Folsom (End of Men, #1)(22)

Folsom starts trying to undo all the leads that connect him to the various machines. I rush forward, holding his hands down.

“No,” I say firmly, looking into his eyes. He stills and I feel mildly victorious. The furious protectiveness I feel over him has consumed me since I saw him lying in this bed.

I get right in his face, so close that our foreheads touch. “You don’t want to set off the alarm again. Breathe. Okay? Just breathe. I’ll tell you what I know—which isn’t much at the moment.”

He blinks and gives a slight nod, settling back into the bed, though his shoulders are tense like two invisible cords are holding them rigid. I stare at the peppery stubble on his jaw, tiny daggers that turn to smooth skin on his neck. What to say, and how much?

“Can I trust you?” I ask, my hands still clamping down on his.

“No,” he says.

Jackal laughs and I throw a scowl his way. That man is entirely too pretty for his own good.

“I wish I knew more, but it’s what I wanted to tell you earlier. He’s here,” I say quietly. “They wanted to test him, evaluate his health, but he fell asleep, so someone is assigned to do it later. I’ve been a little…tied up with seeing about you. When your alarm went off…” I flush and hope he doesn’t notice. From the sound of Jackal, it doesn’t get past him. “And then I was assigned to watch over this twit.” I point my thumb toward Jackal.

“Is he…okay?”

“He seemed…scared,” I tell him honestly. “But he’s been through a lot. We’ll take care of him. I will,” I say, resolute.

His face doesn’t relax; he actually looks more worried than he did a minute ago.

“He’s only fifteen, Gwen.”

In the Regions, eighteen is considered an adult, and some families give their daughters over to the End Men at sixteen, the chances of pregnancy seen as higher the younger you are, but the men have all been at least eighteen. Men have to earn their place in the world, but this is much too soon.

“I understand,” I assure him.

“Is his mother with him?”

“She was not complicit with him coming here,” I say quietly. I still haven’t come to grips with what that means. Was the boy really kidnapped? “From what I’ve surmised, he was taken without her permission.”

Folsom’s eyes fly to Jackal’s, the alarm in them making me take a step back.

“Find her,” Folsom tells Jackal. “Let her know…” His voice cuts off and he looks tormented. He turns to me. “Go be with him, Gwen. Please. Make sure they don’t…” He tries to sit up again and I put my hand on his arm. He gives up and leans into the pillows, his face dark.

I clasp his hand in mine and squeeze. “I’ll take care of him. You just worry about getting well.”

I walk toward the door and Jackal follows behind me.

“Thank you,” he says when we’re out of earshot. “For helping him. He’s a good man. The best man I know.”

“You only know eleven,” I smart off.

A smile breaks out across his face. “That’s ten more than you, smart ass.”

I narrow my eyes at him, shaking my head. “Will you try to contact the boy’s mother?”

He looks away distractedly. “Yes. I’ll find her.”

“Good,” I say, thinking about how awful it would be to give birth to a child and then have him ripped from your life. Absently I touch my belly and Jackal notices the motion.

“We don’t belong to each other anymore,” he says. “Be careful what you wish for.” And then he’s gone, striding down the hall away from me. I sincerely hope he can find her.

There’s a flurry of doctors and attendants outside the domes, reading over the graphs and studying the screens for minute-by-minute updates on the two patients. I walk briskly past as they’re consumed by their data.

I move to the Silverbooks that suspend in every central area and select Hamari. Her face fills the screen, looking harried.

“Are you busy?” I ask.

“Are you kidding?” she says. “We have two men in the building…”

“Right,” I say. “I need all of the printouts you’ve collected for Laticus so far.”

“Sure,” she says. “I’ll have them on your desk in ten.”

“Thanks.” I release the button and hurry back to dome five. Corinne is standing outside Laticus’ door. She sees me walking toward her and stands straighter, hands moving to her hips.

“Where’s Mr. Emerson?”

“He’s left the building,” I tell her. “I’d like to take over the patient’s care.”

Corinne nods. At times like this, it’s helpful being the boss’s pet.

“Fine,” she says. “I trust you the most anyway.”

I feel a pang of guilt at her words. I have every intention of breaking her trust and taking information about the boy back to his father.

“May as well get a start before this afternoon’s filing is due.” She hands me his file and I tuck it under my arm.

Since my promotion a few months ago, every afternoon at two and five, I conduct an extensive report for every test run in Genome Y. Some days it takes fifteen minutes at the most. Days like today have never happened since I began working here, so I can’t imagine how long the report will take today.