kidnapped me for her own purposes, held me captive, and then abandoned my unconscious body in the desert—was still out there too. What if she was hoping to finish whatever ill-conceived plan she’d started?
And then there was the person I loved. The person who had forgiven me when I’d lied to him, over and over again. The person who’d given me a second chance, only to find out I wasn’t the girl he thought I was. Only to find out I wasn’t a real girl at all.
The chill in my chest spread its icy tentacles. I had no idea where Hunter Lowe was right now, or whether or not he was okay. He was fine when I last saw him with his parents at Quinn’s secret techno-lair. He was maybe a little shocked to discover they were working with her vigilante group, the Vita Obscura, but still safe. . . .
Except—what if Lucas knew something to the contrary and was scared to tell me?
I stared at the tree line, not bothering to huddle into my jacket. Jackets offered no protection from a chill that was generated by fear. I tried to clear my head, but my sensors kept firing, flooding me with useless information.
Temperature: 37 degrees F.
Windchill: 35 degrees F.
Nearest human threat: 153 ft.
I sighed, unfazed by this so-called threat. Lucas’s older brother, Tim, who was probably drinking himself into a stupor in the cabin, was more of a danger to himself than to anyone else.
Lucas watched me from the corner of his eye. “I still haven’t figured out where or when the device will detonate, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Device. Detonate.
My hands flew down to press against my suddenly clenched stomach. To the same spot I’d been examining in disbelief since Lucas had revealed that planted inside of me was a masterfully built, virtually undetectable bomb. No matter how many times I gripped my skin, probed and prodded with my fingers, I couldn’t discern anything underneath. Not the ropy twist of wires, not the hard edges of building materials that nature had never intended.
General Holland had done a brilliant job of hiding the fact that I was a disaster waiting to happen. He’d even hidden it from me.
I’d just begun to accept myself as I really was—not really human, but not just a machine either. I might have lacked the typical features associated with living beings, but I still had thoughts, and I could still feel. I could experience shattering sorrow. And love. I’d begun to embrace every strange yet amazing notion of what I was and how I was made, only to have the universe chuck a cosmic wrench at me.
I wasn’t just a machine. I was a weapon.
Lucas took one look at my face and flinched. “Sorry to bring it up,” he said. “I don’t want you to worry. I’m making some headway. I’ve been logging in remotely to Holland’s computer—incognito, of course—to see if I can find anything in his files. I’m researching everything I can about timers on explosives. Some pieces are falling into place.”
He hesitated with his hand midway between us before curving it around my shoulder and squeezing. “I won’t stop until I find what we need. Okay?”
I wanted his words and touch to reassure me, but neither cracked the surface of my anxiety. Not this time. “Thank you. For everything. I don’t know how to repay you, or Tim. It’s just . . . if anyone gets hurt because of me, I—”
He bent down so that we were eye to eye. “Remember, there’s a two-hour window once it’s set to detonate. That is more than enough time to ensure my safety, or anyone else’s. Got it?”
I scanned his expression, searching for any evidence he was just saying that to make me feel better.
Direct eye contact: No averting gaze to the left.
Hand position: Not touching own face.
Heart rate: 68 bpm, steady.
Blood pressure: 108/64.
Assessment: Body language and physical measurements inconsistent with lying.
As usual, Lucas was telling the truth. Which meant accepting that he was okay with the risk—even if I wasn’t. Logically, I knew he was right. A two-hour window would be plenty of time. But the emotional part of me couldn’t be swayed. Deep down, I lived in terror that somehow, I might harm Lucas.
And I’d caused so much collateral damage already.
In my mind, I saw Quinn talking to me about the procedure that would limit my emotions. I saw myself agreeing—anything to shield me from all of my internal pain. Next I