Etherworld (18 page)

I hurry toward Patrick's car, pushing away any suspicion that he might betray me again and take me back to the hospital.

“We need to make this fast,” I say. “Josh is still . . .”

With my dad gone and no idea if he's even okay, I can't even bring myself to admit that Josh is in his bedroom, attached to his Equip, unable to be ejected with his emergency button. The whole time I was in Etherworld, I never allowed myself to think about what my life would be like if I lost them both, and now that I'm in the real world, I might have no choice but to face that possibility.

But I won't do it. At least not yet.

Patrick opens the car door with his passcard and we both get in. He touches my knee and I turn to him, hoping to find my best friend sitting next to me. Not Patrick the billionaire or Cathryn Simmons's genius son or my father's protégé.

I need my best friend. Now more than ever.

“Just one more thing,” he says, as the engine rumbles and the headlights come on. “If you're right, I'll stand by you. I'll do whatever it takes. This will be
our
fight, okay?”

I take his hand in mine and give it a hard, desperate squeeze. I'm so relieved to hear him profess his loyalty like this, to know that he won't abandon me. That is, if the security footage turns up enough proof.

And it has to. Or we're all screwed.

“Just one more thing,” I echo Patrick as he pulls the car out of his executive parking space. “If I'm right, that means Josh is in real trouble. And you have to promise you'll help me figure out a way to save him.”

Patrick doesn't look at me, I think because he hears my voice trembling and he can tell how terrified I am. Which means my feelings for Josh are probably more intense than he realized. But I take him at his word when he nods in affirmation.

Then he slams his foot on the gas, and his tires spin against the concrete, making a high-pitched squeal that rings in my ears for miles.

TabTalk Message

From: Leavenworth, Avery

To: Unknown user

5:53 a.m.

No change. Will keep trying. What about u? Did u find ur dad?

TabTalk Message

From: Leavenworth, Avery

To: Unknown user

5:54 a.m.

Shit. What now?

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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

A HALF HOUR LATER, THE SUN RISES behind the spire of the Erebus Tower, the most exclusive hotel and apartment complex in Detroit. The last time I was here, the mob of reporters was so thick I barely made it inside. But thankfully, there's no swarm of journalists blocking the entrance, or security guards roaming out front. I can't get caught on camera again, not with the police looking for me.

I press my palm against my cheek and feel a small round divot in my skin, still sore to the touch. Since we left Orexis, a ball of rage has been forming in my chest, and I'm glad. When I saw that empty lab, it felt as if someone punched a hole through me—causing my determination to seep out, drop by drop. But the anger is helping me regain my momentum.

Patrick drives past the building and shifts gears, suddenly swerving onto a small access road. It's a dead end, with nothing but a row of tall, thick bushes looming in front of us. But instead of slowing down, the car speeds up.

“What are you doing?” I ask, clutching the armrests.

“Parking structure,” he says. “Those shrubs are just a computerized image. No one likes to look at a garage.”

No sooner does he finish speaking then the bushes begin to shimmer, every green leaf disappearing before my eyes. The car zooms inside a concrete maze, the virtual foliage closing behind us. We begin to spiral around floors lined with tightly packed cars until we reach the top. Patrick pulls into a prime spot designated as
Penthouse Suite 1950AB

My door unlocks and opens automatically.

“Where are all the reporters?” I ask, stepping into the lot.

“The condo's lawyers were able to get an injunction. They can't get within a block of here.” He exits the car and briskly walks to the entrance that leads to the building's main elevators.

Within a few minutes, we're inside his apartment. I was just here two nights ago, but now it looks totally different. He hasn't gotten rid of his stylish, sleek furniture or replaced his ugly art, but it looks warmer and more comfortable. Maybe it's because the unusually bright sun is shining through the huge windows, casting everything around us in a bright, happy glow. I sit on the edge of a boomerang-shaped couch while he walks over to the kitchen.

“Are you hungry or anything?” Patrick retrieves a carafe of orange juice from the refrigerator. He doesn't bother getting a glass, and instead sips directly from the bottle. He takes a breath and then another two big gulps.

“No, thanks.” I haven't had anything to eat since dinner last night, but after everything I've been through, I don't have much of an appetite.

“I have plenty if you change your mind,” Patrick says, setting the juice down on the pristine countertop. “Be right back.”

When he heads down the corridor, I spot a light yellow cardigan, tossed on top of one of the black striped accent chairs. It definitely belongs to Zoe. It's strange, thinking about the other night, when I walked in on her and Patrick. I'd been worried about Zoe getting too involved with him, yet today she risked so much for me, and she's out there right now, trying to convince her father to pull rank with the Orexis stockholders.

I text her to see how she's doing.

Any luck?

The light on my tab flashes a few seconds later.

He's not at home. Still trying to track him down. Did u find your dad?

I'm about to write back when Patrick appears beside me, balancing a blue bottle, a box of cotton swabs, and his quantum laptop against his chest. “Is everything all right?” he asks, glancing at my tab.

“It's Zoe,” I say. “She just wanted to know if I was okay.”

“Zoe? How is she involved in all this?” Patrick sets the items down on the coffee table and picks up his tab. He types on the keypad, and suddenly the drapes begin to close around the wall of windows, darkening the room.

When I don't answer, he puts down his tab and says, “She helped you escape the hospital, didn't she?” When I neither confirm or deny it, he adds, “Come on, Ree. What else did she do? I need to know.”

I cross my arms in front my chest. “Why? So you can yell at her?”

“I'm not angry, I'm just . . . frustrated, that's all. She should mind her own business. She doesn't understand what's going on right now.”

“And you do?” I ask.

He grabs the small blue bottle, popping open the cap. “We should put some Dermastitch on your cut.”

“Thanks, but I'm fine,” I say, pulling away a little.

“I don't want it to get infected.” He dips one of the swabs inside and holds the little ball of wet cotton up to my cheek. “May I?”

“The QuTap,” I insist.

“As soon as I take care of this.”

While Patrick tends to the abrasion on my cheek, a wistful grin slowly appears on his lips. “Remember the wok incident?” he says. “I think that took about five years off your dad's life.”

“If you hadn't bandaged my entire head with the gauze from that old first aid kit, we probably could have hidden that burn from him,” I say, as the Dermastitch fizzes near my ear. I'm trying hard not to smile.

“I was eight. Secrecy wasn't something I was good at back then.” He blows on my wounded skin, his lips close to my cheek and his breath smelling like oranges. My mind flashes back to our comet ride in Elusion and how he leaned in for that awkward kiss, and an uncomfortable chill runs down my spine.

“Okay, stop. I'm good,” I say, craning my neck back and waving his hand away. I stand up and tuck my hair behind my ears, my cut still stinging. I watch Patrick's grin dissolve, and I realize how stupid it is to hurt his feelings just as it seems he's beginning to trust me. But I belong somewhere else, with someone else. And the longer we stay here, the longer it will take for us to get to Josh . . . and my father, wherever he may be.

“Let's just focus on the QuTap, okay?” I say.

He sets down the swab and turns his attention to the laptop without saying another word. Once he logs on, I sit back down next to him, trying to ignore the tension between us. I lean over so I can see the screen, but he inches away from me.

I don't want this to turn into an ugly argument like the one we had in this very room two nights ago, when it became not only obvious that Patrick knew more about Elusion's problems than he was letting on, but that I didn't return his romantic feelings.

“I'm sorry if I'm being abrupt,” I say.

“Forget it,” he says, cutting me off. He takes the QuTap from his pocket and sticks it on his quantum. “I'm bringing up the security logs now. This shouldn't take long.”

Patrick begins to type, his fingers whizzing across the touch screen. Then a password prompt pops up, requesting a special clearance code. Patrick enters a bunch of numbers and symbols into the text box, and we land on an Orexis splash page. He keys in more digits, taking us to the Office Services section of the company directory, complete with a list of rooms and labs in the entire building.

“Here we go.” Patrick clicks on a link that takes us to what looks like a user history of all the public labs in Orexis. Once he zeroes in on room 5020, groupings of numbers appear on the screen, one on top of the other.

“Are those employee IDs?” I say, pointing to the five-digit clusters.

He makes some enhancements on the screen so that the list is magnified. “Yeah, and this is really weird. The number 37194 is appearing over and over again. No one else has been in this room for months. They haven't missed a day,” Patrick says.

“Until yesterday,” I add, looking at the screen.” Maybe that's when my father was moved.”

“But wouldn't security have picked that up?” Patrick clicks on a V-shaped icon at the bottom of his screen. His brow furrows in confusion when he hits a brick wall with an error message. “Shit. The video surveillance on this whole floor has been disabled.”

“I take it that's not normal.”

“No, it's not.”

“Can we figure out who the ID belongs to?” I ask.

“Yeah. We just need to burrow into the HR database,” he says.

Patrick minimizes the current window we're looking at and opens up another one, issuing a series of commands. It only takes a few moments for him to bypass the security of the Orexis human resources department.

Enter Orexis ID Number

Patrick keys in 37194.

Williams, Bryce M.

Project Engineer and Research Specialist

Security Clearance Level—11A

Years Employed—15

Citations—0

Promotions—7

I can't look away from Bryce's unassuming company photo. His eyes are partially closed, and his dark skin is ashen, with deep lines running across his forehead. He has a goatee, and there's a small ink mark on the pocket of his pale blue shirt. He looks so ordinary.

“This is so bizarre,” Patrick says. “Bryce Williams? This lab isn't even designated to his group.”

“I told you he was involved,” I reply, vindication seeping through my voice. Although we haven't found anything that can pinpoint what Cathryn might have done with my dad, knowing that Bryce was in that room less than eight hours ago seems like proof enough.

I think another thing has also been ruled out.

“I don't have nanopsychosis. I never did,” I say.

“I believe you,” he says. He pushes his laptop away and looks at me. “I couldn't have loved your dad more if he was my own father. And this whole time my mother and Bryce were plotting against him? And faking his death? It's just so . . . unreal.”

“It's real,” I say. “And we have to do something to stop them.”

“You're right,” he says, bolting forward and grabbing his tab. “I'm going to call Estelle and have her track down Bryce.”

“Do you think she'll be there? It's not seven yet.”

He holds his tab up to his ear. “Trust me, she's always early.”

A second or two later Estelle picks up, and Patrick launches into a bunch of questions about Bryce and what's happening at the office. From the frustrated one-word responses on Patrick's end, it's clear the conversation is not going well.

I pull out my tab and check the Net. The sites are all buzzing with news of Patrick's resignation and contain a statement from Cathryn:

It's official. Cathryn fired her own son, humiliating him with some lie about health problems. Not that it matters, now that he's going to help me bring her whole world tumbling down.