a short glass from the plastic drainer and filled it with water, then drank it without turning. Every movement was a struggle against the heavy awareness that her flesh and blood could be working against her. Not simply ignoring her existence but willfully acting, maybe even trying to harm her. They assumed the lack of physical damage was intentional, but maybe it was luck.
“There’s something else, Quinn. Not about your sister,” Sam said, “but I got an e-mail while I was on the road. From Alana.”
Quinn turned. “She e-mailed you? Like she knew I wouldn’t get it?” God, she’d become suspicious of everything.
He shrugged. “No, she copied me on it. Everyone knows I do all your work for you.”
She managed a small smile.
“They found Jennifer Hollinger.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Alive?”
“Barely. She was on an island in the river. Dehydrated, undernourished, scratched, and wearing torn clothes, like she’d been wandering for a few days. Disoriented, too, but one thing was clear.”
“She’d been leeched.”
“Yeah.”
“Dammit.” Poor Jennifer. She didn’t know her, but tears stung her eyelids anyway. If they’d moved faster, she might have prevented this. Where the hell had the Society and their security team been? What was the Protectorate doing to keep this from happening? “Not much point in going to Mississippi now.”
“Nope,” Sam said.
“There’s only one thing to do, then.”
“No, Quinn,” Nick warned.
Sam leaned over his laptop, fingers flying over the keys. “You want to go to Maine.”
“I said no.” Nick stood, his hands in fists. “You don’t know enough. She endangered you, whether or not she intended to hurt you. She could be working with the leech. Someone created him.”
Quinn’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t taken her thoughts all the way there. “I know.” As much as she wanted to rush to Maine, and prove them wrong, she wasn’t a fool. “But there’s no way to learn much about Marley from here.”
“I got some more data,” Sam said, “but it’s meager at best. Like I said, she’s not a very active member of the Society.”
“So we’ll go to the next best place,” Quinn decided, hope and a little girl’s optimism dictating her choice as much as logic and determination. “Sam, where are my parents?”
…
No matter how Quinn argued, Nick refused to fly to Connecticut.
“It’s faster, Nick. Time is important here!”
“Less important than your safety is. With the security since 9/11, there is no way we can get on that plane without leaving a blinking neon sign saying, ‘Here I am! Come and get me!’”
“Right. Security. No one will get to me, and I’m frickin’ sick of driving!” And it obviously wasn’t any safer. Not that she’d say that aloud. Nick would think she blamed him, and she didn’t. But she didn’t argue because she was right and he was wrong, since they both had valid points. She argued because she couldn’t help herself. Too many things crowded into her mind and heart, and she was venting unfairly.
Nick rocked back on his heels, a satisfied smile tugging at his mouth. “Fine. We’ll stay here a few more days. You should recuperate anyway.”
“From what?” She dropped onto the sofa, aware of how long it had been since she had a shower or real rest. Since any of them had. “I’m fine,” she lied.
He ticked off her injuries on his fingers. “Cut arm, cuts on your back, bruises, possible concussion from being knocked out, sprained ankle. Did I miss anything?”
She didn’t mention her sore back from awkward positions in the car and bad motel-room beds.
“Right. And I could use a break, too.” He stalked toward his room. “So you just chill for a while.”
“High-handed tyrant,” Quinn muttered. Nick slammed the door.
Sam, pouring coffee at the stove, turned to grin at her. “You guys fight like siblings.”
Quinn scowled, remembering their last “fight,” and how non-sibling-like it had been. “Well, we’re not.”
“I know.” He brought her coffee in a plain ceramic mug. “He’s right, though. Driving is safer.”
“How? You were in a crash, I was abducted—she has some way to track us. If she’s not trying to kill us, then flying is the best way to get to her quickly, without giving her days’ worth of warning.”
“There’s another reason to wait.” Sam stretched his legs in front of him. They seemed to go halfway across the room. He leaned his head back, looking for all the world like a frat boy whose only concern was tonight’s kegger.
“What, oh wise one?”
He grinned. “’Bout time you recognized it.”
Quinn finally smiled back, her frustration fading. “Brat.”
“I