“I think you’re making an argument to suit your needs.”
“Yes,” Abigail said with a wry smile. “Look at me, adapting the world to my needs. How unnatural.”
“What if I say no?”
Cabigail considered the question. “I convince you to say yes. Do you think I came all this way without having a backup plan? But what do you have to lose when you have everything to gain? Your body is rejecting your download. You’re dying.”
“Because of you,” Con said. “I’m dying because of you.”
“I know it’s scary, but I can fix it if you let me. I can fix everything. The question is, will you let me?”
“Yes,” she said simply and not because she was afraid to die. She had found a bravery that she hadn’t known existed. The truth was it felt good to be alive again. This life, not some hypothetical “better life” ten years from now. She wanted the here and now. She wanted more time with Stephie. She wanted to play music again, to feel passion again. But if she turned down her aunt, then her original would have sacrificed her life for nothing. She felt a sisterly solidarity with the first Con D’Arcy who was placed in this impossible situation and forced to choose. Con couldn’t betray her sacrifice that way.
Cabigail’s face was pure relief and triumph.
“On one condition,” Con said.
“Name it.”
“Levi Greer goes free.” There was no chance she was going through with this if it meant Levi spent his life in prison.
Cabigail looked anything but happy. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Can you make it happen? Yes or no.”
Grudgingly, Cabigail nodded. “Yes.”
“Then we have a deal.”
“I can live with that.”
An alarm began to sound throughout the complex. Cabigail’s attention disappeared into her LFD, a frown spreading across her self-satisfied face like a toxic spill.
“What is it?” Con asked.
“It would appear we have a visitor.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“Peter Lee,” Cabigail said from the porch of the cottage. The gun was once more in her hand, pointed down at the deck. “You’re a very long way from home.”
Vernon Gaddis’s majordomo lay in a ragged, bloodied heap at the bottom of the steps. Peter’s clothes were torn and mud splattered. One side of his face was battered as if it had gone twelve rounds with the fender of a pickup. Surrounding him, three of the robot sentries formed a loose perimeter. One had burn marks along its flank. The fourth rDog was nowhere to be seen. It appeared the former soldier still had plenty of fight left in him.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” Con asked. She had followed an angry Cabigail to the surface and had to shade her eyes against the sun, which now sat high overhead, casting rippling shadows across the mountains.
“That you, Con?” he said, wrestling himself into a sitting position using his one good arm; the other he cradled protectively against his chest. “I followed Brooke Fenton from DC. Followed you from there.”
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Con said.
“Now you tell me.”
“Does Vernon know you’re here?” Cabigail asked.
Through his one good eye, Peter stared up at them both placidly while taking stock of his injuries. “I’m sorry, who are you again? I know I’m concussed, but there appear to be two of you.”
“This is going to be more of an I-ask-the-questions-you-answer-them relationship. That is, if you’d like something for the pain.”
“Yeah,” Peter acknowledged. “He knows I’m here.”
“And what does he know about this place?”
“Only that Con was brought here by car, and that there is a perimeter security fence around this property that has no earthly business being out in these woods.”
“And he told you to break in?” Cabigail asked.
“No, that I did on my own. Thought maybe Con could use some help.”
“The girl is lucky to have you,” Cabigail said dryly.
“Well,” Peter said. “It was four on one.”
“And what are Vernon’s intentions?” Cabigail asked.
Peter gave the question some thought. “The man doesn’t necessarily confide in me, but I imagine he’s digging into who owns this place. And when he doesn’t hear from me, he’ll come knocking.”
“I see. Are you able to walk?” Cabigail asked.
“Not far,” Peter replied.