Blaze of Memory

However, no one has been disabled or seriously compromised as a result of these illnesses, and productivity remains high. There is no need for replacement personnel.

CHAPTER 10

Dev’s words—the impact of his touch—circled endlessly in Katya’s head as he showed her upstairs and to her bedroom. That room proved lovely and airy, the sheets on the double bed a rich cream shot with rose. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Unfortunately, they don’t open.” He nodded at the two wide windows on the opposite side of the room. “The wood swelled last winter, and I haven’t gotten around to replacing it. But you’ll get plenty of fresh air if you leave your door open during the day.”

Katya looked at that handsome face and saw a merciless conqueror, a warrior king whose sense of honor would never allow her to be mistreated. And yet . . . “It’s a very comfortable prison.” A low curl of anger unfurled in her stomach.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t pretend surprise. “What I said about why the windows don’t work? Truth. But yeah, that’s why you’re getting this room and not one of the others.”

“What do you expect me to do?” She waved at the endless spread of green and white beyond the glass. “We’re in the middle of nowhere—I doubt I could find my way out if you gave me a map and a compass.”

“But the car has a nav system,” he said with quiet implacability. “It also has security features that tell me when someone’s tried to start it without authorization.”

Ice trickled down her spine, extinguishing the anger. “I’m a captive. It’s my duty to escape.”

“And go where?” A harsh question from the warrior, all traces of civilization stripped away. “You were dumped on my doorstep like trash.”

She was the one who flinched. “That doesn’t mean I’m not wanted by someone. My father, for one.”

“Never lose an investment?” The razor of his words sliced over her flesh, slitting her open.

“Yes,” she whispered, wanting to believe that the cold man who’d raised her, with a woman as cold, cared whether she lived or died. “He’ll help me.”

“Against the Council?”

No, she thought. Her father was no rebel. He’d brought her up to be a good Council soldier. But she’d chosen her own path—and in that truth, she had found her strength. “I’ll help myself.”

Dev shook his head, sunlight gleaming off the black of his hair, highlighting the hidden strands of bronze. “You can’t even stand for ten minutes without your legs getting shaky.”

It angered her, his sheer disregard for her abilities. She was—a blank. No one. She was no one. But she would become someone, she vowed, looking into that arrogant face. Devraj Santos was going to eat his words.

Walking over on the legs he’d mocked, she pushed him in the chest.

He didn’t shift so much as an inch, but his eyes narrowed. “What was that for?”

Her palms tingled where she’d touched him, her skin tight with painful craving. “I want you to leave.” Fighting the need for tactile contact, she folded her arms and tilted her head toward the door. “Right now.”

“And if I don’t?” He stepped closer, until they were toe to toe, those impossibly beautiful eyes of his staring down at her.

He was good at intimidation.

But she was through with being intimidated. “Then you’d better eat carefully,” she said sweetly. “I am a scientist, after all.”

“Poison?” His lips curved. “Bring it on.”

“I just threatened you and you smiled. I tried to escape and you got angry?” She didn’t understand him.

“The threat,” he said, touching his fingers to her cheek in a slow caress, “is permissible. After all, I’m keeping you prisoner, and it’s hardly as if you can overpower me. But the escape attempt? That, I won’t allow—you belong to the Forgotten, and until I figure out what you’re meant to do, you’re staying right where I can see you.”

She understood the distinction. When she dealt with Dev, the man, she might get away with a great deal. But when it came to Devraj Santos, director of the Shine Foundation, rebellion could cost her everything. The heat that had reignited within her during the argument, the sudden spurt of fire, chilled under the ice of understanding.

She didn’t know what she would have said, didn’t know how he would have responded, because his cell phone beeped at that moment. Except. . . he made no move to retrieve it from his pocket. The sustained eye contact stole her breath, threatened to pull her under. “Aren’t you going to answer that?” Her voice sounded strained to her own ears.

“No.”

The sheer iron of the answer made her heart crash against her ribs. “Has anyone ever talked you out of anything?”

“If I’m in the mood.”

His answers kept confounding her. He didn’t behave according to how her brain, how her knowledge of the world said he should behave. “What do you want?”

The phone stopped beeping.

Dev blinked, a slow, lazy thing at odds with the wild energy that she’d felt under her palms. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

PETROKOV FAMILY ARCHIVES

Letter dated November 30, 1971

Dearest Matthew,

Today you fell off a swing and bloodied your knee rather spectacularly. But you know what? You never cried. Instead, you stood there, your face all scrunched up and tears glittering in your eyes as I cleaned and bandaged the wound. It wasn’t until I kissed it better that you threw your arms around me and told me it “hurt.” Oh, my baby, you make my life a joy. And soon, you’ll have someone else to play with—your father has charmed me into giving him another son or daughter, you a little brother or sister.

I love him, your father, exasperating man that he is at times. But I wonder at bringing a child into this world. The tide is changing, Matty. Today, Mrs. Ennis told me that maybe the Council is right, that maybe we should embrace Silence. I wanted to argue with her, but what could I say in the face of her loss? She’s still grieving for her husband. As soon as Enforcement catches one serial killer, another takes his place. Mr. Ennis was simply one victim among many—and that horrifies me.

And yet, I can’t accept a protocol that would steal your smiles, your tears, your very heart. You’re more precious to me than all the peace in the world.

Love,

Mom

CHAPTER 11

Changing into sweatpants and a sleeveless tee, Dev continued to ignore his cell phone in favor of a hard workout in the gym set up at the back of the house. Pounding his fists into the punching bag worked off some of his frustration, but left him with no new answers.

Katya drew him. Simple as that. And it was about time he admitted it.

She was the enemy, had even warned him that she was a grenade waiting to blow up in his face, but still, she drew him. Part of him wanted to protect her, take care of her, while the other part, the hard-nosed pragmatist,