Deceived Read online

  He offered his hand. “Jonas Whitmeyer, it is so nice to finally meet you.” His voice was deep and full of authority, but he smiled like he was welcoming me to a simple business meeting.

  After a brief hesitation, I shook his hand. My brows shot up to the ceiling. “And you must be…?”

  “Dr. Bart Howard. Please come in.”

  I knew Bree was cloned from another human, yet she looked very much like the man standing before me. Like she very well could be his offspring.

  Dr. Howard gestured me forward into an open space that looked like it took up nearly one entire quadrant of the floor. We were obviously very high up—when I looked toward the windows, I saw only blue sky. The floor was white tile, and the space was furnished with white leather sofas and chairs, and a few clear tables. In the far corner was a massive mahogany leather top desk, a stark contrast to the rest of the furnishings. The walls were adorned with paintings of varying styles. It looked like a freaking art gallery. Everything was sleek and pristine.

  I saw no sign of anyone else, including Bree. “Dr. Howard, I apologize for the intrusion, but I was hoping you could help me.” I was totally winging this. I had no reason to be at Howard BioTech other than that I knew Bree was somewhere close.

  “Have a seat, Jonas.” Dr. Howard gestured to a white leather club chair.

  “I think I’ll stand. How is it you know who I am?”

  “Jonas, I entrusted my daughter to the people of Wellington Boarding School—to Peter Roslin—for a reason. It was understood that I had top security clearance to track everything that happened inside that school and with my daughter. You see, I love my daughter very much. I will not allow anything to happen to her.”

  He made “top security clearance” sound like a matter of homeland security. “Impressive, but you didn’t answer the question.”

  “I know who you are because I know who your mother is, and I make it my business to know everyone who comes into contact with my daughter.”

  “If you know so much, then you must know where your daughter is right now?”

  His stern expression didn’t falter. “You kids have done a great job of protecting yourselves, and breaking free of Sandra’s hold over you, but a plan was put in place years ago—a plan that none of you will escape now that you’ve turned eighteen.”

  “What do you mean? What kind of plan? And why would we need to escape?” I asked. A cold sweat was starting to form across the back of my neck. I began searching the area around me for the minds of people in the vicinity, but only came up with Dr. Howard’s. Bree, where are you? I’m in your father’s office, and I’m thinking I might have made a mistake coming here. Why don’t you come help a guy out? I mindspoke my plea, hoping that if she was close, she’d hear me.

  “Oh, relax, Jonas. I’m not your enemy.”

  I was not convinced.

  “Dr. Howard.” A woman entered the office, and I immediately slipped inside her mind—a mind that, strangely, wasn’t visible to me moments ago.

  “What is it, Marla?” Dr. Howard asked, irritated at the interruption.

  On the outside, she appeared extremely calm, the sign of a person who was used to her surroundings. But her hand twitched; two lines formed between her eyes, suggesting something was wrong, and her neurons were firing at a rapid pace—bright oranges and reds, like a fiery inferno. She leaned in close to Dr. Howard’s ear and whispered. Of course I didn’t need to hear her words to know what she told Dr. Howard. I easily could read this woman’s mind now.

  They found Vance Carrington dead in the shower of his gym this morning. The television news is reporting on it now. You need to see what they’re saying. She backed away. Beads of sweat formed along her hairline.

  I sat on the edge of one of the white sofas, trying not to look like I had just heard that the man Bree had had drinks with last night had been found murdered. I lifted my head and scanned the office for a television. My knees bobbed, and I pushed my hands against both legs, trying to stop them.

  Dr. Howard crossed the room to his desk. He pressed a few buttons on a remote control. One of the paintings across the room slid to the side to reveal a flat screen television. It flashed to a news report in progress and to a picture of Bree with the caption: Wanted: Briana Howard—Person of Interest.

  “This woman was seen leaving the scene shortly after witnesses said she spoke with Mr. Carrington,” a woman reported. “The police aren’t saying whether or not she’s a suspect in the murder, but they urgently wish to talk to her about what she may have seen. Dave, back to you.”

  I stared at the screen—at Bree’s pixelated face from security footage—while searching Dr. Howard’s thoughts. His mind had a rock solid barrier. I swallowed hard and faced him, certain he was about to lock me up in some cage in one of his labs somewhere deep inside this building. I had no reason for thinking that way. Other than that’s what Sandra would have done.

  “Jonas—” He clenched his hands into fists. “Do you know where my daughter is right now?” His tone had changed from a business-like friendliness to a more direct, my-daughter-is-in-trouble-and-let’s-stop-playing-games tone.

  “No, sir, I don’t. That’s why I’m here. I’d very much like to talk with her.” And save her from whatever it is she’s trying to do on her own. And by the sound of things, save her from the trouble she’s already gotten herself into.

  “And you thought you’d find her by coming to BioTech? What made you think she’d be here? I haven’t heard from her since boarding school graduation. However,” he nodded toward the television, “she’s obviously in Portland.” He betrayed no emotion at the news that one of his employees had been murdered.

  What was I supposed to tell this man? Could I trust him? Obviously his own daughter didn’t. “I don’t know what to say, sir. I’m just a little shocked by the news we just watched, and a little freaked out by the greeting you gave me.”

  “Since my daughter chose to visit you—the son of Sandra Whitmeyer—this summer instead of working with me after graduation, I thought I’d make sure you knew who was still in charge.”

  “And who’s that, sir?”

  He smiled.

  My blood heated with irritation. He may have had years of wisdom on his side, but I had ways of getting inside even the toughest minds. I’d leave his alone for now. “I mean you no disrespect, but my only concern right now is finding Bree.”

  “As is mine.”

  “And the Portland Police Department’s, apparently,” I said.

  “So it would seem. Which is why I’m going to have Marla see you out. I will send out my own security team to locate my daughter. And I will find her before the police do.”

  I’d forgotten that Marla was still standing there, just inside the door. I slipped back inside her head. Her thoughts were silent, but her brain was a giant, panicked mess. I slid deeper into her mind, and that’s when I found something very familiar.

  “Mr. Whitmeyer, this way please.” She gestured toward the door.

  I walked toward her slowly. When her eyes met mine, I recognized Bree behind the mask before me. “Sir, it was… interesting… meeting you,” I said without turning.

  “If you see my daughter, tell her dinner is at seven.”

  “I will, sir,” I answered, my eyes still piercing the ones in front of me.

  ~~~~~

  We said nothing on the ride down in the elevator. I was fairly certain there was video and audio surveillance in every corner of this building.

  When we reached the bottom floor, the woman beside me gestured for me to step out. I walked a few steps, and when I turned to see if she was following me, instead of the woman who went by the name of Marla, I found a man in a white lab coat with dark hair and a goatee. I slipped inside his brain and found the familiar orange- and red-firing neurons. I’ll meet you at your car, Bree’s voice whispered softly inside my head.

  We exited the building. The man in the lab coat started down a sidewalk to the left, and I
walked straight ahead on another sidewalk, keeping him in my line of sight out the corner of my eye. When we hit a parking lot, he veered to the right between vehicles. I headed straight to my car, and eventually he caught back up to me at the side of my rental.

  “I’ll drive,” he—she—whispered, holding out her hands for the key. “I have the credentials to get us out of here.”

  I placed the keys in her hand, letting my fingers graze over her chosen skin.

  We climbed in. She’d yet to meet my gaze. She pulled out of the parking space and headed toward the gated exit.

  If I hadn’t examined every inch of Bree’s mind over the past months, I’d have had a hard time believing that she was, in fact, sitting beside me. I wanted to touch her, but knew it would look strange to the armed guards we were approaching. Not to mention, I could tell by the stony look she’d given me more than once since we entered the elevator that she was still pretty pissed at me.

  She held up her credentials. The guard said nothing as he scanned the bar code. The gate in front of us opened. As we passed through, two marked police cars approached the entrance. We kept our gazes straight ahead.

  Bree drove for ten minutes, back toward the city. Her hands squeezed the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white. I pointed ahead. “Turn in there.”

  She pulled into the crowded parking lot of a home improvement store, parking far away from the entrance. She had transformed back into her own body. Instead of a lab coat or the pencil thin skirt of Dr. Howard’s assistant, she was dressed in a pair of jeans and a light sweater. Her red hair hung in loose curls. And her eyes began to water in a rare show of emotion before she blinked the moisture away. “What the hell were you thinking going there?” she asked finally.

  My brows shot upward at her accusatory tone and brusque voice. And if I weren’t still thinking of the two dead eight-year-olds back on Palmyra, I would probably have laughed at how cute her irritation was. “What was I thinking? I was thinking you had marched full steam ahead into who knew what, and that you needed help that you would probably never ask for.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the passenger door. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  Her breathing sped up. She appeared to be at a loss for words—a first. Finally she face-planted into her palms and began shaking.

  I’d never seen her show this kind of emotion, and I had no idea how to handle it. I lifted a hand and hovered it over her shoulder, debating how to comfort her. When she raised her head abruptly, I yanked my hand back. Tears streamed down her face, and she blurted, “They think I killed him.”

  And just like that, all the conflict between us, the time we’d spent apart and angry at each other, dissipated. I grabbed her arm and pulled gently.

  She resisted. “Screw that,” she yelled, then jerked her arm from my grasp. “I didn’t kill that asshole! And I don’t need you consoling me.”

  I grabbed her arm again, gently rubbing a thumb over her forearm. When I pulled this time, she relented, crossed the armrest, and let me cradle her in my lap. I smoothed her hair back, leaning in and kissing the top of her head. “We’re going to figure it out.”

  I knew Bree couldn’t possibly have killed Vance. But we also needed to discuss the very strange conversation I’d just had with her father, and why she was in Portland to begin with. I knew she didn’t return home because she wanted to see dear ol’ dad, or she wouldn’t have been hiding from him.

  She sniffed a few times, and when her breathing slowed, I slid a finger under her chin and lifted. I could see that her tears weren’t from any kind of sadness or self-pity, but from a deep anger. “Tell me what happened,” I said.

  “I saw him this morning. That’s where I went right before I found you guys at Magic Muffin.”

  “What happened?”

  She swiped at her face, then looked up at me. “He hurt me,” she said in a small voice.

  I pulled one of my hands away from her waist and gripped the armrest of the door. “That’s why Jack met you outside, isn’t it? He hurt you badly enough that you needed healing.”

  She nodded. Swallowed hard.

  The fact that she didn’t ask me to help spoke volumes about the current state of our relationship.

  “I needed his identification to try to get inside BioTech,” she said. “In case you didn’t notice, the security there is insane.”

  “I did notice. I also noticed that you had no problem moving around, impersonating whoever you needed to.” Her mind control skills were improving at a rapid rate.

  “I did at first. I impersonated a guy at the gym in order to get Vance’s ID card to gain access to BioTech and delay Vance from getting to work on time. Thought I was killing two birds with one stone.” She lifted her shoulders. “Bad choice of words.”

  “Go on.”

  “I then pretended to be Vance while I got some information from his personal assistant.” She paused, and I sensed she was leaving something out. “She nearly figured me out,” she continued. “Then the guy I impersonated on my way out…”

  “Goatee in a lab coat?”

  “Yeah. He was on a computer when I was walking between two labs. He looked up and was like, ‘Hey, Carrington, man, the news is reporting you dead. That’s some bad luck, man.’ I went to his desk, watched a short news clip that claimed I was wanted for questioning, then asked him if he could help me with something. He followed me into some kind of decontamination chamber, and I stuck him with one of Lexi’s rings.”

  “You paralyzed him? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I panicked. After seeing the news report, I figured he would start blabbing that Vance wasn’t dead, but there at BioTech. It wouldn’t take long for everyone to start asking questions.”

  “Where did you get one of Lexi’s rings?”

  “She slipped it to me this morning after she learned that Vance had attacked me.”

  “Okay. After you paralyzed some poor innocent lab worker, then what happened?”

  “I went to see my dad. I paralyzed a second victim…”

  “Marla.”

  “Yeah. I’ll have to apologize to her later. She’s very nice. But I heard the things my dad was saying to you—things about a plan and how we couldn’t escape—and I kind of freaked. What do you think he meant by all that?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t even spoken to him or my mom about the fact that I was cloned. And now—”

  “Why haven’t you?” I couldn’t help but interrupt her. “I thought you had a good relationship with them.”

  “It’s complicated.” She shifted and tried to climb back to the driver’s seat, like she’d just realized for the first time that she was sitting in my lap. “I’m sorry.”

  I tightened my hold on her briefly, then relented, ignoring her apology, because, quite frankly, it pissed me off. But to tell her that her apology pissed me off, or to continue holding her like I knew she needed, would tell her that the reasons we couldn’t be together weren’t valid. And now wasn’t the time for that conversation.

  “So what do we do? You’re wanted in a murder you didn’t commit, and your father made some kind of veiled threat against all of us.”

  She was situating herself back in the driver’s seat. “Well, you wanted to know how I grew up, right? You up for a dinner at the Howard mansion?”

  “Mansion?” I quirked a brow.

  “Don’t get too excited. It’s about as stuffy as it sounds.”

  chapter thirteen

  Briana

  Jonas pulled to the side of the road a hundred yards before the gated entrance to the house I grew up in. The mansion was lit up and set for entertaining—just another night at the Howard home.

  I was sure my mom would put on an act that everything was fine, that her daughter was simply returning home from her elite boarding school for a visit. But this “visit” would be different. I now knew that I was cloned from someone else’s DNA, not a
true daughter of the two people in the palace we were about to enter. And they were both well aware of my newfound knowledge.

  It was also different because I was now eighteen, and I was no longer dependent on the people inside this fortress.

  Except I kind of was, because I was broke.

  But neither of them knew that I was aware of just how far they’d gone in cloning and experimenting with human DNA. I’d discovered more truth than I was ready for on Palmyra. Not even Jonas knew what I’d learned. I hadn’t told him about the sick clones being from the DNA of a brother I’d lost long ago. I would have told him that—at least I think I would have—had he not pushed me away. And now I would have to tell him. Worse, I would have to tell him they had been sent to BioTech by Dr. Sallee—the very doctor Jonas trusted.

  “You ready?” Jonas touched my hand, startling me from my thoughts. When I flinched, he pulled his own hand back, an apology in his eye.

  There was a time when I thought I would break through his rock hard exterior and be something more than a friend to him. I thought that he and I could build on the bond we shared—a bond based on terrible upbringings and scientific beginnings. But Jonas refused to allow anyone into his life. He insisted on doing everything on his own and in his own way. Not to mention he was anchored to Palmyra based on a promise made to Lexi.

  I nodded, then grabbed his arm. “Wait.”

  He looked at my hand, then back up at me.

  “Whatever you think you’ve known about me is about to change,” I said.

  He placed his hand over mine and squeezed. “You do remember who my surrogate mother is, right?”

  He was right: there was no room for judgment among any of the original clones. We were all the results of twisted scientific experiments by some of the world’s most powerful doctors and scientists. My dad was no exception. I smiled. “Good point.”

  He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles, an intimate—and confusing—gesture that I refused to think too hard about.