Fate of Perfection (Finding Paradise Book 1) Page 8

  And last, would he figure all of that out but decide, correctly, that she was treasonous? She’d consistently read him wrong from the very first time she’d set eyes on him. There was exactly one person who could distract her, use her tech against her, and then trump her by checking her into a place she couldn’t check out of, all to win a dumb battle regarding the speed of her jogging. His motivations were as fuzzy to her as what went on behind those crazy-colored eyes.

  And now she was putting herself at his mercy.

  Was she insane?

  “No. Desperate,” she muttered to herself before glancing at the door just in case. Mumbling to herself was starting to be a bad habit. It didn’t chase the loneliness away, but it did make her look crazy.

  “Nothing for it.” Grimacing, she shook her head.

  She turned back to the console, uploaded the time bomb, and then paused again.

  What if someone else was in the cleaning stall?

  He was sexually active. People who had sex often slept in the same quarters. The message might be wasted on a Curve hugger.

  Her lip hurt from how often she was biting it in thought. Coming to a decision, she retrieved his unique implant code and programmed the message to open after the implant was verified within the cleaning stall. That done, she tried to figure out a way to attach her signature without it being obvious. If cameras in his apartment caught that message displayed on the stall wall, the employees assigned to review such footage probably wouldn’t figure it out. But adding a name . . .

  A smile tickled her lips. She altered his cleaning stall system so it’d switch between randomly hitting his face and his genitals. Then, to make sure he recognized her hand, she accessed his closet and programmed it to only dispense a bright-pink suit. Apparently he’d followed the trend—which still lingered in the lower levels—a couple of years ago. And just like she had on the day she met him, he would be forced to show off said trend.

  Chuckling despite the gravity of the situation, she closed everything down. Now she just had to hope he both washed and was smart enough to figure it out.

  Also, that he didn’t try to bring her in or kill her.

  She cleared her mind by creating a horrible Trojan, which she slipped into the Gregon systems. That would really piss her counterpart off. That done, she moved on to a heinous device she’d helped develop. For the first time, the possibility of one conglomerate destroying the headquarters of another was a decided attraction. When they’d ever use it was beyond her. Each conglomerate—or at least the top two—needed the other to survive. It seemed like their heightened defense budget was primarily for glory’s sake. If they used it, they’d destroy themselves in the process of destroying each other.

  “Miss?”

  Millicent jumped and turned to the woman in her doorway. “Yes?”

  “Your guard is here to see you, miss.”

  “Where?”

  “Near your work pod.”

  Frowning, she followed the young woman out, not sure why a guard was meeting her so early. She wasn’t scheduled to see Marie for another few hours.

  When she turned the corner, though, her belly flip-flopped. She put her palm to it, wondering if she would spill her stomach for the second time that day.

  Electric-blue eyes stared at her out of a blank face as she approached. His arm muscles flexed, and his hands clenched into fists for a moment before everything relaxed.

  She cleared her throat and thought about wiping her suddenly moist upper lip. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you were working in another department in San Francisco?”

  “Mr. Hunt is otherwise engaged. I will be escorting you to the creation lab.”

  “The creation lab?” she breathed. “Why so early?”

  “I wasn’t given the particulars.”

  She checked the numbers on her wrist. Midafternoon. Would they give her the whole evening to visit, or would they tell her this was it? That they’d changed their minds and today was the final day?

  Today couldn’t be the final day. She needed more time to get ready.

  “Yes—” The words stuck in her throat. She coughed into her fist. “Excuse me. Yes, of course. Let me just . . .” She glanced around her, feeling like she’d forgotten something and didn’t know what. But there was nothing. She had nothing that was distinctly hers, except Marie. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Mr. Gunner stepped to the side and motioned her to precede him. It felt like she was in trouble. Like he was marching her to her death.

  Maybe he was.

  Outside the department, her guards waited next to the bay door. A craft, different than usual, larger, waited behind the clear glass.

  “That is not my hovercraft,” she said with a clattering heart. It was deafening.

  “I had mine on hand.”

  “Oh. Sure.” She smoothed the hair along her scalp until her hand hit her tight bun. “I expected you to have a larger one.”

  “Why is that?”

  “To fit all of your ego inside.”

  Silence met her jab. She glanced back and read the viciousness in his eyes and the hard lines of his face. A strange shock of fear made her waver.

  “Have you been home recently . . . ,” she asked with a strangely level voice. Strange because her whole body was shaking.

  “No. In here.” The doors opened, and he steered her inside.

  “You’ve dropped some humor since I last saw you.” She forced a smile. “Get it? Instead of dropping weight, you dropped humor . . .”

  “I got it.” He sat down near the door as the guards filed in. “Stop talking.”

  She didn’t want to stop talking. She wanted to coax information out of him. Either that or she wanted to run. Something was horribly wrong, and she was on the bad side of it.

  Once at the labs, she forced herself to shrug off the anxiety and the horrible tremors. She couldn’t waste this walk in a cloud of fear. She had to take it all in, to pinpoint their defenses and ensure they hadn’t altered anything since terminating her involvement. If she were them, she would have.

  In the entrance, she noticed all the retinal scanners, cameras, and reporting devices. There were many, all of which she’d previously mapped. They hadn’t put in any additional measures.

  Trying not to be obvious, she noticed the control centers, mapping in her head the places that could easily be shorted out. Mr. Gunner followed her closely, not stopping at the check-in desk like he should’ve.

  “I’m afraid you need to wait out here, Mr. Gunner,” one of the lab guards said.

  A large heavy hand covered Millicent’s shoulder. “She’s been flagged as a flight risk. Her term is ending, starting today.”

  Dread trickled down Millicent’s spine as the guard’s eyes widened. His gaze switched to her, a look holding both fear and pity. She had no idea why he’d be afraid.

  “Yes, of course. I completely understand. There are no infants, so it shouldn’t be too big of a problem. Just please don’t touch—”

  “Don’t tell me my business,” Mr. Gunner said in a hard voice. His unwavering gaze beat into the guard, making the man color red and shrink back.

  “Yes, sir.” The guard opened the door to admit them.

  “Oh. Milli—Ms. Foster.” Surprise etched Mr. McAllister’s face as he stood within the group of children.

  “Mama!” Marie toddled up with a glowing smile and hands spread wide.

  “You can’t call me that,” Millicent said in a soft voice, hoisting the little girl up into her arms.

  “And Mr. Gunner. In here. What is happening?” Mr. McAllister glanced at his wrist with a furrowed brow.

  “There was some concern Ms. Foster would have a hard time letting go of this particular duty. I’ve been sent to observe.” Mr. Gunner took a step away, back against the wall.

  “Oh.” Mr. McAllister’s confusion crumpled into a look of understanding, bordering on pity. “I completely understand. It’s been a long time. I can only ima
gine—”

  “That’ll be all, Mr. McAllister.” The deep drum of Mr. Gunner’s voice reverberated through the room. Mr. McAllister’s mouth snapped shut. He looked down at his feet and then shuffled away.

  Seizing her moment, Millicent turned Marie toward Mr. Gunner. Her little girl’s eyes flicked upward, looking out from under her lashes. Mr. Gunner, his gaze focused on the toys for a moment, looked over in irritation. The gazes of father and daughter met, eyes the exact shade of electric blue, black lashes curling outward in an identical way. Same dark hair. Same strong jaw.

  A shiver arrested Millicent. What of this child, besides the chin and high cheek bones, was hers? Not for the first time, the natural selection of birth blew her mind. But it wasn’t her mind she was trying to entice right now, it was Mr. Gunner’s. With his offspring.

  Mr. Gunner walked off to join Mr. McAllister, who was standing in the corner, looking uncomfortable. “Where do those doors lead?” He pointed toward each of the three doors around the room.

  “Oh.” Mr. McAllister lifted his wrist. “Is this so . . .” He glanced at Millicent. “Flight risk?”

  “Exactly, yes,” Mr. Gunner answered in a hard voice. “I don’t need to come into this room again. But I do need to station men around the perimeter, and to do that, I need the layout. Unless . . .” Mr. Gunner glanced at Millicent. “Actually, Mr. McAllister, I’d like to speak to you outside.”

  “Alone?” His voice warbled a little. He cleared his throat and then adjusted his collar. “Yes, of course. Yes. Sure, sure.”

  As they were exiting, Millicent heard Mr. Gunner say, “I want a guard in this room. Can your staff handle that, or should I include that in my plan?”

  She was going up against Mr. Gunner. Shit.

  The enormity came crashing down over her, drowning her. She was alone, friendless, and she stood in opposition to a man who was arguably the best security director the conglomerate had.

  Millicent held Marie tightly, slowly rocking her from side to side. She blinked back a tear, worried about failure. Worried that moments like this one would be ripped away from her forever.

  After a shuddering breath, she hardened herself.

  Mr. Gunner had won the last battle by checking her into the assisted living facility, but he hadn’t won the war. She was armed now. This last year had toughened her up. She knew what she was about. If he pitted himself against her again, he’d lose. And if she could, she’d rub it in his face until it choked him.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Gunner followed Mr. McAllister back into the room, his expression still hard, his eyes with a sharp edge. “It’s time,” he said, standing with his hands clasped in front of him and mostly facing the door. He couldn’t see any of the children from that vantage point. If he’d recognized his face in Marie’s, he’d chosen not to acknowledge it.

  Anger flared within her. So be it.

  She blew out a breath and put Marie on the ground.

  “No!” Marie clutched Millicent’s pants. “No!”

  “Sorry, baby. Just for now. I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?” She glanced up at Mr. McAllister. “I can make promises until . . . when?”

  “Friday.” He shrugged in a helpless sort of way. “I don’t make the rules, I’m afraid.”

  “So I’ll be back tomorrow.” She kissed Marie on the forehead.

  One of the staffers pulled Marie’s hands away from Millicent. The little girl started screaming. Lights flickered. Metallic clicks sounded around the room.

  “Wow.” Mr. McAllister bent to his wrist screen.

  “What’s happening?” Mr. Gunner asked, turning with wide eyes.

  “Mr. McAllister’s tampering has worked.” Millicent watched in frustrated anguish as her child was pulled away. Hating herself, but knowing she had no choice, she walked to the door. This conglomerate would pay dearly for what they were doing. Mr. Gunner had been right about another thing: war created savagery. “C’mon. It makes it worse if I don’t hurry.”

  The screaming cut off as the door clicked shut. The heels elongated in her boots as she walked, ticking across the tiled floor. This was a new pair, too. Still the same malfunction.

  Her eyes scanned the walls and flicked to the ceiling, doing a mental inventory of every security protocol in the building. They were all the same. Had been for the last year. Heavy, that was true. There was more security in this building than most others she’d been in, but beatable. She had to believe that.

  “Does she scream like that every time?” Mr. Gunner asked in a low voice.

  “Yes.” A guard glanced their way, his eyes wary. Word had spread, and it looked like they thought her less of a flight risk than someone to fear.

  “Do the other children do that with their . . . female creators?”

  “Mothers? No, they don’t.” They stepped into the craft and waited for the doors to close. When they were on their way, Millicent said, “Breeders are chosen based on a select set of characteristics, and often those characteristics are enhanced through the implant or with drugs. Emotions are quelled. The bond between mother and child, if allowed to manifest, is hacked away. Depression is chemically introduced until the mother is stripped away from the baby. Then the mother gets mood enhancers when she rejoins society without her child.”

  “And they didn’t attempt those things with you?”

  Millicent scoffed. “They tried. But I program implants in soldiers all the time. In spies. In assassins. I know how that game is played, and wouldn’t allow them to play it with me. Besides, who could they possibly get to outsmart me in that arena? There is only one, and she never outsmarts me for long—if she outsmarts me at all. What’s the point? The situation is out of my control.”

  “Is anything out of your control?”

  She gave him a level look. “One thing. I can’t control other people.”

  If he caught her meaning, he gave no sign. “And the pills?”

  “I only take Clarity. That is it. Everything else dulls my mind. And trust me when I say that dulling my mind would create a lot more problems for the conglomerate than a love for an offspring.”

  “You’ve grown into your position.” The deep drum of his voice gave no coloring of meaning to the words, and she had no idea how he meant them. Or what had led him to that conclusion.

  Shrugging it off, she said, “May I leave?” The craft had docked again. She stood as the doors opened. “I have work to do.”

  “When did you ever listen to me?” He stayed seated. “One thing, though. Why Marie? They said you chose that name.”

  She paused in the doorway as the cold air turned her breath white. “Marie Curie was a woman from way before the Enlightened Ages. She won two Nobel Prizes in a time when women were supposed to be hidden away in the home. She battled her male peers throughout her entire career, and battled women’s judgments regarding her family role versus her career. She was tenacious, and she made her mark. She stuck to her inner truth, not allowing the people and environment around her to dictate her decisions. I respect that. Everyone thinks my daughter can be great. And she can. She just needs someone to show her the way.”

  Millicent bit her lip before she could say what she was thinking. And for my daughter, I will be that someone. I will not let Marie—either Marie—down. All she had was a plan, determination, and an air of mystery. That, and a mother’s love. She couldn’t give away one of her advantages.

  “Well then. Be a good girl, and we’ll have no problems.”

  She huffed out a laugh. “When have I failed to give you problems?” With that, she strode away, allowing the plan to unfurl in her mind even as she checked into the department of her new enemy.

  Chapter 9

  “Time to go, princess. Last day. You ready?”

  Millicent straightened up, wiped her idea board clean, and turned. She didn’t shut it down. She’d be back today. One last time. “Of course.”

  “Prim and proper. What a bore.” Mr. Gunner stepped to the side easily, muc
h more relaxed since Monday, when he must’ve realized she wasn’t the flight risk he’d expected. He still stood too close, though. Still guarded her with a meticulous eye.

  If he’d accessed her message, he hadn’t responded, either through the closed-circuit security loop or verbally. He’d simply watched her like a proverbial hawk. She’d even looked up the animal when that antiquated expression had come to mind.

  “Did you know,” she said as she walked through the department, scanning work pods as she went by. Habit. “That a hawk is a bird of prey?”

  “I did know that, yes. Me learn good.”

  “Cute. And did you know that it is a member of the Accipitridae family?”

  “Me not learn that good. Here, we’re taking my craft again today.” He led her to the door with a tight hand on her upper arm.

  She ignored the overbearing touch. “Yes. And interestingly enough, the Accipitridae family also houses the very-much-not-extinct buzzard. So really, we could say that this week, you’ve been watching me like a buzzard.”

  “And this is why you will never get past director. Your small talk is atrocious.” Once they boarded, he sat near the door, as always, and watched her with an unwavering stare.

  “Do you know why you won’t advance?”

  “Because I won’t cut my hair. Or give up women. Or give up drinking. Or bar fights. I’m not really a department-type man.”

  “Just a pawn.”

  “Not a pawn.” His eyes sparkled with that killer’s heat. “I’ve never been a pawn.”

  She laughed and looked out the window. The dark-gray sky pressed upon them. Snow shook down in lazy sheets. “You don’t project a utopian scene in your craft. Do you in your home?”

  “No. I want to know what the real world looks like. I want to know what I’m working toward.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A better life.”

  She had to concede that point. She’d done some research from his closed-circuit security loop. Beyond the protection of the conglomerates, the outside world was mostly stripped bare and horribly unlivable. At least by her standards. People squatted in hovels, starving and sickly. Sores developed on their skin from the acid rain. Their life span barely reached fifty, when her life expectancy, if she used her clones, topped out at three hundred. They traded for their goods, hoping to get enough, whereas she just told her computer what she needed. She was rich, by the world’s standards, in health, life, and economy. Outside the conglomerates, this world was no place for a child.