The Taking (23 page)

“I’m not going with you,” I told Simon when he started the engine. “I have a family here.” I was surprised to hear myself say the words, surprised by how strongly I felt about the thought of abandoning them again: my dad, my mom, even Logan. “And someone else.”

“Yeah. Tyler Wahl. I saw you with him, at the coffee shop.” He grinned at my surprised expression. “I’ve done my homework. I guess I also expected you to say that.” Shaking his head, he forced me to meet his gaze. “I can’t make you come with me, but you’re taking a huge risk, Kyra, and, to be honest, I think it’s a big mistake.” He reached into his glove box and dug out a new cell phone. This one was way less fancy than the one he’d destroyed. “It’s a burner, but it’ll do the job. Plus it can’t be traced to anyone. Only turn it on when you need to use it—my number’s programmed.”

I took the phone, relieved that he wasn’t trying to stop me.

“I’ll drop you someplace safe,” he went on. “But you have to promise you’ll be careful. You can’t go back home, even if your family insists. The NSA will be waiting for you, and no matter what they or anyone else says, they can’t be trusted. Understand?”

I nodded numbly.

“Be careful, and trust no one.” He nodded toward the car door, indicating for me to close it. “I’ll stay in town for the next twenty-four hours. But I definitely think you should reconsider coming with me. It’s the safest option—for everyone. There are things about us, Kyra, that make us dangerous to be around—and I’m not just talking about the NSA. Call me when you’re settled somewhere.”

Simon’s idea of a “safe” place was literally a travel agency called Safe Travels that he dropped me off in front of. If we’d been playing a game, which we weren’t, I’d have given him minus five points for lack of creativity.

But he’d earned at least fifty bonus points when he handed me a wad of cash stuffed into a manila envelope along with a fake ID that, when I saw my face staring back at me, was so convincing I almost believed that my name really
was
Bridget Hollingsworth. As cool as the whole falseidentity thing would have seemed at any other time, it was less cool right now, while I was still attempting to process what he’d just told me. About me being
different
from everyone else.

I tried to convince him there was no way I’d need the driver’s license
or
the three hundred dollars he’d given me, although, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t
hate
the driver’s license.

But Simon had insisted I keep them both, and ultimately I’d agreed to hold on to them for the time being, with the promise that I’d give everything back once I could convince my parents to square things away with Agent Truman, which shouldn’t take long. Regardless of what Simon had told me about what I could or couldn’t do now, I was counting on them to clear up this whole mess with the NSA.

And then I’d start fixing things between me and my dad.

My dad, who wasn’t as crazy as I’d believed. Who hadn’t been wrong about aliens and abductions.

It was all still so hard to believe.

Me able to heal within a matter of seconds. Barely needing sleep or food. Aging at a snail’s pace.
Crazy.

I caught a reflection of myself in the glass exterior of an insurance office as I strolled along the sidewalk. Slowing, I scowled at the girl staring back at me, a girl who wasn’t Bridget Hollingsworth . . . but wasn’t really Kyra Agnew either. She still looked like the same girl she’d always been: dishwater-blond hair, freckles splashed across the bridge of her nose, and eyes that were too big—no matter how Tyler saw them.

I didn’t want to be an anomaly. I just wanted to be the old me again.

I searched the other side of the glass, hoping to find a clock, just to get a glimpse of it so I could ground myself in the time, but there were none. Reaching up, I tucked a piece of my ordinary hair behind my ear before I turned the corner. Keeping my head down, I tried to maintain a low profile, the way Simon had warned me. It was harder than it seemed, considering my jeans were covered in smears of drying blood. When I came to a bench, I perched uneasily on the edge of the seat and pulled out my new phone and powered it on.

I called my dad three times, because he seemed most likely to believe me, but each time it went straight to voice mail, and I didn’t leave a message. I didn’t text him either because I didn’t want to take the chance that Simon had been wrong about the burner not being traceable. I figured I’d try him again later.

My knees bounced up and down nervously as I punched in a different number, waiting for someone to answer on the other end. I was afraid that what Simon had told me would change everything. But I was afraid, too, that everything had already been changed because of Agent Truman and his men.

“Hello?” The voice was tentative, and I hoped it was just because I was calling from an unfamiliar number.

I hesitated, but only for a second before exhaling into the mouthpiece. “Tyler?”

He didn’t say anything at first. There was a pause, and shuffling. It stretched out, and after a minute I started to worry about whether he was coming back at all. Then I heard him, his voice a sharp whisper. “
Kyra?
Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you. What’s going on?”

I shook my head. “I can’t explain right now. What’s going on over there?” My palms were sweaty, which seemed like a “normal-person” thing to do. “Are those people . . . are they still at my house?”

“Most of them are gone now,” His voice was still hushed, but insistent. “But they were here, and they were asking questions about you, asking my parents and me if we knew where you were. What did you do?” He stopped talking, and then, with just the barest hint of a laugh because I swear he couldn’t help himself, he added. “You know I was only joking when I asked if you were planning to knock off a bank.”

I wanted to laugh, too, but instead I groaned. “I wish it was that simple,” I admitted. “Can you get away without anyone knowing? I’ll tell you everything if you meet me.”

“My dad would shit a brick if he knew I was even talking to you. He got all ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ when he was talking to that douche bag agent guy.” My heart sank. I’d been sure I could count on Tyler. And then his voice, husky and absurdly beautiful, found me from the other end. “So of course I’ll be there. Name the place.”

And despite the whole crappy situation, I smiled.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I KNEW THE SOFTBALL FIELD WAS A BAD IDEA
. Agent Truman had already followed me there once; it made sense he’d think to look there again, waiting for his chance to pounce on me.

That was why I didn’t choose the softball field. I picked the bookstore instead.

I had a hard time believing Agent Truman knew anything about Tyler’s bookstore. Still, I couldn’t afford to take any chances. I stayed hidden behind one of the gross, garbage-filled Dumpsters in the alley, waiting until I was sure Tyler had come alone. And until I couldn’t stand the stench of warm rot emanating from inside the giant metal bin any longer.

When he got out of his car, I made the
psst
sound at him until I got his attention.

Despite the cloak-and-dagger circumstances, a spark lit up his face when he saw me, making me realize he had been the exact right person to call. At least until he got a good look at me.

“What the hell?” The grin fell from his face as his eyes raked over my blood-covered jeans. He gripped my arms, making it impossible to avoid his inspection.

“Don’t worry. It’s mine.” I tried to laugh it off. “I’m fine. Really.”

But my explanation had the opposite effect, and his expression shifted from frown to scowl. He reached for my hand and dragged me toward the bookstore’s back entrance, again not bothering to knock, just letting us inside. “What the hell happened to you?” he demanded. “First those government guys surround your house and ask a shitload of questions. And then you turn up covered in . . .” His eyes were so much softer than his tone as they captured mine. It would have been impossible
not
to see the fear in them. “. . . It is blood, right?”

I nodded, guilt welling up inside me. He didn’t need to be involved in my mess.

I guess I do have another option,
I thought, feeling the manila envelope crumpled up in my back pocket. I could always run away with Simon and actually
become
Bridget Hollingsworth. Essentially, I could start over.

The idea had its merits.

But so did staying here.

Because
here
meant Tyler.

Tyler, who was watching me with his incredibly sympathetic green eyes and who had a dimple to die for and kisses that made me forget my name—the real one and my fake one. And who was reaching for me now in spite of the fact that I had blood smeared all over my clothes.

When his arms circled me and he pulled me up against him, his chin settling on top of my head, I breathed in and braced myself. I could do this.

“Remember when you said if I believe it, you believe it?” I raised my eyes to his. He frowned back down at me, the weight of that look like lead settling over my chest. “You might want to wait till you hear what else I have to say.”

Tyler was a way better listener than I had been. He didn’t interrupt me the way I had Simon. In fact, the only interruption to my explanation had been Jackson, who’d come into the back room to locate a book he’d put on hold for a customer. He offered us a sheepish apology for the disruption, even though
we
were the ones hiding out in
his
bookstore. He cast a few awkward glances my way, making me even more uncomfortable about the fact that we’d made ourselves at home in the dark recesses of the cluttered storeroom.

Tyler didn’t seem at all uneasy and was so focused on me that he barely registered Jackson’s presence at all. He offered his friend a quick nod but impatiently waited for me to continue my explanation after Jackson slipped back into the front of the bookstore once more.

Relaying the things Simon had told me was harder than I’d expected, and I’d expected it to be damn near impossible. I’d worried that Tyler was going to up and bolt at any second, because hearing myself repeat the information, hearing the way it sounded coming out of my mouth, it seemed even stranger and more far-fetched than it had when I’d been in his shoes.

I was sure I was forgetting to relay some vital piece of information, something that would convince him I didn’t deserve to be carried away by Agent Truman and his agents in one of their black vans with the tinted windows. I tried to make it sound somehow logical that I was going to age slower than everyone else and that I no longer needed normal amounts of sleep or food.

Tyler didn’t comment.

Heck, he barely blinked.

He just did that thing where he went all silent and introspective, as if he was assessing every word. Every syllable while I sat there, terrified I was losing him.

My chest tightened as I waited for his verdict. And then I realized what it was I’d forgotten.

“Here. Let me show you.” I rotated on the overturned crate I was sitting on across from Tyler.

I spied the box knife on top of a stack of old magazines. It was the kind with one of those razor blades that can be raised and lowered with just the flick of a thumb. I snatched it and, before I could chicken out, took a deep breath and flipped my wrist over, ready to slice into my own flesh.

But before I could prove I wasn’t lying about my ability to heal—that what I’d told him was the God’s honest truth—Tyler’s hand shot out and snagged mine. “Have you lost your mind! There’s no way I’m letting you cut yourself.”

I looked up, searching his earnest green eyes. I wished I knew what he was thinking, that I could see inside his head.

I lowered the blade, nodding considerately. Because I didn’t have to be a mind reader to recognize that look: I’d pushed him too far.

“I understand,” I said at last when I couldn’t take another minute of his placating gaze. It was the same look I’d given my dad when he’d first tried to tell me where he thought I’d been for five years. Humor mixed with pity. “I get it. It’s too weird. Accepting that I’m still sixteen is one thing, but this . . . that I was abducted and experimented on . . . by aliens . . .” I made a face to drive my point home. “It’s too much. I know how it sounds, and if I were you, I wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I mean . . .” I looked down at myself, at the blood on my jeans and at the box knife in my hand, and let out a derisive laugh. “
So crazy
, right?” There was nothing more for me to say. Nothing I could do but wait for him to make up his mind about whether he was okay with this. With me.

Tyler’s grip on my hand tightened. “You think I won’t believe you unless you cut yourself? You think you have to prove yourself by showing me what you can do? Jesus, Kyra.
Jesus
. Haven’t I already convinced you . . . I
trust
you.” He loosened his hold, and without thinking, I did too. The box knife dropped to the floor between us.

Tyler got up and stared down at me. “You’re stupid,” he stated matter-of-factly, and I shot to my feet, immediately taking offense.

“
You’re
stupid.”

He laughed then. “No, I mean you’re stupid if you think I’d give up on you that easily.”

My voice lowered to barely a whisper. “But even if you believe it . . . how can you even want . . . ? God, it’s just so . . .” I exhaled, trying to get rid of all the awkwardness bundled up inside me, vibrating my every nerve fiber. “I’m not going to age, Tyler. I’m a freak.”

“Okay, now you’re just insulting me.” Tyler reached over and put his finger beneath my chin, dragging my eyes to his. Not that I’d want to look anywhere else. I could stare into those eyes for the rest of my life—which, evidently, was a lot longer than his would be. “God, Kyr. I don’t care about any of that.” His finger moved away from my chin and lingered near my jaw, caressing, stroking, making it hard to pay attention to his words. “I care about you.
You
, Kyra. The you I know. The you I might be falling in love with. It doesn’t matter to me how old you are or
will be
; all I care about is
who
you are, and that hasn’t changed from this morning. You can’t stand there and tell me you’re not that same girl, because I’m telling you,
you are
. You’re more perfect than anyone I know.” His hands slid up to my cheeks until he was holding my face. His mouth was mere millimeters from mine, and I could taste the intensity behind his words as his breath fused with mine. “The person you are has nothing to do with anything you’ve just told me about healing or aging. It’s your memories and life experiences, your hopes and fears and dreams and passions that make you who you are, and none of those things have changed, have they?”