The Countdown (The Taking #3)(48)

“Like you?”

“You can’t have progress without sacrifice.” He shrugged as if it made no difference to him one way or the other, and I wondered if this indifferent attitude was all hot air—an act he put on to make me believe he didn’t give a crap. Or if he was really as cold and as unfeeling as he made it seem.

“There are some who just like to ‘collect’ us, like freaks in a zoo. Create their own little museums.” Another who-cares shrug. “And others who like to use our blood for sport. Stick some poor sap in a sealed container and expose them to it. Then they sit back and watch.”

“Until what?” But I had the sinking feeling I already knew the answer.

Agent Truman didn’t hesitate to fill in the blank. “The Code Red.”

My stomach rolled as I thought of Tyler—the way he’d suffered before I’d decided to take him to Devil’s Hole.

“What about me? If you were buying Thom, how come you didn’t buy me too?”

“Your friend ‘Natty’ never told me she had you. I mean, I knew they had a Replaced, that was why we attacked Blackwater in the first place—we intercepted that message she sent out.”

So the message Natty sent hadn’t been to the NSA.

He glanced down at Thom. “As much as I like my experiments . . . and I do like my experiments, kids like you . . . well, you’re chump change in the grand scheme of things.” He grinned. “No offense.” He offered it like it somehow absolved his vileness. Turning back to me, he explained, “Getting my hands on you would have changed everything.”

I felt dirty. To my very core I felt sick and dirty and like I was the real traitor. I was the one who’d gotten Blackwater attacked, not Natty . . . not really. I turned to glare at Agent Truman. How had I ever thought he could be trusted? How had I thought this was a good idea, asking him to side with us? “And now? Is that what this is—your big chance to capture me?”

“Jesus, girl, if I’d have wanted to haul you in, I’d’a done so by now.” There was an undercurrent of irritation in his voice, and I wondered if I’d struck a nerve. “If this is your way of thanking me for saving your friend here, then you’re welcome.”

“What about Alex Walker? When we were at Blackwater, you said you didn’t need me, because you had him?” A thick cloud of guilt twisted and churned in my stomach, becoming something dark, something stormy.

“Kid from Delta?” Agent Truman clarified. “Yeah, I thought he was like you, but I was wrong. Turns out, he was just garden-variety Returned.”

I let out a long, low breath. “What . . . what did you do to him?”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t useful. Just not as useful as you woulda been.”

Dead air filled the room. A charged kind of silence that lasted weeks. Months. Years. Time we couldn’t afford. I was powerless to change the past . . . I couldn’t keep worrying about Agent Truman and the things he’d done or we might not have a future.

We had to move forward.

“You said the message Natty sent wasn’t meant for you. Who then?” Thom asked from where he was on the bed.

“No, sir. The message was sent out for another buyer, the one your girl had waiting in the wings. When you went up for sale, we weren’t even in the running. We were just lucky enough to be monitoring the signals, and picked it up.” He looked at me. “Unfortunately, you got away.” Truman took his frustration out on Thom as he dug the end of the knife into the thin tissue of Thom’s neck. “Except I think she and Eddie Ray couldn’t agree about it. I think the transaction woulda closed sooner if Eddie Ray didn’t think he could get more money for you from someone else. He was right, you know? You . . . being what you are . . . you’re worth big money.” He gouged the tip of the blade deeper. Digging. Burrowing. He had all the finesse of a butcher with a rusty hacksaw. It gave me the creeps.

“Got it!” Agent Truman held up what looked like a miniature-sized SIM card covered in Thom’s blood.

Thom sat up, wincing as he wiped his neck. “Did it really take that much work for something that small?” The gash in Thom’s neck was at least four times the size of the tracker Agent Truman had extracted.

Agent Truman grinned as he snapped the device in half before tossing it in the wastebasket, where it barely made a plinking sound. Then he wiped the blade of his pocketknife on his pants. “I always did enjoy my work.”

“You’re a monster.”

“We’re all monsters. You most of all.”

It stung, hearing him say it like that . . . the same way Griffin had.

What was her word? Chimera.

Didn’t matter that she called it something else, though, it still meant the same thing: monster.

Thom lifted the edge of his shirt to his wound, to try to stanch the flow of blood, even though it was probably already slowing on its own. “Maybe this is a mistake, working with him. He’s a Daylighter, after all.” His voice lowered, until it was barely a whisper. “Even if he’s Returned, what makes you think he’ll help us?” Thom asked, and Agent Truman gave me a look that said he wanted to know the answer as well—an Enquiring Minds Want To Know kind of look.

“Because I have a trustworthy face?” he goaded.