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She could shrug off any implied danger to herself, because she had accepted that possibility from the outset, but when her child was threatened … there was no shrugging that off. Ashley was her heart. She couldn’t bear the thought that anything might happen to her daughter, that Ashley wouldn’t get to live life to the fullest, to love and be loved, to have children, to grow old and see her family grow, to have a fulfilling career. She wanted all of that, and more, for her daughter. She wanted everything. Selfishly, she also wanted to see her own grandchildren someday.
She would not, ever in this lifetime, tolerate a threat to the precious life that was her daughter.
She couldn’t spirit Ashley away, hide her from all danger. Ashley was a continent away, doing her post-grad work at Stanford. She was an excellent student, a self-driven overachiever who was willing to work her butt off to reach her goals. But she was also young, and even if Felice explained the danger to her, Ashley wouldn’t understand the gravity of the situation, wouldn’t cooperate with a massive interruption of her plans.
Therefore, something had to be done about Xavier.
Al entered the tank then. Whatever his thoughts were about her presence here, so soon after her last visit, they didn’t show on his face. He’d make a killing at the Vegas poker tables if he ever decided to take up gambling. “What’s up?” he asked casually as he, too, went to the coffeemaker and selected a pod.
Al wasn’t a casual-type man. He could project the attitude if he wanted, but he was always thinking, always weighing, always trying to steer events his way. He knew why she was here.
Nevertheless, Felice went about systematically outlining the situation and her intentions—some of them, anyway. “Subject C is showing more signs of … instability,” she replied. “Nothing dramatic, but out of her usual routine.”
He waited until his coffee cup was full, then removed it and sipped before saying nonchalantly, “Such as?”
She felt a flash of annoyance that he’d asked, because they had trackers on Subject C’s car; they knew exactly where she’d gone yesterday afternoon. She never took Al for a fool, and he returned the favor. If he was doing this dance, it was for a reason.
“You don’t think driving miles into Virginia to a strip mall, bypassing several malls much closer that have the same stores, is a break in her routine?” All she put into her tone was mild curiosity.
He sighed. “Did she do anything nefarious at these stores?”
“She went to a sporting goods store.”
“The horror,” he said, keeping his tone so bland that the unexpressed sarcasm was sharper than it would have been if he’d snapped at her. Despite herself, Felice found herself smiling, because she liked a good comeback. “Her credit card shows she bought some running shoes, a jogging outfit, and some wasp spray.”
She made a dismissive gesture. “I know that. I also know no charges at any other stores showed up, so she either paid cash for what she bought at them or she went specifically to that store and nowhere else. Again, she passed other, closer, sporting goods stores. Why that one? Why so far into Virginia?”
“Maybe she hadn’t planned to stop anywhere; maybe she just went for a drive, on an impulse.”
“Please,” she said, leaving the Don’t be an idiot unspoken. “She’s programmed not to be impulsive. If she’s becoming impulsive, then the process isn’t holding. And taking a spontaneous drive isn’t the only thing different that she’s doing.”
“Such as?”
“She went running late yesterday evening when she got home. The impression my man got, the very words he used, was that it was as if she was starting training.”
“That’s just someone’s impression, and I assume you used people who know nothing about her. She bought running shoes and a new outfit yesterday, then she went running. That isn’t exactly unexpected. For all we know, people in her office started talking about dieting, getting in shape, and she decided to go along with it too.”
Felice thought about that. “Feasible,” she finally agreed, because it was. Kind of on the outer limits, but still within the bounds of feasibility. “If she had activated the new cell phone she bought, which she hasn’t. She went to the trouble of buying a new cell phone the day after she broke hers, but she still hasn’t even put the battery in it. Hell, why didn’t she let them activate it in the store? That was on Saturday. This is Tuesday. All of the little things, taken together, form a picture I don’t like.”
He was silent, which meant the deal with the cell phone had bothered him, too. That wasn’t normal behavior. Going for a drive, doing some impulse shopping, maybe going for an after-work jog—those things were unlike her, but not, in and of themselves, enough to make anyone push the panic button.
But he couldn’t explain the cell phone. Who bought a cell phone and didn’t put the battery in it? People like them, that’s who, people who knew just putting the battery in activated the GPS, put out a signal that let them be traced. All over the world, people were voluntarily carrying automatic tracking devices that, knowing the nature of the world and governments, could one day be used to hunt them down and keep them under control.
“Given that all of this started when her supervisor possibly alerted her to the difference in time lapse,” she continued, driving her point home, “we have to assume that did trigger some sort of mental … adjustment.”
“Even if some of her former personal qualities are resurfacing, that doesn’t mean her memory is,” Al said. “She has no way of accessing any records, no way of knowing where to start. Even if she did look, all she’d find is a gap of two years. All the paperwork is tied up, and leads to dead ends. You know that. We covered every base.”
“Unless her memory comes back, too.”
“What are the odds of that? Aren’t you more likely to get hit by a lightning bolt when you walk out the door?”
“Yes, of course, given that the odds of getting hit by lightning are surprisingly high. But you tell me: considering the subject matter, exactly what kind of odds can we afford to tolerate concerning Subject C?”
She had him there. The only logical answer was zero. None.
What she wanted was for Al to accept the reality of the situation and stop protecting Subject C. She had her own resources, but nothing like what Al could pull into action. If he would handle the people and let her handle the spin, they could come through this—maybe damaged, with doubt and suspicion following them for the rest of their lives, but those lives at least wouldn’t be spent in prison, and on death row at that.
“I think you’re borrowing trouble,” he finally said. “Even if she did remember everything, what’s she going to do? She, of all people, will want what we did kept quiet.”
