Unbreakable (Unraveling) (14 page)

I think of what my dad would say about that, and smile. Barclay and I both know we have to be good at this. We know what the stakes are. If we aren’t
good
, people will die.

“What is
this?
” I say, even though I know.

“I’m trying to compliment you,” Barclay says. “Can’t you just say thanks?”

I shake my head. “Too stubborn to accept compliments.”

The waitress comes and brings us two cups of coffee and a slice of the pumpkin pie to share, on the house. Her eyes are on Barclay the entire time she talks, and I’m pretty sure the pie is for him.

I’m about to comment on it once she’s gone, but Barclay’s face loses its humor and he leans closer to me. “After this is over, you should think about joining IA.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just stare back at him.

“You wouldn’t necessarily have to live here,” he says, cracking a smile. “IA has a presence in almost every universe.”

I bite my lip. It isn’t about moving to Prima, not that I have any desire to do that, either. But joining IA is something I’ve never thought about. I didn’t realize it was an option, but I can’t think of a single reason I’d want to. The IA is threatening Ben, and
me
, pretty violently. Why would I ever want to be a part of that?

I don’t say that out loud. Because for whatever reason, IA means something to Barclay.

But he’s waiting for me to say something. “It’s just, with all the corruption,” I say, carefully. “How can
you
even want to be part of IA anymore?”

“It wasn’t always corrupt, and that’s why we’re doing this,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Just think about it. You’d make a good agent. I’d help you.”

I stare into the black abyss that is my coffee, and I wonder what Alex would say about this—if he’d jump at the chance to run around the multiverse and fight the worst kind of bad guys. With how smart he was and how hard he worked, Alex would have made a great agent.

“One of the first things I learned was observational survival,” Barclay says.

I dump a packet of sugar into my coffee. “Care to elaborate?”

His eyes don’t leave mine, not even for a second, and he says, “There are twelve people in this place, counting us. Six are other diners, then there’s the waitress, two line cooks, and a manager in the back office. He’s probably got a gun tucked in a safe, but the biggest threat is the guy alone in the booth behind me. He’s not much bigger than I am, but his worn-out boots are military issue and he’s still sporting the standard army haircut. He’s probably not a soldier anymore, but he looks like he wishes he was.

“But no one in this place is even close to being as dangerous as you and me. We could take everyone out without a problem if we needed to.” He pauses, searching for something in my face. “You do it sometimes too. You analyze the situation and calculate the best escape routes and chances of survival. I don’t know if your dad taught you or if it’s some kind of instinct, but being aware of your surroundings is the most important thing anyone can ever teach you in this line of work.”

Barclay leans back against his seat as I think about his words. I can’t actually remember my dad ever specifically telling me to analyze a room, but I know he used to do it all the time. And I know I do it—especially when I think there’s going to be trouble.

But I didn’t do it when we walked in here. I skimmed the patrons to see if there were any cops, but that was it. If we did have trouble, it would be too late.

Barclay nods. “Tomorrow, when we’re separated, analyze every situation you’re in. Always know who else is around you, who’s likely to be the biggest threat, what your escape route would be if you needed one.”

I nod. I’m not exactly looking forward to being anywhere without him right now.

“Think of it like a chess game.”

“Stay at least one step ahead of my opponent?” I ask with a smile. Even though it’s not funny.

“Absolutely,” Barclay says. “We have to win.”

I’m not as confident as he is, mostly because I wasn’t a very good chess player.

But also because this isn’t a game, and I have a lot to lose.

A
fter we leave the diner, I follow Barclay to the subway. The sirens are off, and there are no helicopters or spotlights to worry about.

I look back. In the window, the pink lights that read
HOT COFFEE
flicker. For a moment, surrounded by coffee, Barclay, and the illusion of normalcy, I had felt almost calm, like I wasn’t wanted by IA or in a strange different world—like I wasn’t alone.

Then it hits me that this is it. I need to find Ben.

It’s not that he can bring me back from the dead and heal my scars, it’s not that he can hack into a computer system and change my class schedule, and it’s not even that he can kiss me breathless.

It’s that I want to go to another diner. I want to go inside, slide into an uncomfortable booth, grab a cup of bad coffee, and split a piece of pie. I want to watch the waitress flirt with the guy I’m with and then laugh about it when she leaves.

And I want that guy to be Ben.

I turn to Barclay. He’s got his hat on and his hands shoved in his pockets, and he hasn’t noticed yet that I’m not right behind him. I could probably add up the minutes we’ve been forced to spend together and it would be less than a full day, and here I’ve thrown my future and my life into his hands.

And right now, it’s possible that
this
moment is the one that says there’s no turning back—the one that changes everything forever.

Because I know exactly what I’m fighting for.

I
keep close to Barclay as we walk underneath the bridge and past a row of bars and restaurants. The graffiti isn’t as bad, and neither is the smell, but I still wouldn’t want to be alone.

There’s a bodega on the corner and some store called Kings Superhero Supply, and Barclay turns down a dark and sleepy side street where there are rows of old townhouses. He leads me to the last building on the block, and I follow him around it to a side door.

“Whose house is this?” I ask when he reaches under the mat and grabs a key.

“Relax, Tenner.” Barclay chuckles as he slides the key into the back door. He jiggles it a little and the door pops open. “This is my mother’s old house. No one will be here.”

He holds the door open for me and I follow him inside.

The house looks lived in, but it’s quiet. In the living room, the tan rug is plush and soft and the light-blue couches look comfortable. There’s a flat-screen TV on one wall, like the one Barclay has in his apartment, and a row of bookshelves on another. I’m surprised by how normal it all seems. This is a house I could have grown up in.

I’m just about to sit down on one of the couches and rest my legs when I hear something. It sounds like the ceiling just creaked, the way it would if someone were upstairs.

I freeze and look at Barclay, who holds up one finger and signals for me to follow him. We move through the living room to the kitchen. Barclay grabs a stainless-steel pan from the counter and we crouch behind the island in the center of the kitchen. He holds the pan at an angle where we can see a distorted image of the stairs.

We’ll be able to see whoever it is before they come down.

We wait in silence, and I have a moment to wonder if we actually heard anything at all, when I spot something reflected in the pan. I see the sneakers and the black leggings first, and I’m sure it’s a woman.

And she has a gun.

I
suck in a breath and wonder what could possibly go wrong next when Barclay leans in to get a better look and then shakes his head.

“Hayley,” Barclay says, standing up. “You scared the crap out of me.”

I stand up as well, because the last thing we need to do is startle her while she’s holding a gun. Better to lay our cards on the table up front.

“I scared you?” she says, not lowering her gun. “You just broke into my house!”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Barclay says. “I thought you were on assignment.”

“I got back this morning. What’s your excuse?” Then she looks at me. She’s pretty, with dark caramel skin, dark eyes with long eyelashes, and shoulder-length black hair. Whatever she sees in my face, she forms some kind of opinion because she adds, “Never mind.”

Barclay doesn’t tell her who I am.

But we might not need an introduction because she looks at him and says, “I can’t believe you’re trying to bring this down on me.”

“Hayley, I—”

“I don’t even want to hear any of your sorry-ass excuses,” she says, holding up a hand. “Let me pack a bag. I’ll spend the night at the office. I don’t want any part of whatever this is.”

When she disappears upstairs, Barclay relaxes. “Don’t worry, we can trust her.”

I don’t say anything, and he must not think I’m convinced.

“Hayley was a year ahead of me at North Point. Right now she’s still stuck doing a lot of analyst work, and some shadowing with a mentor.”

I don’t ask him who she is to him, but he tells me anyway.

“We dated a few times, but you know, it just didn’t work.” He sounds a little embarrassed about it, and I wonder if he’s still carrying a torch for her, especially if she’s living in his mother’s house. But it’s not really my business, and we’ve got more important things going on than trying to fix Barclay’s nonexistent love life. It’s not like Ben and I are ever going to go out with Barclay and his girlfriend on some kind of double date.

“How much does she know?” I ask instead, since that’s the important question.

Barclay shakes his head. “Not much. I told her about some of it, about Eric and about Ben and the human trafficking. About you.”

“That sounds like all of it,” I say.

“No, I mean, she knows the backstory, but she doesn’t know anything about what we’re planning.” He opens the fridge. “It’s not that I don’t trust her, it’s more that I don’t want her to go down if . . .”

He doesn’t finish the thought, but he doesn’t need to. He’s protecting her in case we don’t make it.

He offers me a beer, but I shake my head. That’s the last thing I need tonight.

Hayley comes downstairs again, this time with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She looks at Barclay, her mouth open to speak, but then turns to me. “Make sure he calls me if he gets into a jam.”

I don’t know what constitutes a jam—I mean, a couple of guys from IA were searching his house today. Does that count? But I just nod. There may come a time when we need her help whether Barclay wants her involved or not.

She seems satisfied with our girl moment and looks back to Barclay. “Return Tomas’s calls, will you? He’s harassing me about it.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, she just heads out through the kitchen.

“I’ve got nothing to say to him,” Barclay says. Then he adds, “Don’t work yourself too hard,” and Hayley is out the door.

“You don’t talk to your brother?” I ask.

Barclay shrugs, but the way his body tenses and the corners of his mouth turn down a little, I can tell there are some serious bad feelings there. “If Tomas had his way, we’d shut down interverse travel completely, heal up the soft spots, and destroy anything that can be used to open a portal.”

“Shut down IA? Why?” I ask, before the second half of what he just said hits me. “Wait, you can heal up the soft spots? How?”

“I’m not a scientist, Tenner,” he says, taking a deep swig from his beer. “I don’t exactly know how he plans to heal all the soft spots, but he thinks there’s a way to do it.” He gestures to the kitchen. “Come here.”

I do, but I’m not about to let this line of questioning drop. “But if we could heal the soft spot in San Diego, we could keep people from being abducted.”

Barclay shakes his head. “As I understand it, it’s not that simple. It wouldn’t be a viable long-term solution for anyone unless we completely stopped interverse travel.”

I don’t care if we stop interverse travel, but I say, “If we get through this thing, I want to talk to your brother. I want to know what we can do to protect ourselves.”

Barclay opens his mouth, and from the look on his face I know he’s about to say something snarky that’s going to piss me off, but then he surprises me, and his face changes a little. It softens, like he’s actually thinking about what it’s like to be in my shoes for once.

“You help me get through this, and I’ll make sure you meet and talk to anyone you want to,” he says. “You know, there have got to be people who can help with all the rebuilding and the resources. All that.”

My shoulders relax, and I feel so much lighter, I’m almost dizzy with relief. With Prima’s help, my world could eventually go back to normal. We could have food and medication and clean water. We could get electricity back up and the roads paved. Jared could go back to school and polo practice. Cecily could go back to cheerleading and asking obscure questions in science class. The enormity of hope that swells inside me makes my eyes water, and I look down at the wood floor to keep my emotions to myself.

After a deep breath, I look up to see Barclay sitting at the kitchen table. He lays out the medical supplies in front of him, then looks up and nods toward a chair. “Here.”

I don’t have a good feeling about this.

I sit across from him and he takes my left wrist in his hand and swabs it with rubbing alcohol. “I promise to make this as painless as possible, but it’s going to hurt. Probably a lot.”

I swallow the urge to pull my hand back. “Please tell me I’m going to get a better explanation than
that
.”

He smirks. “You and the humor.” He pulls something small out of his pocket. At first glance it looks like a transparent piece of paper, but on closer inspection, I can see something in it, something like digital code, and that’s when I realize it’s a microchip. He opens up the plastic casing and holds it close enough so I can see it. “This is a watch. It’s high tech, undetectable without an MRI or a body scan, and it can be programmed with multiple alarms and even a countdown.”

I don’t ask what he’s going to program it with. I know the answer. If I want to avoid the cameras in prison, it’s going to be infinitely easier if I have a watch or some kind of stopwatch to keep track of the time.