was only a flimsy cover for a bottomless pit of despair.

He waited me out. When I finished, he patted the bed.

Reluctantly, I sat back down. Then he took my hand in his. “I wasn’t going to say that you’re being melodramatic. Anyone with a heart would struggle with this.”

My jaw dropped. What kind of pep talk was this, anyway? Even Lucas had given up on me, and it was too much to bear. I started to pull away.

“Wait. Please,” he said. “Because that’s my point. Anyone with a heart. Meaning you.”

I stopped edging away. “We both know my heart is fake.”

“Says who? How do you define a heart? Because I’m going to tell you how I do.” He bridged the gap between us and rested his fingertips on the top left of my rib cage. Feather soft, but solid all the same. “People use the term heart in two ways. To describe the body’s anatomical pump, but also their emotional center. Their reservoir for love, and compassion, and all the good things that make some humans amazing.”