does not look at me, and muscles feather along his jaw.
Reid, on the other hand . . . “Don’t even think about teleporting from this facility, Mrs. Burke. You’re here for the duration.”
My footsteps falter.
What?
Foster pinches my elbow. “Come on, Wade.”
I want to laugh. Maybe Emma Burke would exit this room without a word, but I am not that woman anymore.
Pulling free of Foster’s grip, I spin so fast Noah and Reid stop arguing to stare in bewildered silence.
“You will not keep me here, Major Reid,” I tell him, but shift my focus between both men in case Noah decides to join Reid’s crusade. “I dare you to try.”
I turn my back and shoulder past my slack-jawed audience.
CHAPTER 9
A
n
d the top story today,”
the male anchor says from behind a desk,
“is, of course, the question at the top of everyone’s mind: Where is Emma Burke?”
Behind him, still images from a Las Vegas casino float in a holo-vid for the entire world to see.
“The latest coming out of Las Vegas, Nevada. Footage was leaked to our sources of Mrs. Burke trying to escape security in a local casino. After close examination, authorities have ruled the video feed a fabrication by the resistance in an attempt to divert attention away from her actual whereabouts.
“The hunt continues for the beloved wife of Declan Burke, the Godfather of Cloning.”
• • •
I shoulder a backpack with several items of clothing from “Emma’s” box and shut off the vid screen. These continued broadcasts are going to make things hard, but it has become very clear what I face if I stay. I will not live down here with Noah’s false sense of freedom as I once had with Declan’s.
I zip up my leather jacket and exit the room. I already know I cannot leave through the command center. Major Reid will have cut off that escape route first. But I doubt he knows that
I
know about Noah’s private teleporter, which is why I head directly to his office. Noah could be there, of course, and fighting him to get out is not something I want to do, but I will do what I must.
The sound of a large group of children makes me slow outside an open room. Inside are bright colors and low tables with tiny chairs. Soft mats cover the concrete floor. Pictures of animals and the alphabet decorate the walls. Children sit at the tables or in groups on the floor. Several older girls—they can only be in their late teens by the looks of them—appear to be the only adults in sight.
Adrienne sits in the lap of one teen, pointing at pictures in a cardboard book. The two of them name animals and re-create their sounds on each page. I drift closer, unable to tear my gaze away. She repeats the animal names but makes the sounds without prompting. I do not know if this is normal, but to me, she may as well be a genius.
Guilt like nothing I have ever felt before wraps tight fingers around my throat. I should have been here to witness these advancements for myself. I blink rapidly to dry my wet eyes.
Someone approaches from behind and stops beside me, startling me. Dr. Malcolm smiles into the open room of children, arms clasped behind his back, rocking between his heels and the balls of his feet.
“Children are a miracle,” he whispers in order to not alert anyone in the room to our watchful presence. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Emma?”
I clear my throat. “Yes, of course.”
He nods toward Adrienne. “And your little miracle . . . Adrienne is a beautiful child.”
My
little miracle. The daughter I never planned for.
Is
she mine? I mean,
really
mine? My feelings aside, because God knows from the moment I saw her I loved her, do I have the right to call myself her mother?
Looking at what I am about to do, I know the answer is a swift and resounding no. Because here I am, once again, about to desert my daughter as if I hold no responsibility in her upbringing. What kind of mother does that?
“I can only imagine the relief you must feel when seeing
Reid, on the other hand . . . “Don’t even think about teleporting from this facility, Mrs. Burke. You’re here for the duration.”
My footsteps falter.
What?
Foster pinches my elbow. “Come on, Wade.”
I want to laugh. Maybe Emma Burke would exit this room without a word, but I am not that woman anymore.
Pulling free of Foster’s grip, I spin so fast Noah and Reid stop arguing to stare in bewildered silence.
“You will not keep me here, Major Reid,” I tell him, but shift my focus between both men in case Noah decides to join Reid’s crusade. “I dare you to try.”
I turn my back and shoulder past my slack-jawed audience.
CHAPTER 9
A
n
d the top story today,”
the male anchor says from behind a desk,
“is, of course, the question at the top of everyone’s mind: Where is Emma Burke?”
Behind him, still images from a Las Vegas casino float in a holo-vid for the entire world to see.
“The latest coming out of Las Vegas, Nevada. Footage was leaked to our sources of Mrs. Burke trying to escape security in a local casino. After close examination, authorities have ruled the video feed a fabrication by the resistance in an attempt to divert attention away from her actual whereabouts.
“The hunt continues for the beloved wife of Declan Burke, the Godfather of Cloning.”
• • •
I shoulder a backpack with several items of clothing from “Emma’s” box and shut off the vid screen. These continued broadcasts are going to make things hard, but it has become very clear what I face if I stay. I will not live down here with Noah’s false sense of freedom as I once had with Declan’s.
I zip up my leather jacket and exit the room. I already know I cannot leave through the command center. Major Reid will have cut off that escape route first. But I doubt he knows that
I
know about Noah’s private teleporter, which is why I head directly to his office. Noah could be there, of course, and fighting him to get out is not something I want to do, but I will do what I must.
The sound of a large group of children makes me slow outside an open room. Inside are bright colors and low tables with tiny chairs. Soft mats cover the concrete floor. Pictures of animals and the alphabet decorate the walls. Children sit at the tables or in groups on the floor. Several older girls—they can only be in their late teens by the looks of them—appear to be the only adults in sight.
Adrienne sits in the lap of one teen, pointing at pictures in a cardboard book. The two of them name animals and re-create their sounds on each page. I drift closer, unable to tear my gaze away. She repeats the animal names but makes the sounds without prompting. I do not know if this is normal, but to me, she may as well be a genius.
Guilt like nothing I have ever felt before wraps tight fingers around my throat. I should have been here to witness these advancements for myself. I blink rapidly to dry my wet eyes.
Someone approaches from behind and stops beside me, startling me. Dr. Malcolm smiles into the open room of children, arms clasped behind his back, rocking between his heels and the balls of his feet.
“Children are a miracle,” he whispers in order to not alert anyone in the room to our watchful presence. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Emma?”
I clear my throat. “Yes, of course.”
He nods toward Adrienne. “And your little miracle . . . Adrienne is a beautiful child.”
My
little miracle. The daughter I never planned for.
Is
she mine? I mean,
really
mine? My feelings aside, because God knows from the moment I saw her I loved her, do I have the right to call myself her mother?
Looking at what I am about to do, I know the answer is a swift and resounding no. Because here I am, once again, about to desert my daughter as if I hold no responsibility in her upbringing. What kind of mother does that?
“I can only imagine the relief you must feel when seeing
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