Deviation (Clone Chronicles #2)(33)

“Egleston,” Taylor gushes, walking forward and air-kissing both his cheeks. Her plastic smile rivals his and I wonder if I poked at them, would they pop like the bubble dress in the window.

“Darling,” he says, returning her air kisses and then fastening his icy blue eyes on me. “Miss Raven Rogen,” he says as if my name alone holds the key to his life’s happiness.

“Darling,” I say, turning off my brain and turning on the auto-pilot snark that is my character. We air kiss and then I step back because Raven Rogen doesn’t allow the help inside her bubble, even if he is worthy of an air kiss. “The shop looks fantastic.” I nod at Taylor and speak for us both. “We love the plum.”

“Of course you do. It’s so very beyond,” he says, drawing out the o sound. “Is there something specific I can find for you lovelies?”

“Your newest leather and most expensive purse,” Taylor says without hesitation.

Egleston blinks. “Well, well. We know what we want, don’t we? Any particular color on the leather?”

“Plum, of course,” Taylor says.

“Well, of course. Only the latest for my favorite girls. Wait here.”

Egleston disappears behind the velvet curtain but returns before either of us can move a muscle. “This,” he says, producing a shiny purple bag with a flourish, “is the latest and most daring thing. Straight from Manila. It will cost you more than three seasons of Botox.”

“Oh, not for me,” Taylor says when he tries to hand her the bag. “It’s for Raven. I’m buying,” she adds with a wink.

“Oh, a gift for the bestie?” Egleston smiles. “You’re such a giver, darling.”

I try not to choke. “Taylor, I don’t think—”

“Don’t think,” she interrupts. “Just hold the bag. Touch the bag. Love the bag. She needs retail therapy in the worst way,” she adds to Egleston.

He clucks his tongue at me sympathetically. “Oh, honey, is it a boy?”

“Isn’t it always?” Taylor says.

“You know I can hear you,” I say wryly.

“Just smell the bag,” Taylor says, waving me off. “You’ll feel better.”

I give her a look but she’s obviously serious and waits for me to comply. Tentatively, I raise the bag to my face and inhale. If soft was a scent, this would be it. It’s more a feeling than anything else, smooth and heady and luxurious. And I know this is the part of me that matches her. “Mmm,” I can’t help but murmur.

Taylor giggles and Egleston claps. “I told you,” Taylor says. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Oh, and this leather is just it. Highest quality. And lined with the softest available goat’s hide, so … two-fer! Win!”

“Oh, perfect. We’ll take it,” Taylor says.

Egleston claps. “Spectacular. Jorge will be so pleased to hear that Raven Rogen will be sporting his creation.”

I tune out as Taylor and Egleston discuss the social implications of the purse she is buying me. Across the shop, Alton is whispering fervently into his radio. His brows are drawn and his mouth is pinched. Either I’m too far away to hear or he’s turned off the speaker function. All I see are his lips moving and the worry in his expression. Something isn’t right.

I tap my foot while Taylor chit-chats. The urge to walk over and ask him what’s wrong is strong but I know he wouldn’t tell me if I did. Alton isn’t Linc. And he isn’t my friend. I have to remind myself I’m in a world where even fellow Imitations are enemies.

I don’t realize my feet have moved but by the time Taylor finishes paying, I’m already halfway to the door. Halfway to Alton. “Wait for me,” Taylor calls, hurrying to catch up.

Alton straightens and abruptly slides his radio back onto the clip on his belt. I curse Taylor for her loudness and try to read Alton’s frown. I don’t have to wait long. He meets me at the door and, instead of letting me pass through, he opens it and follows me out with a firm grip on my elbow.

“What’s going on?” I ask at the same time I hear Taylor behind me making a noise of indignation.

“What the hell is your problem? The door almost closed on me,” she snaps.

Alton doesn’t acknowledge her as he scans the crowded street. I do the same. No one seems out of place. Alton continues to stand and watch, as if he’s waiting for something. “What’s going on?” I repeat.

“A threat has been identified. You’re leaving,” Alton says.

I open my mouth—to argue, to demand, to whine—but Alton’s grip suddenly clenches against my arm and he pulls up, causing my elbow to dangle awkwardly above my shoulder. “Let go of me,” I snap.

Beside me, Taylor screeches. “What do you think you’re doing, putting your hands on her? I will have your job.”

“My job is to protect Miss Rogen,” he says. “Not follow you around the upper west side while you play dress up.” A black car pulls into traffic from the alley. Oncoming cars brake hard to avoid it and horns sound. A few pedestrians pause to study the scene but most keep moving without breaking pace. I know from riding on Linc’s motorcycle crazy drivers aren’t that much of an oddity. It isn’t until the tires screech to a stop that I realize it’s my—the Rogen family’s—car.