Tell him, my humanity urged. You need to tell him how you feel.
It’ll make you weaker, my logical side advised. Slow your response time, cloud your thinking, and put you both in more danger.
Maybe. Maybe not. Having something—someone—to fight for could make all the difference in the right situation. There are countless examples in human history.
But you’re not human, not entirely.
True. But I wasn’t entirely anything.
I was a mix, a mutt, an unnatural concoction that probably couldn’t draw firm conclusions from (without conclusive allegiances to) either side of my heritage because of it.
Not that that would stop the internal argument. I rested my head on my knees. This was going to be a long day.
At midnight, with no change in the situation at Mara’s house, I slipped out to the van and retrieved the duffel bag, one of the sleeping bags, and the snacks we’d accumulated at various points on our road trip. Ordering a pizza was a little out of the question, so we’d have to make do with what we had.
Not that Zane complained when I handed everything but the sleeping bag off to him for safekeeping. (It seemed only logical that the person who was awake should be in charge of the money and the food.)
He didn’t say much at all, actually. To be fair, neither did I. In our shift changes so far, we’d exchanged a minimum of words. Yes, the SUVs were still present, as was the mysterious man in the empty house.
God, was it possible that I was going to screw this up simply by trying not to screw it up? That thought had haunted me equally during my two-hour “rest” periods and on-duty shifts.
The only few minutes of respite I had was when I changed places with Zane, and then only because I was on alert, my palms sweaty and my head full of things I wasn’t sure I should say, as we passed each other.
Downstairs again, after my shift at two A.M., I’d finally managed to doze off when something woke me up.
I blinked, checking the dull green digits on the stove clock, just visible around the corner in the kitchen. Five forty-one. So just a few minutes before my six A.M. shift was due to start.
“Ariane,” Zane whispered urgently from the top of the stairs, the sound echoing through the silent house, off the bare walls and floors.
That’s what I’d heard. He’d been calling me.
I shook off the last vestiges of sleep and a dream that involved climbing a never-ending mountain of corn chips—another lesson against eating junk food for meals—and sat up. “What’s wrong?” I asked, careful to keep quiet, my heart catapulting inside my chest.
“Something’s going on.” There was an odd thread of excitement, mixed with tension, in his voice.
I shoved the sleeping bag away and scrambled to my feet.
Upstairs, it was dark, but the bathroom was warm and damp, smelling of fresh soap and shampoo. Zane had taken a shower at some point, using the toiletries I’d snagged from the motel.
“Come here. You’ve got to see this.” He waved me forward to his position by the window.
The room was small, but there was plenty of space for me to pass without bumping into him. And yet I didn’t take it. I brushed against his side on my way to the window. He smelled so good and looked even better. In the gray predawn light, he was deliciously rumpled with his dark hair damp and not styled and more stubble on his cheeks and chin.
I wanted to wrap myself around him with an intensity that frightened me. I wanted to feel the scrape of his unshaved skin against mine, taste the mint of the toothpaste in his mouth, and sink my hands into his hair.
“One of the SUVs left,” he said, his attention on the view outside.
Huh? I shook my head, my brain somewhere else entirely.
“The other is still there, but with the engine running now.” He pointed, and I reluctantly abandoned my fantasies to step up on the closed toilet and peer out.
Sure enough, he was right. The forward-most SUV was gone, leaving the second in place, the dim glow of the interior lights confirming at least one dark silhouette inside.
“And check out our mystery dude,” Zane added, near enough to my ear to send a bolt of heat through me.
Get a grip, Ariane. I forced myself to pay attention. In the house directly behind us, with lights blazing in the upstairs window, I could see the unknown man, his hair ruffled and standing on end, frantically shoving things into a bag. He was packing up his stakeout. In plain view of anyone who happened to glance in his direction.
I rolled my eyes. Amateur.
“He’s not GTX, that’s for sure. I don’t even think he’s…” I paused and shook my head. “I don’t know what he is except really, really bad at this.”
“What are they doing?” Zane asked, tilting his head toward the remaining SUV.
I focused on his mom’s house, where the lights were on now, movement flickering as shadows. From this distance, it wasn’t easy to pick up on specific thoughts. General emotional impressions were easier. Dread, resignation, the pinch of uncomfortable clothes, bitterness, anger.
I closed my eyes, concentrating, picturing Mara and attempting to focus in on her mind.
…toast is burning! I don’t need an escort to work…just want an excuse to spy on me some more…keys, keys, where are my keys?
Then a strong surge of worry and a very clear image of Zane. Please, let him be safe.
Not yet, but I was doing my best.
I opened my eyes to find Zane studying me.
“I think she’s going to work,” I said, my face warm under his appraisal. “The SUV is going to follow her.” Maybe to observe and protect her, a response to her claim of seeing one of the hybrids at the grocery store. Or more likely, given how angry she’d been on the phone earlier when talking to Laughlin, a reminder of who was running her life. She was not a free woman, but a resource owned by Laughlin Integrated Enterprises.
Either way, it meant we wouldn’t get the opportunity to talk with her alone.
I frowned. Unless we were willing to take a chance.
I leaned closer to the glass, taking in the angles, the different approaches between our location and the target. We couldn’t walk up to the front door and ring the bell again, not with the occupants of the SUV watching, plus our mystery observer. And I was willing to bet that barging in through the back door probably wouldn’t get us a better response from Mara.
Our only option might be to take her by surprise without letting any of the others see us. The garage was attached to the house, and if she was taking her own car to work…
“What are you doing?” Zane asked.
“Thinking. Working on timing,” I said, distracted. “Do you think your mom locks the door between the house and the garage?”
He gave a strangled laugh. “You saw her,” he said. “I think she locks everything. Twice, at least.”
Fair enough. That would cost us an extra second or two, but it would also force her to take more time before leaving the garage. Of course, if she’d barricaded the sliding glass door at the back of her house with anything more than a standard security bar, I’d never be able to get it open in time and we’d be out of luck, but, barring any other, better ideas, it was worth a shot.
I turned to Zane. “How do you feel about running?”
“To or from something?” he asked, and I could see the wariness in his expression. He was wondering if I was going to try to force him to leave.
“To.” I outlined my plan.
When I finished, he was shaking his head.
“What?” I asked.
He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said, “Sometimes I forget you’ve got all this…stuff in your head. Plans, schemes, skills. It’s like you’re two different people sometimes.” He didn’t seem to be sure if that was a good thing or bad thing, or just weird.