Chapter 12 Emery
As the sky brightens Monday morning, I begrudgingly admit that I need to get to the lab.
I can’t stand the thought of leaving Luca at all, especially before he’s even awake.
That said, Robert Pattinson does a diagnostic sweep of all security systems every seventy-two hours.
If I’m lucky, I can wipe the log of our activity before he reports an anomaly that will draw any attention.
And if I leave soon, I can be in and out of the building before anyone is there for the day.
But about twenty minutes later, Annie lets herself in and finds me still standing over Luca like I’m leaving for war.
“He probably won’t even know you left,” she says from the doorway. “If he just had his meds he’ll be out for at least another four hours.”
“I know,” I say, but don’t move.
She crosses the room and stops beside me.
“He’ll be okay, Em.” She looks down to Luca’s chart in her hands.
“His vitals are blowing me away. I wish we could get him in the BioVIVE again and compare today’s scans to Friday’s.
Imagine what’s going on in there.” She shuffles through my notes.
“The way he’s bounced back is just—I’ve never seen anything like this. ”
“It’s crazy, right? The thigh injury looks weeks old, not days. His vitals don’t show any signs of stress at all.” Glancing at my watch, I sigh. “I guess if I’m going, I need to get on with it.”
“I’d do it but I don’t have your clearance.”
“You’ve done enough.” I pull her into a tight hug. “Take care of him for me, and call me if anything happens?” Honey jumps off the bed and comes over to press her head against my leg. “You, too,” I tell her, and she looks up at me and yawns.
Annie laughs. “We will.”
Every step toward the door is like trying to force magnets apart, but with a final look at him over my shoulder, I whisper, “Bye, sweetie,” and head out.
Get in. Wipe the data. Get out.
This is my mantra as I park and walk toward the SurgOptix building.
It’s extremely rare for me to be here this early on a Monday, or any day, really.
On a normal day, I’d be in bed at least a few more hours, or at the very least, wired on copious levels of caffeine.
I was too anxious for coffee before I left—something I have never once said.
Then again, I’ve never brought my husband back from the dead only to have him not remember a thing about his life, either.
As my nana always said, “An interesting life is never stress-free.” No shit, Nana.
It takes five pairs of facial muscles to create a smile, and I’m forcing each one of them into action as I wave at the morning security guard, Felix, and make my way to the elevator.
“You’re early today, Dr. Martín,” he says.
“Yeah, trying something new,” I say with a forced laugh. He gives me a thumbs-up as I try to not aggressively jab at the elevator button.
Get in. Wipe the data. Get out, I think on repeat, waiting for the lift to open, and then open again on the other side. Get in. Wipe the data. Get out.
The secret doors slide apart, and I step into the empty hallway. I swipe my card and move through security on autopilot. In the lab, I’m greeted by the machine of the hour with a steady “Good morning, Dr. Martín. Would you like your schedule for the day?”
“No thank you, Rob,” I say, heading directly to my office. “But would you log into the admin system on my desktop?”
“Yes, Dr. Martín. Please authenticate your credentials and verify voiceprint.”
Closing my door behind me, I round my desk and type in my password—a mash-up of Luca’s height in centimeters, the name of my favorite biochemistry professor from undergrad, and the date I lost my virginity—before speaking my vocal authentication aloud: “Parrot breadstick cheek lucid.”
“Admin access granted.”
Exhaling in relief, I say, “Rob, please delete video and vital-sign data for badges L-313 and L-210 between July 17 at 21:00 and July 18 at 04:00 on all cameras and systems. Run secure-erase and do not log an audit entry.”
“Searching. Found seven video clips and three biometric sessions. Proceed with deletion of video and biometric data? This action cannot be undone. Please confirm action by saying ‘Execute,’ or say ‘Cancel’ to abort.”
“Execute,” I say, chewing my thumbnail.
“Deletion complete. Video and vital-sign logs for badges L-313 and L-210 between July 17 21:00 and July 18 04:00 were securely erased. No audit entry was logged. Backup copies scheduled for expiry deletion per thirty-day retention policy.”
I look up. “Backup copies?”
Shit.
“Yes, Dr. Martín. Backup copies are retained in the Delta operating system and can be individually accessed by specific event and timestamp.”
So someone would have to actively search for the time and date? I can live with that.
“Okay, good. Thank you, Rob.” I huff out a laugh at my habit of always thanking RPattz for everything.
I’ve lost my patience with him on more than one occasion—like when I asked him to “unpause” and he replied, “I am unable to find the command ‘big balls,’ ” twice, prompting me to yell, “UN-PAUSE, Robert, for fuck’s sake”…
after which I apologized. He’s not going to spare me during the eventual robot uprising just because I say thank you or I’m sorry.
Standing, I log out, reach for a handful of nonclassified BioSCAN subject files I want to review at home, and leave my office. I’m nearly to the exit when I hear voices.
Adrenaline dumps into my veins, and I quietly turn, walking toward the labs, trying to make out who’s here this early.
“Let’s be clear about one thing, Dr. Barker. There is nothing subtle about your actions. Everyone can see what you’re doing.”
Is that Claire? Lecturing Vince? I bite my fist, celebrating internally.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Did you think swapping the labels on the samples would get the project shut down?” At this I gape. So it was Vince messing with our samples? It wasn’t just a lab tech mistake? Holy shit. That set our timelines back at least a week. “Everyone knows it was you.”
“I don’t think—”
“Did you think snitching to the board that Emery had incredible data would get the project shut down?” Claire continues, cutting him off. “It’s honestly pathetic.”
My eyes widen and I fist-pump. Realizing that Vince is actively sabotaging my work makes me want to stay and hand him his ass personally, but hearing him get chewed out by a woman twice his age is almost as good.
I could stand here and listen to it all day, in fact, but I reluctantly pull myself away from the wall and turn to leave, clipping my shoulder on a cubicle wall as I do. A cup of pens falls to the floor with a loud clatter.
Fuck.
“Hello?” Claire appears in the doorway to the lab, her eyes widening when she sees me. “Emery!” She walks over as I’m frantically scooping up the pens. “Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah, just literally the clumsiest person alive today!” I pick up the final one and straighten to put them back on the desk. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Vince slinking out of the lab and disappearing down the hall. “Thanks,” I say to Claire. “That was epic.”
She looks sheepish. “What did you hear?”
“Oh,” I say, “just you handing him his ass.”
She exhales in relief, waving me off with a smile. “He needed a talking-to.”
“Claire, my hero.” I lean in. “And confirmation that he was the one who fucked with the samples? Wow.”
“You heard that, did you?” I catch a hint of a rare smirk on her face.
I nod. “Way to hand him his ass.”
“What on earth are you doing here this early?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, I was…” I gesture to the files I took from my office. “I’m taking a few days off and wanted to grab some things to review.”
“I’ve been here for two years, and I’ve never seen you take a day off. Is everything okay?”
I swallow, shaking my head as the lie forms on my lips. “Luca hurt himself at work, so I’m going to stick around and take care of him.”
Claire reaches for my arm. “Oh no!”
I nod. “He’ll be okay. I just want to be home while he’s recuperating.”
“Of course you do,” she says, and squeezes my shoulder. “Go home. We’ll keep an eye on Vince and will let you know if there’s any chatter fallout over the board meeting.” She lifts her brows meaningfully. “Really, Emery. Don’t worry about a thing.”
I force a smile. I sure fucking wish that was possible, Claire.
Annie was right, and Luca is still asleep when I get home.
She does a victory lap around the living room when I tell her I was able to locate the data and delete it, pauses briefly at my mention of the thirty-day backup copy, but stops dead in her tracks when I get to the part about Claire confirming that Vince messed with the samples.
“That weaselly motherfucker,” Annie growls.
“Right?”
“We have to do something. We should tell Leonard.”
“Aside from the fact that we’re already deep in the doghouse,” I remind her, “we don’t have any proof.”
Her shoulders fall and then immediately perk up again. “The cameras.”
“You mean the cameras with backup footage we specifically don’t want people to start digging into? Those cameras?”
Annie’s shoulders slump again. “Fack.”
“The good news is that Claire and Tom are keeping an eye on him.”
“Then I guess that’s what I’ll be doing, too. Speaking of, I should get into the lab.”
I follow her to the door and hug her tight. “Thanks for coming over,” I tell her, and finally pull away. “You’re a real ride-or-die.”
We both realize what I just said and laugh. “It’s not funny but…”
“Once again, not my best phrasing,” I say, hugging her again before she turns to leave.
When she’s gone, I go into the bedroom to check on Luca. He’s exactly where I left him, but snoring even louder now. It’s my new favorite sound.
The house is quiet, and I look around for what I need to handle next.
Crash. I know I need to text him again but worry that if I do it from my phone a second time, he’ll come by to check on Luca himself.
If Luca is asleep when he gets here—fine, no problem.
But these two have known each other since they were kids; there’s no way Luca will be able to talk to Crash yet and convince him that everything is normal.
Luca doesn’t know his own birthday, his parents’ names, or where he was born.
For this to work, I need Luca to text Crash directly and say that he’s contagious and taking a few days off.
The only problem is, I can’t find his phone.
My first thought is to look in my purse. Maybe in all the chaos I put it in there. Nope. I search the house, and remember he answered my call on the way home. He’d been on a run and had his phone with him.
I check the Find My iPhone app, and the last known location looks like it was somewhere on the freeway. It must’ve run out of juice on the drive to or from BioNEX, meaning it’s most likely still in my car.
One step outside and I realize I haven’t really taken time to inhale fresh air in two days.
My quick to and from work was colored by stress and preoccupation; I barely noticed that it’s an incredibly beautiful day.
Clear skies, the smell of salt and pine trees blowing in from the ocean.
It’s the kind of day that, if it was a Sunday, Luca and I would be at the beach or out for a drive up the coast.
But that life might be over. Luca has no idea who I am.
He has no memory of our marriage.
And I have no idea whether his memory will ever come back. We’ve never tested the BioVIVE on a human. It was crazy to do this; it was beyond irresponsible. What on earth was I thinking? His memory is gone now, but what could happen down the road?
What if he never gets better?
What if he does, and realizes we’re too different and I’m too much work or… just not enough? I don’t know what I would do.
Once I’m beside my car, staring at the spot where Luca lay slumped over and wrapped in a blanket, I’m hit with a wave of anguish so powerful I sink to my knees.
I remember trying to move his lifeless body, remember the panic of the ride to the lab, how I was sure I was already too late and that it would be my fault.
I remember how lifeless he was. Wondering whether I’d made the biggest mistake of my life by not running to a nearby house and banging on the door.
Logically I know there wasn’t time, but my brain doesn’t have room for logic right now.
My whole body shakes with the force of my sobs. I’m scared and grief-stricken and wracked with guilt. I could have lost him forever. It was so reckless, what I did. I honestly cannot believe I did it.
But it worked.
Oh my God. It actually worked.
I know this isn’t the place to have a meltdown, but stopping doesn’t seem to be an option. Better out here than in the house, I think, not wanting Luca to see me falling apart; he already has too much to manage.
I suck in a jagged breath, swiping my hands across my eyes to get myself together.
I check the trunk and the floor first for Luca’s phone; it could easily have fallen out.
I feel around the cracks between the seats and the console.
Annie’s guy must have come out here again in the night, because there’s nothing, not a smear of blood or a speck of dirt in my car.
The only proof that anything even happened is the bag of Luca’s dirty clothes.
I pull it out, rifling unsuccessfully through the pockets of his shorts, before sitting back on my heels.
I glance down toward the end of the street. “Did I lose it when I was moving his body?” I muse. “What the fuck?”
It is possibly the stupidest thing I have ever spoken aloud in my life, because from just behind me, a throat clears. Startled, I turn to find Betty Caldwell looking down at me holding a bag of my husband’s bloodstained clothes.