Girl Called Fearless: A Girl Undone Part 18

"Thank you, Adam," Hawkins said, dismissing Ho. Hawkins trained his cement-colored eyes on me and said coldly, "Welcome home, Aveline."

I stood, my chin held high, despite the percussion in my chest. "Yes, I'm back."

Hawkins set down his tablet and unfolded from the chair. I took in the unyielding pleats on his pants, the hard charcoal of his golf shirt, and the sharp edges of his belt buckle. He came up until he was only inches away. "I thought I'd lost you," he said, and slapped me hard.

I stumbled back, stifling a cry as pain shot through my ankle. Screw you. I lifted a hand to my burning cheek, ready for his next blow.

Hawkins glared at me. "Here is what will transpire. We will attempt to get the government to drop its case against you. If that fails, I, as a concerned and law-abiding citizen, will reluctantly turn you in. Understood?"

I nodded. I knew exactly what would happen if I fell into federal hands.

"However, if the government does drop its case, we will marry in a large, well-publicized ceremony after which you will accompany me as I campaign for governor. Again, is that clear?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Good. Now get out of my sight."

I limped out of the room. It could have been worse, I thought. All Hawkins had done was slap me. And then it hit me: it would get worse. It was only a matter of time.

Deeps waited a discreet distance down the hall. I angled my face so he'd see the handprint on my cheek. Deeps didn't react, and his eyes didn't betray what he thought. "Come on," he said, "I'll take you up to your room."

The message was clear: Deeps was there to protect Hawkins' interests, not to keep me safe. Getting Deeps on my side wouldn't be easy.

He led me to an elevator and pointed out the b.u.t.tons. "The gym, pool, theater, and safe room are below us on one. Main rooms on two. Bedrooms on three."

The elevator released us onto the walkway that overlooked the main room. "Mr. Hawkins' room is down the hall," Deeps said, pointing to the right. "Yours is at the opposite end."

Just a few steps away was a smooth wood door that opened at Deeps' touch. I entered a short hall which opened into a room that was gla.s.s on three sides. At first, the unlimited view of sky and water made it feel like the room was floating, but then I spied a twin gla.s.s box at the far end of the house. Hawkins' bedroom was over a hundred feet away, but he could see right into my room like I was an exhibit in his private zoo.

"No curtains?" I asked Deeps.

"They're recessed. I'll show you how to work them in a minute."

The room was as rigid and spare as the rest of the house. I couldn't have moved the low bed if I'd wanted to, because it was attached to the wall between two narrow shelves that worked as end tables. Two thin pillows lay on bedding the color of fog.

"The bathroom and closet are here." Deeps walked around the bed and pressed the sleek, wood-paneled wall. A hidden door swung open. Then he handed me a remote. "This controls your lights, curtains, and audio."

"Audio?"

"The house system is programmed according to Mr. Hawkins' musical preferences."

Not surprised I could choose what I wanted to listen to as long as it was what Hawkins liked. "Is the room monitored?"

"Yes, both audio and visual."

I sighed, and tossed the remote on the bed. "Your safety is important to us," he added.

That was bull. "Are you going to watch me undress?"

"The bathroom and closet are audio only."

"What about my clothes? Do they have mikes in them?"

Deeps shot me a look of respect. "No mikes, but some have a tracking device that's heat-activated. Execs whose families are vulnerable to kidnapping sometimes use this option over a chip."

I reached for my wrist without thinking, feeling a tiny burst of relief that Hawkins wasn't having me chipped. "Thanks." I didn't have much time to work on Deeps' sympathy before Ho and Hawkins made that impossible. "Did Jessop tell you that there are people who want to kill me?"

"Yes."

"So is the rest of the house safe? Is it monitored?"

"The safest locations are indoors. The terrace has visual, but the audio's not great what with the noise from the waves and the wind."

"All right. Thanks for telling me." Great. The only place I could talk openly was where everyone could see me. Not that I'd ever get the chance to be around anyone I wanted to talk honestly with.

"Anytime. I'll let you get some rest."

Deeps let the door close behind him. I went to lock it, but there was just a sleek chrome pull. I checked the front of the door, expecting to see a lock on the outside, but no. Hawkins, who was obsessed with control, had put me in a room I could walk right out of?

One glance at the door frame above my head answered that question. A remote-controlled, magnetic lock. Not hard to guess who had that remote.

A movement outside drew me over to the far window. Hawkins walked through the brush toward a grove of eucalyptus at the edge of the property. I touched my still-smarting cheek as he disappeared into the circle of trees. The silver-green branches tossed in the wind, allowing me glimpses of him pacing, and sunlight flashing off something metal?

"Observe your captor." I heard Ajax, my kidnapping-survival trainer, in my head, barking out a drill. "Habits, movements, preferences. Knowing these can inform your attempt to get away."

I looked from Hawkins to the ten-foot wall surrounding the compound. The only way out was if Hawkins turned me over to the feds. A sob rose up in my throat, and I threw myself into the bathroom and grabbed a towel from the stack. I shoved it over my mouth and turned the tub on full blast.

I will not let you hear me cry.

I rocked on the hard slate lip of the tub, my chest heaving as I smashed the towel to my face.

If the feds get hold of me, I'll never go home again. Never see Dad. Never say good-bye to Yates. Or Luke.

And they'll never know what happened to me.

I cried into the towel, not even trying to stop. Everything I'd held in since the Retrievers took me-the flight with Ho, Hawkins' slap-came out in a racking mess of tears.

But when they began to slow, I heard Ajax's commando voice again. "At some point you will want to give up. Your captor wants that, because you will make his life easier. But you cannot give up. Not if you want to go home."

I began to catch my breath and set the towel down. I had to get a grip. Hawkins was brilliant. He didn't want to turn me over to the feds. If he did, he wouldn't have brought me here.

The tub was full, so I turned off the water. Steam clouded the air and light filtered through the large gla.s.s-block window over the tub, illuminating the cold slate tiles that covered the floor and walls. I undressed and unwrapped my ankle, then lowered myself into the water.

Becca's dolphin still hung around my neck. I leaned back, and ran my finger over its silver fin. "Stay free!" I whispered bitterly, remembering her final message. Years of being Hawkins' captive flashed like clips from movie previews before my eyes. Me as Hawkins' toy. His First Lady. Mother to his children.

I sank down until the water reached my lips. At least Luke got away.

I stared into the steam, but saw him. Kind Luke with the gentle smile, the Luke I watched twirl his sister in the barn, who'd spun me around the dance floor, and who'd kissed me hours ago so we would both know what might have been.

I don't regret letting the Retrievers take me without a fight.

I prayed that Luke met the reporters and gave them the thumb drive. That he disappeared into the Rockies.

But what if he didn't make it?

The wall hanging lay in a heap with my clothes. I had to protect it and the phone, too. Deeps probably wouldn't suspect what the hanging was, so he'd leave it alone, but if he found the phone with Sparrow's audio file of her and Vice President Jouvert, Deeps would take it. I had to hide it, but where?

The bedroom was out.

I scanned the bathroom looking for a nook or cranny, but apparently Hawkins' designer didn't believe in them. Taping it underneath the sink wasn't an option, not when I didn't have duct tape or a way to get it.

I wrapped in a towel and picked up the phone. It was completely dead after two weeks without a charge.

The closet was all smooth, dark wood panels and the same slate floor. I ran my hands over the panels and they opened silently, revealing thirty charcoal gray and white striped garment bags filled with clothes that Hawkins' stylist, Elancio, had selected for my debut as the clone of Let.i.tia Hawkins, Jessop's perfect mother.

I sucked in a breath. Somewhere in this closet was a collection of matching headbands. So what, I told myself. After everything you've survived, wearing a headband to please Hawkins is nothing.

The last panel opened to a column of shallow drawers. I tapped each so it rolled open, displaying artfully arranged workout wear, scarves, body skimmers, and not surprisingly, thirty custom headbands. No place to hide a phone, not well at least.

When I got to the sixth drawer, I flinched. I'd forgotten about the expensive bras and panties Hawkins had reserved for me at Sweet Fantasies. Memories from my extract gone wrong came flooding back. Sergio, the owner, showing me what Hawkins selected. Dayla laughing as she dangled the tiny sc.r.a.ps of silk and ribbon. "Mr. Jes, he loves the Naughty Angel collection!" What would I do if he told me to put these on? To come to his bedroom?

I shoved the drawer, but it resisted, and I shoved again, then pounded it as it crawled back into its slot.

Maybe he wouldn't touch me. Maybe he hated me too much to try.

Don't be stupid. You know what he's like. I threw off the towel and pulled on some yoga pants. Hawkins owned me, and now he had me in his clutches.

Dead at the hands of federal agents or Hawkins' prisoner? What kind of choice was that?

Hawkins would dictate what I did, where I went, what I wore, and who I saw.

And he wouldn't stop there. He'd control everything I saw or read or heard.

He'd control my body.

Everything. For the rest of my life.

I slid down, bracing my back against the wall, and stared at the wood door across from me until the pattern of the grain became an island surrounded by reefs.

No. Not everything.

Hawkins couldn't control what I remembered. He'd never be able to take away my memories of Yates or of Luke.

Or how I felt about them. Those memories, those feelings were mine.

And Hawkins couldn't control how I felt about him. He couldn't make me love him or respect him. He'd never have that.

And he couldn't control my thoughts, not as long as I fought his attempts to manipulate me.

I laid my head down on my fists. I sounded like that famous prisoner in the concentration camp who said he survived because he wouldn't let the n.a.z.is own his thoughts. What a joke. That guy was d.a.m.ned lucky they didn't gas him.

I stuck the phone in the band of my yoga pants. I was just as deluded as he was, telling myself that protecting the phone still mattered. Still, I couldn't let Hawkins and Deeps just take it away from me. I had to find a place to hide it or at least try.

22.

I took the elevator down to the bottom floor, praying that Hawkins was still up in his office. The phone hugged my hip, barely covered by my cropped hoodie. As I stepped out of the elevator into the dark hall, a soft light came on over my head. Hawkins' designer must have rigged sensors that picked up any movements.

The wine vault was to my left behind a gla.s.s wall. Hundreds of bottles lay on their sides in a wire rack that made them look like they were levitating. I tried the door, but it was locked.

Wood lined the back wall of the hall, the pattern of the grain so dramatic it must have cost thousands of dollars a foot. Hawkins had probably denuded an entire rain forest to get it.

I walked toward a sandblasted gla.s.s door, expecting it to be locked, too, but it swung open at my touch. Soft lights turned on, illuminating a long, greenish-blue pool. I walked over and dipped my hand into the warm water, feeling as if I'd descended into the depths of an Egyptian pyramid lined in smooth, caramel-colored stone, the lighting subtle and hidden. Like the rest of the house, the room contained minimal furniture, a small gla.s.s table and four chairs, but no nooks, no crannies, or clutter where I could stash the phone.

I shook my hand dry and slipped back into the hall. A long gla.s.s wall separated Hawkins' gym from the hall, and through the gaps between his cardio and weight machines, I saw the floodlit terrace and outdoor pool.

A faint rumble came from the direction of the elevator. Dammit, I'm out of time. I ducked into the gym, scanned the ceiling for the monitor, then turned my back to it. I plucked the phone from my waistband and dropped it on the carpet, then nudged it under the treadmill with my toe.

The treadmill wasn't a great hiding place, but no one was going to move this beast or try to vacuum under it. I pointed the remote at the big screen above it, so I'd look like I was trying to sneak a peek at the news. When the screen turned on, I realized I had access to all the channels. Hawkins hadn't set the Paternal Controls yet.

I flipped through, listening for Deeps and hoping that the reporters Luke met had broadcast their story and exposed Jouvert's treachery. But I didn't hear a single story about Jouvert. Either Luke hadn't made it to the rendezvous or the reporters hadn't filed the story yet.

What I did learn was that the world still thought I was at large. Hawkins was still running ads for 1-800-AVE-LINE while Ho worked their connections to get my charges dropped. According to one news report, I'd been spotted in forty-two states, including Hawaii.

I was about to change the channel when the reporter announced his guests: Dad and Dayla. You've got to be kidding me.

I sat down on the carpet, checking over my shoulder to see if anyone was in the hall. Hawkins must have arranged the interview. It couldn't be a coincidence.

I pulled my sleeves over my hands and held on as Dad and Dayla took their seats. Why did Hawkins have to do this to them? Why couldn't he leave them out of this?

Dayla came out fighting. "Listen, I know Avie better than anyone on the planet and I'm telling you, she's completely innocent. And she's not into politics, at all! She got like a B- in American government, because she hates all those boring theories and stuff."

Obviously, I was sucked in by the promise of freedom, Day insisted. I would never, never have run if it wasn't for outside influences. "Help a terrorist? Avie? Get real. She can't even drive and I know she's terrified of guns!"

Day blew me away, defending me so fiercely. She really believed everything she was saying about me, because those things used to be true.

Oh, Day, you think you know me, but you don't. Not anymore. Politics isn't a bunch of boring theories. It's about girls like us.

I thought about Splendor saving money to buy her sisters' Contracts, and the girl trying to hold on to her family's ranch. And Mikhaela being forced to leave her grandma so her stepdad wouldn't get his hands on her.

Even though Hawkins had made Dayla his p.a.w.n, I couldn't hate her. Either she thought she was helping me or Hawkins hadn't given her a choice.

Then Dad spoke and my heart turned inside out. He'd made a huge mistake by Contracting me without asking me first, he said. He blamed himself for everything that had happened, and I felt like a ghost floating over my own funeral as he broke down. "Honey, please turn yourself in," he begged. "I'll help you any way I can."