Replica (20 page)

Last night, Nate had ventured into the Basement wearing the tracker Nadia had planted on him. She hoped for everyone’s sake he’d had no more success finding Bishop last night than he had the night before. She hoped he hadn’t even come
close
to making progress. Which was certainly possible. Surely Bishop was more skilled at navigating the murky waters of the Basement than Nate was. Surely he would make himself so hard to find that an amateur like Nate would have no chance.

But even if nothing bad happened to Bishop or any of the Basement unfortunates Nate had talked to, she would still have to find a way to live with what she had done, what she had chosen.

“You had no choice,” she told herself, giving her image in the mirror a fierce glare.

But, of course, she
had
had choices. She could have chosen to tell Nate the truth. Or she could have appealed to her parents for help. Maybe she was wrong, and Nate
wouldn’t
have lost his temper and insisted on confronting Mosely. Maybe her parents
would
have found another way out, would have been willing to face down Mosely’s threats in the name of doing the right thing.

“Stop it!” she said out loud, still glaring at herself.

Second-, third-, and fourth-guessing herself wasn’t going to help. She’d made the best decision she could under the circumstances, and there was no use crying about it now.

Nadia couldn’t face a formal breakfast with her parents this morning, so she rang for a tray instead. Breakfast in bed was a rare indulgence for her, but if anyone asked, she would claim she was still a little under the weather from her bout with the flu.

To forestall any immediate questions, Nadia made sure to be in the bathroom when the tray arrived, and she called out to the maid to leave the tray on the bed. “Your phone is ringing,” the maid informed her, but Nadia didn’t care. She didn’t venture out of the bathroom until she’d heard the bedroom door close behind the maid.

The scent of eggs and bacon made Nadia’s stomach rumble longingly, but her hunger died when she glanced at her phone and realized the call she had missed was from Mosely. Worse, he had left a message.

Nadia wished she could ignore the message and eat her breakfast in peace, but she knew she’d never be able to choke her food down while worrying about what Mosely had to say. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that at least he couldn’t hurt her over the phone.

Gritting her teeth in anticipation—these days, even hearing his voice was an ordeal—she played the message. It was brief and to the point. And it nearly stopped her heart.

“Nathaniel wore the tracker into the Basement last night. Approximately two hours after he entered the Basement, the tracker stopped transmitting. Find out what happened.”

Nadia hugged herself, trying to remain calm. Her first thought was that Nate had discovered the tracker and disposed of it, but she knew that couldn’t be. If he’d found the tracker, he would know, or at least suspect, that she had put it there, and it was
him
she would have heard from, not Mosely. He’d have been so furious he’d probably have called her in the middle of the night to tell her what he thought of her.

But if Nate hadn’t found the tracker himself, that meant someone else had. The locket meant more to him than anything in the world—and it also hid his greatest secret. He wouldn’t let anyone touch it. Not voluntarily, at least. But someone obviously had; someone in the Basement; someone dangerous; someone who would have had to have hurt or even killed Nate to get to it.

Nadia grabbed for the phone and called Nate’s personal number, her hands shaking so hard it took three tries. Nate had been taking his life in his hands by asking questions in the Basement. She didn’t even want to
think
about what might have happened to him when some Basement-dweller found a tracker on him.

“Oh please, please, please be all right,” she mumbled to herself as she listened to the phone ring. She almost screamed in frustration when her call went to voice mail. She tried again, even knowing it was futile. A whimper rose from her throat when voice mail picked up immediately.

There was a soft knock on her door. “Do you need anything else, miss?” a maid’s voice asked.

“No!” Nadia said, fear making her voice sharp. She tried to soften her tone, but didn’t have much success as her heart continued to pound in her chest and her stomach upped its rebellious churning. “I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“Very good, miss,” the maid said, sounding stiff and insulted. Nadia was usually much more polite to the servants than this, and she reminded herself to apologize later, when she was in her right mind. Assuming she’d ever be in her right mind again. She darted to the bedroom door and locked it while she tried Nate’s land line. Unlike his personal cell, that number went through to the security desk at his apartment, and Nadia had to fight her way through a human barricade, becoming more frantic with each transfer, until the phone in his apartment rang. Of course, even that wasn’t enough to actually put her through to Nate, and it was his butler who picked up.

“This is Nadia Lake,” she said, “and I need to speak to Nate
right now
!” She practically shouted the words, terrified that Nate was once again lying dead, this time somewhere in the Basement. The thought that the Chairman could simply create another Replica if this one was dead was no comfort.

“He hasn’t risen yet this morning, Miss Lake,” the butler said, sounding taken aback by her near hysteria. “Is this urgent?”

Nadia swallowed hard to stop herself from answering with Nate-like sarcasm. “Yes, it’s very, very urgent,” she said with exaggerated care. “Please wake him up.” Feeling like an immature little girl, she crossed her fingers and prayed he was there to be awakened.

“One moment please,” the butler said, and she wanted to punch something as he put her on hold.

She was in danger of hyperventilating, so she forced herself to sit down on the edge of her bed, close her eyes, and take a few deep breaths. It was embarrassingly hard to manage. When the phone line went live again and Nate’s crusty-sounding voice said “Nadia?” she burst into tears.

“Nadia!” he said in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

What was wrong was she was an idiot, she thought as the tears continued to stream from her eyes and her throat squeezed so tight she couldn’t talk. She’d let her fear for Nate run away with her, calling him without once pausing to think about what she would say if she reached him. She had no good way to explain why she’d been so frantic and why she was bawling like a baby now.

“I was—” she hiccuped, then had to pause a moment to let another wave of sniffles pass over her. “Worried about you,” she finished lamely, swiping at her swimming eyes and shaking her head at herself. Surely Mosely had had people following Nate last night, thanks to the tracker. If Nate had been killed, Mosely would have known it and wouldn’t have ordered her to find out what happened. Her guilty conscience had made her leap to the most guilt-inducing conclusion, and she had acted without thinking.

Even if the worst hadn’t happened, she knew her fears for Nate hadn’t been completely unfounded. There was no way he would have let someone open his locket without a fight.

“Are you all right?” she asked, glad to hear that her voice at least
sounded
a little calmer.

Nate hesitated before answering, and Nadia couldn’t help thinking she was acting strange enough that even someone as generally oblivious as he had to be wondering what was wrong with her.

“Why do you sound so worried?” he asked. “They told me you were nearly hysterical.”

Yes, of course they had. And she’d confirmed it by bursting into tears when he answered the phone. Of course, she also noticed that he hadn’t answered her question. Was it possible he knew about the tracker after all?

Nadia dismissed that thought with an impatient shake of her head. Nate was not a subtle person. If he was pissed at her about something, he’d come right out and say it. But it wasn’t as if she could explain any of that to Nate. Not unless she were willing to come clean and tell him the truth.

“I just … had a bad feeling,” she said, and almost started crying again because the lie was so lame. And because she was so sick of lying. Her head felt thick and sluggish, and she was utterly exhausted from the aftermath of all that adrenaline flooding her system.

“What aren’t you telling me?” There was more than a hint of suspicion in his voice now, and she couldn’t imagine how she could come up with a satisfying explanation for her behavior. Her throat was so tight and achy she couldn’t force any words out. Her mind flailed for a plausible explanation even as waves of guilt and self-loathing crashed over her.

“I think you have some explaining to do,” Nate said into the silence, and there was a distinct chill in his voice.

She let out a shuddering sigh. “Yes, I do,” she said, though she still had no idea what to tell him. The best she could do was stall for time and hope she could find a way to explain away her behavior. “It’s not something I want to talk about on the phone. Can I come over?”

Nate cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, a little under the weather,” he hedged.

She swallowed to keep from asking him what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t answer. “Can I come over anyway? I really, really think we need to talk. In person.”

Nate made a sound between a groan and a grunt. “Okay. I’ll get myself out of bed as soon as I find a crowbar.”

His quip struck a false note, the tightness in his voice belying his attempt at humor. Nadia closed her eyes, dreading what that tightness portended.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said, then hung up the phone before she started crying again.

*   *   *

After
getting off the phone with Nate, Nadia couldn’t force herself to eat. The scent of eggs that had been enticing only a few minutes ago now made her stomach turn.

Unfortunately, leaving the tray untouched would inspire questions she didn’t want to answer—and would insult the entire kitchen staff—so she had to at least make it
look
like she’d eaten. What was one more lie, after so many?

Nadia lifted the dome off her plate, eying its contents and wondering if she could flush them without clogging the toilet. The eggs and bacon would go down easily enough, but she’d have to tear up the toast. She unrolled her napkin to get a knife to use to scrape the plate.

Something dropped out of the napkin before Nadia had even reached the silverware. It hit the side of the tray and bounced to the floor. Frowning, Nadia put the napkin down and slid off the bed, bending to pick up the little envelope that had fallen.

The envelope was unsealed, and there was a hard lump in its center. Mystified as to what it was and how it had gotten into her napkin, Nadia opened the envelope and shook its contents onto her palm. She unfolded the torn piece of paper that fell out and found a familiar piece of circuitry in its center—the tracker she had planted in Nate’s locket, now crushed and broken.

There was a message printed on the paper in big block letters, the handwriting awkward and childlike: MAK HIM STOP LOKING 4 ME OR ILL TEL.

There was no signature, but then there didn’t need to be. There was only one person it could be from.

“What the hell…?” Nadia muttered as she stared at the tracker and the note. How had
Bishop,
of all people, gotten hold of the tracker? Surely if he and Nate had been reunited last night, Nate would have mentioned it. And if
Bishop
knew about the tracker, then shouldn’t
Nate
know about it, too? But there was no way he’d have been half so civil on the phone if that were the case. Nor would Bishop be threatening her with exposure, come to think of it.

She couldn’t lie to Nate anymore, she realized in a moment of startling, breathtaking clarity. There was no story she could concoct to explain her behavior this morning. No story he’d believe, anyway, not after she’d roused his suspicions as thoroughly as she had. If she kept lying to him and he knew it, then that would be the end of their friendship. He wouldn’t be able to trust her anymore, and you couldn’t have a real friendship without trust.

So her choices were to tell him the truth and lose his trust or to lie to him and lose his trust anyway. And whichever way she lost his trust, she was never going to win it back.

Taking a steadying breath, Nadia came to a decision. If she was going to lose Nate’s friendship no matter what, she’d rather do it by telling the truth. No matter how much that truth was going to hurt or what it might cost her.

*   *   *

Nate
felt like he’d been run over by a truck. Several, actually. And it wasn’t that far from the truth.

Dragging himself home from Debasement last night had been torture of an epic level. Angel’s thugs had worked him over so thoroughly that it hurt even to breathe, and Nate had been half convinced he was going to pass out and be trampled as he dragged himself out of the private room and through the jostling crowd outside. He hadn’t seen Angel again, but he had noticed several of the bouncers keeping an eye on him, and he had no doubt if he didn’t get out as fast as they wanted, they’d be doing the fists-and-feet tango again.

He’d swallowed a handful of aspirin before collapsing into bed once he got home, but they barely even took the edge off the pain. A handful of hours of fitful sleep had served to make every muscle in his body stiffen up, but when he examined himself in the mirror before taking a shower, he saw very little evidence of what he’d been through last night. There was some mottled bruising around his ribs and lower back, but nothing that looked like it should hurt half as much as it did. And as far as he could tell, nothing was broken. At least he wouldn’t have to go to the hospital and try to manufacture an explanation for his injuries.

The shower loosened up his stiff muscles, and Nate self-medicated with another handful of aspirin and a double espresso. Then he dressed in pajamas and a robe while he waited for Nadia to arrive.