“What will you do?”
“What?” I ask, looking up at her as I dry her legs in long, slow strokes.
“You explained what you do,” she says, emphasizing the word. “But not really what you will do with it. All that research and stuff you talked about. What will you do with it, Lincoln?”
“Cure mental illness, remember?” I say, smiling at her.
“Really?” she says, stepping out of the shower and grabbing another towel to wrap up her hair. I watch her ass as I dry myself off and then follow her into the bedroom.
“You’d like that, right? I just want to make you happy.”
She shoots me a smile over her shoulder, oblivious to the hidden meaning behind my words. “Super-smart.” She laughs. God, I love her laugh. “Super-sexy.” She winks at me, glancing down at my junk. “And super-Alpha. And I mean that in more ways than one, Lincoln Wade.”
“So do I, Molly. So do I.”
She either ignores that remark, or takes it as innocuous. Either way, it buys me more time and lets me drop the conversation and get dressed as I watch her do the same.
“By the way, you lied to me about something.”
“What?” My heart races for a moment as I go looking for my missing glove in the bathroom.
“You told me at the dance that you’d make me wear sexy lingerie every night if I was yours. And I’m yours now, right? So where’s my sexy shit?”
Jesus. How sweet is she? She’s not going to make this easy. “I’m good for it, Molls.” I like the nickname and it’s out of the bag now, anyway. So I’m going to use it.
“I know,” she says, buttoning her blouse and slipping her feet into those cute-as-fuck saddle shoes she likes to wear. “I trust you. Ready?”
I nod and feel a pang of guilt and sadness in my heart. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.” We walk outside to her car parked in the driveway and I pull up my Sheila app on my phone and text her to follow us.
“How does that work?” Molly asks, handing me her keys and pointing to my phone as I open the passenger door for her. I love that she already knew I’d want to drive and went to that side automatically.
“She’s wired in everywhere,” I say, waiting for her to settle, then closing her door and walking around to the other side of the car. I get in and start it up. “Put your belt on, Molly.” I point to her seatbelt, but she is busy checking her face in the mirror.
“Bossy,” she replies. But she drags the belt over her shoulder, still looking in the mirror. “I look so tired. Good God, I hope my prick of a boss is not in the mood to scream at me today. I can’t take it anymore.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, backing out of the driveway. I check the rearview to make sure Sheila is following. She doesn’t take control of the car much, but I planned for it and the windows are tinted dark enough to avoid any weird looks.
“That guy is such a dick, Lincoln. I swear, he calls me ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart.’ I can’t fucking stand him. At least when I was in the military people respected me. This guy treats me like trash.”
“Is that right?”
“He’s pissed at me for not making more progress with the suicides.”
I glance over at her.
“I’m not turning you in.”
“Why? It’s your job.”
“Because if these people are connected to Prodigy, then they need to be stopped. What if there’s another school?”
I stare out the window, momentarily stunned silent.
“Lincoln? Have you ever wondered?”
“There’s no other school, Molly.” I reach over and grab her hand to give it a squeeze. “We took them out and put an end to it.”
“But maybe they never gave up? What were they trying to accomplish with that program anyway?”
I don’t want to have this conversation with her. Not after last night. Not after her plea for me to be her hero.
“I mean, I get why they’d want to make superhumans, right? And I get that the only way to really do that was with biological and behavior modification. But to what end?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
“So you don’t know?”
I shake my head.
“Why are you so quiet?”
I let the question hang there. I’m not ready to give this up yet, but I’m not ready to give up what I’ve been working towards, either.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
“No,” I say, squeezing her hand again. “There’s nothing to worry about. You’re the only thing I care about now.”
“Well, I’m glad, you know? I’m on your side, Lincoln. And if you felt like these people were a threat, well, I believe you.”
“Good.” I manage a convincing smile, because she smiles back. She chats about work the rest of the way. What she’s willing to lie about, what she thinks she needs to share.