Project Paper Doll: The Trials (21 page)

So, no, this particular row of dominos could not be allowed to fall, never mind that I had no idea how to stop it.

I squared my shoulders. “Did Adam say anything else to you when he looked at the packet?” I asked Zane. “Anything that might tell us where he’d be going to find
Carter?”

“I didn’t even know the target was Carter,” Zane reminded me, his mouth tight. “Not then. Just that it was a guy.”

I let out a slow breath, anxiety crawling over my skin like an itch that I couldn’t scratch. I wanted to be moving, to be doing something. But taking action now, without a plan in place,
would be useless at best and reckless at worst.

The situation was spinning out of my control. Which was, of course, an illusion, because it had never been within my control. But at least in the beginning I’d been expecting a direct
confrontation, honor in a death I chose, one while fighting rather than one of futility.

That was still an option, I realized with sudden grim clarity and a sinking feeling.

In a logical evaluation of our situation, our objective against available information and options, we were, in the common vernacular, screwed.

We didn’t know where to find Adam, Carter, or Ford. We didn’t even know whom they’d selected as a target for Ford, but it had to be someone who meant something to me.

And no matter how I approached that particular problem—find Adam before he hurt Carter so I could stop Ford before she reached her target, all without running out of time—I
couldn’t see a way through.

But there was, as my father had always taught me, more than one way to view a problem. If I couldn’t achieve my objective with the information I had, then maybe it was time to reevaluate
my objective.

What
could
I do?

We did have one piece of solid intel: I had the location of Jacobs, Laughlin, St. John, and the Committee.

I imagined them all lounging in some suite within the hotel, drinking and eating whatever luxuries room service could deliver, with occasional glances toward the computer(s). In reality, based
on Dr. Jacobs’s texts, they were likely hunched over laptops, watching the blips of our various tracking devices on-screen, like it was some kind of important sporting match.

That image rekindled the fury in my gut. They were using us, and even worse, using us against each other. It wasn’t even a fair fight.

Maybe it was time someone brought that unfair fight to them.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I don’t like it,” Zane said darkly.

I blinked up at him, startled. “I didn’t think you could hear me that clearly—”

“No, not from your thoughts. It’s on your face,” he said. “What’s going on?”

I sighed. “Zane—”

“No,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “The last time you had that look, you pretended to be Ford and sneaked into Laughlin’s facility, otherwise known as
certain death.”

Either he could hear more than he realized, or he was just getting better at figuring me out.

“You’re thinking about going back to the Manderlay, aren’t you?” He stood, swaying before catching himself. “No. Hell no.” He shook his head. “The
second they see you start that way, they’ll have someone on you. You have to know they have a contingency plan. Jacobs is already threatening it.” He gestured to the phone in my hand
and the messages on it.

“I can ditch the vitals monitor,” I protested. “Make someone wear it and then put the phone in someone else’s bag—”

“And maybe get that person killed if they send someone to shoot you from a distance because you’re not following orders and tracking down your target?” he demanded.

“What else would you have me do?” I asked, trying for calm. One of us had to be.

He raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, maybe take time to consider that throwing yourself on this particular bomb isn’t the way to go?” He glared at me.
“You’re always so quick to sacrifice yourself.”

“Says the guy who endured multiple doses of an as-yet mostly untested virus that changed his DNA, to enter a competition where he might die,” I shot back. Staying calm was not so
easy when I could feel his agitation, and my own frustration was growing. Why couldn’t he just let this go? Accept it as part of the deal, a price that had been agreed upon before I was born,
to be paid in the future.

“Yeah, and look how pissed you were with me for that,” he said. “And you want me to just throw my hands up and say ‘Oh, well’ while you walk in to your own
execution?”

His expression softened and he reached out and touched my cheek, his thumb brushing over my mouth. “How am I supposed to do that?” he asked in a pleading tone that sounded like he
genuinely wanted me to help him find the answer.

I forced a swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. “I know it’s not fair, but I can’t put my personal feelings ahead of—”

He dropped his hand, his face shuttering. “And why the hell not?” he asked. “You’re a person too. Don’t you get to choose what you want? Why does it have to be
you?”

“Because there’s no one else!” I shouted, and immediately regretted it when the bubble of low-level noise in the coffee shop shattered into shocked silence and I felt the few
other customers staring at us.

“Or maybe you just think you deserve it,” Zane said quietly into the void.

I blinked at the unexpected tears that welled in my eyes.

“You are more than someone’s experiment, more than Dr. Jacobs’s brain child,” he whispered fiercely. “You have a right to want things for yourself, Ariane, to see
yourself as a person. How do I get you to believe that?”

I turned away from him, unable to hide how closely his words had come to striking the vulnerable center I tried so hard to hide. “What do you want me to do?” I asked again.

“I want you to fight,” he said.

“But I—”

“And not by giving yourself up,” he added.

I turned to face him. “Again, I’m very open to suggestions,” I said through gritted teeth. “But I don’t see another option when they have all the information, all
the power. You can’t just tip the balance in our favor by wishing it, no matter how noble your motives.” I couldn’t keep the sneer out of my voice, even though he didn’t
really deserve it. I was as frustrated with myself as with him. “We’re the underdogs here, remember?”

He scowled at me. “I’m not suggesting that we—” He paused, a strange look crossing his face. “Maybe, maybe not.” A faint smile pulled at the corners of his
mouth.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked with wariness.

He sat in his chair again, his entire posture changed now, confidence pouring through the cracks. “You could do exactly what they’re expecting you to.” He gestured to the phone
still clutched in my hand. “You have Adam’s sister. You can track her.”

“I am not going to kill on their orders again,” I said. I’d done it once because it was a necessity; that was not the case this time.

He made an exasperated noise. “No, I’m not saying that. But they’ll be watching you. Seeing you track her and find her will keep them off your back temporarily. If you’re
dead, you can’t save anyone,” he said rather pointedly.

“And then?” I prompted. Part B of this had to be damn near spectacular to make any kind of difference.

“You do what they’re expecting you to do, and then you turn it around on them,” Zane said with a grin.

Which was exactly what we’d done to Rachel in what felt like another lifetime, but I failed to see what that had to do with our current dilemma.

But Zane wasn’t done. “Adam had family pictures of that girl at the lab. I think the odds are pretty good that he’d answer a call from her.” He raised his eyebrows in a
triumphant smirk.

I went still. “You have the number for the phone they gave you?” I asked breathlessly, the words tumbling over one another in my hurry to get them out. “Why didn’t you
say so?” We could just call Adam and…

“No, but I know Adam has his own phone. One he used to stay in touch with his family. He had it at the facility.”

“Dr. St. John let him keep his phone?” I asked in disbelief.

Zane shrugged. “Adam is a volunteer. It’s not like he was going to try to plan an escape. As long as he didn’t talk about the ‘mission’ in specifics, I don’t
think Emerson cared.”

“But that doesn’t mean he has it on him now,” I pointed out. “He’s got yours instead.”

“He didn’t when he left the hotel this morning, and I’m sure Emerson was checking in with him before we met up,” Zane said. “Therefore, odds are, he’s got his
own phone on him.”

“So, you have his number?” I asked.

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “But I know someone who does, and so do you.” He grinned.

Now I could see what Zane had. I felt the first glow of excitement, of possibility.

“The odds are against us,” I warned him. “We’re running short on time.”

Zane just smiled. “So, what’s the plan?”

T
HE BAD NEWS WAS THAT
Adam’s sister was in a city of three million people and thousands of tourists. The good news was that my
girlfriend—was it okay to call Ariane that? We’d never officially discussed it, but I thought there might be some kind of automatic boyfriend/girlfriend status conferred once
you’ve almost died for one another—had scary skills.

After pulling her phone from her pocket, she tapped the screen, flipping through various applications as I watched upside down. Then she landed on one very familiar icon and tapped it with
complete confidence.

“Wait…you follow her on Twitter?” I stared at her. “How? When?” As far as I knew, the packets containing target information had been handed out only last
night.

“The documentation they provided gave me her first name—Elise. After that, it was just a matter of interpreting contextual clues from the provided pictures. I tracked her through her
university, Michigan State, and her sorority to get her last name, and then I used social media to create a false profile to follow her.” She shrugged. “I’m ‘Brittany
Pearson’ as far as Elise knows.”

I gaped at her. It was scary, frankly, exactly how good Ariane could be at this stuff. This girl, Elise, would have died today if Ariane had so chosen.

She frowned. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m just glad you’re on my side,” I muttered.

Ariane returned her attention to her phone. “Now we just need to find out what she’s been posting in the last hour or so. She doesn’t use the location check-in function, but
she’s been posting to one of the photo sites. I found her account there as well. Apparently, she won the annual all-expenses-paid trip with five friends from the Midwest Fine Arts Council, if
such an organization even exists, to visit the city for the weekend.” Her tone held bitterness. “Just enough to make it impossible for her to say no but not enough to make her wary
enough to stay away.”

“Tempting, but not too good to be true,” I muttered. The Committee knew what they were doing.

Ariane stiffened suddenly.

“What’s wrong?” I looked at her phone, expecting to see something horrible, like a photo of trials-related violence or an “account deleted” notification.

She shook her head, her mouth tight. “I think I just figured out who the Committee selected as Ford’s target.”

Meaning the person they thought Ariane would fight or seek vengeance for.

“Who?” I asked, mystified.

“Before I left GTX, Rachel was talking to me—”

“Rachel Jacobs?” I asked in disbelief.

“It’s a long story,” Ariane said with a sigh. “But she mentioned something about Cami winning a shopping trip. She’s here in the city today.”

“You’re kidding.” If the Committee had selected Rachel as someone Ari would care about, then maybe we weren’t in as much trouble as we thought, because clearly their
research skills sucked.

She shook her head. “It didn’t occur to me before, because they were clearly attempting to select people who were of emotional interest to the candidates. I’m not sure how
Rachel qualifies for me, but I think it’s a good possibility.…”

“Ford and Rachel inhabiting the same space,” I said, trying to imagine it. Rachel would think Ford was Ariane, which meant she’d be her typical abrasive self. I doubted Ford
would handle that with anything like the patience Ariane had demonstrated. “That’s going to go bad, and quickly.”

“My thoughts exactly, which means we have another reason to hurry.” Ariane turned her attention to her phone, skimming through Elise’s posts. “Elise was at the Museum of
Science and Industry as of forty-five minutes ago.” She turned the screen toward me, and I vaguely recognized the white sprawling building in the picture. “Lake Shore Drive.” She
clicked her phone off and returned it to her pocket, moving swiftly. “I should have more than enough money for a cab, assuming we don’t encounter traffic difficulties.…”
She hesitated. “Are you…how are you feeling?”

Her dark eyes searched my face.

I forced a smile. “I’m fine.” I could handle a cab ride, no problem. And a museum? That didn’t sound too taxing.

The problem with our plan became very, very clear as soon as the cab pulled up to drop us off in front of the building.