Flood Rising (Jenna Flood #1)

She couldn’t help staring at Mercy, at the woman who looked so much like her, who was so similar to her in temperament and interests. Thirty-six-year-old Mercedes Reyes, a Cuban émigré—Cuba? Of course. It makes perfect sense now—had insisted that she couldn’t be Jenna’s mother, that she hadn’t even met Noah until Jenna was three…but then everything Noah had told her was a lie. Had Mercy been in the compound that night? Had she survived and come to America in search of her…sister? Daughter? Clone?

Mercy had known—known Noah’s secret, known the truth about Jenna’s mysterious past. Why didn’t she tell me?

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The helicopter dipped forward and Jenna’s stomach rose into her mouth as the aircraft made a roller-coaster steep plunge earthward. Cray pulled himself back from the doorway and slid it closed, blocking her view of the journey. Without looking, she could visualize the helicopter’s movements in the sky above Miami.

The second phony FBI agent gestured to the headphones that he and everyone else wore. Then he pointed over Jenna’s shoulder to a similar headset. She took the headphones and slipped them over her ears, blocking out most of the engine noise.

“Can you hear me?” the man asked. His voice, electronically reproduced, was eerily out of sync with the movements of his mouth, but she could hear him.

“Loud and clear,” she replied, and heard her own voice over the intercom, just a fraction of second later.

“Just hang on,” he advised. “We’re going to be flying pretty low to avoid radar detection. The last thing we need right now is for the Air National Guard to scramble a couple of interceptors. That would really spoil our day.”

The helicopter banked hard, then performed a series of rapid, stomach-churning maneuvers that made further conversation impossible. Jenna risked a glance through the side window, half expecting to see fighter jets streaking past, but she saw only the concrete and glass towers of downtown Miami.

“Nothing to worry about,” Cray volunteered, as if sensing Jenna’s anxiety. “We’re just trying to confuse anyone who’s looking for us.”

As promised, the helicopter soon leveled out, and Jenna’s stomach settled. A few minutes later she felt the craft descending, and shortly thereafter, the landing gear bumped against something solid.

Cray threw open the door to reveal the tarmac of an airport. A quick look around told Jenna that they were probably at Miami International or a nearby satellite airfield. The helicopter had set down a short distance from a hangar building, but as she stepped down onto solid ground, Cray guided her in the opposite direction, toward a waiting airplane. Jenna was not well versed in aircraft identification, but just a glance told her that the only thing this jet had in common with Carlos’s plane was wings.

“Gulfstream IV,” Cray said, as he followed her up the fold-down stairs, into the luxurious cabin. “It will get us where we need to be in about two hours.”

“And where exactly is that?”

“Somewhere safe. Where I can answer all your questions.” She had been expecting Cray to answer, but instead it was the old man’s voice she heard. His tone was soft, and he spoke with an almost musical cadence. He ascended into the cabin, walking with the aid of an ebony cane. He settled into a chair right next to Jenna. Mercy sat across the aisle.

We’re going to Cuba, Jenna guessed. Right back where it all started. It occurred to Jenna that, by choosing to go with them, she had completely relinquished her independence. For twelve hours, the responsibility for her survival had been hers alone. Now, her fate was in the hands of strangers. Even Mercy was an unknown. She suddenly felt very helpless.

At least I won’t die ignorant. She turned her gaze back to Mercy. “Tell me the truth. Are you my mom?”

Mercy glanced at the old man again before meeting Jenna’s eyes. “Honey, it’s a long story.”

The old man reached out and gave Mercy’s hand a pat. “She has a right to know.” He turned to look at Jenna. “Besides, we’ve got the time, and goodness knows you’ve waited long enough.”

Jenna blinked at him. “Who are you?”

The man’s eyebrows drew together in a frown of irritation. “My dear, I apologize for not making proper introductions. My name is Helio Soter, and I… Well, I guess you could say that I made you.”

Jenna got the sense that Soter expected her to be shocked by the news, but coming on the heels of everything else, his vague declaration was both unsurprising and woefully inadequate. “Cort said that I was a clone. Is that true?”

The old man chuckled. “A clone? Well, I suppose that’s not entirely inaccurate. But calling you ‘a clone’ would be like saying that the Mona Lisa is a painting. It’s strictly true, but hardly does justice to what you truly are.”

Jenna turned to Mercy, who nodded to confirm that Sotor was not exaggerating.