Project Paper Doll: The Trials (17 page)

But Zane spoke first, frowning. “What girl? What are you talking about?”

Startled, I glanced over at him. “The girl. You know. The one in the packet they gave us.”

He sat up straighter. “No, it was a guy. Adam said it was a dude.”

A chill slid its way down my spine. “Are you sure?”

He nodded slowly.

“Did you see the pictures yourself?” I asked.

“No, but I know what Adam said,” he insisted.

“Maybe Adam said that to confuse you, in case you decided to actually compete,” Justine said with impatience. “What difference does it make?”

Possibly a huge difference. If they’d provided us with separate targets, that changed everything. If we each had our own target, that would mean there could be multiple
“winners,” which meant there was more to this test than they were saying.

I put the red folder down on the table, pulled my assigned phone out of my pocket, and tapped the screen until I had the pictures I’d taken of the hard-copy photos from the envelope.
“Here. This is her.” I handed the cell to him.

Zane took it and thumbed through the images, his brows drawing together in confusion.

“This is not who was in our packet,” he said.

“If you didn’t see it—” Justine began.

“Because Adam would have said something,” Zane said sharply. He handed me my phone. “I recognize that girl,” he said to me. “I spent weeks sharing a room with Adam.
She’s in a couple of the family photos he had up in our quarters at the facility. It’s his sister.”

“S
EPARATE TARGETS
,” A
RIANE SAID TO
Justine, with the air of someone confirming plane crash fatalities. She stood,
shoving her phone in her pocket, a new urgency to her movements.

“I don’t understand,” I said, frustrated. Something big was going down, but I didn’t have enough of the pieces to see the whole picture. It was like being half-blind in a
world of people with X-ray vision.

“You didn’t know?” Ariane asked Justine.

“Not my area of concern,” she snapped.

“Hey,” I shouted, no longer caring if I drew attention. “What is going on?”

“If each of the competitors has a separate target,” Ariane said, “then this isn’t the contest. They could each take out their target and be successful. It doesn’t
eliminate anyone.”

“So, that means…” I pressed.

“There’s another stage,” Justine said.

“Likely direct confrontation between the candidates,” Ariane said.

Justine hesitated, then nodded. “That would be my guess.”

Ariane smiled bitterly. “And what better motive than vengeance?”

“Vengeance,” I repeated, still not getting it. Until, suddenly, I did. “If they pulled Adam’s sister into this as your target…” Words failed me, but the
thought echoed through my head. If they’d pulled Adam’s sister into this, odds were that the other two targets fell into the same category. Family. Friend. Someone who meant something
to another candidate.

I stood. “Give me your phone,” I said to Ariane, my heart pounding out a panicked rhythm. My mom. Quinn. Had they just gotten out of this mess only to get sucked back in?

Reluctantly, she shook her head. “Jacobs and the others, they’re monitoring it. If you start making calls, they’re going to know that you’re not where your tracker is and
that we’re onto them. Right now, those two things are our only advantages.”

I looked to Justine.

She leaned away from me, her fingers curling around her phone protectively. “No,” she said, her mouth a tight line. “It’s an expensive piece of equipment with access to
highly sensitive—”

I lifted my hand and mentally
pulled
the phone from her. It slipped free from her grasp easily enough, landing in my palm with a slap. But it was screen-locked, of course.

Justine’s mouth fell open in protest.

“Code?” My face felt like it was on fire, and the lights overhead flickered and sizzled, like grease in a skillet. Black spots swirled in my vision, and the room tilted, the wall
falling away from me. Nope, that was me.

I scrabbled for a hold on my chair.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Ariane said with the calmness that was so much at the core of who she was. She grabbed my arm and held me steady. “We’re going to figure this
out,” she said soothingly. “We don’t need any lights exploding here.” The teasing lilt to her voice was a bit forced, but I appreciated what she was attempting.

I tried to smile. “No, that’s your specialty.” But blood ran, warm and bitter, down my nose and into my mouth before I closed against it.

Her forehead pinched with worry, Ariane snagged a napkin from the holder on the table and handed it to me.

“Give him the code,” she said to Justine.

I held out the phone, and Justine, after a long pause, reached out to type in a code and then hold her index finger to the screen with a sigh of disgust.

With the napkin pressed against my nose, I punched in my home number, the phone at the house in Wingate, my fingers shaking enough that I misdialed twice. Finally, I got it right.

I didn’t have any other number for my mom. But I was hoping that if Quinn was still there recuperating, she might have stayed with him.

Right as the phone started to ring, it occurred to me, very belatedly, that this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation. They all thought I was dead. Or, missing, best-case scenario.

Guilt sat heavily on my chest. Yeah, I’d been acting under orders, keeping it a secret so that it wouldn’t jeopardize everything. But I wasn’t going to be able to explain
that—or, anything really—to their satisfaction. My mom might understand, given her experience with both Jacobs and Laughlin, but that did not mean she wouldn’t be pissed,
especially when she found out I’d stayed on voluntarily.

“Do you have any pull to stop this?” Ariane asked Justine quietly, as I counted off rings, imagining the phone on the kitchen wall echoing through a quiet and empty house.

Two…three…

My stomach clenched.

“Two separate departments, remember?” Justine said. “So, no, not without revealing our involvement.”

Four…Oh God, someone should have picked up by now.

“Hello?” My mom answered the phone, sounding wary.

I exhaled loudly in relief. “Mom.”

An audible gasp. “Who is this?” she demanded, her voice shrill.

I grimaced. “Mom, it’s me.”

Next to me, Ariane went very still.

“Do you think this is funny? To pretend to be my son?” she hissed.

“It’s me, Mom! I promise.” I closed my eyes, frantically searching for something to say that would prove it to her, something that would stop the pain and hurt in her voice.
“When I was five, I got the Millennium Falcon for Christmas. But the decals, they were from the wrong box, some My Pretty, Pretty Princess or Barbie thing. And Quinn let me put all the
stickers on before telling me.” Han Solo had had a glittery ride, despite my best efforts to peel everything off.

A woman in line peered through the bakery rack of to-go items to frown at me. Shit. I needed to remember to keep my voice down. I waved at the eavesdropping woman, and she flushed and turned her
attention to her phone.

My mom choked on a sob. “Oh God, Zane, where are you?” She drew a ragged breath, one I could hear as clearly as if she were standing next to me. And the guilt in my chest increased
until it felt like I couldn’t breathe.

“Are you okay? What happened? They couldn’t find you at the hospital, but—”

“Mom—”

“—I knew you had to be there. I saw you get shot.” Her voice broke. She was crying.

“Mom,” I tried again. “I’m okay, I promise. Please…please stop crying.” I winced at the jagged sounds from the other end of the phone. “I need you to
listen to me. I only have a few minutes.”

“What?” She sounded confused, her voice thick and ragged. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?” Suspicion darkened her tone. “Just tell me where you are.
We’ll come get you and—”

Oh boy. My mom wasn’t stupid; she was going to catch on quickly. “You’re there at the house,” I said. “Is Quinn there with you?”

“Quinn?” she asked, startled. “Yes, he’s here.”

“No, I mean, can you see him?” There was no way I was going to get by with that question, but I had to know. Before, when GTX had taken him, it had been days before we knew it
because everyone simply assumed he was at school and doing his thing.

“Zane Alexander Bradshaw,” she said through clenched teeth.

I flinched

“You’re still mixed up in that mess, aren’t you?” she demanded.

“Mom, I can’t talk about it.” I fidgeted, refolding the napkin and pressing it against my nose. The bleeding was slowing now. “I just need to know if you’re all
okay.”

“Zane, God, if I’d known what I was doing all those years ago, I never would have gotten involved. And I’m sorry that you were pulled into this. That was never my intention.
But you are done now. You are coming home.” Her voice was iron, reflecting her will. If she could have reached through the phone and yanked me back to Wingate, she’d have done it.

I shifted my weight uneasily. “I can’t.”

“It’s because of that…girl. She’s with you?” Her tone was carefully neutral.

But that was enough to trigger my temper. I turned away from Ariane, even though I knew she’d be able to hear, anyway. “She’s not ‘that girl,’” I snapped.
“Her name is Ariane. And my choices are mine.”

“You’re in over your head,” she said. “And you don’t know what you’re doing.”

I crumpled the bloodied napkin up, trying to find a clean side. If only she knew. But her dismissive tone set my teeth on edge. As if she’d done so much better?

“Mom. I just need to know if you guys are all right. People’s lives are at stake. Including mine,” I added, though I wasn’t sure if that would help or just make things
worse.

“Quinn’s on the couch,” she said icily. “I can see him from here.”

“And Dad?” I pressed. I couldn’t imagine that they’d risk messing with him, but I had to know for sure.

“At work,” she said. The “of course” was implied.

“Good.” I relaxed slightly. “But don’t let anyone in, even if they look…official. Okay? In fact, maybe just leave town for a while.” Theoretically, no one
should be coming after them. The trials were already in process. But better safe than sorry.

“I realize you care about her,” she said. “And that’s…admirable.”

And there she went again, ascribing my feelings for Ariane to charity, as if Ariane was something lesser that didn’t deserve to be loved, just pitied. I had to grit my teeth to keep from
shouting at her. How I felt about Ariane had nothing to do with pity or even sympathy. I admired the hell out of her, thought about her constantly, and hoped to see her naked at some point. That
was definitely not compassion.

“But I’m not losing my son,” my mom said fiercely. “I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking you were dead. I’m your mother, and it’s my job to protect
you, even if it’s from yourself. If you’re not home by tonight, I’ll be forced to take measures that you won’t like.”

I gave a tired laugh. “Mom. If you’re threatening me, you’re going to have to get in line.”

Justine cleared her throat loudly behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. She gave me the “cut it” signal, a finger across her throat.

“I’ve got to go.” I hesitated. “I’m sorry. About everything. I’ll be in touch again, when I can.”

“Zane, no! Wait, please. Just tell me where you are,” she begged. “I can help you, please! I have contacts who—”

I lowered the phone from my ear and disconnected the call, even as she continued to plead with me, which tore at my heart.

“They’re okay,” I said with effort to sound casual, collected. “Everyone is present and accounted for.” I stuffed the bloodied napkin in my pocket, not sure what
else to do with it.

“You were a last-minute surprise, as designed,” Justine pointed out. “They were counting on Adam participating. Odds are that they didn’t have time to find someone and
get them in place for you, but they were curious enough about St. John’s approach to let you in.” She hesitated, glancing at Ariane. “Or they were counting on motivating you in
another way.”

Meaning Ariane’s death would serve equally well to provoke the need for vengeance, assuming I survived Round One.

“She didn’t know you were alive,” Ariane said, startling me.

“My mom? No,” I said grimly. “I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell anyone.” I handed the phone to Justine.

Ariane closed the distance between us abruptly, startling me. She wrapped her fists in the front of my shirt and pulled herself up on her tiptoes, her lips brushing the bottom of my chin before
I realized what she was trying to do.

I bent down, and her mouth was on mine, open, warm, and insistent. Aggressive, almost. Everything else faded into background buzz. She wasn’t waiting for me; she was taking charge, and it
was hot.

Justine cleared her throat loudly to get our attention. It was gross and an obnoxious tick in her behavior, but it worked.

Ariane pulled away a few inches but still close enough that I could feel her breath against my skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, before releasing me.