The Girl Who Wasn't Page 20

  “Absolutely, sir,” Linc says.

  “Good, then it’s settled. I’m assuming you own a suit.”

  “Uh …”

  “Find Maria. She will fit you with Gus’s. I must speak with my daughter.”

  Linc excuses himself but not before shooting me a worried glance. I ignore it. I can feel Titus watching. When Linc is gone, I fold my hands, squeezing them together to hide my anxiety—a trick I learned from my examiner—and stay where I am, careful to keep my distance. This is the moment I’ve been dreading all day.

  “We need to talk about Daniel,” Titus begins. “I’ve spoken with him at length. He was reluctant at first but I convinced him to confide in me.” I shudder at the thought of what he means by “convinced.” “According to him, Melanie does in fact exist and is hiding somewhere in this city with a group of my products. None of which seem to having a working kill switch.”

  My pulse jumps into my throat. I swallow it, hoping Titus doesn’t recognize my relief. “I see.”

  “Those products are stolen property. I want them back and you’re going to help me find them.”

  We both know I have no intention of helping him do this. The only thing he can threaten me with is death and I’m not even sure that holds any sting anymore. Especially now that I know whatever Imitations have managed to hide away are safe from remote termination.

  “What makes you think I will do this for you?” I ask.

  “A couple of reasons,” he says. “One, doing so will ensure your continued residence here at Rogen Tower. In other words, you will continue to exist as Raven Rogen and enjoy all of the luxuries that come with her identity. And two, if you don’t, not only will you cease to be Raven Rogen, you will cease to exist at all. Do I make myself clear?”

  Still, I say nothing as I weigh his words. They don’t feel nearly as heavy as they once did and I think, I could do this. I could die for my friends.

  But before I can open my mouth and tell him any of my gallant intentions, he is there. In my face. Shoving me back until my shoulders bump the closet door. I see him glancing at his reflection in the mirror as he glowers at me. It makes me sick to know he is enjoying himself. This is all a show, entertainment to him.

  “There is a third reason,” he says, his voice low and steely and full of nefarious intent. “It may very well be the most important. If you don’t help me find my property, my new head of security will meet with an accident. And I don’t think his poor mother could handle losing the last living member of her family.”

  I look back at him with shaking hands and frozen lips.

  He leans closer. “I. See. Everything.”

  I am paralyzed. I realize fear of death is nothing, a welcome trade, compared to fear of seeing someone I care about be hurt. And in that moment, I realize I’ve lost. Because I will do anything, say anything, be anyone, if it means saving Linc.

  “I will help you,” I whisper.

  “What’s that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  I force my voice louder, clearer. “I will help you.”

  His lips curve into a twisted smile that makes me want to kill him with my bare hands. “Good choice.”

  He steps back and makes a show of adjusting his shirt that isn’t actually wrinkled. Then he smooths his hair that isn’t actually rumpled. “We’ll talk soon,” he says before he walks out.

  I don’t move.

  Daniel may have tried to hurt me but Titus is and always will be the ultimate bad guy in the story of my life.

  ***

  Obadiah is late.

  I am a mess, sweating, shifting my weight back and forth as I wait on the balcony that overlooks the food court. Linc is waiting out of sight somewhere behind me.

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about Titus’s threat. The ease with which I am able to lie—a lie by omission is still a lie—bothers me. Knowing I’m protecting Linc is my consolation. I can’t afford for him to do something rash.

  I tell him the other truth, the smaller version: that by agreeing to help Titus, I can maybe find a way to help Anna and the others. And I’ve bought myself another day.

  I tell myself I want to find them so I can help them but in the back of my mind I know that by extension, I am hoping to help myself. To remove my GPS and be out from under Titus … The thought of being free is the next best thing to being human.

  For the first time, I feel confident about my role. It’s becoming easier to be her. Maybe that’s because I have a goal of my own. I am invested in playing this part for more than just pleasing Titus. Sometimes it feels too easy. I’m not sure what that means but I can’t focus on it now.

  All I can think is that something has happened to Obadiah. And it will have been my fault.

  “Breathe,” says Linc’s voice in my ear. “In and out.”

  On the ride over, he fitted me with a device the size of my fingernail that he assured me would allow us to hear each other. This way, he could keep his distance but still know whether I was in danger. Now, his voice is soft in my ear as he tries to talk me through my silent panic attack.

  “He isn’t here, Linc. Something happened,” I say quietly. I stare down at the faces below me. None of them are the one I’m looking for. I check my watch again. Twenty minutes late. The knot in my chest tightens.

  “I just called his house. He’s not home so he’s probably on his way,” Linc says.

  “Right. Probably,” I agree. Deep breath. In and out. “Unless he was intercepted,” I say, thinking of Anna’s story of the carjacking.

  “We’re going to give him a little longer before we think like that.”

  “Fine.”

  Three minutes pass during which time I check my watch no fewer than fourteen times. It feels like three years.

  I almost don’t recognize him when he enters the atrium. His jacket collar is pulled up to his chin and he has a dark hat tipped downward obscuring his face. But I catch a glimpse of his delicate cheeks, his narrow chin, and I know it is him.

  “He’s here!” I skip the elevator and make my way down the stairs. Linc’s voice in my ear reminds me to slow down, that I cannot draw attention.

  I reach Obadiah at the edges of the seating area. I put my hand on his and he squeals and grabs his chest. “Do not sneak up on me like that!” he hisses.

  “Sorry. I was beginning to worry.”

  “I had to double back a few times and make sure I wasn’t followed.”

  That reawakens my anxiety. “Why would you be followed?”

  “Honey, I have so much to tell you.”

  He takes my hand and leads me away from the food court. I let him, knowing Linc is close and hearing everything. If we are being followed, he will know and warn me. But my earpiece is silent as we push through the door to the parking garage.

  Obadiah pauses, looks right and left, then darts forward, still pulling on my hand. He leads me in a zigzagging pattern to the far end of the covered garage and then opens the door to an oversized sedan the color of mint ice cream.

  “Get in,” he says.

  I navigate over the console into the passenger seat and wait while Obadiah climbs in behind me and slams the door. He winces at the sound and then turns to me. I notice dark circles under his eyes that have nothing to do with leftover eyeliner. “I don’t think I’ve been spotted but I can’t be sure. How much time do you have?”

  “Um, an hour?”

  “Let’s drive.”

  He turns the key and the engine roars to life. It is loud unlike any vehicle I’ve been inside and I stare at the dashboard as it reverberates with the growl of the engine. “Where did you get this car?” I ask.

  “My security guy’s cousin. It’s vintage. Don’t mock.” Obadiah reverses and pulls left, down the slanting loop that will take us out of the garage.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere,” Obadiah says with a shrug. “I just want to keep moving. In case.”

  “In case what?”

  “
Remember your daughter-of-a-statesman stalker from the party last week?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t know what sort of scam she’s pulling but I checked, and that girl died like a week ago. So she’s either a really badass apparition or she’s scamming.”

  “Scamming who?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question. Fast-forward to yesterday and I’m coming out of a shop in the west end and I see her.”

  “See who?”

  “Dead girl. Annalyn. Only she doesn’t look very dead to me. Or very apparition-y. So I followed her.”

  I stare at Obadiah, partly worried, partly awed. Ida would never have the guts to do something so dangerous alone. “Where did she go?”

  “Not home, I’ll tell you that. I followed her as far as I could but she went deep toward the outskirts and, well, a senator’s son can’t exactly waltz through that part of town.”

  I picture the dilapidated buildings, the vacant stares of the sidewalk residents, and I know that he isn’t wrong. Walking down there wouldn’t be safe. “What about Anna? No one messed with her?”

  “Nope. It was weird. They barely noticed her. Almost as if they knew her.”

  “You think she’s been there before?”

  “Honey, I know it. She lives there.”

  “What? How do you know?”

  There is hesitation in his voice the size of a brick wall. “Because the redhead told me?”

  “You spoke to her?”

  “Relax, nothing happened.” He looks over at me as we idle at a red light and pokes himself in the ribs. “See? Still here. Still in one piece.”

  I sigh. “Tell me what happened.”

  The light turns green. The car rumbles as he depresses the pedal and barrels forward.

  “First, it must be said that I could’ve spied successfully if I’d wanted to. I just didn’t want to.”

  “Obadiah.” My tone is a warning.

  “She caught me peeking in the window.”

  “And by ‘caught,’ you mean…?”

  “Tackled from behind and after much struggling where I had mostly the upper hand she detained me.”

  “She could’ve hurt you—again!”

  “Right, but she didn’t. We had a most interesting talk, actually.”

  He isn’t looking at me when he says it and I can’t stop my mind from racing. What does he know? What has she told him about the Imitations? About me? More importantly, why did she let Obadiah walk away after finding her?

  “I can’t believe you talked to Melanie and she let you go,” I say distractedly.

  “Why do you call her that?” he asks.

  The question jars me. “Who?”

  “Both. How do you know the redhead’s name? And why do you refer to Annalyn as Anna?”

  “I …” I can’t answer that yet. “What did you two talk about?”

  He shoots me a look and I know what he’s thinking. I’m not fooling him. “She wants to come in.”

  Of all the things he could’ve said, this is the thing I expect least. “What?”

  “She said she knows you have Daniel—”

  “How does she know that?”

  “No idea.” He cuts me a sharp look. “Maybe the same way you know her name?” I scowl. “So it’s true? He’s the one behind it all? Including the fresh bruises around your throat?”

  My hand goes automatically to my neck. My scarf has slipped.

  His voice becomes gentle. “What happened?”

  I tell him the story of Daniel attacking me in as few words as possible. Not because I’m in a rush but because the more description I use, the more my mind conjures images that shake me in a way I can’t afford to feel right now. I am careful to leave out the parts about the other Imitations. Telling one person in twenty-four hours is my personal truth limit.

  Daniel’s attempt to murder me and his successful murder of Gus is enough of a story, though, and when I’m finished, Obadiah is sufficiently horrified. It reminds me so much of Ida’s fragility.

  “Raven, I’m so sorry,” he says.

  “I’m all right,” I assure him. I hate the way his heartbreak shows on his face, like hers. It makes me want to fix it all—then and now. But I can’t. Or maybe I can and I haven’t figured out how. So I do the only thing I can: change the subject. “What else did Melanie say?”

  Obadiah takes a deep breath and blows it out, as if expelling the last ten minutes of conversation. “She knows Daniel’s been found out, that she’s next on the hit list.”

  “What’s a hit list?”

  He gives me a sideways glance. “She knows you’ll come after her next,” he explains. I can’t argue that. Even if Titus didn’t want her, I do. Or at least the information she holds. “She wants to come in willingly, on her own terms.”

  This is either the break we need or a twisted trick. I want to ask Linc if he’s getting this but I don’t dare give away my earpiece since it would involve giving away who’s on the other end. That’s not my risk to take. “What are her terms?”

  “No one can know her connection to Annalyn, or any others, as she put it.” He uses one hand to air-quote the word. “I have no idea what that means but she said you would.”

  I nod that I do. His mouth tightens and for a moment, he looks ready to demand an explanation. He doesn’t. I have a feeling we’ll circle back. “What does she get out of it?” I ask.

  He shrugs, both hands back on the wheel. “And therein lies the mystery. She wouldn’t say.”

  “Ask him where,” says Linc’s voice in my ear. I jump at the unexpected disruption.

  Obadiah looks at me like I’ve lost it. “You okay?”

  “What’s the address of the place where you found her?” I ask.

  He rattles it off. “Got it,” Linc says.

  “But you can’t go there alone. Promise me you won’t do anything crazy like that,” Obadiah adds.

  “I promise.” Nothing like that. Just your ordinary brand of crazy from here on out.

  Obadiah makes a left turn. From here, I can see the parking structure and beyond that the shopping mall. We’re back.

  “Are you coming to the show tonight?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Are you going to the show?” he asks incredulously.

  “It’s my cover for meeting with you. I have dinner with some charity first.”

  “Oh, right. Hungry kittens or something. My dad will be thrilled to know.”

  “Obadiah, you’ll be careful, right? Melanie’s dangerous, she’s—”

  “Don’t you worry about me. My spying days are behind me.” He gives a rueful smile. “Sort of a one-and-done experience, if you know what I mean.” He pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine.

  I turn to Obadiah. “Thank you.”

  He scowls. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Act all nice and appreciative. I know there’s something you’re not telling me so I want to make it clear: I did this for you so you owe me. And I will collect.”

  Nothing about Obadiah is remotely sinister or scary. However, the promise of telling the truth is. I can’t refuse now, not after everything he’s done. “Deal.”

  He breaks into a smile, as if he knows he’s just won something huge. “Deal,” he echoes.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dinner is decadent and loud. I am one of twenty guests of honor the charity has invited and it is clear from the moment we arrive that I am there solely for the publicity it brings. Paparazzi line the entry, their cameras clicking and flashing like a bad percussion beat. I keep hold of Linc’s arm as he leads me through the throng.

  His suit, which Maria altered as best she could, is a little long in the sleeves but tight across his shoulders. I suppose it should look awkward but I like the way his chest is pronounced in the layered charcoal and white. I focus my thoughts there instead of on the catcalls and demands of the photographers.

  Per Linc’s instructions, I don’t answer a
single one of their questions, nor do I make eye contact. I smile and look at each one without really seeing them. My high-necked coat swishes at my ankles as I step around each outstretched hand.

  “Why do they love Raven so much?” I whisper to Linc.

  “Three reasons. She’s wild, crazy, and beautiful. She has enough money to get away with the first two. The third makes them hate her a little bit.”

  “But why pay so much attention?”

  “Because, angel. They want to see her fall.”

  When we reach the glass doors, three security guards with the restaurant’s logo on their shirts part to allow us passage and then quickly close ranks to keep out the rest.

  Inside, the staff is bustling and the girl at the desk casts nervous glances at the crowd gathered outside the doors. “Right this way,” she says without even asking our names.

  We pass the main dining room and I can feel curious stares, but the hostess continues her trek and I am grateful when she stops at the door of a private room that holds a single table. Several others are already seated. They smile a hello at me, glance curiously at Linc, and return to their conversation.

  Linc chooses seats as far as possible from the others. Considering the length of the table, until more guests arrive, we are in relative privacy. The massive banquet table has been laid out with fine china and more silverware than I will ever need in one sitting.

  “Wow,” Linc says, surveying the room. “This is being put on by a charity?”

  “Yes. Senator Whitcomb sponsored it.”

  “What kind of charity can afford this sort of setup?”

  “It’s for an animal shelter, I think.”

  Linc shoots me a look and I know we’re thinking the same thing. It’s a safe bet the charity in question will never see a dime of whatever money is raised tonight.

  Guests begin to arrive and I am introduced to more names than I can remember. Linc is reserved, speaking only when spoken to. Which isn’t often. This crowd would much rather hear themselves talk than listen to someone else. Senator Whitcomb is the only one who tries to draw Linc into the conversation.