Emerson grabbed the envelope off the bed, clearing it out of the way so I could lie down.
I didn’t argue with him. The virus in NuStasis was still hard at work in me. And ironically, the super, juiced-up immune system that was the first side effect was now working against me, fighting off the “invaders,” the bits of alien cells, as an infection.
I flopped back on the bed, thinking too late that I probably should have taken the tissue box off the desk. The white covers would show blood like none other.
But I wasn’t about to get up again. The weariness that had become an all-too-familiar facet of my life the last three weeks was pulling me down, pinning me against the thick mattress. And thinking about tomorrow, the pinch of eagerness and sharp stabs of anxiety, only exhausted me further.
I would convince Ariane. I had to.
“Call me right away if your symptoms get worse,” Emerson said on his way out the door.
“With what phone?” I asked, summoning enough energy to make myself heard. The hotel phone had been removed before I’d even walked in. Justine didn’t want me making contact with anyone without her knowledge and supervision, afraid I might give something away even unintentionally.
He paused, tucking the envelope under his arm. “Right. I’ll come and check on you.”
“Fine,” I mumbled.
I shouldn’t have reminded him of my lack of a phone. The more freedom I had, the more room I had to maneuver, assuming there was somewhere to maneuver to. But whatever. I was tired of thinking twelve steps ahead. Unlike Ariane, I hadn’t had the years of training for it, nor did it come naturally. I had to work at it. And I could only hope, for her sake and mine, I was getting better at it.
AMAZING WHAT A GUN BEING pointed at you will do for clearing the fog of shock and emotion from your mind. Add three more and my thoughts were practically crystalline, transcendent even.
“If she tries anything, shoot her.” That had been Dr. Jacobs’s final order. He’d stepped out into the hallway outside the conference room just long enough to give the instruction, not shouted but uttered with teeth-gritting contempt for me.
So now the four guards who’d removed me from the conference room—the same ones who’d accompanied me to the hotel in the first place—were all jammed in a shockingly nice hotel room with me.
My shoulders ached from my hunched position in the desk chair—my knees drawn up to my chest—but I didn’t dare make an adjustment.
Dr. Jacobs wouldn’t be pleased to return from protesting St. John’s trickery to find me riddled with bullet holes. But I’d decided to take him at his word. The urge to not die had suddenly rekindled itself in me with such ferocity, I was surprised I wasn’t hot to the touch from it.
Zane was alive. And here. Neither of which I would have classified as possible prior to today. Just thinking about him and his sudden reappearance made fear and longing surge inside me, loosening my grip on my power.
The desk lamp beside me, a strange wooden block with an equally square lamp shade that probably made sense in the designer’s mind, wobbled. The bulb sizzled and popped inside.
My guards eyed the lamp and then me. “Stop,” said the nervous one from the van, his finger hovering above his trigger.
Anger sparked to life inside me, catching on the resentment like dusty curtains in the flame of a forgotten candle. They were keeping me here, away from the answers I needed, holding me prisoner. But they were not nearly as effective a barrier as the glass cage at GTX had been. And the fear in his voice tempted me, whispered at me to push further, to really show him something to be afraid of. Four of them? I could manage that easily, especially now that I’d been practicing.
The blend of human emotion and the cool, practical knowledge that I could do more, be more, and beat them was a volatile mix. My human side was screaming, dying to punish them for their role in all of this, and my alien half was more than willing to show them exactly how outmatched they were.
I let out a slow breath, concentrating on my control. Letting my emotions rule would not serve me in this circumstance. If I proved capable of dispatching four guards, Jacobs would only call for eight. And I wasn’t leaving here without understanding what was going on. Period.
So I forced myself to do what I’d been taught: evaluate what you know, consider each fact individually and as part of a larger whole, determine the potential ramifications, and devise next steps.
First, unless Emerson St. John had perfected not only cloning but also some kind of advanced growth process—so unlikely—it was Zane I’d seen downstairs. The same person I’d known in Wingate.