The Butterfly Code (10 page)

My eyes spot Gage’s truck, parked next to the bigger building in the center. The lodge. It has a new deck that juts over the shore. Standing on the broad wood planking, staring up at us as we gallop, is a man whose dirty-blond hair shines like a speck in the gray light.

Gage.

Arms planted stiffly at his sides, his gloom seems to radiate all the way up here. I can picture his clear blue eyes, his frank candidness that earned my childhood trust and glued our friendship together. I tug at the collar of my hoodie, which feels somehow too tight. Yet he can’t tell who I am, can he? The only reason I know it’s him is because that’s his place.

As for me, I don’t belong on this cliff. I’m little more than a shape against the sky. He’d have to be holding binoculars to identify me.

So why does he keep staring up here?

There’s something odd about his stillness. He’s frozen, intent. Despite the distance, I get the sense he can read my face, can read my stunned expression as though he were two feet away.

Of course, that’s impossible.

Inexplicable guilt floods me. I’m not betraying him or Dad by riding with Hunter. Their reservations are not mine. I’m a free person. It’s no one’s business what I do or who I spend time with.

Hunter guides Ranger away from the edge, and Gage is lost from view. I’m torn from my reverie as we enter a shaggy copse of trees. Their emerald branches shelter a small clearing. There’s a giant boulder on one side, all covered with moss and lichen. Sparrows twitter among the wildflowers growing at its base.

Hunter pulls Ranger to a halt at the edge of the grove.

"This is the spot." Hunter jumps down and lifts me to the ground.

"It’s beautiful."

"I come here when I want to get away."

What would he want to get away from? His work? Or does he simply like being on his own? I cross to the boulder and touch its mossy surface. Dewdrops cling to tiny white blooms scattered among the green. I like this secret place. It feels sheltered. Magical, almost.

He joins me. "I figure Poppy would like it here."

"I think you’re right."

"She was a good horse. A good listener, if that’s not too strange to say."

"Not at all. Horses make some of the best friends."

We ride back a different way, trotting slowly across the grassy fields.

Mist sparkles in Ranger’s mane, sliding down our twined fingers. Lush green growth rises from the ground to tickle my ankles. We plow through it, releasing rich earthy smells into the damp, heavy air. They blend with the scent of Hunter—warm and alluring.

I could get used to this life. To being out here with just him and the horses.

Still, the tension between him and Dad lingers like a ghost. I don’t know what’s got Dad so worried. Hunter’s great. Why can’t Dad see that?

From here I can make out the estate’s house. The old place is still beautiful, yet looks almost Gothic under the stormy sky. Again I wonder why Hunter chose such a place for his work. What contagious diseases are they studying, exactly? What kind of cure are they developing?

For some bizarre reason, the warning from Mom’s journal pops into my mind. About toying with the human genetic code and her baffling statement that humans were not meant to be divine. What does that mean,
divine
? Godlike? Superhuman? What?

If there’s anyone I can talk to, it’s Hunter. He’s got to be familiar with gene therapy.

"What is it you do?" I blurt.

"What’s that?" he asks, sounding is if I’ve pulled him from some contemplation.

"What are you researching at your lab?"

There’s a pause. "It’s . . . tedious. I’m afraid you’d find it less than interesting."

"You know, my mother was a scientist," I offer. "A geneticist."

His muscular left arm, still fastened tight around my waist, tenses.

I try not to focus on the breathless ripple it sends through me. "She died when I was little, so I don’t know a whole lot about her work, but I found an old journal of hers."

"You have your mom’s journal?"

I carry on. "Yes. This may sound crazy, but . . . if a doctor was working on some kind of genetic medicine and came across a discovery that could give humans certain . . ."

"Certain what?"

"Uh . . . okay, this is going to sound odd. But I guess what I mean is, divine qualities."

He stiffens, and I know I must sound completely crazy, yet I’m in too deep to stop. "Divine?"

"Yeah. I don’t know, like, superhuman, maybe?"

"That’s an odd question. What made you think of it? Did she write about it?"

"Yes. So would you think it’s wrong, or wouldn’t you?"

"I would." His tone is oddly flat. "Medicine is one thing. But I don’t believe anyone has any business playing God."

"What if someone was really in trouble and this could keep them alive. What if something like that could have saved Poppy?"

"I still wouldn’t do it."

"But you’re a doctor, aren’t you? Don’t you want to save lives?"

"I’m a researcher."

"If you were researching genetics, and it was a friend or family member dying? You’d help them if you could, wouldn’t you?"

His fingers, knotted in Ranger’s mane, have turned almost white at the knuckles. The silence stretches out between us. Have I offended him?

Finally, he says, "You’re assuming there’d be no side effects. Would you want to be saved if there was a downside? Because I can guarantee there would be. Probably a horrible one."

I ponder this and stare at the wet earth, yet that’s not what I see. In my mind’s eye, I’m standing on the precipice of loss. I stare into its cruel depths, thinking of Mom’s death, knowing the mother I lost will never return.

Quietly, I say, "I would want them to live. I would choose life."

His chest is pressed so close to my back I’m almost certain I can feel his heart beating against my ribs.

"We’ll walk from here," he tells me, dismounting.

I slide from Ranger, suddenly cold.

I
t’s
a jolt when I spot a tall, slender figure waiting for us by the barn.

Victoria.

How could I have forgotten her so completely?

Her sleeveless chiffon dress half billows, half clutches at her legs. She’s devoid of makeup apart from her lips, which are like two bright crimson petals. Her serious, deep-brown eyes move over me, never leaving, taking in every inch.

I have a desperate urge to smooth down my wind-messed hair. But what’s the point? I slept on a hay bale. I’d still look half feral next to her otherworldly glamour.

I glance at Hunter, whose face is a mask of calm.

Wait, they’re not an item, are they? No. Oh no.
Inwardly, I groan.

What bubble have I been living in? The gray daylight feels too bright.

Victoria’s fingers circle her narrow elbows, and I get this ridiculous urge to hide behind Hunter. Instead, I put even more distance between us.

"So this is our visitor," Victoria says. I catch an accent. British, perhaps?

"Aeris, meet Victoria. Victoria, this is Aeris."

"Did you enjoy your evening?" she asks him, ignoring me.

"If you call staying up all night nursing an orphaned filly enjoyable, then yes. Why are you wearing that odd expression?"

"Odd? I thought it was one of my better ones."

He rolls his eyes, yet there’s no malice in it. We’ve reached the fence that abuts the barn. He pauses there with a hand in Ranger’s mane. I wrap one arm around a splintered post and lean against it.

"Aren’t you wondering how she got in yesterday?" she asks.

"Through the gate, as far as I can tell."

"I should probably go," I say.

Hunter holds up a hand. "Wait a minute. Actually, I am, Victoria. You installed the device. I thought it required more than a key card. A biometric scan. Retinal, or something."

"
Mmm-hmm
, yes." She glances at me. The arched amusement in her doe eyes is worthy of
Vogue
. "Or something."

I flash on the handcuff that held me in place. Of the grate with the empty hole underneath. Of the sting of a needle and smell of disinfectant.

"I’ll show it to you sometime," she promises. "It’s quite fun."

Hunter lets out a sharp laugh. "If you think it’s fun, it must be awful."

Her mouth curves up, and her eyes twinkle in wicked amusement. "Maybe you should ask Aeris?"

A flash of anger strikes. I don’t like being spoken about in this way.

"We don’t need fun," Hunter says. "We need effective. What if she’d been someone dangerous?"

"How do you know she’s not?"

"Seriously?" I say, tired at being stuck between them and angry for falling under the illusion that Hunter liked me. I scowl at him. To my chagrin, he steps closer to my side, bringing Ranger. If I didn’t know better, I could almost believe he’s being protective.

Scoundrel.

Why does he have to look so damned handsome?

Victoria shoots me a cold glance. For an instant, I feel off balance. Threatened, even. Maybe this isn’t about the two of them. Maybe it’s about something else, something sinister. What are they shielding in here?

"Anyway," Victoria says. "I let her in. She’s Jack Thorne’s daughter."

"Vic, I hardly think a woman making a scheduled delivery can be called dangerous."

Her control slips and her eyes spark to life. "I can’t believe you’re doing this," she hisses. "After everything I just went through!"

"Victoria."

She stops, continuing to glare.

This day is really starting to take its toll, because my imagination is going into overdrive. They’re staring at each other, and it’s more than a staring contest. It’s as if data is flowing back and forth between them. They’re communicating somehow. I latch onto an excuse. Maybe it’s because they clearly know each other really well?

People don’t communicate by glaring at each other.

Intermittent raindrops flick my skin. Watching Hunter and Victoria battle it out, I feel beyond nervous.

Victoria lifts her chin. "I think we should have a closer look at her, don’t you?"

He doesn’t reply.

In one hand, she’s holding a flashlight I hadn’t noticed before. She moves with astounding speed. She’s in front of me in an instant. I back against the fence, yet there’s nowhere to go. Her hand comes up and she aims the beam at my eyes. First the left, then the right.

I wince under the brilliance.

Victoria’s lips part in surprise. The look is so brief I nearly miss it. She snaps off the beam, glances at the sky, and says, "It’s raining. I don’t like rain."

My pulse races as I draw in a breath. That’s it? No explanation?

"I’ll see you back at the house," she tells Hunter.

He reaches out to commandeer the light and pockets it in his black fatigues. "Satisfied?"

Her shoulders stiffen. She says nothing and strides off.

"What was that about?" I ask.

"Vic’s eccentric," he mutters by way of an excuse. "It’s been a long night. I’m sure you need to go."

"Yes. But I should stay until Dad—"

"No. Let’s get you back to your truck."

"Okay, actually, yeah." After what just went down, I do want to get out of here. If nothing else, Hunter’s proved he can handle Blaze, and Dad will be back soon enough. I trudge ahead. "If you don’t mind, I want to say good-bye to Blaze."

"All right."

We part at the door. Hunter leads Ranger to his stall.

I find Blaze up and waiting. She trots unsteadily to me.

"Hi, cutie," I say, going down on one knee and wrapping my arms around her neck. I breathe in her horsey scent, smooth down her tufts of baby foal hair. "Grow up big and strong," I whisper. "I won’t be here, but you’re family. You’re doing great. Your mom would be proud. Grandpa, too. I’ll be thinking of you, okay?"

Reluctantly, I release her and go to leave. She tries to shove her way out of the stall with me.

I kiss her nose. "Bye, baby," I whisper. "Sorry, but you have to stay here."

My stomach aches as I lock her inside. I hear her nickering all the way down the hall and out the front.

In the lot, the cube truck waits. Hunter strides out after me.

"I need to unload your order," I say.

He crunches across the gravel and opens the cab door. "Climb in. I’ll take care of it."

"It’s my job."

"It would be better if you got in." Maybe it’s the dark sky that’s turned his amber eyes almost ink black.

"Fine. It’s your stuff." At this point, apart from Blaze, I wish I’d never come.

He hands me up into the leather seat and turns away. I close my fingers around the ghost of his warmth. What had I been thinking? Lulling myself with the idea we could be together? It had seemed that way. Like we’d been wrapped in a dreamy cocoon for two. Talking about our lives. Fantasizing about a trip we’d never take.

The cocoon is gone, and it’s time to fly far, far away.

The truck rocks as Hunter proceeds to offload the supplies. Then he’s back at my open door. Raindrops glitter in his hair.

"I’m sorry about you and Victoria," I say.

He shakes his head. "Don’t worry about that. She’s just concerned about the project."

His tone is not what I expected. Maybe I’d read him wrong.

"Are you guys—"

"What?"

"You and Victoria . . . are you—a couple?"

"Me and Vic?" He laughs and some of his lightness returns. "God no. I mean I love her to death, but not in a million years. Besides, I don’t think my buddy Ian would take too kindly to that. Which is odd, since they spend half their time at each other’s throats."

"Oh."

His eyes drop to my oxfords, which are all muddy against the high cab floor. Absently, he nicks away the grass and dirt with one knuckle. My heart starts thumping all over again.

"Look," he says, "I’m really glad you came. But you can’t be here. She’s right. Having you on the PRL grounds . . . it could be . . . dangerous."

Dangerous?
There was that word again. "You let my father in."

"That’s different."

"How? Other people come here, don’t they?"

"Trust me. We can’t do this." His voice is almost gruff.

What’s that supposed to mean?

"So we’ll never see each other again?"

He wipes his knuckles on his pants. "I really enjoyed meeting you, Aeris."

My eyes roam across his face as he tilts his head up to look at me.

There’s a pull in the air so tense it’s like gravity between us. My throat pounds with the thrumming of my heart. I wonder what it would feel like if he climbed into the cab and pressed his lips to mine. I don’t dare move for fear of falling into him. Or maybe he’s falling into me. Because his hand comes up to the doorframe as if to hold himself away.

"Don’t invite me in." His voice is low. "You won’t like it."

Heat rushes all over me. He’s wrong. I think I would.

Hunter closes my door and raps the cab in good-bye. I watch him turn to leave and then I’m rolling down my window.

"I’m not the one who’s afraid," I call. "You are."

He pauses, shoulders tensing, and I wince.

Did I seriously just say that?

Slowly he turns. "You think I’m afraid?" His straight dark brows pin me in place.

I want to sink into the seat and disappear.

His chin goes up. He paces closer. Puts one hand on the sill. "There’s a chamber music performance Friday in New York."

His words hit me with such force that my breath catches.

He’s not smiling. It’s clear he’s fighting some internal battle. I realize that a line’s being crossed. If we go any further, there will be no stepping back. For either of us. When did it leave me—the belief I could approach this man with safe, slow steps and bolt away when we came too close for comfort? Because if we do this, it’s all or nothing.

The air is charged, electrified.

I swallow. "And?" I say.

"And I can imagine twelve reasons why I’m going to hell for this, but would you like to go?"

"Yes."

"I hope you’re not afraid of small planes."

"I’m not." Even if I were mortally terrified of them, I wouldn’t admit it.

He finds my fingers and I’m breathless as his thumb brushes over the back of my hand. "All right."

"All right," I say back.

His eyes soften and his mouth turns up a little, and those addictive smile lines appear in his tanned, masculine cheeks. "Drive safely, Aeris Thorne."

"I will, Hunter Cayman. Take care of Blaze."

"Yep. I bet she misses you already."

He steps back to let me leave. The key shakes in my icy fingers. I’m on fire with nerves and excitement. I insert it into the ignition and turn. The engine rattles to life. He stands, arms crossed over his broad chest, as I pull onto the paved lane. He’s still there, his tanned skin gleaming with rivulets, until a curve in the drive and a grove of trees obscures the view.

What have I done? I want to whoop. But what about my promise to myself to not get involved again?

And what am I going to tell Dad?

Up ahead, the towering fence appears and security cameras swivel toward me. The rain increases in tempo. It begins to drum a fervid beat against the roof of the cab. I spot the looming gates that span the exit. They open wide as I approach.

I guide the truck through and its wheels shudder over the metal strip.

When I’m out, the gates clang swiftly shut.

The rain seems more brutal here on the deserted road. Cold slips through my shirt. I fumble with the heater. Muggy air blasts from the vents, fogging up the windshield.

I swore I wouldn’t open my heart again. I swore nothing would disrupt my focus on music. And what do I do? Fall for the only guy who’s on my friends’ and family’s blacklist.

Then I remember his arms around me as we rode bareback across the fields. I lose myself in a daydream that’s filled with the sound of his voice in my ear. It’s just for the summer. A few good weeks. Before I go back to New York.

A squirrel dashes across the road. I’m torn from my reverie and crane toward the side-view mirror. It’s there, scampering away.

I catch sight of my hazel eyes in the mirror. What had Victoria been searching for when she’d pinned me with her flashlight? Her actions had been beyond strange. And why had she left so abruptly? Was it something she saw?

My breath catches.

Or something she didn’t see?

Something I witnessed in Hunter’s eyes outside the dance club? I recall him lowering his dark glasses when that car came zooming around the corner. The high beams caught his pupils, and for a second they’d appeared to reflect like the pupils of a cat.

Is that how she’d expected mine to behave?

Except they didn’t?

No. That’s too crazy. The incident outside the dance club had been a trick of the light. Hunter didn’t have cat eyes. Not today. Then again, what if I’d shone a beam into them, the way Victoria had into mine?

I wipe the mist from the window and keep driving.

Something strange is taking place at the PRL. But
what
? Is it related to their work? Clearly they haven’t accidentally infected themselves with whatever contagious diseases they’re studying. If anything they seem super healthy. Glowing with life. Hunter is as strong as any athlete.

So what is it?

The truck careens through a puddle. I grab the wheel, willing it under control. The motion causes a flicker of pain at the tip of my index finger. I’m reminded of the security booth with its handcuff, its "biometric scan," and the metal-grating floor that drops away to nothing.

Does Dad endure that process every time he goes there? I can’t believe he’d accept such treatment.

A better question might be—
how am I going to explain to Dad why I made a delivery to the Phoenix Research Lab?

He must have gotten Hunter’s messages about Blaze by now. Maybe he’ll be so preoccupied he won’t care. I should call him. Easing off the gas, I fumble in the glove box for my phone.

My cell’s dead. A quick search tells me there’s no charger in the truck. There’s probably no signal out here anyway. The clammy interior makes my clothes stick to my arms and chest. Outside, the storm is a gray velvet blur.