Don't Look Now (16 page)

CHAPTER
TWELVE

N
oa handed over the pile of clothes that she’d collected from the other kids. “Here.”

“Thanks.” The girl took them from her hands. She was standing outside the bathroom, waiting for the young boy they’d rescued along with her to finish showering.

“We didn’t really have anything small enough for him,” Noa said apologetically. “But if he rolls up the sleeves and belts the pants, they should fit all right. We’ll stop at a Walmart to get you both something better.”

“They’ll be fine,” the girl said. “By the way, my name is Taylor.”

“Noa.” She held out a hand, and they shook awkwardly. Taylor balanced the stack of clothes under her opposite arm. “Do you know the others’ names?”

“The kid is Matt.” A dark look flitted across Taylor’s face as she continued, “And the girl was out cold when I found her. How is she?”

Noa shrugged. “We made her comfortable. She might turn out to be fine. We’ll take her to some people who can help her.”

“Good,” Taylor said. “Maybe she’s just drugged.”

“Yeah, about that.” Noa shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t usually the one who debriefed rescued kids; Zeke had a gift for setting people at ease. But he was off sulking somewhere. She’d already tried to talk to him about the gun, but when she confronted him, he stormed off.

The rest of the group was avoiding her, too. Noa wasn’t sure if that was because they sided with her on the gun issue, or if they were just shell-shocked and taking time to process it. Either way, now she was stuck doing what Zeke jokingly referred to as their “intake interviews.”

Usually she’d allow Taylor and Matt time to clean up and eat something, maybe even sleep, but they were against the wire.

“You want to know what they did to us,” Taylor stated bluntly.

“Yes,” Noa said. “It’s pretty standard. I mean, I know it can be hard to talk about, but—”

“Did they take you?”

The question was so direct, it took her by surprise. Taylor was examining her closely, as if expecting her to lie. “Yes,” she finally answered. “They did.”

“And what did they do?”

Noa shifted uncomfortably. She was supposed to be asking the questions. And the truth was, she didn’t remember much. All she knew for certain was that they’d operated on her, inserting an extra thymus gland into her chest that was wreaking havoc with her system.

She didn’t feel like sharing any of that with Taylor, though. Noa knew that the kids followed her blindly because they practically considered her to be superhuman. She’d never explained why, and none had dared ask.

Until now. “They did . . . Well, I’m not exactly sure,” she hedged. “What about you?”

Taylor shrugged noncommittally. “I’m not sure, either.”

“But are you cut anywhere?” Noa pressed.

“Cut?” Taylor’s brow wrinkled. “Like, did they torture me?”

“No, like . . . any operating scars?”

Taylor looked interested. “Is that what they did to you?”

“This isn’t about me!” Noa snapped. God, what would it take to get a straight answer out of this girl? And why did she seem so determined to find out what had happened to Noa? She forced her clenched fists to relax, took a deep breath, and said, “Sorry. It’s been a long night. I’m just tired.”

“Yeah, we all are,” Taylor said coldly. The door to the bathroom opened. Matt was wrapped in a threadbare towel, his straw-blond hair glistening from the shower. “Here,” Taylor said, thrusting the clothes from the top of the pile into his hands. “Get dressed. I’ll see you when I get out of the shower.”

She pushed past, leaving him standing in the hall blinking up at Noa. They considered each other for a minute. Noa knew that she should get some answers from him, too. But before she could ask anything, Matt’s mouth gaped open in a cavernous yawn, making him look even younger. “C’mon,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder to lead him down the hall. “You can change down here, then I’ll find you something to eat.”

Peter stifled a yawn as he slumped down in the booth of the diner where he was meeting Amanda for lunch. He’d been up until nearly five a.m. The third time he’d checked The Quad, there had finally been a message from Noa that read,
Weather’s here, wish u were gr8
. That code signified that everything had gone well with the operation.

Although clearly it hadn’t, at least not based on what he’d seen. He was dying for a full rundown, but there was no way to get one. He’d posted something different from his usual reply, though, writing,
Awesome. I’d kill 4 a vacay
. Based on that, Noa would know that he wanted to talk when she got the chance. But even though he’d risked logging back in after he woke up at ten, there was no answer.

Noa was probably sleeping, he rationalized. And when she slept, she practically slipped into a coma. Either way, hopefully she’d call today. And until then, he had plenty to keep him occupied.

Amanda hadn’t arrived yet, which was weird. She had a real thing about being punctual; if he dared show up even a minute late, she’d lecture about how it “conveyed the message that he thought his time was more important than hers.” He’d gotten that dressing down more times than he could count.

Peter checked his phone again: no messages. He’d gotten here right on time, thirty minutes ago. He unlocked his phone and sent a quick text, asking,
Hey, u ok?

But as he hit send, Amanda came through the front door. Relieved, he waved. She smiled faintly at him, tugging off her scarf as she approached.

Peter’s smile faded as he took in her appearance. Amanda looked even gaunter than she had just a few days ago. Her clavicle pushed sharply against the outline of her V-neck sweater, and her wrists looked painfully bony. The circles under her eyes were pronounced. Even her hair looked like hell, sagging against her scalp.

Peter tried to sound normal as he said, “Hey, you made it.”

Her brow furrowed. “We said twelve thirty, didn’t we?”

“Nope.” Peter held up his phone, showing her the text from this morning. “Noon.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She seemed distracted. Even though he was sorely tempted to throw the punctuality lecture back at her, he held his tongue.

“So,” he asked cautiously. “Everything cool?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. You look . . . tired.”

A flash of irritation. “You, too?”

“What?” he asked defensively.

Angrily, Amanda dumped her purse on the table and started riffling through it, finally digging out a ChapStick and running it over her cracked lips. “Diem won’t leave me alone, she keeps threatening to drag me to the health center.”

“Really? Why?” Secretly, Peter was relieved that someone else had noticed her condition. Better still, someone who saw her nearly every day, and could keep better track of her than he could. Maybe he should try to talk to Diem about it, even though Amanda would flip if she found out.

“She thinks there’s something wrong with me.”

“Oh.” Peter played with his napkin, tearing it into small pieces and stacking them on the Formica tabletop. “Well . . .” He hesitated, then said, “Honestly, I’m kind of worried too.”

Amanda focused a baleful glare at him and said cuttingly, “I’m fine.”

“Maybe, but you’ve lost a lot of weight. And you seem kinda . . . off.”

“Off?” She half rose.

“Just chill, okay?” He raised his hands placatingly. This was exactly why he’d put off talking to her about it—he’d known she wouldn’t react well. “I just meant, it can’t hurt to get checked out, right?”

Amanda glowered at him, but sat back down. Leaning in, she said, “I gave Mouse a few more files.”

“Yeah? Great.” He tried to come up with a way to steer the conversation back toward her health. Maybe he could suggest walking her over to the medical center after lunch?

“So did they do the raid?” she asked, lowering her voice even further.

Before he could respond, they were interrupted by a harried-looking waitress who shoved sticky menus in their hands. Peter waited until she’d left, then said, “Yeah. Last night.”

“How did it go?”

He shrugged, not sure how much to share. After all, it wasn’t like he had any concrete details. “Okay, I guess.”

“Good.” Seeming satisfied, Amanda sat back to peruse the menu. Peter watched her with a flicker of amusement, knowing it was all for show. She’d order the same thing as always: a veggie burger with a side salad. And today, as a nod to her strong sentiments against eating any animal products, he’d do the same.

Peter sipped his coffee. He’d already had a full cup, and didn’t want to overdo it. But God, he was tired. He eyed her over the rim. Whatever closeness they’d managed to rebuild recently had dissipated. She seemed more distant than ever.

“You don’t look so hot yourself, you know,” Amanda said without raising her eyes from the menu.

“Thanks,” he said wryly. “I was up all night monitoring the raid.”

She made an indeterminate noise, closed the menu, and set it next to her purse. “So what’s next?”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Is Noa just going to keep doing this?”

“Probably. Why?”

Amanda pursed her lips. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but apparently decided against it.

The waitress took their order, then stomped off. Peter felt distracted and edgy—this wasn’t going the way he’d hoped at all. He wondered if there was usually a long wait at the health center; would they even be able to see Amanda today, or would she have to make an appointment? He should spend the rest of the day with her either way, but that meant shelving everything else. He had yet to finish tweaking the sniffer’s software program. He’d risked a lot planting it; there had to be something there. He also had to go through the sound recordings from Mason’s penthouse, and God only knew how long that would take.

And on top of everything else, he had homework to finish this weekend.

“Are you in love with her?” Amanda asked, interrupting his ruminations.

Startled, it took Peter a minute to process what she’d said. “With who?”

“Noa. I mean, I know you two got pretty close. . . .” As her voice trailed off, Amanda avoided his eyes.

Peter didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were glistening, like she was holding back tears. On an impulse, he reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “Amanda—”

“I mean, it’s okay if you are. I didn’t treat you very well.” She swiped a hand across her eyes. “I just—I wish we could go back, you know? To the way things were between us.”

Seeing her like this, he wanted more than anything to tell her that they could, and everything would be just the same. But it would be a lie. Because even as he watched her cry, all he felt was a pang of regret. The other night, when she’d showed up unexpectedly at his house . . . a lot of things had happened. It had been comforting, and familiar, yet the whole time he couldn’t suppress the sense that it just felt . . . wrong. He’d meant what he said. He hadn’t stopped loving her. But the form that love took had changed. He felt protective of her, and concerned for her. But that wasn’t really love, at least not the kind they used to share. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“Yeah, me too.” Amanda pulled her hand away and strapped her purse over her shoulder. “You know, I’m really not hungry.”

“Please, don’t go.” He couldn’t let her leave, not until she’d at least promised to consider seeing a doctor. “I want to talk about it some more.”

“I don’t. Good-bye, Peter. Don’t call me.” She slid out of the booth without looking at him and practically ran to the door.

Peter sighed. Girls should really come equipped with some sort of instruction manual. Computers were so much easier.

“You still gonna eat?” the waitress asked, suddenly reappearing.

“Yeah, I guess,” Peter said dejectedly.

She dumped a plate in front of him: a veggie burger with wilted lettuce jutting out from the bun. In a brusque voice she announced, “She’ll get over it, honey. You’ll see.”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbled. But he knew better.

“So then I saw the oxygen tank, and figured that if I started a fire, they’d have to open the door.”

Noa shifted in the front passenger seat, irritated. Taylor had proven to be downright chatty once they got on the road. For someone who had initially been dodgy about sharing her story, she sure was laying it on thick now.

The kids crammed in the back of the van were riveted by her performance. Noa had wanted to step in when Taylor started talking, but couldn’t figure out how to do it politely. And she wasn’t sure the girl would have shut up, anyway—she clearly enjoyed having an audience.

Zeke was driving, staring moodily out the windshield. She’d offered to take the wheel, but he’d brusquely refused. They were already passing Joshua Tree, four hours into what would be a twelve-hour haul if they were lucky and didn’t hit any traffic. A barren landscape of desert brush and crooked cacti swept past the windows. The gray early morning light made everything look eerie, like they were passing through a bombed-out landscape. Noa snugged her hands into her sleeves and tucked her neck deeper into her hoodie. She was freezing, even though the heater was blasting.

It had taken longer than she would’ve liked to clear out the safe house, even though they’d only been there two days. The group was alternately groggy and punchy from fatigue. Noa had a hard time corralling them. As she’d closed the door, she worried that they’d left something important behind. No time to check, though; the sooner they got on the road, the better.

“So how did you set it off?” Teo asked, sounding awed.

“One of the doctor’s must’ve smoked,” Taylor said dismissively. “I found a pack of matches in the trash.”

“That was convenient,” Noa interjected, turning around to look at her.

Taylor gazed back levelly. “Yeah, I got lucky.”

Noa frowned. She didn’t believe in luck. And why would anyone have thrown out a pack of matches? In one of the patient’s rooms, no less?

She seemed to be the only one who doubted Taylor’s story, though. Daisy pressed, “Then what did you do?”