Exiled (TalentBorn Book 2) Read online

  “Pearce. And Fitzpatrick. Who else is on your hit list?”

  “That’s it.”

  I nod, and reclaim my seat. I’m too dizzy to stand, anyway.

  “Okay. If I go along with this – and that’s one hell of an if – what happens to the people who knew what was going on?”

  Marcus and his ilk. Gardiner and Pearce didn’t do this without a lot of help.

  “That depends.”

  “On?” I’ve no intention of letting him off the hook that easily. Scott places a hand on my shoulder. I make to shrug him off, but restrain myself. I’m not here to pick a fight, and definitely not with Scott.

  “Whether we can deprogram those brainwashed by AbGen.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that. There’s no way of knowing how guilty any of those involved are – or how deep their false loyalty to Pearce runs.

  “I’ve got people making some enquiries about experts in that field, but there are a lot of charlatans – people who’ll do more harm than good. It’s taking longer than we hoped to sort the wheat from the chaff. Even then, the approach will have to be made carefully,” Alistair cautions. “Deprogramming doesn’t come with any guarantees.”

  I nod, deflated. I guess I’d had some idea of charging into Langford House, convincing everyone we’re the good guys, and overthrowing Pearce in some sort of bloodless coup. There’s a word for that. Naïve. And another one. Idealistic. And another one. Bloody stupid. Okay, that’s two words, but you get my point.

  “Hey, they’ll do their best,” Scott says. “And whatever happens, we’re going to get Joe’s family out.”

  “So you’re on board?” Alistair asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “We are.”

  “Good.” Alistair rises from his seat with a smile. “I need to get back to training the strike force. I could use your help, if you’re free?”

  I’m pretty sure he really means Scott, but he’s started to realise that there’s not much point in asking for one of us without the other.

  “Actually, I have something that will require Scott’s presence,” Ephraim says. Alistair nods.

  “Later?”

  “Sure,” Scott says. He’s looking forward to the challenge, I can tell. Alistair slips out of the room and we turn out attention back to the Ishmaelian leader.

  “We’ve had reports of a gifted in Bristol. We need to find her and bring her in before AbGen do, and our intelligence suggests they may already be looking for her. We could use your assistance in making sure she doesn’t fall into their hands.”

  Finally, something proactive. Looks like I’m going to get my air after all.

  “When do we leave?” I ask.

  “Your help won’t be required, Anna,” Ephraim says. “Scott will track her on his own.”

  “The hell he will,” I snap.

  “She’s scared and on the run. Our profilers agree that one person has a much better chance of getting close to her than two.”

  “So Scott will track her, I’ll make the approach.” I glance at Scott to make sure he doesn’t have any objections, and he gives a curt nod.

  “This really doesn’t require two people. Besides, Alistair needs to measure the strength of your pulse, to ascertain how close to Langford House you will need to be.”

  I bite my lip, but really I don’t have enough excuse to object. Especially now that we’re so close to moving against AbGen. Finally. We can’t afford to jeopardise that. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “We have no time to waste,” Ephraim says as my shoulders slump. He looks at Scott. “You leave in ten. Mary will leave a car out front for you, with details of the last two sightings.”

  Ephraim strides from the room, leaving me and Scott alone.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “I know,” Scott says, taking my hand in his. “I don’t either. But I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “You better be, Logan. I have plans for us tonight.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Miss Mason.”

  He wraps an arm around my waist, and presses his lips to mine.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Well, so much for ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world.’ It’s been four hours, and not so much as a phone call. It’s not like I need him to check in constantly – I’m not one of those jealous types, and it’s absolutely nothing to do with the fact he’s tracking a lone female absa, it’d just be nice if he kept me updated. It’s half past ten now, and he should have been back ages ago. I definitely haven’t logged on to google maps to check how long it should have taken him to get there (forty-two minutes) or checked with Alistair how far apart the sightings were (less than three miles) or worked out how long it should have taken him to get there, find her, convince her and get back (significantly less than four hours). It’s just… well, how long does it take to send a text? I’d have texted him. Maybe it is my nails. I glance down at them – they’re no better than they were, but be fair: I’ve been busy watching our backs and making sure Ephraim follows through on his promises. Maybe I’ll drag Mika with me to a nail salon in the morning. Maybe a new hair style. I never looked this drab when I was a waitress. Of course, no-one tried to lock me in a cage then either, so there’s that.

  I stop pacing the room and check my phone for the I-don’t-know-how-manyth time. No new messages. I stare at the single bar in the top right corner. That’s what it is – it has to be. How stupid am I? Obviously he tried to call, but signal is rubbish down here. Yeah, he should have texted when he couldn’t get through, but he’s probably got his hands full keeping the new absa calm – not literally full, obviously. He wouldn’t do something like that. He probably checked in with Ephraim when he couldn’t get through to me though.

  I quickly strip out of my leaves-just-enough-to-the-imagination nightie, and pull my somewhat less enticing jeans and casual blouse combo back on, then yank my battered trainers back onto my feet. I’ll head over to Ephraim’s office now. He’s probably working late, waiting for Scott to come back.

  I hurry to the lift, passing not a soul in the hallway, tap my foot impatiently for the entire ride, then hop out of the next floor and make my way to Ephraim’s office. I tap on the door once, then swing it open without waiting to be invited. Manners be damned, I want an update. Manners would have been letting me know as soon as Scott contacted him. I frown. Unless Scott contacted him first, then he wouldn’t know that Scott hadn’t been able to get hold of me. Hm. Oh well, too late now.

  Ephraim looks up from behind his desk, lowering his pen as I cross the threshold. He looks tired.

  “Anna, how are you?”

  “Yeah, fine,” I say, too impatient for formalities. “Have you heard from Scott?”

  Which is marginally politer than asking him why he didn’t check to make sure he’d contacted me. Everyone knows mobile phone signal is rubbish down in the sleeping quarters.

  Then he does something that takes me by surprise. He shakes his head.

  “No, not yet.”

  What does he mean, not yet?”

  “What do you mean, not yet?”

  “It’s still early, I’m sure he’ll check in when he has an update.”

  “He’s been gone over four hours, he should have been back ages ago.”

  “These things take time. I have no doubt he would have contacted us had there been a problem. It’s easy to lose track of time when you’re making contact with a frightened gifted.”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s not like him.”

  “I imagine he’s just focusing on the task at hand, but I can see you’re worried. If he’s not back by the morning, I’ll send someone to check up on him. For now, try to get some sleep.”

  I clench my jaw, cut him a curt nod, and rise from my seat. He’s obviously not going to lift a finger. I pull my phone from my pocket as I leave the office – while I’m up here I’ll see if I can reach him. Much as I hate to admit it, Ephraim could be right. He might have j
ust gotten caught up in tracking the girl down and convincing her to come in. I hesitate: he’s not going to thank me for calling him if he’s in the middle of trying to calm her. What the hell, I’ll take the chance. Just to put my mind at ease. And if he’d called in the first place, I wouldn’t be stood here worrying about him. Again.

  I dial, and listen to the mechanical voice tell me that he is unavailable. Well that’s not annoying in the least. Or alarming. I pause, then dial again. Same result. I pull the phone away from my ear and go to hit redial, then pause. What was it Einstein said? Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result? Well actually it might not have been Einstein, if my A-Level philosophy instructor is to be believed. Regardless, it’s a valid point. I shove my phone back into my pocket, and barge back into Ephraim’s office with no more manners than the first time.

  He sets his pen aside again with a sigh.

  “Anna, that was quick. Have you an update on Scott?”

  “No. I can’t reach him on his phone.”

  “Perhaps there is no phone signal.”

  “In the middle of Bristol?”

  Ephraim leans back in his chair. Apparently, I’m trying his patience. Good. He’s trying mine, too.

  “Phone signal is unreliable at the best of times. There are black spots all over the city.” His voice softens. “You’re tired. You’ve been working hard over the last few weeks – and no-one is more grateful than I. Please, take some time. Get some sleep. If there’s been no contact by the morning, we’ll get people out there.”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  I leave his office and start heading back to my quarters. Wait until morning? If something’s happened to him, he could be dead by then. What if he was in a car accident? What if the absa was hostile? I freeze with my hand on the doorknob. What if AbGen were waiting for him?

  That settles it. I push the door open and start hunting around my room. Wait til morning be damned, I’m going out there and bringing him back. I can’t sit around doing nothing while he could be in danger, and I sure as hell am not sleeping while he needs me. I need to travel light – I don’t want anyone stopping me on the way out. Just the essentials. That’s easy enough – we lived that way for weeks before we got here, and we haven’t exactly become pack rats since.

  I pull open a drawer. My fake ID. I pocket it, and grab my purse as well. I won’t get far without money. Phone charger – I can’t risk missing a call from Scott. I’d like to take a change of clothes – you never know what you’re going to get with the British weather, especially this time of year – but a backpack would be pushing it. Instead, I ditch the casual blouse for a t-shirt and hoodie combo, then pull on my heavy coat. Luckily the weather outside is chilly enough that if anyone sees me wearing it, I won’t draw attention. A can of coke goes into each pocket – fuel, in case I need to shift. As an afterthought, I tie my hair back. It’s easier to keep it tidy that way, and if I have to sleep in the car tonight, I won’t have bed hair in the morning. I reach round my neck to check the locket Scott got me is still there – I never go anywhere without it.

  The car. I hunt around, and find the keys in Scott’s drawer. That’s a stroke of luck – it’s a good job he took once of the Ishmaelian vehicles this evening or I’d have been in for a hell of a long walk. I take one last look around the room. I have everything I need. Now I need to get moving.

  I shut the door behind me and walk as casually as I can down the hallway. I wish I could have just shifted to the car, but a power outage would tip them off, and risk bringing AbGen down on them too. Just because I don’t trust the Ishmaelians doesn’t mean I want to see them in AbGen hands. I daren’t do anything but act normal. As normal as it’s possible to act when your heart’s racing and your hands are clammy. The lift is empty. Small mercies. I don’t think I could hold a rational conversation right now. I ride it in silence, and slip from the doors when they open. It’s not far from here to the exit, and I pass only two Ishmaelians on the way. They’re deep in conversation and pay me no attention.

  I swing the door open and step out into the cool night air. A hundred stars hang in the sky, far more than I ever saw back in Whitelyn, but I don’t have time to appreciate them. I need to get to the cars. I thrust my hands deep into my pockets, squishing them in around the cans, and push on. The vehicles are kept just round the side. There’s no security lighting around them – so as not to draw too much attention from anyone passing through – so I don’t have to worry about them coming on and giving the game away. I hurry round the corner, and–

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry!”

  I just collided with someone.

  “Anna?”

  I squint in the semi-darkness – my eyes haven’t adjusted yet. Shit. It’s Mika. I go on the offensive.

  “Mika, what are you doing out here? It’s late.”

  I think I see a smile spread on her face.

  “I was taking a walk. With Rohan.”

  A walk. Right. And I was born yesterday. I glance around.

  “Where is he?”

  “Hanging back. We don’t want to be seen heading back to our quarters together.”

  Ah, young love. Sneaking around in the dark. I shake my head with a smile. Some traditions will always be passed down to the next generation of reprobates. I almost miss the shadow that passes over Mika’s face.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I’m just getting some air.”

  “Lie,” she says sadly. I look into her sad eyes.

  “I love you, Mika.”

  “Truth.”

  I draw her in and crush her in a hug. I step back and run my hands over my eyes. I’m not crying.

  “I have to go. Be safe, Mika.”

  I turn and hurry towards the cars. I half-expect to hear her following me, but she doesn’t. Scott’s car stands out amongst the other vehicles – it’s a cheap one we picked up not long after getting here, about ten years older than the rest. But it’s got four good tyres and a tank full of fuel, and that’s all I need.

  I climb in, and fire up the engine. It’s time to go get Scott.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thirty-four minutes later I’m in Bristol, and I think I have a speeding ticket in the post. Doesn’t matter. I didn’t pass any cops and other than the speed camera, I’ve made it here without drawing any unwanted attention. I pull over and grab a map out of the glove compartment. The last sighting of the absa was two streets away, on Clifton Avenue. Not that it means Scott went there, of course, because he would have started tracking her the moment he got into town. Assuming she’s here. It makes no difference. It’s the best I’ve got right now, and I have to start somewhere. I’ll head down Clifton Avenue, checking for any sign of him, and then I’ll start covering the other streets in the area. There’s got to be some sign of him somewhere. And, I realise, perking up, if Scott’s around here somewhere, his talent will tell him I’m near. If. My perkiness disappears again. If he’s nearby, and if he’s okay.

  I swing the car onto Clifton Avenue, my head lights illuminating the road in front of me. I cruise down the residential street, keeping my eyes peeled for the Ishmaelian car. It’s not here. That’s okay, I wasn’t expecting it to be. Well, it’s not okay okay, but it’s no worse than I thought. I hang a right and cruise the next street. Nothing. A thought occurs to me, and I grab the map and mark the street with a cross. I don’t want to waste time checking any of the same roads twice.

  I’ve cruised another thirty or so roads before I pull over and put the hand brake on. This is going to take forever. Bristol is a big city, and I don’t even know if Scott headed to this part. The most recent report of the girl’s movements was here, but the report before that was a couple of miles away, on Tunbury Close. I pick up the map and search for it. It’s directly north, a couple of miles away by the circuitous main roads, but what’s that in the middle? I ditch the paper map and open the app on my phone. It’s an industrial estate.
If I wanted somewhere to lay low, that’s exactly where I’d head. She must have set up base somewhere in there, and slipped up with using her talent in public when she ventured out, both north and south of the estate. I put the car in gear and get moving.

  The area is not well lit, as you’d expect of an industrial estate at close to midnight. The street lamps are few and far between, and the smell coming in through the open car window is… well, let’s just say I’m not in a nice part of town, and leave it at that. Oh yeah, if I wanted to hide somewhere no-one would come looking, this place would definitely be top of my list. Half of the shutters are scrawled with graffiti, most are battered or bent, and the whole area is smattered with optimistic ‘for lease’ signs. Most of those have been graffiti’d as well. The business that are boldly enduring look like their days are numbered, too. I can’t help but wonder how long until they tear the whole area down and turn it into another housing estate.

  Not my problem. I cruise slowly amongst the units, taking first one road and then the next, methodically moving through the urban maze. I’ve killed the car’s radio: I need to focus, and the local stations aren’t playing anything decent anyway. And if I have to hear one more PPI advert, I might just crash the car into the nearest wall on principle.

  The estate is vaster than it seemed at first glance, I quickly realise. The largely unnamed roads aren’t marked on the map, so I try to remember the route I’ve taken. When I pass Clifton Tyres for the second time I’m forced to admit that particular plan wasn’t my finest, but it’s the best I’ve got. I’m working east to west, but some of the roads take circular routes and dump you back where you started. No wonder half of the businesses round here are on the brink of closing: their customers probably died of old age trying to find their way back out of this place. I think I’m back on track now. There’s a smashed street lamp up ahead, I don’t recall seeing that before. That’s promising. The fact that I haven’t passed it before I mean, not the fact that it’s broken. Mostly that part’s just unsettling. Like it wasn’t dark and dreary enough round here. Makes me glad of all the self-defence lessons AbGen made me take. Even so, I reach over and lock the doors, just to be safe.