Traceless (Stateless #2) Read online

  “Guard?”

  “Those trainees invaded the building. The children who live there are the future of Stateless. We're investing massive resources in them for the project's longevity. Who knows how much spillover violence those idiots could have committed?”

  “Judging from the two bullets lodged in the walls over there, you committed more than enough spillover violence,” he replies, giving me a gimlet eye.

  “The bullets are in the support beams,” I point out. “I'm controlled. I knew what I was doing. The trainees didn't.”

  “But Angelica did. Having them enter the nursery was a signal. An overt message. She was willing to do anything to get to Kina,” Svetnu responds with a not-so-subtle throat clearing.

  We all stop breathing.

  All three of us–Smith, Sally, and me–ask the question in unison:

  “Why?”

  “You tell me,” he lobs back at all of us.

  I immediately think of Glen. Mentioning her name right now, given the attention they're paying to my attachment to Kina, would be a mistake. Someone else has to bring her up before I do. Only then can I give more information. It's a delicate balance, but I have to manage it.

  “Jealousy doesn't make sense,” Sally ventures. “Angelica always had a certain level of... anger toward Kina. I assumed it was disgust.”

  Everyone nods, including me. They're nodding for a different reason. In their minds, Kina's “weakness” was a reason to be disgusted.

  In my mind, that disgust is the reason they're all weak.

  “With Romeo dead and McDuff possibly getting information out of Romeo before he died, we need more on McDuff. Surveilling him is key,” Svetnu says.

  Smith clears his throat. “Sir, I've offered before–”

  “That's an excellent idea. Send Smith,” I say quickly.

  “No.” Svetnu slowly opens the folder in front of him. “It has to be you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you've become too attached to Kina. In the two days you've been back here at the compound, you've proven we cannot trust you around her.” One shoulder goes up. “It happens. Even the strongest among us has weak spots. We need to eradicate it in you. If we'd done a better job with Romeo and Angelica, they would still be alive.” His gaze goes unfocused. Staring at a spot behind me, he adds, “You can't all be like Glen, sadly.”

  Hearing her name as a role model makes my blood boil.

  “Callum, you proved yourself in the field. Plenty of kills, and your hardware hacking has given us access to more sensitive political information than we could ever have expected. Your work is exemplary.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But Glen is harder. Fiercer. She can’t take Romeo’s place. Her position with President Bosworth is far too important.”

  But.

  The unspoken word hangs in the air. Glen would be in my job if it weren’t for her connection to the president. His words are a direct warning.

  Why, though? My attachment to Kina doesn’t explain his distrust. It’s confusing. Destabilizing.

  And makes me wonder where, exactly, I am in the Stateless structure.

  “Speaking of Glen, sir, she–”

  “Romeo died because he couldn't let his mistake go. So many chances he had to kill Lily Thornton. So many opportunities to take out McDuff. We tried, too. Two operatives infiltrated Drew Foster's private security company. They followed McDuff and Lily on a hike. McDuff killed them both and threw their bodies off a cliff. Made it back to safety. We never recovered Chui and Murphy.”

  I jolt, heart speeding as if it were launched in a slingshot. That's what happened to my fellow classmates? They're dead? They were assholes, sure. And clearly, they made a mistake.

  This McDuff is brutal if he can take on two highly trained, merciless Stateless operatives like them and emerge the victor.

  His eyes, tired but hard as polished stones, focus solely on me. “McDuff is dangerous. He's smart, quiet, observant–and ruthless. His weakness is Lily Thornton. Romeo thought he could use that against the man, but he was wrong. Where Romeo stumbled was his own attachment to the outcome. Instead of working with events as they unfolded, he tried to control them and shape them to his desires.”

  I remain quiet, uncertain where this is going, but the room feels like it's spinning. McDuff killed Chui, Murphy, and Romeo. What the hell can't he do?

  “I could send Smith or Sally. I could easily send one of the less trained field operatives. You, Callum, have a lesson to learn in killing McDuff. One that no other Stateless operative would find as profound.”

  Smith's mouth tightens.

  “Kina has demonstrated a level of resilience that persists.”

  My heart jumps into my tight throat.

  “Sir?”

  “We knew nine years ago that she was sharp. Smart in a way that does not conform. Her ability to hyper-elevate and kill Angelica while holding off Glen demonstrates a level we suspected, but now confirm.”

  “You knew that then! Why the hell didn't you–”

  “We had our reasons.”

  “Screw your reasons! She's meant for The Field,” I explode.

  One eyebrow arches. “Like Romeo, you have too much emotional attachment to a certain outcome.”

  “If by 'outcome,' sir,” I say, lowering my voice, “you mean preventing Stateless from losing out on a top operative, someone your leadership told you could give Stateless an advantage in The Field, then consider me on Romeo's team. It was a mistake to keep Kina here.”

  “Perhaps. But not now. You, on the other hand, will go back straightaway. Observe McDuff. Learn what he knows. And when the order comes in, kill him immediately.”

  “I absolutely will. In a few days–”

  “You leave tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “We're setting up an operation in Texas.”

  “What does Texas have to do with McDuff and Thornton? They're in California.”

  “Jane Borokov is in Texas,” Sally explains. “At Alice Mogrett's old ranch.”

  The base of my neck tightens. There's that name again. Alice Mogrett. From my file.

  “You want me to go to Texas?”

  “No. I want you to get that removed.” He points to my birthmark. “We've located a laser center in Massachusetts with new techniques, but more important — outdated security patches in their medical records system. You'll have the birthmark corrected and wipe out any existence. Then on to Texas, but only when McDuff is not present at the ranch.”

  “He goes there?” Excitement spikes my blood. “Surveilling there would be perfect.”

  “You're never to be seen by him until the moment you look him in the eye and kill him.”

  “That's good surveillance, sir.”

  “Then be good, Callum. Be very, very good.”

  “And Kina? The babies in the nursery?”

  “Don't worry about Kina. She can take care of herself.”

  “She couldn't when the trainees were trying to rape her.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Sir?”

  “You interrupted her. You killed for her, like the bunny in the classroom nine years ago. You never let her save herself.”

  I am struck dumb by his words.

  The silence lasts until they leave me, staring at the wall, wondering what else I don't know.

  5

  Kina

  Two days ago, I was living the same life I'd lived for the last nine years, changing diapers and feeding babies and shaping toddler behavior.

  Two days ago, Callum was someone I dreamed about. Someone I yearned for. Someone I remembered and wondered about.

  Two days ago, no one but the babies had touched me for nearly nine years.

  And two days ago, I'd killed two people in my life. Now my body count is three.

  So much can change in the blink of an eye.

  Glen hasn't come back, so I assume she's gone. Conflicting emotions race through my body
, sending dread through every organ, pumped into my blood, contaminating everything I know, every cell in me screaming in fury.

  Is she good? Is she bad? I can't trust her now. Callum was right.

  I hate that he's right.

  But can I trust him?

  The babies are the only people I can trust. True and real, they live without subterfuge, without agendas, without manipulation. I learned in my online child development courses that people believe small infants can manipulate, erroneously attributing intent to tiny humans who are just trying to get their needs met. Survival means doing whatever it takes to inhale again.

  Is the pull of denial regarding Glen part of that instinct for survival? Can I live in a world where she's a bad guy?

  Where she influenced the leadership to have me made into a training body?

  Deep in my bones, I have more questions about my twin.

  Even deeper, though, is the need to see Callum now. Too bad he’s gone on assignment somewhere in Texas. That’s all I know.

  Walking across the compound in broad daylight to go to the guest wing is a very different experience, especially after the chaos of the last days. More security guards are stationed at doorways. Women and men I don't recognize force me to produce my ID as I submit to the retinal scan for admittance, a higher level of security than we typically use.

  Once inside, there are guards at the end of each hallway.

  Fortunately, Callum's talking to one of them.

  A joyful warmth fills me, one that’s out of place but welcome. I recognize the guy Callum’s talking to. Hokes. He looks like a stone mountain dressed in a black suit. Older than most of our security guys, he has a shaved head, and a face that looks like it's been rearranged a few times in bar brawls. A little grey in a neatly-trimmed beard and jowls are the only tipoff that he's Dr. Svetnu's age – or even older. Something about him makes me feel safe and on edge at the same time.

  “Kina,” Callum says with a nod that triggers Hokes to step back instantly, body language making it clear I'm to pass him. I follow Callum to his room and he gestures for me to enter, the door closing shut before I can turn around and say a word, ask a question, or just smile.

  Heat forms a wall behind me as Callum's hands touch the tops of my shoulders. I can feel him moving closer until my ass grazes his thighs. My nipples tighten, gooseflesh breaking out over my exposed arms. I swallow, mouth dry, the heat from our connection making me combust.

  Every breath makes my breasts push out, the air moving down and up, his hands sliding from my shoulders to my elbows, wrapping me in an embrace from behind as he nuzzles my neck, his deep inhale and sigh of pleasure a low rasp, the sound of a man in deep need.

  It's a sound I crave. Knowing I make Callum's throat react with that rumble is a victory.

  His hands move to my hips, then lower. Mouth on my ear, he whispers “Here,” as he slips the jammer into my front pocket. “Cameras.” I slowly turn to face him, pressed against his body as I slide the band over my wrist.

  My pulse pounds everywhere–the crook of my elbows, my temples, in my eyeballs, at the center of my tongue–but it beats hardest between my legs, the rush of desire more overpowering than I'd ever imagined. In all our training, we were taught that sex is a weapon. Desire is used to manipulate. Atavistic impulses are a biological imperative to use against another person in order to gain the upper hand.

  They never told us it could feel so damn good, though.

  Spinning me around, his mouth crushes mine, fingers digging into my hair, palms cupping the back of my neck, his body grinding into mine. I didn't come here for sex, but I have a feeling I'm not leaving without it.

  I'm not sure I could leave without it, at this point.

  “Kina, what you do to me,” he whispers in my ear as his nose takes in my scent. “I've spent nine years thinking about you. Wondering about you. But I spent even more years wondering what it would feel like to do this.” A masterful hand cups my breast, the thumb turning my nipple hard. Instantly, the shot of energy races to my heart, my lungs, to the nerve cluster that burns bright for him. I'm wet and eager, empty and needy, and if he told me now to take off my pants and open my legs for him, I couldn't stop myself.

  I’m horrified by the thought.

  Newness ripples across my skin like a brushfire, the intensity of what he’s doing to me instigating nine years — no, longer — of fantasies about him touching me like this. As Callum’s breath brushes my skin I remember all the yearning, energy I’ve spent on him, wishing and wanting, dreaming and needing, and all of the hard work of killing off my desire, denying it, banishing it.

  And here it is, roaring forth with abandon, conjured by him.

  Open-mouthed kisses pass between us for what feels like centuries, millennia, time itself caught between our tongues. His teeth trap my lower lip with a vicious possession and although it hurts because my mouth is still raw from yesterday's attack, it replaces the memory of what happened to me. Callum is claiming me back, kiss by kiss, stroke by stroke, repudiating what those assholes tried to do.

  If I am anyone's body, it is Callum's. His and his alone.

  “I didn't come here for this,” I gasp. “I came to tell you to go.”

  “Go?”

  “Into The Field. To do your assignment and kill McDuff. But more important, to find your brother.” We’re whispering, practically inaudible as we work to avoid detection.

  “I will.”

  “I'll be fine here.”

  “I'm not sure that's true.”

  “I'll be fine because I know you're coming back.”

  “I will always come back to you, Kina. Always. And it will never, ever take nine years again. Never.”

  His kiss takes his words and injects them into me with a force that makes my cells feel everything he has to give. I'm whirling, twirling in place as he walks me backwards to the bed, lowering me, his hard, strong body on top of me, erection pressing against the part of me that wants to disobey so, so badly.

  It's not against any formal rule for us to sleep together.

  It is, however, strictly forbidden to have feelings for each other.

  I can't do one without the other at this point.

  Which means I am doomed.

  The shift happens slowly, too slowly, a gradual takeover I don't notice until it's too late. Callum's hand is down the back of my pants, fingers digging into the flesh of my ass cheek, his mouth kissing a trail down my neck. I reach for him, cupping the long shaft that strains against his trousers, the movements slowly losing emotion, suddenly devoid of passion.

  I'm flat.

  I'm blank.

  I'm gone.

  His spine straightens, the movement upward a jerky sensation that makes my hand slip. Mouth dry, lips still wet and stung from the kissing, I look into his eyes and see my internal state mirrored perfectly.

  We elevated.

  Blank on blank, hollow facing hollow, we've stripped ourselves of emotion out of training. Autonomic responses can be taught. We were told this for years. Muscle memory is real, but you have to put in the work to convince the body to override biology with intentional neurology.

  Stateless has been successful with us.

  Damn it.

  “You – ” I can’t find words.

  “You feel it, too?” he asks, moving off me to sit on the edge of the bed. His hands rake through his hair, abs pushing in and out as he breathes hard, rough, angry.

  “I feel nothing.”

  “That's the problem.” He stands and abruptly slams his palm against the bedroom wall. “They trained us too well.”

  “I want to feel more, Callum. I do.” I sit up.

  “So do I. But we can't. They programmed us not to feel passion. They got so deep inside our minds and bodies, they turned a natural act of–” He breaks off the sentence before he transgresses so fully that he can never come back.

  Love.

  He was about to say love.

  That's what sn
aps me back, bringing me down, grounding me in my body again. The elevation doesn't dissipate that quickly. Ever. But his words of emotion cut through it all, an antidote, like an EpiPen for anaphylaxis, like Narcan for an opiate overdose.

  Callum's expression of true emotion overrode my training.

  What else can we override?

  What else are the leaders wrong about? I glance around the room. Thanks to the jammers overriding our chips, they may be able to see our physical acts, but they cannot hear all our words. They do not know our hearts.

  I move to touch him, but his arms go up in a gesture of surrender, his torso moving back, wide chest surprisingly limber. “Don't touch me, Kina. I'm not worthy.”

  “Not worthy?”

  “It feels,” he hisses, choking on the word, “like I would just be using you if I slept with you.”

  “Use me, then.” I venture a small smile.

  “Not–not like this.” His fingers tighten into fists, then relax, a pattern he uses over and over to calm himself down. “Not when I'm a robot with a dick. I can't do that to you. I won't do that to you. You don't want that and I don't want that.”

  “You're right. I don't. But I do want you.”

  “I want to give myself to you. But first I have to make sure I don't give the Stateless version of myself to you. That would be worse than never making love with you at all.”

  I gasp, the words a cold bucket of ice thrown in my face.

  He grabs my hands, pulling them over his heart, his face intense, eyes dilated. “Don't you see? The reason Angelica and Glen find you to be a threat is because of this.” His hands press mine hard into his pecs. “You–you’ve found a way to make emotions an advantage. Not to use them against other people. But to use your own emotions to gain the upper hand.”

  “What upper hand? I'm not trying to–”

  “That's just it, Kina. You're winning and you're not even trying. Do you have any idea how powerful that is?”

  Bzzzz.

  His phone goes off.

  Tap tap tap.

  “Sir?” A voice from the hallway.

  Quickly, I fix my rumpled clothes, smooth out my hair, and take a deep breath. Callum rights himself, adjusting his pants with a grimace and a wink sent my way. I give him a guilty smile.