“But eventually, Jacobs, the Committee, whoever, they’ll have to stop looking,” I pointed out, “and then—”
She reached out as though she would touch my cheek, but then her gaze skittered away from mine and her hand fell away. “Justine, DHS, they would own me, and I wouldn’t be able to say no.” She shook her head. “I can’t do that again, whether it’s for a few months or years. I won’t.”
“You’d rather die?” I demanded.
“Yes,” she said, and the truth rang out in that single word. She meant it.
“That’s stupid,” I said, frustration getting the better of me.
“No,” she said sharply. “It’s a hard-learned lesson. You want me to believe that I deserve to have my own life, make my own choices. If that’s true, then this existence is mine now for as long as I have it. I’m not blindly following someone else’s rules, obeying their commands or even giving in to their well-meaning wishes.” Her voice softened on those last words. “I have to do what I think is best.”
“I’m not asking you to compromise yourself, Ariane,” I said, struggling for patience and trying to make her understand. “But you have to give yourself a chance to—”
“This is a moot point,” she reminded me. “I don’t think we could get to…”
“…live on the scene at the Manderlay Hotel.” The news, which had continued as a murmur in the background of our argument, suddenly recaptured my attention as that familiar name registered.
Manderlay Hotel, that was where we’d started this little adventure this morning, which, honestly, felt like years ago.
Ariane, hearing it as well, stopped and swiveled to face the screen.
On the television, a reporter stood in front of a very familiar set of glass doors. She was in front of the west entrance to the hotel, just feet away from where I’d met Ariane this morning. Flashing red and blue lights behind her, along with an area cordoned off in yellow caution tape, showed she was as close as she was allowed.
“We don’t have much information at this time, Rebecca,” the reporter said to the anchor. “But there are reports of shots fired on the third floor. Also, interestingly…” She paused, consulting a notebook in her hand. “According to a source inside the hotel, Dr. Arthur Jacobs and Dr. David Laughlin, of GenTex, Inc. and Laughlin Integrated Enterprises, respectively, are inside, among others.”
“Those would be the companies mentioned in our featured story this evening, ‘Corruption in the Heartland,’” the anchorwoman prompted.
“That’s correct, Rebecca.” The onsite reporter seemed a mix of astonished and gleeful. The story was practically writing itself, high ratings included. “Specifically, the two individuals whom Ms. Bradshaw has referenced in her account.”
I felt a sudden creeping dread. This didn’t make sense. We were missing something, a key piece of information or a fact that changed everything. And when we missed something, that’s when things got treacherous. Well, more treacherous.
“That’s got to be wrong,” I said. “Right?” I looked to Ariane. “You said they left.”
“They should have,” Ariane said with a puzzled frown. “There is no reason for them to stay. No good reason,” she amended.
“You think the Committee decided to take them out, too?” I asked.
“No, they’ll need Jacobs and Laughlin to answer for Mara’s accusations,” she answered, but her voice sounded distant, distracted. She was working it through, trying to see the pattern, understand the strategy. “To be scapesheep for the government.”
Now I knew she was preoccupied. “Scapegoats,” I said.
She didn’t acknowledge my correction. She moved past me, scooped my hoodie off the floor, and handed it to me.
“Where are we going?” I asked, turning the sweatshirt right side out before putting it on.
She frowned at me before heading toward the main room of the suite. “You are following our original plan: head for the nearest police station and identify yourself as Mara’s missing son in need of protection.”
“While you do what?” I demanded, following her.
“I will provide the distraction, as discussed,” she said, but the caginess of her answer, combined with knowing her as well as I now did, told me all I needed.
I stopped. “You’re going to that hotel, by yourself,” I accused.
She spun around to face me. “If Jacobs and Laughlin are dead…” Her face lit with an unholy determination. “I need to see for myself.”
“No. Hell no,” I added. “I’m going with you.”
Ariane shook her head, her hair falling over her face. She brushed it back impatiently, fumbling for the hair band on her wrist. “There’s still a chance this is a trap, something designed to lure us back to them.” She pulled her hair up into the sloppy ponytail that I remembered from the months of sitting behind her in math.