It wasn’t.
The girl’s voice sounded distant, as if she was holding the phone away from her mouth.
“It’s not Jake,” Lyra, who was really Brandy-Nicole, said. “Jake is dead. And we need your help.”
Jake is dead.
Gemma’s mind crystallized around this fact, even as she revolted against the truth of it. Jake Witz was dead. Jake: his dark eyes, the strange stillness of him, his sudden dazzling smiles that made you lose your breath.
Dead, dead, dead. Even the word was ugly.
Those men were responsible. If they hadn’t done it themselves, they’d given the order. She knew it.
“Where are you?” she asked, and Lyra told her: the Blue Gator in Little Waller. Easy enough to remember.
“There’s Suits after us,” Lyra said. “Two of them.”
Her meaning was clear enough. They were being followed, too. “Just stay where you are,” Gemma said. “We’re coming for you.” She hung up and slipped the phone back in her pocket.
Both of the men were pretending they weren’t staring up at room 33—pretending there was something wrong with one of their tires, now, which required both of them to puzzle over it. Maybe they didn’t know that Gemma had recognized them. Maybe that was why they weren’t in a hurry. And of course they wouldn’t want to make a scene, wouldn’t want Gemma and Pete to start screaming and calling for help.
A scene. That’s what they needed.
The phone call, both the news about Jake and the fact that Lyra and 72 weren’t lost forever, had focused her. She knocked on the door of room 33, and Harliss opened up right away. He might have been standing at the door, listening, making sure they hadn’t slipped away.
“Listen to me,” she said as soon as they were inside and the door was locked again behind them. “I was wrong. Your daughter is still alive, and I know where to find her.”
Harliss took a step backward, as if she’d punched him. His hand worked its way to his chest. “How—?”
“There’s no time to explain. We’ve been followed.” Gemma’s mouth was chalk-dry. “We need a distraction. The people who came for us won’t like attention. They’ll want us to come quietly. If we can get out of here, I can bring you to your daughter. I can protect her.”
“Fuck.” Pete turned a circle. But of course there was nowhere to go.
Harliss was staring at Gemma as if he’d never seen her before. She knew he hadn’t heard a single thing she’d said. “Brandy . . .” His voice was hushed with awe, like he was speaking inside a church. “Where is she? Is she okay?”
Gemma fought down a hard swell of impatience. “She’s okay now,” she said. “She won’t be okay if those men out there get to her first.” He made a noise like a soccer ball punctured with a knife. “Look, you were right. She’s been living at Haven. They made up stories, told her she’d been made there.”
“All this time . . .” He shook his head. Although he must have expected it, he still looked as if someone had taken out his guts with a spoon. “So she doesn’t remember me? She doesn’t remember anything about me at all?”
“She remembers a few things,” Gemma lied. How long would it be before the men got tired of waiting, and came up to finish the three of them off? She knew they’d killed Jake. She felt it. And she was sure they wouldn’t have trouble killing again. “Now listen to me. We need to get away from those men. We need your help. Your daughter needs your help.”
Harliss blinked. “Okay.” He rubbed his face, as if trying to wake up from a dream. “Where are they?”
“Down in the parking lot. Two of them. Maroon Volvo.”
His eyes were still raw-red, as though they’d been scoured. “You’re not messing with me? You know where my girl is?”
“I swear,” Gemma said.
“And if I help you, you’ll help me?”
Gemma nodded. Harliss turned to look at Pete. Pete held up both hands.
“Yes, yes,” he said quickly. “Just . . . Christ. Let’s get out of here, okay?”
Harliss ignored that. He turned back to Gemma. “Now you listen to me.” He took a step forward and Gemma flinched, expecting him to grab her. But he only brought his finger up to point. “You get my girl. You bring her back to me safe, okay? You take her home to North Carolina until I get out.”
“Get out?” she said. Her chest was tight with fear. “Get out of what? Aren’t you coming with us?”
But Harliss didn’t answer. He gave Gemma one final look and then moved past her to retrieve the gun from the bedside table. Before she could ask him what he intended to do, he’d slipped out the door. She could tell he was moving away from room 33 by the sound of his voice, which came back to them through the thin walls. He was shouting, letting off a volley of slurred obscenities and even snatches of song.
Pete went to the window and parted the curtains to look out. “He’s pretending to be drunk or something,” he said. “He’s stumbling all over the place.”
“Smart,” Gemma said. That would get at least the desk clerk to pay attention. Maybe the other guests, if there were any.
“Should we call the police?” Pete asked.
“And say what? Some military guys are trying to kill us because they’ve been cloning people to use as petri dishes?” Gemma shook her head. They needed to get to Little Waller, fast. They didn’t have time to tangle with cops and questions like Where are your parents?