Forget Me Not (13 page)

“Why was it you?” I ask.

“Huh?” He raises a lone eyebrow on his otherwise expressionless face.

“The day in my house with the scout.”

“I was on duty.” He shrugs. “We all have to take a turn.” His gaze sweeps the room while he pushes his hair out of his face. Surely he’s not looking to take more weapons. The bag’s got to be full by now, and we can’t possibly need anything else just to meet this Garrett.

I buckle the sheath to my forearm while we talk. “You aren’t like Sam; you’re not one of the experienced fighters, so why did they send you to my house that day?”

“I am experienced, and I can fight, maybe even better than Sam.” His brows draw together, then smooth out as he sighs. “Look, our numbers are low. So unless we suspect something brewing there’s only ever one person on duty. Especially since the scanner needs to be manned around the clock,” he says. “Besides, you never know when a cute damsel will stumble across a piece of tech and use it, alerting The Collective and putting herself in distress.” He raises an eyebrow, and the hint of a smile touches his mouth.

“Right.” I cross my arms and stand up straighter. I was hardly in distress. He thinks he’s hilarious. He’s not.

Well, maybe just a little.

His eyes twinkle with an inner light, and he chuckles. “Everyone capable of fighting has to do their share of shifts, and I’m the best young resistance member. I always get the tech.” He smirks, winking at the same time. “Let’s go.”

As he pulls the door closed behind us, I can’t help but think, once again, of all the people on the farm he was the one on duty that day. Karma or Fate?

“Come on, Mae,” he says over his shoulder as he starts back toward the farmhouse.

I sigh and turn to follow, confusion warring inside me. Funny or rude. Like or dislike. Attraction or repulsion. Definitely Fate. Shaking my head, I watch him stroll along in front of me. I think I do like him, even though he’s so damned difficult to figure out.

I lengthen my strides to catch up, heading back toward the farm house. We’re going inside? I glance back over my shoulder at the workshop but can’t see his bike. Over to Beau’s pickup
—a twin to Al’s—then back at Jax standing at the base of the veranda.

“We’re porting,” he says in a loud whisper.

I move up beside him so we don’t wake anyone and whisper much quieter than he did. “Porting?”

“Yep. Come on.” He climbs the three steps in one stride, pulls opens the squeaking door, and motions for me to step inside.

“Porting?” I ask again. “What’s that?”

“It’s a bit
like the sliding or gating in science fiction movies,” he says. “It bends space-time by sinking the centre and bringing the edges of the plane together. You just kind of slip from one space to another. You’ll see.”

My expression must be as blank as my understanding. I have no idea what he said, but an image of me slipping right out of existence and ending up lost, floating in nothing, sits in my mind’s eye. My breath comes shallow and fast, and I’m not sure I want to port. He motions me inside again. Grimacing, I walk into the farmhouse. “Sounds painful.”

“Surprisingly, it’s not.”

“But how? Do we have to jump in a fire, enter a chamber, say a magic word?”

“You watch too many movies.” He laughs softly. “You’ll see.”

I follow down the small staircase opposite the kitchen. I’ve noticed the entrance to the stairs, but it has an ‘out of bounds’ feel so I never ventured down. “You mentioned a scanner. What’s that? How does it work?”

“You’re full of questions tonight.”

“I discovered everything I believed to be fiction is real, of course I’m inquisitive.” The air dampens the lower we go, raising goose bumps on my skin. I wrap my arms around myself against the cold.

He shoots me a crooked smile. Like he wouldn’t be inquisitive too. “Tech gives off vibrations when it’s in use. The detector picks up on those and transfers the signal to the scanner, which sets off an alarm.”

“But, don’t they have tech too? How do you know if it’s someone needing help?”

“We don’t until we get there. If it turns out not to be a rescue mission, we use the opportunity to steal tech or gather intel.”

“So you’re like beat cops?”

“Like what?” he says.

“You know, patrol officers who just walk through the neighbor
hood and keep the peace.”

“Kind of.”

The base of the stairs opens into a room the same size of Will’s small bedroom. It’s damp and musty and holds only four things: a circular mat with a series of black and white circles and a red center like a bull’s-eye, a reclining chair, a side table holding a large machine which looks like some type of radio, and a modern computer. Lilly’s in the chair, an opened book in her hand, her chin resting on her chest, and her dark hair brushing her lap. Eyes closed. We must be going to sneak out without waking her.

A series of cables and wires connect the computer, machine, and mat. Small green lights on the machine flash like little signals. “Looks complicated,” I whisper.

“Yeah, the scanner pinpoints the use of the tech to an exact location, which it transmits to the Port-all that transports to that location.” He points at each thing as he names them. “The computer has a mapping device which shows the location on the screen.”

“Wow.” I clamp my hand across my mouth. Oops, too loud.

Lilly jumps in her chair, and her wide sleepy eyes spring open. “Jax.” She stretches her arms out above her. “About time you got here to relieve me from the longest, most boring shift ever. I’m starving. If I don’t get something to eat right now, I’ll pass out.”

“Lilly, you were passed out, and you shouldn’t be sleeping on the job.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Besides, I’m not here to
—”

She doesn’t hear him; she’s already rushing up the stairs and out of the room.

Jax turns to me, a smile lighting up his whole face in an unusual, friendly glow. “The rest will be easy,” he says. “We’ll have around four hours before anyone comes down here.”

He passes me a black drawstring bag from under the counter. “Put one around each wrist, and make sure the node touches your skin.”

I open the bag to find a mass of skin-colored bands in a tangled mess. They’re like sweatbands. I pull one out and turn it over in my hand. A square of metal as big as my thumbnail is sewn into the underside. It looks kind of like a computer chip with tiny flashing lights like the ones on the scanner. Sliding it over my wrist, I grab a second one, leaving the bag empty.

Jax punches at the keyboard, setting up an address. His wrists, unlike mine, are noticeably bare. My brow tightens.

“Where are yours?”

“Don’t need them. So long as you’re touching me, we’ll both port.”

“You wear them, then.” I pull them off.

“No, it’s cool.”

“We can take one each.” I hold the bands out to him, but he’s focused on the computer and doesn’t see.

“Doesn’t work that way. You need to wear both.” He slams his finger into the Enter button and finally turns around. “We’re porting into Central Park.”

I frown. It makes more sense if he has it. He knows what he’s doing, and I’ve got no idea. So why doesn’t he want to wear the porting tech? Is it dangerous?

He bends down, retying the laces on his boots, and ignoring the offered bands. “When it’s time to port back you need to tap either of the bands directly above the nodes like this.” He straightens up, takes my hand in his, palm to palm. Prickles run up my arm, making the tiny hairs rise. The meeting of our skin is like fire and ice. My gaze is drawn to his, but I can’t tell if he feels it too. His brows are drawn in concentration.

With two fingers he drums the back of my hand in a short, four tap sequence. Waits a moment, and taps the same sequence again. “Got it?” His hand still rests in mine, and heat radiates from my palm. Searing heat, but I don’t pull away. Somehow it feels good.

“Uh huh.” I turn our hands over so his is on top, and rap the sequence onto the back of his hand.

“Perfect.” He smiles, another one of the rare ones that warms his eyes. His hand slides off mine, breaking the contact with a hollow snap. He points to the red circle marking the middle of the mat. “Stand in the center.”

I pull the bands over my wrists. He said it doesn’t hurt, but my hands tremble anyway. The idea of slipping through some plane to a different space is more than a little unnerving, but I smack on the bravest face I can muster and step forward onto the mat.

Jax comes to my side and holds his hand out. The strength of his fingers closing around mine makes the heat return with a pleasant, burning intensity. “Ready?”

I give a quick nod.

Once, twice, thrice, four times he taps the band on my wrist.

I close my eyes, and I’m falling, floating like a feather, ever downward. Jax’s hand squeezes mine, and I grip it even tighter. I don’t dare open my eyes to check if I can see him. It’s strange, like there’s nothing underneath us. I can feel his hand in mine, anchoring me to him, the only sure thing in a floating sea. Suddenly it stops, and we sink. My body drops and leaves my stomach in my throat, a loose fluttering streak left in its wake. A scream builds inside me, but I keep my mouth clamped and squeeze his hand even tighter. It all stops, and even with my eyes screwed closed I know my feet are on firm ground. Porting wasn’t so bad. I ease my eyes open, not sure what I’ll see.

Dark shadows, some tall, some stumpy, like trees and shrubs surround us in the dark grey light of dawn. Soft noises plop like water splashing. A fountain? I slide my clammy hand out of his and wipe it on my pants. Central Park is eerie and silent. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this quiet. But then, it’s been years since I’ve spent any more than two minutes here. The place holds too many memories. Mom used to bring me here as a kid. We’d come by one of the street vendors, and she’d buy herself a coffee. White with one. I’d get a hot chocolate with milky froth on the top, then we’d walk into the park and sit under the shade of a tree.

Jax moves into the shadows of a bush and crouches, rocking back on his haunches, looking right at home.

I crouch beside him without speaking. We must be waiting for Garrett. “What time’s he coming?” I ask.

“A bit after sunrise.”

“Then why are we here so darn early?”

“We had to come when we could, shift change is when it’s easiest, and no one will check in on the basement in the middle of the night.”

It feels like he’s talking down to me, but I swallow my retort. He’s helping me. My tummy grumbles at the smell of baking bread wafting on the crisp morning air.

“Hungry?” Jax asks.

“No.”

“Your stomach just growled louder than Ace does, and by the way you’re swallowing, I’d say that’s a lie.”

He pushes himself up and inclines his head toward the delicious smell.

As we emerge out of the park, the city street is pretty quiet. There are more people than I’d expect at this time of the day. They mill around the outside of a building across the road which sits at the corner of two streets. Massive windows reach from the ground all the way to its roof. A newsstand occupies the space beside it on one street and a baker beckons my empty stomach from the other. The doors of both stand open, ready for early morning customers. The smell of baking bread wafts through the street again, and my stomach makes a loud, embarrassing noise.

We walk across the road, toward the bakery. Looks like Jax is buying my breakfast for the second time since we met. If it weren’t for my hunger, I’d feel a little guilty.

My gaze locks on the building
—a studio—with two hosts sitting inside, their backs to the window, their hair impeccably styled. Camera crews point their equipment toward the glass walls, catching the street in their shot. The morning show. A thought niggles at the edge of my mind, but I can’t quite pull it together.

My fingers feel near frozen, so I wriggle my hands into the pockets of my jeans. It’s a tight fit, but it’s warm. My fingertips brush the brooch.

“Mae.”

I flinch at the sound of Jax’s voice. He holds a brown paper bag out to me. Not being able to provide for myself rekindles a desire for my own things. My camera, my clothes, my purse. If I only had access to my normal stuff. Relying on other people for essentials is beyond humiliating. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had to ask someone for money
—a plus of my after school job at the diner. I take a deep breath and suck the misery up. No point in moping.

“Oh, thanks.” Gosh, how long was I standing on the sidewalk staring at the rolling cameras? It’s not like I haven’t seen the morning show’s live filming before.

Without another word, I turn around and disappear back into the park with Jax.

We wait.

The sky morphs from dark grey to the soft light of dawn. Staring at the sunrise makes me reach for the place at my neck where my camera always hangs. It takes a few moments of groping for it before I remember where I am, what I’m doing, why I’m here, and why I don’t have it.

I shiver all over. Why is it suddenly so cold? This has to work. Garrett must know something.