Revive (20 page)

I don't know why those are the words I settle on. They have nothing to do with the reason Cole brought me here. But I think it's because I need an explanation for my fear, one that has nothing to do with the truth.

“That sounds ominous,” Cole says.

“No kidding.” I raise my head at last, hoping I've derailed the conversation. Derailed the truth. I can't stand anything else being out of my control.

Cole scratches his head. “Look at it this way, your mission was to find and protect X. If you found them, and the others looking for X tried to capture them before we could get them out of there, would you risk your life defending them?”

“That goes with the job.”

“Right. So then?” He raises an eyebrow. “How is this different?”

“Yeah, well, when you put it like that, I feel kind of stupid and selfish for worrying. Why do you have to be so much smarter than me?” I punch his chest lightly.

He pretends to punch me back. “That's why I'm your unit leader. I'm here to talk sense into the rest of you. But you're not stupid, Sev. You're just dealing with a lot right now, but you're going to be okay. Trust me.”

“I always trust you, fearless leader.” It's true.

“Good.” Then he puts his hand on my cheek and kisses me, just like he did the morning before I left. And like I did that morning, I panic all over again.

Cole's hand on my face is firm, but I'm not. I'm breaking in two. If he wasn't holding me up, I'd collapse to the dirt. Sev severed. How fitting.

The taste of his lips is slightly salty but in a pleasant way, and he slides his left arm around me, pulling me close. I can feel every contour of his body against mine, and it feels so good. So right yet so very wrong. I want to press myself closer, and I want to run away.

“I missed you so much while you were gone,” Cole murmurs into my skin. His hand caresses my cheek, and he drapes his kisses lower. Slow but hungry, like he's holding back because he knows how fragile I am.

He brushes my chin, my throat. I hold my breath.

My eyes close, and every muscle in me tenses with anticipation. I wrap my hands around his shirt, but I can't do more because I remember pulling off Kyle's shirt the same way. Lying on his bed, my hands running down his naked back. His lips trailing over my stomach.

My heart pounds with fear and guilt. I love Cole, but not like this. Not like Kyle. Even though my body responds to Cole's touch in defiance of my heart, it's wrong. So wrong I could cry because I shouldn't care about either of them this way. I shouldn't have kissed either of them.

“We can't do this.” Gasping, I pull away, hating that Cole's warmed me from head to feet. Hating that I want him to refuse to let go, to keep kissing me and make me give in. “It's not right.”

Cole catches his breath, nose pressed to my forehead, dividing my face down the center and pushing open the rift I feel. His exhale hangs in the air between us like smoke. “No, it's not.”

Then he kisses me again with more urgency. Because he doesn't understand. And it's unfair to expect him to when I don't dare explain.

Chapter Twenty

One Week Ago

“I'm good.” I turn on the lamp over my bed.

Across the room, Audrey points to the clock and silently giggles. Every Sunday at eight my “dad” calls. Like clockwork. Like the meeting it is.

“We need to discuss your next phase,” Malone says in my ear.

“Okay, but I really need to work on this philosophy paper tonight. I'm drowning in work.”

I'm drowning in work. That's code for: roommate present. Usually Audrey spends Sunday evening in the floor lounge where she can collaborate on homework with others. But tonight, she has to listen to recordings for French class, and she said it was too noisy.

This is a problem.

“Can you leave the room?”

“Not easily.” The lounge is crowded too, and I can't go anywhere else at this time of night. The library closes early on Sunday evening, and a cold rain is falling outside.

“All right. I'll text you instead.”

I flop on my pillow and boot my laptop. “Yes, Dad… I'll email you this week instead… Uh-huh. Love you too.” I hang up and open the mission database on my laptop, wondering what the next phase is going to entail.

“He's so cute,” Audrey says, taking out one of her earbuds. “My dad never wants to talk to me. Only my mom.”

I roll my eyes. “He's so punctual, you mean.”

Audrey giggles and puts the earbud back in. I chew on a pen cap because I'm jealous that Audrey has a mom who likes to talk to her. When she turned twenty last week, her mom sent her a cheesecake in the mail.

A cheesecake!

Audrey shared it with me and a couple other people. It was the first time I'd had cheesecake, which no one could believe, and when I discovered that was strange, I made up some excuse about my parents being lactose intolerant.

The point is: it made me more jealous than ever of Audrey's family. Her normality. She has two parents, divorced; two stepparents, neither one evil; one sister and one brother, twins, still in high school; a dog; two cats; and a huge extended family.

I have one fake dad, who's actually the man in charge of RedZone, a private intelligence training and research company. I also have a unit. And though my unit members are like brothers and sisters—Cole's feelings for me aside—I sometimes wonder what a normal family would be like. It's strange to think about all the things I've been denied. I thought everyone else in the world was weird until this mission required I live among everyone else.

That made me realize I'm weird.

Actually, no. It made me realize how incredibly screwed up I am. Screwed up in ways that are going to haunt me for the rest of my life, the duration of which I've probably made shorter than ever by my recent actions.

My phone jingles with a text.
Good work narrowing the list down to 46.

Audrey laughs. “You're not going to get any work done tonight, are you?”

I groan and open my philosophy notes. “Doesn't look that way.” When she goes back to her French homework, I turn my phone's volume to silent.

You have the dance coming up on Friday, correct?

Y

There might be an opportunity there. A lot of the names on your list cross-check with those who you think are going.

I frown, hoping Audrey assumes my paper is troubling me. Opportunity? That doesn't sound good.

It would be an ideal time to cause another accident and observe the effects. You could eliminate a good part of the list in one night.

My neck prickles. An accident? What does Malone want me to do—set off a bomb in the hotel? That's not a rhetorical question. Unfortunately for Malone, I'm not hurting any more innocent people.

I don't have any more AC.

Like that's an issue if AnChlor is what he's thinking. He'll simply have some delivered to me this week. So I add to my excuse:
Not sure anything's feasible. Too risky. What if X not attending? What if parents freak and pull kids from school? Have seen no evidence of X being in imminent danger. Best to continue as is.

I glance at Audrey as I hit “send”, but she's engrossed in her work, transcribing whatever French phrases she's listening to.

Malone writes back a moment later:
We received new intel. Threat to X might be closer than we thought. This is taking too long. I indulged your conscience once, but we're running out of time.

I read this a couple times, my stomach knotting. My fingers shake as I type my response.
What intel? What should I be aware of?

Good thing I have my secondary plan already in place. In theory, Malone should be proud of my ingenuity, although that seems unlikely under the circumstances.

I'll send report later. Remember, this is an issue of national security. Sometimes we must make sacrifices to save many. If this group gets their hands on X, it won't just be his or her life in danger.

What's crazy is that before I spent three months at RTC, I wouldn't have thought twice about any of this. People were targets or objectives or enemies or obstacles. I believed in my higher purpose unquestionably. If Malone told me to bomb an athletic team's formal for the greater good, I'd have done it.

No wonder Fitzpatrick threatened to wipe my memories. She called me corrupted, but I think it's more like my brain's been infected. The real world is a virus overwriting all my programming. What's even crazier is that I used to wish I were more CY than HY. Before I came here, I had no idea just how CY I really was.

Oh what a tangled web we weave

When first we practice to deceive.

Not only do poor Sir Walter Scott's lines often get misattributed to Shakespeare, but they weren't even that brilliant to begin with. But then, Sir Walter Scott never worked for RedZone.

What I've discovered since coming to RTC: lies can make things simple.

Another text from Malone:
Gas explosions happen.

Yeah, and gas explosions aren't the only things that happen. My Sophia life is imploding around me. I need to step up my plan before Malone decides to blow away discretion—literally—and tells me to go on a shooting rampage on campus.

Understood. Will consider all options.

Good. We're all counting on you.

I fight the instinct to toss my phone, which would garner me unwanted attention from Audrey, and instead place it gently on my pillow as if it's an explosive device itself. Before I can turn my attention back to my database, however, another text from Malone arrives.

Don't forget to send pics in your dress. Your unit will love to see them.

I fall back against the wall and my head bangs the wood. It takes me a few minutes before I can respond to Malone. Sometimes, there are no appropriate words.

Chapter Twenty-One

Friday Night: Two Days Ago

December it might be, but with the men's and women's track teams, the soccer team, and a few other teams contributing for good measure—plus their dates—all packed into the hotel ballroom, the temperature is sweltering. I'm not too bad off in my strapless dress, but the guys are dying. Every chair in the room is covered in a sports coat, each tossed on whichever one was the most convenient at the time because close to half the crowd is drunk. Most illegally. I wonder if Kyle will ever be able to find his jacket again.

The current song ends, and the DJ morphs the final note into some new techno-ish mix. I wrinkle my nose, which, apparently, is the sign Kyle's been waiting for.

“Drink?” he asks.

Nodding, I pull loose strands of hair off my neck and follow him.

We look like we belong together. He wears this pale green dress shirt that complements my peach dress, and a tie with green, peach and black in it. Normally, Kyle's favorite clothes include jeans with ripped knees and T-shirts layered over thermals. I had no idea how well he could clean up.

Cute, smart, funny and mine. Well, Sophia's. And I am not Sophia, no matter how much I want to be. I'm a lie, and Kyle deserves better.

It hits me every now and then. Hits like a punch in the gut, the kind I'm not ready for when my stomach muscles are loose and the wind gets knocked from my lungs. Then, like a good punch in the gut should, it makes me want to crumple into a ball and cry.

This life I'm playing at. These people who think they know me. It's all a lie. Usually, this not-exactly-profound revelation comes when I'm having fun. It's as if an alarm sounds in my brain, reminding me of who and what I am. Almost like it was implanted, which maybe it was as some sort of system to prevent me from ever sympathizing or identifying with the enemy.

If so, its creators need to up their game because it's not working that great. Not only am I identifying with the people around me, I've fallen for someone who could be an enemy. Although Kyle's mystery has become less of a concern recently, displaced by my other issues, I'm still not sure what to make of him. I'm also not sure I should care.

Around me, happily normal people dance and talk. The lights spin in circles, and the fake snow and icicle decorations twinkle. Kyle squeezes my hand, and under those lights, I twinkle too. Just as fake.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, just warm.”

I push my guilt aside as we weave across the room. After all, it's not like Kyle's been overly eager to share his deepest secrets. For all we've hung out together, for all the snooping I've done, I know very little about him.

Don't get me wrong. I know plenty. We talk about classes and music and movies, the places he's been and the places I want to go. He shares funny stories about driving across Arizona in a car with failing AC during the summer, and how he used to want to be an astronaut and go to Mars until he puked the first time he rode a roller coaster.

I know his mom is a teacher, but I don't know of what. And I don't know if she's his biological mom or a stepmom or an adoptive mom, all of which would be useful clues, but which somehow Kyle manages to avoid discussing no matter how cleverly I bring up family. He turns those conversations right around and asks me about
my
family.

Every. Damn. Time.

That means I have to lie, and as every spy knows, the more lies you tell, the more likely you are to get caught in one. So instead we talk TV and food and what we want to be when we grow up. I tell him the same thing I told Audrey, and he tells me I shouldn't join the CIA because they're evil and he doesn't trust the government. He says he doesn't just want to be an ER doctor; he wants to be a doctor assigned to the orbiting “hotel” that's being built for the booming space-tourism industry. I tell him: see, I was right about you and the urge to fly, but I don't trust spaceships.

Kyle is very good at talking a lot about himself without saying anything. He's entertaining. I feel like I know him when the truth is I know nothing about him.

In that way, he's just like me.

Not good.

Of the forty-six people remaining on my list of possibilities for X, Kyle is the one I have the least useful information on despite the fact that I spend so much time with him. Despite the fact that I've been spying on him for weeks. That bugs me.

I don't want Kyle to be X, but I'm worried. Worried he is, and worried he's not. That instead, he truly
is
like me—someone posing here, digging for information that could get an innocent person killed. I'm not sure which of those scenarios would be worse.

Lost in my thoughts, I bump my shoulder on the door on the way out.

“Walk much?” Audrey asks. On the note of people who are still on my list for X, I hope it's not her either. She was my first non-unit friend, and all I've done is lie to her. Unlike Kyle, I'm certain Audrey is a good person. That makes me a crap person for deceiving her.

I turn and discover she and Chase are following me. “Need practice.”

Chase loosens his tie. “Or maybe you need to drink less.” His own breath is laden with illicit booze from the flask he snuck in. “Heat in there's gonna make us all fall asleep.”

Kyle hands me a cup of nonalcoholic punch, and the four of us wander away from the refreshments and into a deserted part of the lobby. We're not the only ones trying to escape the crowd or the heat.

Chase collapses onto the wide, old-fashioned windowsills along the back of the building. “No cooler out here? Seriously? Did someone get the furnace stuck on high or what?”

I inspect the ancient windows along the wall. They're narrow and metal with a locking mechanism along the sides. I flip the mechanism a few times and tug, but the window sticks. Dirt rubs off on my hands.

“That might work,” Kyle says. “Hold up, you'll get your dress all dirty.”

“I'm fine.”

He elbows me out of the way, and I elbow him back, but then step aside, settling for sticking my tongue out at him. I could probably force the window, but I shouldn't be showing off how strong I am. Not to mention, bending over like that is a bit risqué in a strapless dress.

Chase tries another window but doesn't fare any better than me. Meanwhile, Kyle rolls up his sleeves and gives the one I'd been working on a good yank. In a screech of metal, the casement shoots upward. Audrey and I clap as a gust of cold air rushes in.

Grinning, Kyle steps back and examines his hands, which are coated in black dirt. “Gross. These things probably haven't been opened since the hotel was built.” He sticks a hand back under the window and bends over, examining it.

I finish off my punch and throw our cups in the trash. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for a catch. There's nothing but friction keeping this thing from falling. Watch it crash and the glass break.”

“Dude, leave it be,” Chase says, struggling with another window. “Friction seems good enough.”

Naturally, that's when friction fails.

The window opened with lots of force and shrieking metal, but the change in temperature means it closes with the smoothness of butter. The glass rattles in its frame, but the metal hits something soft to break the impact—Kyle's hand.

“Fuuugh!” He clamps his mouth and eyes shut against the pain.

While Audrey screams, I rush to the window and yank it open so Kyle can remove his hand. He wraps his left one around his right as he doubles over. Blood pours through his fingers and drips on the floor.

Chase swears, turning pale. “That looks bad. I'm going to get the car. I think you're going to need stitches.”

“I'm fine.” Kyle doesn't sound fine. His voice is strained, and he breathes deeply to control the pain.

“Yeah, right,” Audrey says. She looks faint as she grabs Chase's arm, and they run toward the entrance.

Blood doesn't bother me, and I have training in field medicine. “Let me see.”

“No, stay back. Don't want you getting bloody.” Kyle shuffles away from me. He opens his hand and inspects the damage. From where I stand, it's all a red mess. “It's just a cut. No big deal. I need to wash it off.”

I press my lips tightly, watching the blood run down his wrist, thinking of my mission in spite of my concern for him. “That's one hell of a cut. Chase is right about stitches.”

“Seriously, I'll be fine. I don't want stitches.” He jogs down the hall toward the bathrooms. The other people hanging out in the lobby grimace and leave.

Feeling useless, I hang around by myself for a minute in case Chase or Audrey return, then take off after him when they don't. The blood trail leads into the men's bathroom. Since there's no one else around, I barge in.

Kyle already has several paper towels wrapped around his hand. He laughs when I appear around the row of sinks. “Excuse me, I don't think you belong in here.”

“Excuse me, I think you're bleeding out all over the floor. I'm here to help.”

Cradling his right hand in his left, he blows hair out of his eyes. “No help required. I've got it under control. A little water, some pressure…” He shifts position, and the towels crinkle. “All good.”

He does look better. He's got color back in his cheeks, and his breathing is normal. “Are you really, truly sure? I get not wanting to go to the hospital, but that was a lot of blood.”

“Really, truly sure.” He puts his arms around me, continuing to apply the pressure to his hand, which is now behind my neck. “See? I could even dance this way. Don't make me leave. I'm having fun.”

His heat seeps through the thin silk of my dress. His shirt is slightly damp against my bare arms as I wrap them around him. My heart beats like it's trying to fly away.

“So?” Kyle has a half smile on his face.

My face warms as I realize how tightly I pressed myself against him, and I rest my forehead on his chest. “You're adorable when you're wounded.”

I feel his lips on the top of my head. “You're beautiful all the time.”

“We should go. An actual man could be coming in here any minute, and your trail of blood is not hard to follow.”

“I'll tell them you were helping me clean up. Totally believable.”

I don't move even though it's my idea to leave. “Uh-huh.”

“Exactly.” Then he leans forward and kisses me, and I'm completely paralyzed because my nerves are too busy exploding to do their jobs properly.

When he finally pulls away, I swear my lips are numb. I'm also slightly light-headed. For a second, I panic, thinking he did something sinister. Then it occurs to me—this might be a normal reaction.

“So you like me best when I'm broken?” Kyle muses. “If I'd known you liked playing nurse, Hernandez, we could have gotten you a costume during Halloween.”

“Dork.” I poke him in the back.

He responds by kissing me again. His good hand slides down my hip, lifting the skirt of my dress, and he traces his fingertips over my thigh. My breath hitches in my throat, and my body aches beneath his touch. I can tell his does too, can feel him hardening against me. I'm half a breath from suggesting we run up to the room we'd booked for the night.

Yet another way I was strangely sheltered before this mission. To have reached nineteen years without having touched someone like this. Or been touched. I mean, I knew all about sex, but it was one of those areas where my knowledge was entirely theoretical. Relationships were strictly forbidden at the camp, and for the most part, I consider my unit members like family anyway.

For the most part. Except for that one kiss with Cole…

I push the thought aside. I don't want to think, be it about the camp or my mission. I want to feel.

“Soph?” Kyle's hand pauses on my leg.

I don't like that. I want him to keep moving, and I shift closer to encourage him. “I'm good.” I bend my head so close, I kiss his chin as I speak.

He laughs. “Very good.”

I slide my arms down his back, reveling in the warmth through his shirt, and bring them around front where my fingers hover over his buttons. Kyle breathes heavily, his arousal hot against me. I focus on that, and it's as though my brain finally shuts off. I'm all lips and hands and heart. No computer running here at all. I don't even realize what Kyle's done until I feel his other hand on my neck.

Then the bathroom door opens. We have a second to split apart. Kyle lunges for the paper towel he dropped, and that's when I see his right hand.

His perfectly perfect right hand with just a crust of dried blood near his thumb.

He snatches the towel, which is blood-free, and wraps it around his hand like he needs it. But it's too late. I've seen. There's isn't even a scab left on him.

I pretend not to notice, but I'm the one who could use the help now because I'm going to be sick. Much as I didn't want Kyle to be an enemy agent, I can now say with total certainty that Kyle being X is far worse. Every cell and circuit in my brain is shrieking with warning sirens.

“Soph, what the hell are you doing in here?” Chase yells after me.

I leave the explanations to Kyle as I race out of the bathroom and into the ladies' room next door. Maybe my behavior will help Kyle, the way I'm supposed to help him.

Maybe it'll distract everyone from inspecting his perfect hand too closely.