Forget Me Not (21 page)

A few minutes later I return, groomed and dressed, with the annoying braids undone. Lilly sashays through the door right behind me, Will in tow. His hair is ruffled, and his clothes crumpled. She must have dragged him straight out of bed.

“Morning.” He yawns.

“I guess it is,” I say. It’s morning three hours too soon, or maybe I went to bed three hours too late.

“What’s the time?”

“Time you were awake.”

“That doesn’t tell me the time.”

“It’s almost ten, Will.”

Jax sits in the same place, staring out the window, hands shoved in his pockets. “The Collective have a building in the city where their Council meets. It’s right in the center of town.”

Lilly makes a beeline for Jax, her hand outstretched. She slaps his chest with a notepad and thrusts a pen into his hand. “We need a plan. A solid one.”

His mouth quirks a semismile, and he flips the pad open onto the seat, pushing a tasseled cushion away. It flops onto the floor. His hand moves fast over the paper, leaving scrawls and lines in its path. Will, Lilly, and I gravitate closer. When he leans back, a pair of sketches fill both pages.

“This”—he jabs the pen at the lesser complex drawing, right in the center—“is Central Park. And this”—he stabs a square—“is the building we’re after.”

I nod. This is good.

Lilly edges closer, peering at the plan. “Is that where you’ve been spying with Garrett?”

“Yes,” Jax says. He points to the other drawing. “And this is where we’re going. I haven’t been inside, but
—”

“What?” Lilly shrieks. “You haven’t been inside? This won’t work.”

“Yes. Yes it will. Just listen. We know there are three levels. The front entrance”—he circles a side of the square—“is here. I think we can get in there. There are several other entrances too.” His words get quicker and quicker, almost like he’s excited.

“Can we port in?” I ask.

Will looks up. “Port? What’s that?”

“Teleporting.”

“No way.” His eyes sparkle.

I guess I never told him about my last trip to the city. When my plan didn’t work, I just kind of forgot about everything. I hold his gaze and smile.

“There are four of us, but we’ve only got the porting tech for one.” Jax suddenly sounds tired, like he has no patience for all this idle talk.

“It worked when I touched you. Can’t we all hold hands?”

“It doesn’t work that way. It will only port the two people touching the one with bands, anyone else won’t go.”

Will nods a little too eagerly. “Easy. Lilly, Mae and I can port.”

Jax splutters and directs a fake smile toward Will. “How are you going to know where to go?”

“Lilly.”

She moves from foot to foot, holding her mouth in a strange grimace. “I, ah, have never actually been into Collective territory. I only do rescue missions.”

Jax reaches across and claps Will on the shoulder. He sits opposite him, across the scrawled plans. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Dudley.”

Will shoots him a glare. “How many bikes are there?”

“Only one that’s rideable,” Jax says.

“Why don’t two of us port and the other two take the bike? Then we’ve got a spare space when we port back,” I say. We won’t have someone stuck there when we bring Dad home.

Lilly raises a brow. “Ah, what if you don’t…
ah… need that spare space?”

“It would work.” Jax’s words tumble over the top of Lilly’s.

My heart takes a dive into my stomach. “I meant, you know, just in case.”

Will straightens up. “Mae and I will ride. You and Lilly can port.”

Jax still smirks at Will. Why must he antagonize him all the time? “No go, Dudley. You take Lilly on the bike. Mae can port with me.”

They glare at each other just like last night in the family room. Just when I need them to be serious they’re acting like pigheaded fools again. Unbelievable. Will needs to realize Jax isn’t going to put me in danger. He’s nothing like Billy French, and he’s not a threat to our friendship. We’ll always be best friends, no matter who else comes and goes in our lives. Heck, I put up with the string of flings he had in the ninth grade. I clear my throat, and they both turn their gazes to me. Neither of them wants to do what the other suggests out of pure stubbornness.

Idiots.

Snapping my gaze back to Lilly, I drag my fingers through my untied, frizzy hair. “I’m going with Lilly.”

She shoots me a knowing smile, bounces across the room, and sinks onto the bed. “It makes sense one of you goes with one of us. You don’t understand tech, you’re not familiar with The Collective, and neither of you have any experience.” She looks from me to Will and settles her gaze on him with a sweet eyelash-batting smile. “Mae can come with me.”

“Fine,” he says.

Jax looks from me to Lilly and back again. “I have scanner duty this afternoon. You’ll have to say we swapped.”

A sigh steals the fun out of her voice. “Shoot. Dad said I can’t fight after last week’s drama. There’s no way they’ll buy me taking your shift.”

Will glowers at Jax. “Fine. She has to go with you, but if you get her hurt….”

“Sounds foolproof.” Jax looks a little smug. “It’ll take you longer to get there. We’ll give you a head start.” He turns his wrist over and looks at his wide, trendy watch. “Central Park. Avenue of Elms. Twelve thirty. That gives you two hours.”

Lilly shoots up off the bed and plants her hands on her hips. “Two hours? We’ll have to speed.”

“You’ll manage,” Jax says.

Will’s brow furrows, his jaw juts out, and he looks like someone just told him his bike sucks. His mouth opens to speak, but he snaps it shut and settles for a scowl. I’m not sure if he’s more worried about being separated or about me being with Jax.

“I promise, I will not go anywhere without you,” I say.

His shoulders drop with a sigh. “Not a step?”

I nod. “Not a step.”

Will and Lilly leave
right away. Jax and I have more time, so we make preparations in stealth. If Beau catches even a whisper of what we’re up to, he’ll find a way to stop us. Or so says Lilly.

We head out to the workshop where Marcus is bent over the bench top. Pieces of a gadget cover his workspace. He’s so confident here. There’s no sign of the awkward, nerdy guy who eats with us at dinner. He’s comfortable in his domain, surrounded by his tech and tools. Marcus doesn’t look up when we walk through the door. “Hope Will knows what he’s doing, taking my bike like that. I mean, he’d better be a good rider.”

“Sure is. He’s owned a bike for years. We used to spend every weekend riding.” When we were younger, his dad used to drive us to the reserve on the outskirts of town, and we’d spend all day riding through the brush. I’d sit behind him with the air rushing through my hair, free from the pain of Mom’s disappearance.

“A dirt bike’s not the same,” Marcus says, his cheek caving in like he chews it.

He’s right. It’s nothing like the speedy muscle bike Jax and I rode to my house, but Will’s a good rider. “It was only before he got a license. He’s ridden a road bike for the past year.”

“Good, he’d better bring it back in one piece. Where’s he off to anyway?”

I look to Jax, but he’s rifling through the large metal locker, not listening at all. I’m not sure if I should trust Marcus. If he’ll snitch on us to Beau or not. He raises his brows and stares at me, waiting for an answer. “Umm, he’s taking Lilly to town.”

He shoots me a disapproving look. “Don’t lie. You’re all going after your father, aren’t you?”

He knows. I can’t hide it. “Please don’t tell Beau.”

He yanks tiny parts out of the gadget, and looks up out of the corner of his eye with a shy smile. “You can trust me. You should take these.”

He pulls some strange-looking fabric out of a small drawstring bag. When he holds it up, it falls into the shape of a one-piece suit. It’s kind of tan, like the color of Lilly’s skin, and looks like fishnet stockings, only the diamond-shaped holes are much larger. Tiny, raised half-spheres sit at each join of the silky threads.

“What is it?”

“I only have three.” He stuffs it back into the bag. “They’re called protect-its. Jax knows how they work.”

He hands me the package. This must be one of the protective suits Jax mentioned. “Thanks.”

“I’m actually after a couple of telcoms,” Jax says from over by the cabinet. He’s examining a thick black stick and shoves it into his canvas backpack.

“I have four.” Marcus retreats to a cupboard at the back of the room.

“Perfect. What’s Will’s weapon of choice?”

Jax stuffs a dagger into the bag. He tugs at the zipper, but he’s piled so much in, it won’t close. I can’t help but stifle a small laugh, at the bag and at the thought of Will having a favorite weapon. The thought feels a little alien.

“I don’t know. He’s never needed one, and I haven’t noticed what he uses in training with Sam.”

“You should take Mae’s cover-up as well,” Marcus says.

The brooch is pinned to the inside of my warm woolen coat.  I smile to myself and reach for the pendant which never leaves my neck. “Got it.”

Marcus pats Jax on the back. “Good luck.”

Jax tosses the dark bag under a table in the hall on our way to the kitchen. It’s too early to leave yet, so we may as well fill our stomachs. Surely full is better than empty. A coffee percolator gurgles on the bench and the smell, oh, the divine smell. He scarfs down a banana in two bites while I’m still holding the coffee pot in my hand. Twisted tangles of nerves fill my belly, leaving no room for food.

“How can you eat?” I ask.

A second banana disappears into his mouth. “I’m a growing boy,” he says around a mouthful. He tries to smile, but it comes out lopsided.

“Disgusting. Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

“Eat.”

He shoves a plate of cold pancakes
—no doubt breakfast leftovers—into my hand. Their sweet smell makes my stomach roil. “We’ve still got plenty of time to kill.” He flips pancakes from a pile beside the stove onto another plate. It’s too late for breakfast; it’s nearly lunchtime. Someone must be making them for lunch.

“Are we stealing someone’s lunch?”

I drop the plate onto the bench. He picks it up and pushes it back into my hand.

“You’re as bad as Dudley.”

With nothing more than a look, I take it. We enter the dining room with plates piled high and mugs steaming with coffee.

Beau and his team are still hard at work. Not doing anything. It’s been hours since I confronted them, and they’re still sitting here with paper sprawled out, pretending to help. We were right to take action. I exchange a quick look with Jax as we take a seat on the opposite end of the long table.

Jax shovels pancakes into his mouth while I slide them around my plate, not hungry at all. Tilting my head to the side, I strain as hard as I can to hear.

Nothing.

Only a dull murmur. They talk way too quietly. Sighing, I slouch in my chair. My stomach feels sick and heavy, like I’ve eaten too much, but I haven’t swallowed a bite all day.

They finally leave; maybe Beau’s tired of me staring. It’s time for us to go too. Jax grabs the bag from under the table, and we stride down the hall to the staircase leading to the basement. When we move onto the stairs a chill runs across the back of my neck. It could be the cool damp air, or it could be the dank, musty smell, or it could just be my nerves. I flick my collar up and pull my coat around me, glad to have one this time. On the last step my breath holds, stalling in my lungs. Who’s going to be there? Hopefully
we will get around them. At least it’s not Beau.

We step into the empty basement. The lights on the scanner are flashing, but no one watches, which is really weird. Oh well, it works in our favor. Air rushes between my lips.

“I thought you said there’s always someone on duty.”

“Hmm, it is a bit odd.”

Jax goes straight to the computer and clicks at the keyboard with his head cocked to the side, setting the address of our destination. Chestnut locks fall in his face and brush his cheeks. His shoulders and arms curve and divot in perfect muscles as he works at the keyboard. I wonder what it’s like to touch them, what it would feel like to run my hands over them. I snap my slack mouth shut just before he turns around and meets my gaze. My cheeks burn, and my gaze falls.

“Okay, we’re ready.” He passes me the drawstring bag containing the port bands.

“You wear them this time.”

He shakes his head. “No. You might need to get your dad out quickly.”

He’s right. Dad’s the priority. I pull the bands over my wrists, making sure the nodes sit flush against my skin. “This time stay within arm’s reach,” I say, knowing he won’t.

He doesn’t answer, just graces me with a lopsided smile.

I move to the red circle in the center of the port-all mat. Jax throws the canvas bag over his shoulder and moves toward me, hands outstretched. I give him a small, uncertain smile and take his hands in mine. The warmth of his palms against mine shoots a tingle through me. He doesn’t squeeze, so neither do I.