Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(23)

Obadiah’s shoulders slump. “Remember how I told you the employees here won’t come down to these tunnels?”

“You told us they think it’s infested with rats,” Linc says. I cringe.

Obadiah nods. “Right. The plan was to spread a rumor about rodents and keep anyone from wandering too far down. And, well … the plan might’ve worked a little too well. My father is talking about selling the building.”

“Selling?” I repeat the word at the same time Linc says, “Shit.” Morton grunts his agreement to one or both.

“Sorry,” Obadiah says. “I thought it would help us stay off the radar.”

Linc sighs. “It’s not your fault. It was a good plan. Has he made any final decisions yet?” Linc asks.

“Not yet,” Obadiah says. “I heard him talking to his assistant yesterday about contacting a realtor to run some numbers.”

“Good. We’ve got time,” Linc says.

“For what?” Obadiah asks. “You want to move them again?”

Linc rubs a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”

“I hope so,” Obadiah says, shaking his head. “Moving them gets riskier every time.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Obadiah,” Morton says. “Especially with the three of you involved now … I don’t like taking those kinds of chances.”

“Taking chances is kind of a requirement considering the circumstances,” Linc says.

“I don’t like putting anyone at unnecessary risk,” Morton says.

“Agreed.” Linc turns to Obadiah, thoughtful. “What if you buy it?”

“Me?”

“Do you have the means?”

Obadiah’s brow slants. For a moment, his purple scarf and indignant expression are so completely Uptown. “Are you asking if I can afford it?”

“I’m asking if you have access to the funds,” Linc says.

“I—Oh. Huh.” The haughtiness dissolves and it’s only unassuming Obadiah. “I don’t know. Never tried.”

This time it’s Linc’s brow that arches. “You’ve never tried to spend your old man’s money?”

“Not that much at once. Huh. Interesting proposal.”

“But won’t your dad be suspicious?” I ask. “I mean, why would you want to buy an old, rat-infested building?”

“Depends on what I want it for,” Obadiah says slowly. I can see the wheels turning.

“What will you tell him?” I ask.

Obadiah’s voice dips low, devilish and teasing. “How about a gentleman’s club?”

Linc smirks. “You mean a gentleman’s club for gentleman?”

I slap his knee. Obadiah feigns offense but it tapers off quickly. “Business would boom, you know. Plenty of closet politicians. But no. I’ll figure something out.”

“Good.” Linc nods once and I know that for now it’s settled.

The door opens and Anna returns with a tray of waters. She hands them out and takes her place against the wall near the door. “The others are anxious to see you when you’re done here,” she tells me.

“I’m anxious to see them too,” I say, thinking of the room full of Imitations on the other side of the kitchen. “How’s Lita?”

“She’s better. You’ve really helped her come out of her shell,” Anna tells me. “She spoke a few words at dinner last night. It was amazing.”

I smile. Lita is twelve, the youngest resident of Morton’s community. No one knows what happened to drive her to run from her Authentic assignment. She simply showed up five months ago, huddling at the edges of a barrel fire on the outskirts of town. She’d been starving and dehydrated to the point of fever then. Morton had found her and brought her underground.

She’d started by following me around during visits. The first few times, she’d hide or run when I tried speaking to her. Eventually, her bravery increased and she’d stand her ground. Two weeks ago, she said her first words. “Come back soon,” she’d whispered when I left.

Remembering it now gave me a thrill. A sense of belonging, of being needed. “I’m so glad she’s doing well,” I tell Anna. “I’ll be along in a bit.”

Anna nods and starts to pull the door shut. A small face appears around her shoulder and darts into the space between door and jamb. Anna pulls up short. “Lita, I said we’d be there in a minute,” she scolds.

“It’s all right.” I laugh and go to Lita, pulling her in for a hug.

The girl’s shoulders are stiff at first but quickly relax. I stroke her hair, squeezing one final time, and then straighten. “You look very well, Lita,” I tell her. The girl’s eyes shine back at me. Her light brown hair hangs limp over her thin shoulders but her cheeks are pink and healthy. She really does look much better than before. “And what’s this?” I ask, catching sight of the color as her hand retracts.

I snatch it in my own and study her nails. “Someone painted your nails?” I ask.

She nods, pleased with the soft blue but shy enough to yank her hand away a second later.

“I think it’s beautiful,” I tell her. “Maybe you can do mine sometime.”