Outcasts (23 page)

Otley slapped his hand on the tabletop. “Pay attention, rat. You’ve been here since returning from task yesterday?”

“I have.”

Otley’s yellow eyes pinned Mason. “Can anyone verify that?”

“The doorman.”

“The doorman can verify that you were in your apartment all night?” Otley raised one eyebrow. “Was the doorman with you?

“Of course not. I spoke with him when I passed through the lobby. Probably around six fifteen.”

“You know Ciddah Rourke?” Otley asked.

Her name made him flush with the memory of their kiss. “Yes, she’s my — was my task director in the SC.”

“Have you ever paired up with Miss Rourke?” The question was intrusive, but with Otley’s growling voice, it seemed downright mean.

“No.” For some reason Mason looked at the lie detector. Green.

“Miss Rourke claims otherwise.”

What? “She does?” Why would Ciddah say such a thing?

“She said that you and she are almost lifers.”

She did? “After one date?” Mason doubted any man was
that
good at wooing a woman. “Did you use the lie detector on her?”

Bron chuckled and covered his mouth with his hand.

“Let me ask you this, Mr. Elias,” Otley said. “Do you know a Droe Rivan or Losira Kent?”

“Never heard of them.”

“They’re Ciddah Rourke’s donors,” Otley said. “You would call them parents.”

A chill gripped Mason’s arms. What was Ciddah up to?

“Did you know that the ACT treatment differs per patient?” Otley said. “What I take and what Medic Yarel takes are different.”

Mason considered this. “Because of your different body weights?”

“Partly,” Yarel said. “And also because each person has an infinitely different strain. The virus mutates within us, and depending on our DNA, it affects us differently.”

“The materials stolen from the Pharmco are a match for Losira Kent and Droe Rivan,” Otley said.

Ciddah’s parents were sick? Possibly sicker than most Safe Landers? Emotions fought for precedence in Mason’s heart. He felt bad that her parents were suffering. But she had reassigned Mason to the pharmacy the day the vials went missing. It was too convenient to be mere coincidence. Every time he got close to that woman, she did something to push him away. This was his own fault. He’d never been a regular man getting to know a regular woman. He’d been trying to get information from Ciddah, so how did she keep managing to use him first? “It sounds like you should be questioning Ciddah.”

“We have. She claims to know nothing about any of this. And she
has an alibi for last night.” Otley smiled, and his teeth were surprisingly white. “For the
entire
night.”

That didn’t mean she’d been with a man. It didn’t. And … “Did you use this thing on Ciddah and her alibi? Maybe they’re the ones lying.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, little rat. I think
you’re
lying. I think Ciddah told you her donors weren’t doing well, that they were too sick to task and planned to go into hiding, and that they needed to take treatment with them. I think you wanted to help them — to help her. Why not admit it?”

“I admit nothing.” Mason was angry now but reminded himself of his company. General Otley was not an honest man. This could be some sort of trap. But that theory didn’t ease his fury.

Otley circled around half of the kitchen table until he was standing directly across from Mason. “Do you care for Ciddah?”

“Of course. She’s a nice … person.” When she wasn’t yelling at him for defending his people. Or framing him for theft.

Otley leaned on the table with both hands, which made it creak and tip toward him. “Do you
love her
?”

Seriously? “How is such a question relevant to stolen pharmaceuticals?”

“It goes to motive, little rat. A man will do anything for the woman he loves.”

Even in the Safe Lands? “Well, I
like
Ciddah very much. But I wouldn’t steal — ”

“Do you love her — yes or no?”

Love. How could he love a woman he couldn’t trust? “No,” Mason said, determined that it was the truth.

But the bulb on the far left flashed red.

Mason’s eyes bulged, staring at the tiny pinprick of crimson. How could a machine know something he didn’t even know himself?

Otley laughed and straightened, and the table creaked back to a level state. “Surprised? Femmes will mess with your head if you’re not
careful. Now, tell me you stole those missing vials, and we’ll be done here.”

“I didn’t.”

Green light.

“Did you give them to Ciddah when you were tasking there?”

“No.”

“Did she ask you to leave them somewhere?”

“No.”

“Did she tell you she planned to steal them herself?”

“No.”

Otley walked back to Mason’s side. “If she came to you tomorrow and asked you to steal them, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Green. Good. Mason stared up at Otley.

“All right, rat. All right.”

An enforcer walked up and handed Otley the MiniComm Ciddah had placed in Mason’s apartment. Otley held it up for Mason to see. “Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a MiniComm.” Green light.

“And what does a MiniComm do?”

“Records?” The center bulb flashed orange. “What’s that mean, an orange light?”

“It means you’re guessing,” Otley said. “That you don’t know either way.”

“That’s incredible! How does this device work?”

“Focus, little rat,” Otley said. “How did the MiniComm get here?”

“I don’t know.” Red light.

Otley raised his eyebrows and waited.

Mason released a long sigh. “Ciddah put it there. At least I think she did. I didn’t see her do it.”

“So she was here? When?”

“The morning after Kendall Collin gave birth.”

“This has been here for over a month and you knew it and you left it be? Why?”

Mason leaned his elbows on the table. “I didn’t want Ciddah to get in trouble.” Red light.

“Try again.”

“I don’t know.” Red light.

“Third time rings bells, rat.”

“Because I didn’t want whoever was listening to know I’d found it.” Green.

“Why not?”

“Because it would make me look … subversive. Like I had something to hide.” Green.

“Do you?”

Mason thought about how to answer that. “Don’t we all?”

That was the end of the lie detector questioning. The search went on for another half hour. Mason sat at the table watching. He had so few things, he didn’t know what was taking them so long. Otley asked him about the gloves Levi had given him to hold his SimTag when he wasn’t at work and why he had two handheld Wyndos, to which Mason answered, “Winter is coming and I wanted an upgrade.”

Otley merely grunted.

When they finally left, carting out bags of “evidence,” Mason went to look for his things and found that his portable Wyndos and the gloves were gone. If anything else was missing, he couldn’t remember.

He put the couch back together and sat down, staring at the dark Wyndo wall screen. “Wyndo: power. Grid: locate: Ciddah Rourke: ID#7 – 69 – 23.”

The Safe Lands logo rotated while the Wyndo worked, then Ciddah’s face filled the left side of the screen. It was a nice picture. She’d been smiling and looking at the camera, which made it feel like she was smiling at him. He glanced at the map to the right of her picture. It showed downtown Highlands. The pulsing orange dot showed Ciddah’s location was in City Hall. Text to the side said: “Surrogacy Center.”

He looked to her face again and fell back against the couch cushions. He should have known better. It seemed as though she had betrayed him yet again.

F
rom the moment Otley left his apartment until the time of Saturday night’s date, Mason agonized over how to handle the situation with Ciddah. If it was true, and the enforcers really had questioned Ciddah first, she must know that they would have come after him. Should he tap her and cancel? Confront her over the Wyndo? Or continue with the date as planned, pretend to know nothing? Did she even expect him to show up? Maybe she thought he’d be in prison. What if he went down to her apartment to meet her and she was off with her
alibi
, celebrating Mason’s demise?

Her alibi had better not be Lawten.

One consolation in all this was that Zane’s off-grid Wyndo couldn’t be tracked. The auto-delete feature cleared the memory instantly after every use. Mason had taken a trip to the Midlands last night to warn everyone not to tap him at that number anymore, and Zane had given him a new off-grid Wyndo and an emergency ghoulie tag in a tiny metal box. Then he’d come back with Mason to check his place for any new MiniComms that might have been left by Otley’s people. Zane had found two, so that, at least, was something Mason needn’t worry about now.

Ciddah was still a problem.

Since he’d already arranged most of the evening, he decided to pretend nothing was amiss — at first. Rather than going to the roof, now that the MiniComms were gone, Mason set his kitchen table — moved to the living room — for dinner, and put on the suit he’d rented. His only post-interrogation purchase was a dozen red roses, one of which he would give to her. If he could get her into his apartment thinking all was well, he’d have a better chance of conducting his own interrogation.

Tonight Mason would finally get some answers from Ciddah Rourke.

When the time came, he went down to her apartment and rang her bell. The door opened, and Ciddah smiled at him and stepped out, resplendent in a short, fitted red dress and matching high-heeled shoes. Even her lips had been painted to match.

Red, he decided at that very moment, was Ciddah’s color.

Her gaze took him in as well. “Walls, you look good! Oh, thank you.” She took his proffered rose into her apartment, and again Mason heard water running as Ciddah most likely put the flower in a vase.

He reminded himself that her beauty was irrelevant. He must maintain control of the evening’s events and discover once and for all if Ciddah Rourke could be trusted.

She returned and closed the door. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet? Or is it a surprise like last time?”

“We’re going to my apartment.” Mason offered her his hand, and she took hold of it, her nearness shrouding him in the scent of vanilla and cinnamon. That and her touch made him want to pretend that Otley’s visit had never happened. As they made their way to the elevator, Mason considered that this evening would be harder than he had originally anticipated.

She tugged on his hand. “And what are we going to do at your apartment?”

Her suggestive tone strengthened Mason’s resolve and reminded him that this woman was very likely his enemy. “Eat and talk.”

“About safe topics?”

He thought about how to answer that without scaring her away. “Perhaps.”

They got on the elevator and Mason pressed the button for five. It was difficult, trying to remain calm in light of Otley’s interrogation. He wanted to confront her now, yet her touch — merely being in her presence — completely flustered him. So he reminded himself that he did not yet have proof that she was guilty of any wrongdoing. At this point, everything was circumstantial.

Yet the window of doubt for her innocence was microscopic.

“I’ve missed you in the SC,” she said as they got off on the fifth floor. “Zolan is capable, but I have to tell him everything twice. Plus he’s older than me, and I don’t think he likes working under a female.”

“Is he noncompliant?” Mason asked.

“No, it’s just his attitude, I guess. He’s not friendly, like you.”

Friendly. Little did she know he was leading her into his cage. He opened the door to his apartment and held it for her. She walked inside and oohed at the sight of his preparations. It had taken him all afternoon, but he’d turned his living room into a private restaurant. The table was covered in the white tablecloth he’d planned to use as a blanket on the roof. He’d set out the special dishes and filled the vase with the remaining eleven red roses for the table, found orchestra music to play on his Wyndo wall screen, and programmed the picture Wyndos, which usually looked out onto the Safe Lands, to show a thick forest. That likely made him feel more at home than it did her, but she seemed pleased.

“Did you cook too?” she asked.

“I did not. I felt it unwise to risk my own cooking skills on such a special occasion. If you’d like me to cook for you some other time, I’m happy to oblige, though you might consider having something ready to eat in your apartment when you get home, just in case things were to go badly.”

“I can’t imagine they would. Mason, I don’t think it’s possible for you to fail at anything.”

He tried not to let her words gratify him, but his pride absorbed
her compliment like a sponge did water. He pulled out her chair and helped her sit.

Her gaze followed him as he walked to his seat. “So what are we eating tonight?”

“First we have an appetizer of roasted red beet hummus. Then a potato leek soup, followed by persimmon caprese salad. Then for our main course, I am serving butternut squash and pear ravioli with rosemary sauce. And then, if you are still hungry, a maple and cranberry crème brulée.”

“That sounds amazing. Where did you get it?”

“Le Nuit.”

She gasped and scooted to the edge of her chair, her electric-blue eyes practically glowing. “How? They only seat ten couples a night. I don’t believe they let you order takeout.”

Mason shrugged off her question. “Whether or not you believe does not alter the facts.” A comment that Mason felt encapsulated most of their differences.

He served the dinner course by course. It was agonizing to wait so long to broach the topic of the ACT meds, but he had put a lot of effort into making this night perfect. He figured, the happier she was, the more apt she might be to answer truthfully.

When the dessert course came and Ciddah was humming delightedly over her crème brulée, Mason attacked.

“Ciddah, I have some questions to ask you, and I would be very thankful if you told me the entire truth.”

“If I can,” she said, taking another bite.