And when she does—she tries hard not to think otherwise—what then? What if Eden is awake? For years, Holly has longed to hold Eden, to hear her voice and see her smile. But there’s a very real possibility hugging won’t be what Eden has in mind. Not after serving as a human science experiment for so many years. Even though at least half of the science was done for her benefit.
And what about Jack? Eden was always a generous child, and she loved her brother. But a niggling voice in the back of Holly’s brain worries Eden may feel differently about being a human pincushion now that she’s awake. One step at a time, Holly tells herself.
First they have to find her.
* * *
Christopher Cooke’s office is located at the far end of a quiet, leafy street. It’s a comfortable brick cottage with a grassy yard and a few fat rosebushes climbing a trellis in the front. Like Christopher himself, the house isn’t what Holly expected. She drives past twice before she’s certain she has the correct address.
When she parks and gets out, she sees a side door with an Office sign discreetly lettered in green and gold. She makes her way along the path to the side door and rings the bell.
He must have been waiting for her because he opens the door almost immediately. He’s dressed in a pressed white shirt and dark-wash jeans, and his long black hair is damp, as if he’s stepped out of the shower. He’s not handsome, not exactly—the scars on his face and the world-weariness with which he carries himself take care of that—but there’s a magnetism to him that’s impossible to ignore. He reminds her of a sleek panther she saw once at the zoo. It’s hard to look away.
“Come in,” he says, standing back to let her pass. She’s careful not to stare at his right hand, but when he leads her to the office she can’t help but sneak a glance. He turns around in time to catch her.
“Ah,” he says, with that amused grin she finds so infuriating. He holds his arm up, rotating it from side to side. He’s wearing a prosthetic today, one that ends in an articulated hand. He extends, then curls the fingers, waggling them at her. “No hook today. I tend to save that for first impressions and occasional practical jokes.”
He’s standing in front of a large window, and with the sun behind him, Holly can see through the thin fabric of his shirt. The artificial arm, a sleek metallic black, joins his own at the elbow. In the soft afternoon light, it’s oddly beautiful.
“How does it work?” Holly asks, fascinated.
“Osseointegration,” he says. “A fancy way of saying that it’s grafted onto my nerves and bones.” He rolls back his sleeve to show her the implant site. She’s conscious of how closely he’s watching her, but if he’s hoping for a reaction, he won’t get it from Holly. She has too many of her own scars.
“Does it hurt?”
He shakes his head. “Not much. Not anymore. My arm gets tired sometimes, after a long day. But not often.”
He rolls the sleeve down, then stretches out his hand to her, palm upright. She hesitates, then meets it with her own. The artificial hand is cool, not humanlike at all, yet touching it is uncomfortably intimate, as if he’s showing her the truest part of himself. It’s so quiet she can hear her own breathing, and maybe his too. His gaze is steady, but she struggles to meet his eyes. She wonders if he can detect the pressure of her skin against his hand, and the thought makes her breath come more quickly.
Ridiculous.
She steps back and breaks their contact.
“The best titanium and plastic you can buy,” he says, dropping the hand to his side. If he’s noticed her agitation, he doesn’t show it. “It even comes with a silicon sleeve that makes it more realistic. Lets me blend in better at fancy parties and whatnot. But I don’t get invited to many of those, and I’ve never been a fan of artifice, so I go with the black.”
Holly can’t tell if that’s an insult or not. It sounds like one, and she leaps at the chance to take offense and put that moment of connection behind her.
“Since that hefty retainer I paid came from the profits of artifice, I’d think you’d be more of a fan,” she says.
He shrugs. “No disrespect meant. There’s no way to hide this, so why try?” he says, waving the hand at her again. “On the other hand, when the robot revolution comes, I’ll be on the winning side. Do you see what I did there?”
Holly tries not to smile, but it’s such an awful joke she can’t help herself. “Do you have something for me?”