Page 11 of Amethyst Flame
Jacob made a hissing noise of his own. “I’m calling security.”
If ever there was an empty threat… For an instant, I imagined how that might play out. Dane might have to flash a badge or something. Maybe I’d finally know who the fuck he was, just as Jacob had asked.
But the risks were too great. Especially since we were all guilty.
I tucked my arm through Jacob’s—holding him back or protecting him, I wasn’t sure which. Probably both.
“I had to do it,” I told Dane. “That DJ had an operational tactical hive! Who knows what those bugs were really up to? Bugging everyone’s phones comes to mind. He would’ve been able to access everyone’s personal accounts, track their movements—”
Dane cut in. “I don’t care about any of that. Mr. St. Croix, who was debuting his own nanotech tonight, now knows a competing technology was present. He’ll go over the footage frame by frame. He will spot Mr. Aaron and his elegant middle finger, and, Ms. Taylor, he will see you with him.”
There was another knock at the door.
Dane stiffened. “Get back.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s called room service, you freak.”
Dane still had to look through the peep hole to make sure, and then he opened the door, his other hand ready to go for his gun.
A white-shirted hotel guy rolled in with our room service. He glanced among us warily. Ah, I bet he was thinking how he’d either stumbled into a cheater getting caught red-handed or a three-way gone sideways and was hoping nobody got shot.
Little did he know that a dance party earlier this evening could’ve marked the start of a robotic pandemic.
And I’d saved the damn world.
Grabbing the tray off the cart, I spun on my bare heel and stalked back into the sitting area. “Tip him good, boys.”
I never found out who tipped or how much, but Dane and Jacob eventually followed me over to the sunken area where I set the tray right in front of me. I started uncovering the silver plates.
“Ms. Taylor—” Dane started.
I pointed a fork at him. “If you bother me when my bugs are hungry, you won’t like the consequences.”
For once, thank god, he didn’t interrupt me. He just stood there, arms crossed over his nice suit, the big TV framing the space behind him like he was some sort of black velvet painting titled “Tall, Dark & Disapproving,” while I gulped down the fruit platter for the quick sugar and then plowed methodically through the burger and fries. From the other end of the couch, Jacob watched me with a sort of horrified fascination, like he’d never seen a girl eat before.
Maybe he hadn’t; he was cute enough that maybe girls stuck to salads and jello shots around him. I bit angrily into the quarter dill pickle spear. Well, Jackhole, this is what a girl infested with self-replicating molecular robots looks like after she saves the world.
He leaned forward and slowly pushed a plate of chocolate chip cookies my way. He smiled at me. He didn’t know about my mild PTSD about chocolate chip cookies. I took a long, narrow look at them…sitting there…so innocently on the plate. But then I remembered that chocolate is a highly effective form of therapy, so I reached for one. Took a bite. Not as good as Banta Daddy’s cookies, but my moths seemed to like them just fine.
When I had the last cookie in my hand, Dane growled, “Now tell me what happened.”
I stopped myself from glancing at Jacob. “Not my story to tell.”
“No more lies, Ms. Taylor.”
I took a breath to blast him—with words, not moths—but Jacob broke in. “It was me.”
A warm feeling, warmer than melty chocolate, went through me that he was taking Dane on. I might have purple powers, but somehow it was still exhausting to remember who knew what about what and why and the risks…
Jacob shot me a nervous glance, then fully turned to Dane. “I know that douchebag St. Croix from back when I went to MIT. I knew he had developed his own nanotech, and that he was going to set it loose tonight at that club.” Jacob glared at Dane. “Didn’t realizeyoucould stop him or maybe I’d’ve called you.”
I marveled at Jacob’s quick and canny manipulation of his true motive. But all I cared about was that he left out the stolen, bastardized code, and thank god, because any mention of that would tip Dane off that we had detailed specs for my hive.
“Ms. Taylorshould’ve contacted me.” Rage tightened Dane’s voice. “She knows first-hand how dangerous the tech is.”
I snorted into my Dr. Pepper. “I’m the only one who could stop him.” I narrowed my eyes at Dane. “Your super secret agency owes me for services rendered. A disaster management retainer or a kill fee, something.”
Of course Dane ignored that. He ignored anything that might’ve made my life easier. “What do you know about St. Croix’s nanobots?”
