“What is going on with you?” she asked after she’d body-slammed me to the floor for the third time.

“Nothing,” I answered.

“Then stop doing nothing and do something.”

She caught me with an uppercut ten minutes later and laid me out flat.

“Shit,” I mumbled as I blinked back the fuzziness in my vision.

She softened, but only for a second, and offered me her hand. I took it, slogging to my feet. Natalia gave me a quick break after that, but experience had taught me it would only be enough time to wipe the sweat from my forehead and grab a drink of water.

After I’d done both, I came back to the center of the gym and stripped off my damp T-shirt. I tossed it aside.

“Have you seen Sam lately?” I asked casually, acting as though I didn’t care about the answer.

Natalia set her hands on her h*ps and cocked her head to the side. “Sam? Is that what’s bothering you?”

I shrugged. Don’t say anymore, I chided myself. Natalia had that look on her face, like she was about to devour me for supper.

“You’re letting a boy distract you?”

“No. I just haven’t seen him in a while, and I was wondering—”

“If you let your attachments get in the way of your focus, then you’ve already failed.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” She came within one foot of me and put her hands on either side of my face. It was an extremely intimate gesture for anyone. For Natalia, it was downright bizarre. “Listen to me. You put your faith in you and only you. You trust yourself and no one else. Or you will be dead before you know it.”

“Dead?” I echoed.

That seemed like an exaggeration.

“Yes,” she said. “Dead.”

She stepped back, withdrawing her hands from my face. “Now, are you ready to work?”

I nodded, trying to shake off the unease, to clear my head. “Yes. Yes. I’m ready.”

“Good.” And then she swung.

* * *

Several hours later, I physically felt a little bit better. I was able to fend off a lot of Natalia’s attacks, and even got in a few good punches of my own. But I was exhausted. And still unsettled by what she’d said.

Near the end of our session, I deflected a right jab, but Natalia caught me with a left punch to the side, and I doubled over. She only gave me ten seconds before hoisting me up by the collar of my shirt. She shoved me into the wall and brought a knee up for a side blow.

I crossed my arms at the last second, using them as a shield. As she rebalanced, I brought my arms up through hers, forcing her to lose her grip, giving me an opening. I locked my hands behind her neck and pushed her down while I brought my knee up.

The air rushed from her lungs when I slammed her in the chest.

When I let her go, she stumbled to the floor, gasping for breath.

Someone clapped from the doorway.

It was Connor.

Natalia climbed to her feet and scowled at her brother. “Stop clapping like she’s f**king Girl Wonder. You’ll give her an ego.”

Connor stopped clapping, but the amused smile was still plastered on his face.

Since anything I said or did could be directly quantified by the number of bruises Natalia would give me tomorrow, I said and did nothing. Even though I wanted to smile right along with Connor.

Natalia scowled harder, if that was even possible, and shoulder-slammed Connor as she stormed out.

Connor laughed, and I imagined Natalia’s blood boiling as the sound followed her all the way to the elevators.

“She’s going to punish me tomorrow, you know,” I said.

Connor came closer and handed me a clean towel. “No, she won’t.”

I frowned. “Then you don’t know your sister very well.”

He let me dry off for a second before explaining why he’d come. “I have a surprise for you. Head up to your room and clean up. I’ll come get you in a bit.”

“Another surprise?” I asked.

He licked his lips, drawing my attention to them, and I had a flicker of a thought as to what it would feel like to kiss him.

Damn it.

“Thank you for…you know,” I said once I’d gotten control of myself. He nodded, clearly knowing I meant the cell phone.

“So, what kind of surprise is this?” I asked.

“The good kind.”

“Good is subjective.”

He took another step, officially crossing into personal-bubble territory. “We’re going out, you and I.”

“Where?”

He smiled again. “You’ll see.”

* * *

I took extra long in the shower, hoping Connor wouldn’t show for a few more hours so I could maybe take a nap. Unfortunately, when I came out of the bathroom only wrapped in a towel, he was sitting on my couch.

“What the hell?” I said, instinctively using an arm to shield myself, even though the towel did the job.

“I told you I’d come for you,” he said matter-of-factly. “And here I am. I almost came in there to fetch you. You were taking forever.”

Whereas he’d been in good humor when I left him an hour ago, now he seemed prickly and impatient.

“Sorry.” I tightened the towel around my body. Connor’s eyes didn’t stray from my face, and I found myself annoyed about it.

“Get dressed,” he said. “And hurry.”

In the bathroom, I dried and dressed in record time and twisted my hair up in a loose bun. It wasn’t great, but it would have to do.

When I returned to the bedroom, Connor stood at the wall of windows, staring at Lake Michigan beyond. Today, the water was black as death, the sky heavy and gray.

I joined him at the windows, but he didn’t look away. “Our mother drowned in Lake Michigan,” he said quietly.

The admission caught me completely off guard, and I blurted, “Oh.” Then, “I’m sorry.”

But Connor just shook his head. “She was a horrible woman. No condolences necessary.” He turned to me, his eyes sea-foam green in the winter light spilling through the window. There was no remorse in his expression. No emotion at all. And I realized that this, him now, was the real him. The charming, polished, poised Connor was a mask.

He’d been dulled by something in his past, until he felt nothing at all.

Sometimes I worried that’s who I would become. Maybe I already had.

“How old were you?” I asked.

“Eighteen.”

“How long ago was that?”

The mask slipped back on, and he cocked a grin. “If I told you that, you’d know how old I was, and if you knew how old I was, I’d lose some of this mystery between us.”

I shook my head. “Not true. I promise.”

“Come on,” he said, deflecting the question again. “My car is waiting.”

* * *

His car was a black Porsche with quilted leather seats that reminded me of snake skin. A screen in the dash glowed in the darkness as he started the car up. The engine didn’t rumble, it roared, and when Connor hit the gas, I felt the horsepower through my seat.

“Where are we going?” I asked when he stopped for a red light.

“You have questions about the program, and I told you to wait until you were ready. Now you’re ready.”

I angled my body toward him. “We couldn’t talk back there?” I hitched a thumb over my shoulder in the direction we’d come.

The light turned green, and he hit the gas, shifting through several gears. The force of the takeoff pressed me against my seat.

“There’s something you need to know about that place,” he said, not taking his attention off the road.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“There are eyes and ears everywhere.”

The smile faded from my lips. “Even in my room?”

“Even in your room.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s not your house. Or your dorm room. Or an apartment. It’s a high-level research facility. There is no such thing as privacy.”

Now I understood why he was taking me out—so we could talk without limits. Was he really going to tell me whatever I wanted to know?

I doubted that, but maybe he’d be more honest than he would have been in the building.

“So, should I start asking now? Or are we stopping somewhere?”

“We’re going out for dinner. A proper dinner.”

I raised a brow. “Oh? I wish you’d told me. I would have put on something nicer.”

He glanced over at me briefly, and the corner of his mouth quirked. “I think you look beautiful.”

I wore a smile the whole way to our destination, a Mexican restaurant on the outskirts of town. The place was packed for a Wednesday night, and after reading the specials board—five dollar margaritas!—I knew why.

Connor ordered a beer and nothing else. I started to order an ice tea with a chicken salad, but he cut me off. “You don’t want to try one of their margaritas? Best in town.”

I looked up at the waiter, a slim young man, and smiled. “I would, but I’m not twenty-one.”

Connor said something in Spanish to the man, and he replied in kind. The waiter looked over his shoulder at a man up front of the restaurant. The manager maybe? The older man nodded, and our waiter replied, “Si, señor,” and hurried off.

“What did you say?” I asked Connor.

He leaned closer. “I told him you’d do the night’s dishes if he got you a margarita.”

“You did not.”

He chuckled to himself and leaned back into the booth. “No, I didn’t.”

Salsa music played across the sound system, but it was nearly drowned out by the laughter and conversation around us. Tequila would do that.

“Really, though,” I said, “what did you say to him?”

He started to reply, but was interrupted by said waiter, setting a large margarita in front of me.

I frowned. “Are you serious? How did you—?”

“Gracias,” Connor said as he received his ordered beer. The waiter left us again.

“Is this some kind of test?” I asked, and looked around, thinking perhaps I’d see Natalia, or Sam, or even OB.

But none of the faces were familiar.

“Not a test, and yes, I’m very serious,” Connor answered. “I cleared your day tomorrow. Drink. Have fun. You need it.”

I examined his face, searching for a lie.

All of my scrutiny found nothing.

“All right.” I stuck the straw between my thumb and index finger, and drew in. The tequila was smooth, the lime tangy, just like I liked it.

“So, can I start asking now?” I asked eagerly.

Connor took a drink of his beer. “Let me get at least one in me, huh?”

“Fine,” I grumbled, and spent the next ten minutes poking fun at him and his fancy Porsche. He took it all in stride, finishing his beer, and ordering another round for both of us.

“If not a Porsche, then what kind of car should I drive?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Something less pretentious, maybe?”

I totally screwed up pretentious and made it sound like pretennis, which made Connor laugh real hard.

“Name something less pretennis,” he said with a chuckle.

“A truck or something. Or, like, just an SUV.”

“Uh-huh.” He checked his cell phone before looking back up. “A truck wouldn’t go as fast as my Porsche.”

“So you drive it for the speed?”

He nodded. “Why else?”

“For the girls.”

Another laugh. The megawatt smile nearly blinded me. “I don’t need a car to get girls.”

I waggled my finger at him. “Of course you don’t. Look at that face.”