Replica

enjoyed thinking about the fit his father would throw if he ever found out about it.) No doubt the tech had seen it, since Nate had come out of the ooze stark naked, but Nate doubted he would go blabbing about it.

Nate dressed in the stylish dark business suit that had been left for him, though he skipped the tie and shoved it in his pocket. He was more relieved than he could say to find the antique oval locket he always wore under his shirt stashed in a bag with his phone, wallet, and other personal effects. As far as anyone knew, the locket was a gift from Nadia. There was even a photo of her inside, and she’d always played along with the fiction. But in truth, it was from Kurt—Nate didn’t want to know where the money had come from, because a solid gold antique locket was definitely outside Kurt’s price range.

The tech—whose name, Nate discovered when he had enough wits about him to ask, was Gregson—led Nate to a small conference room deep in the heart of the Fortress. Getting into the Fortress required enough security checks to discourage all but the most determined, but only a handful of people had clearance to set foot this deep inside, where the Replicas were made. The technology behind the Replicas was the most closely guarded secret in the universe. No one had duplicated Paxco’s success, and without access to the extraordinary mind behind the technology, no one ever would.

Nate was not surprised that his father hadn’t yet arrived. Nathaniel Sr. would never miss an opportunity to make a subordinate wait, and he always made sure Nate knew he was a subordinate.

Gregson left Nate alone in the conference room with a cup of foul-tasting tea that was supposed to help him regain his strength faster. After one sip, Nate decided he’d regain his strength at his own pace.

The tea had stopped steaming by the time the conference room door opened and Nate’s father stepped in, followed closely by Nate’s second-least-favorite person in the world, Dirk Mosely, Paxco’s chief of security. A product of the Chairman’s Basement reclamation project, Mosely was fiercely loyal, dangerously intelligent, and a sadistic bastard who enjoyed his work far too much. He was frighteningly good at his job—which was to uphold the law, except when the law got in his way.

Nate stood still as his father looked him up and down with a frown of concentration, examining him for flaws. Nathaniel Sr. was a pro at finding flaws. He frowned at the open collar of Nate’s shirt, but he could hardly have been surprised that Nate had forgone the tie.

“It never ceases to amaze me,” Nate’s father said finally as he gestured for Nate to take a seat. “Such a perfect likeness.” If he felt any grief over the real Nate’s death, he was doing a great job of hiding it. But Nate had never really mattered to his father as a person, merely as an heir. And thanks to Replica technology, that heir still existed even though the person was dead. Not that Nate was bitter about their relationship or anything.

As far as Nate knew, he was only the third human Replica ever to be created. The technology was only about ten years old, and the astronomical fee Paxco charged for storing backups and creating Replicas assured that only the wealthiest of the wealthy were able to afford the privilege. Not to mention the considerable number of governments, moralists, and religious groups that considered Replicas an abomination, the ultimate example of playing God.

“What happened to me?” Nate asked, remaining on his feet just because his father had gestured for him to sit.

His father gave him a disapproving look as he sat at the head of the table, adjusting his chair so it was just right. Another little power play, letting Nate know he wasn’t getting answers until he sat down as ordered.

Grinding his teeth to keep from saying anything that would annoy his father and cause further delays, Nate pulled back a chair and sat, clasping his hands in front of him on the table like an obedient schoolchild.

“What happened to me?” he asked again, meeting his father’s cold gray eyes. He suppressed a shudder as he realized nothing had happened to him: it had happened to the real Nate Hayes. But damn, he felt like the real Nate Hayes.

“You were murdered,” the Chairman said, no trace of emotion in his voice.

“Murdered,” Nate murmured, hoping he sounded surprised despite Gregson’s tip-off. He shook his head. “Murdered.” The word tasted sour in his mouth. How could someone possibly have murdered him? Nate knew he had a gift for rubbing people the wrong way—it was a gift he cultivated with great care—but he couldn’t imagine ever annoying someone so much that they would kill him for it. And it wasn’t like killing him accomplished anything, when he was sure to be brought back as a Replica. It seemed a hell of a lot to risk for very little reward.

Mosely, standing behind the Chairman’s shoulder, took over explaining. “You were last seen last night, leaving the reception with Nadia Lake. She returned to the reception alone. Presumably, you argued.”

Nate had to think a moment to figure out what reception Mosely was talking about. Then he remembered today’s date and realized the big state wedding must have been the day before.

The implications of Mosely’s words sank in, and Nate’s eyes widened. “You don’t think…” Nadia wouldn’t hurt a fly, no matter how badly they’d argued. He shook his head. “There’s no way I was murdered by a sixteen-year- old girl,” he said, almost laughing at the absurdity of it.

Mosely shrugged. “She isn’t a suspect, though of course she is being questioned. You were found stabbed to death in a hall closet at the mansion just after midnight. There were no witnesses to the murder itself, but three people confirm seeing a man who matches the description of Kurt Bishop fleeing the hallway in an agitated state with blood on his hands. They didn’t stop him at the time because he was holding his nose, and they thought he had a nosebleed. Only after the body was found did they realize they let a killer escape. His current whereabouts are unknown.”

A chill ran down Nate’s spine, and his pulse kicked up. “There is no way in hell Kurt killed me,” he said as calmly as possible, but warning bells were clanging away in his head. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kurt would never hurt him. But Kurt made the perfect scapegoat, born and raised in the Basement and refusing to shed the trappings once Nate made him an Employee. How easy it would be for everyone to believe that Nate had been taken in by a predator, to believe that Kurt had bitten the hand that fed him like the disreputable Basement- dweller he was.

It wasn’t until he noticed the look that passed between his father and Mosely that Nate realized he’d just made the mistake Nadia had always warned him he’d make: he’d used Kurt’s first name in public. An Executive did not address or refer to a servant by first name. Then again, Nate had never met a social convention he didn’t want to break, so perhaps they would think he was just being his usual self.

“You don’t know that,” Mosely said. “You’re missing almost two weeks of memory. Maybe something happened during those weeks, something that put you and your valet at odds. I know you fancied him something of a friend.” There was no missing the sneer in Mosely’s voice, and for a moment Nate feared Mosely knew exactly what was going on between him and Kurt. But no. If Mosely knew, then Nate’s father knew, and if Nate’s father knew, Nate would be in reprogramming right now.

“Bishop did not kill me,” Nate repeated.

“Then where is he?” Mosely asked. “Why did he go missing on the very night you were murdered?”

“Because he knew he’d be the prime suspect,” Nate countered, fighting to keep his temper in check. “And he knew there was no way he’d get a fair trial.”

“And he was seen fleeing the scene with blood on his hands because…?”

“Because those ‘witnesses’ were lying. Or because he touched the body, trying to help me.”

“You have an explanation for everything, don’t you,” Mosely said. “So tell me: if Mr. Bishop isn’t the murderer, then who is?”

“How the hell should I know? Figuring it out is your job, last I heard.”

“Give me a suspect. Someone who had access to the residence and who had a reason to kill you even knowing there’d be a Replica.”

Nate wished he could snap back a quick answer, but he had to admit he was stumped. If he really stretched, he could think of people who might want to get rid of him, but none of them would even consider trying it when they knew he’d be almost instantly replaced by a Replica. Cold logic suggested Kurt killing him in a moment of passion was the most reasonable explanation. But cold logic was wrong.

“Enough, Nathaniel,” his father said. “If you wish to believe in Bishop’s innocence, feel free. But the evidence says otherwise. He murdered you. Stabbed you to death and then left you in a pool of your own blood. For that, he will die.”