

### Designed For Perfection

Elle Davis

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Elle Davis

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

About The Author

# CHAPTER ONE

RONAN

The noise of my mom's high heel clicking on the colored tile floors, along with the fifty other women's in the store, sounds like a team of Clydesdale horses. She is dressed in a pretty champagne colored dress with coordinating pumps, and has her arm looped through my dad's like an old-fashioned couple strolling through the park. They look up at the signs indicating the content of each aisle and when they spot the IQ section in aisle eleven, they head straight for it. This section of the store is the busiest, as most would-be parents consider IQ a high priority for their offspring's success. A husband and his wife argue over the price of a twenty point IQ boost, and the wife becomes tearful when her husband tells her they can't afford it. My parents look sympathetically at the couple and discreetly lower their voice, when they tell the attendant that they will take the twenty point IQ boost. It takes only a second for the attendant to key the choice into the computer and then my mom drags my dad over to aisle five to look at the cosmetic traits, the second most important thing to a would-be mother. The attendants, dressed in white lab coats, stand behind the counter, poised to assist the wealthy couples in putting together the perfect custom package.

"What do you think of that one?" my mom asks, tapping her fingernail on the display case. As if on cue, the attendant reaches in and pulls out the small box before my dad has a chance to reply.

"Ah yes. You can't go wrong with the amber. It's a little bit pricey, but it's one of my favorites," the attendant says, complimenting my mother for her good taste. He places the box on the counter and both my parents immediately lean in to get a closer look.

"I wonder how it will it look with the olive skin?" she murmurs, mostly to herself.

"I think the gold and copper flecks will look outstanding against a darker skin tone," the attendant smoothly interjects. Then swiftly adds "It's a unique combination, especially when paired with dark brown hair."

"He'll be original," my mom says proudly, already sounding like she's made up her mind.

"All right, if you're sure you like it," my dad says, nodding to the attendant to add the item to their shopping cart.

The attendant tells them that aisle three is a must for those couples expecting a baby boy. Here they can select physical traits for strength, speed and athletic ability. My parents, eagerly head in that direction, already debating on whether speed or strength would be the more desirable trait. He watches them for a moment, then reaches down to replace the box in its designated slot behind the "Amber" label, along with the other fifty custom shaded human eyeballs, staring blankly up at the display glass.

***

"Ronan, wake up." The sound of my mom's voice interrupts the dream that I am so familiar with that it seems as real to me as her voice does now. I know each section of the Build-a-Baby store in my dreams. I know which cosmetic traits my parents will choose, and that they will spend the ten thousand dollars to give me a twenty point IQ boost. I know this because I am the son that they are shopping for in my dreams. I am a "Designer", a genetically modified and engineered human.

"Ronan," she whispers hesitantly, nudging my shoulder.

My mom, Rhoda, and I had one of our worst arguments last night. After entertaining me with an angry tantrum, she went to bed nursing a migraine, so her eagerness to resume the discussion this early in the morning is a little surprising. My relationship with both my parents can only be described as odd. It's as if the parent/child roles have been prematurely reversed and they have unintentionally relinquished authoritative control. Even the way Rhoda approaches me now, reminds me of a child, timidly appealing to a grumpy parent. "I'm not changing my mind," I say firmly, without opening my eyes to look at her. My decision to drop out of high school and travel to Europe was not well received by Rhoda. I had shattered her dreams of being class president, star athlete, Valedictorian and devoted son a long time ago, so her strong reaction to me leaving was somewhat unexpected. There is a moment of silence and I brace myself for another round of threats, pleading and bargaining, all part of her repertoire for changing my mind.

"We need to talk to you," she says softly.

The word "we" catches my attention, and I slowly open my eyes to find both my parents at my bedside. My mom sits down on the edge of my bed, tapping her fingers lightly on the coffee cup she's holding, and my dad, John, stands quietly beside her. He rarely gets involved in our arguments, so his presence now makes me a little uneasy.

"Son," he starts. He always refers to me this way, as if to remind me that I am his child. "Your mother and I have something to tell you." He pauses and studies me, I suppose waiting for some sort of encouragement. I don't react. "We received a call from a professor at Stanford University. He is on the board for the Council for Responsible Genomics and he is trying to locate all of the children that were..." He hesitates again and I finish the sentence for him.

"Genetically modified?" He winces at my words and I can see the pain in his eyes. "Yes, genetically modified," he confirms.

"Why?" I ask. My mom and dad exchange glances, and suddenly I am aware of my heart pounding in my chest.

"Apparently some of the kids with DNA modifications are having problems," my mom says, avoiding eye contact with me.

"What kind of problems?" I ask, trying to fight the wave of nausea that's washing over me.

"He didn't go in to details Son, he wants to meet with us the beginning of next month." "So you want me to stay so you can monitor me?" I ask, already knowing the answer is yes. My dad nods his head in confirmation.

"We think it's best if you remain here with us," he says slowly and my mom quickly adds, "So we can get you help if you need it." Rhoda has been paranoid of me disappearing ever since an incident two years ago, when I took off and spent the whole summer in Europe. I came home to find her thin and frail from worry, and it was one of the few times that my dad ever voiced disappointment in me.

I should consider my superior enhancements as some sort of a blessing. After all, I'm guaranteed a life of success and achievements, a birthright for having wealthy parents that could afford the price tag of a Designer baby. By the time I was seven, I was completing college level coursework. At the age of eleven, I had offers from three major modeling agencies. At the end of my freshmen year in high school, I was handpicked by a professional football scout for the Dallas Cowboys, ready to sign a four-year, multimillion dollar contract. And, as a result of savvy stock market investments, I was a self-made millionaire by the time I turned sixteen. But, for reasons not fully understood by me, I wander through my life bored stiff with the events and people that surround me, constantly blaming my chagrin on my parents and the scientists that created me. I inhale deeply and lie back down, staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

"He did say that his agency is trying to find the pre-birth records on all of the CGEM patients, and they have some promising leads," my mom says cautiously.

My trip to Europe was spent in a futile attempt at trying to track down my prenatal records. CGEM, the Center for Genetically Enhanced and Modified, was the reproductive clinic where I was genetically engineered. I was just shy of fourteen years old when I learned the truth about my pre-birth alterations. It was my maternal grandmother Kate who provided me with the details of my parents' involvement with CGEM, a confession that strained the relationship with her only daughter. She said they were ahead of their time when it came to genetic engineering, offering not only legal reproductive techniques for things such as gender selection and genetic screening, but, a variety of illegal, somewhat experimental modifications using non-human DNA to boost physical, emotional, intellectual and psychic skills. It was an offer that was too irresistible to affluent, would-be parents (including my own), and they were easily seduced into the "build-a-baby workshop" mentality.

"Do the Harolds know?" I think out loud.

"Yes, they are talking to Burke tonight," my dad says quietly. Burke Harold is the only other Designer kid known to me. He's my age, and our parents have been friends since before our birth. When my dad was transferred with the military to Montana, their family followed two years later. He is the closest thing I have to a friend or sibling. His parents are one of the few couples that my parents socialize with on a regular basis. We both were designed with beauty in mind, so Burke is as attractive as I am. His eyesight, hearing, strength and speed are also equally parallel to mine, although his personality is my mirrored opposite. My cold, arrogant demeanor is in stark contrast to his warm, easygoing, charming disposition. I guess his mom did a better job of selecting personality traits. He seems unaffected by the knowledge of his conception and unlike me, harbors no resentment towards his parents. Actually, he seems to embrace his gifts, using them to his advantage. He welcomed the modeling contracts, pocketing thousands of dollars while sleeping with every top female model in the industry. He also caught the attention of an NBA scout and is now the NBA's top draft pick, with multiple offers on the table, the minute he graduates from high school. He doesn't quite have my same interest in the stock market, but managed to talk me into investing for him, making him the second youngest self-made millionaire.

"I wonder if this will change his mind about being a Designer," I mutter under my breath, as I throw the covers off of me and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, almost displacing my mom to the floor. I turn and face the two of them, and see them cower under my glare. "Well, you've messed with Mother Nature and now I'm the one who's going to pay the consequences. Thanks a lot! Please don't tell me you didn't see this coming," I say directing my sarcasm more to my mom than dad.

"Son, at the time, it seemed like..." my dad starts to say before I stop him.

"Save it," I reply flatly, pulling on a pair of running shorts. I can feel a familiar rage, churning within me and I estimate I am only seconds away from erupting. It's happened once before, and it scared even me. "I need to go for a run," I say through clenched teeth. A few months ago, I put my fist through the bathroom door, leaving a nice sized hole. It was the only physical expression of my anger so far, but I wasn't convinced that it would be the last. Even my dad, who works out daily and can bench press three hundred pounds, would be no match for my strength, should I lose it. I won't lose control, I silently promise myself. I may be made up of animal DNA, but I refuse to become one. Five miles into my run, my muscles finally start to relax. I wait until I am under the cover of the tree lined forest, before picking up my gait, not wanting to draw the attention of curious onlookers who might question the speed at which I am running. I allow my legs to stretch fully as I gain speed. Running feels as natural to me as it must to a cheetah and I have a returning thought that I must have some sort of feline DNA in me.

At just past eight on a Friday morning, I don't expect much activity on the trails through the Lewis and Clark National Forest, so the sound of a young girl's laughter drifting through the trees, catches me off guard.

"Watch your step on the other side of the log, it's slippery," she calls to someone.

There is no reply, not even when she points out a white-tailed deer, with a level of excitement in her voice that warrants a response. I estimate her to be about 100 yards ahead of me on the trail, based on the clarity of her words. Over the years, I have learned to use my supernatural hearing to gauge distance between sounds, something that makes me sort of a hypocrite to my anti-designer stance. The girl continues her one-sided dialogue, cheerfully identifying various plants and animals to a silent companion or maybe to herself, I can't be sure. I stop and listen more intently to the sounds, clues that there may be additional hikers, but I can't detect even a second set of footsteps. _Great, a crazy lady on the trail, talking to herself! Could this day get any worse?_ I think to myself, becoming instantly irritated by the certain inconvenience it would cause me to have to escort her out. I hesitate a moment, debating on whether or not to just turn back around, when the sweet velvety sound of her voice, singing an unfamiliar tune, permeates the silence. It stops me in my tracks and I smile in spite of myself. _Okay, so it's a crazy lady with a golden voice. Now that may be worth a heroic rescue_ , I muse and I continue down the trail, one switchback away from a face-to-face encounter with her.

She doesn't see me watching her from the other side of the trail, nor does the little girl accompanying her. They are kneeling along the side of the trail, engrossed by something found on one of the trees. The older one continues to sing as she carefully plucks a yellow banana slug from the base of the tree, proudly holding it up for the younger girl to examine. They both grin.

"Ok, do you have yours ready?"

The younger one nods her head and holds up her banana slug. "You have to promise me that you'll do it, if I do it," she warns. The younger one nods again.

"Ok, here we go." Locking eyes, they each bring their banana slug to their lips, simultaneously licking the body of it, and quickly discarding it to the forest floor. I hold my breath, completely fascinated by the unfolding activities.

"What the hell are they doing?" I inadvertently mumble a little too loud.

They both turn, wide-eyed in my direction, the older girl looking slightly embarrassed and the younger one looking triumphant. The circumstances leave me unprepared for polite conversation and I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Hungry?"

The older girl, who I estimate to be around my age, quickly stands up, bringing a hand to her mouth, attempting to hide a smile.

"No, it's a science experiment. They make your tongue numb," she says, opening her mouth and pointing to her tongue, sounding much like someone who just had dental work.

The younger one nods her head vigorously and taps the arm of the older, using sign language to eagerly communicate something to her. She responds with a shake of her head, glancing briefly in my direction.

"Have a goo ay," she mumbles, now having more difficulty pronouncing her words. She grabs the little girl by the hand and leads her back in the direction they came from, silently using their hands to communicate.

I watch them, until they disappear around the bend, then slowly reach down and pick up the discarded banana slug. Turning it over, I let my tongue slide over the body. It is instantly coated with a sticky, gelatin slime which makes me want to gag. The banana slug girl was right, my tongue stayed numb well into the evening.

# CHAPTER TWO

RONAN

I have been awake for hours when my alarm clock sounds. It isn't the fact that this is the first day of school that keeps me from sleeping, because events involving school rarely occupy my thoughts, and never interrupt my sleep. I haven't slept well since the conversation with my parents when they informed me that some Designers were having serious, non-specific health issues. I've never been ill in my life and feel perfectly healthy now, but nonetheless, I can't shake the feeling that my parents know more about the situation than they are telling.

I lie in bed staring out the window at nothing in particular. Although there is frost on the ground, the sun is already up, and it looks like it's turning out to be a good day to ride my motorcycle. I can hear Rhoda in the kitchen and wonder if she will be going to work soon. I hoped so-the tension between the two of us has been worse than normal lately.

I look at the clock and calculate that I have about eighteen minutes until the first bell rings, so I get up and dress quickly, not giving much thought to what I am wearing. In fact, I rarely give much thought to my appearance, but today, I pause long enough to catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Dark hair, olive skin and amber eyes; all cosmetic traits that were chosen for me. I supposed if I cared more, I would have appreciated my parents' choices. I had been complimented my whole life on my physical appearance and there's never a shortage of interested females vying for my attention.

My eyes are the most troubling to me. The strong yellow, golden color with a tint of copper makes me look like a wolf, and as much as I avoid making eye contact with people, they are always drawn to my eyes, like a moth to a flame.

"Ronan, are you up?" my mom calls up the stairs.

I detect a hint of anxiety in her voice and imagine it is taking every ounce of her self-control to not come up and check.

"Coming!" I grumble. The smell of bacon makes me move just a little quicker. I can see the relief in my mom's eyes when she sees that I am already dressed. She gives me the once over look, but doesn't comment on my untidy appearance. I grab a bagel and a few strips of bacon and head for the door.

"Hey, Ronan," she says stopping me before I reach the door. "Thanks."

I have a mouthful of bagel and can't reply, but instead nod, and give her a half-hearted smile. We are not the type of family that shows much emotion, (especially my mom and I) or displays affection, but lately I am seeing something in my parents' eyes that I am not used to...sadness.

***

In spite of the traffic, I easily make it to school with seven minutes to spare before the first bell. The parking lot is already full, but one of the perks of riding a motorcycle; there is always available parking. There are clusters of students gathered on the front lawn of the school, most of whom I readily recognize. The cool, brisk air didn't prevent most of the high school girls from showing up in short skirts with spaghetti strap tops. They look ridiculous to me, standing there with their arms folded across their chest, shivering. I would never understand how their obvious need for attention and peer acceptance could override the basic need for warmth and comfort.

The Brazier twins, Mason and Leland, are stationed near the front entrance, along with two of their sidekicks. They are by all rights, the official bullies of the school. While they have a few consistent targets that they pester all year, no one is really exempt from their harassment. I am one of the few students that the Brazier twins leave alone.

They made the mistake of cornering me once for money. It cost Leland a broken arm, and Mason a black eye and broken nose. It could have been much worse, I fought hard to control myself. The desire was there to kill them both. My strength, speed and fighting skills were no match for their gang, and from that day on, they kept a respectful, healthy distance from me. The other students considered me some sort of hero, which I find amusing considering that I am void of any noble qualities. Granted, I am fearless, but I rarely defend or protect anyone but myself.

In fact, I find the twins' terrorizing behavior to others an interesting and enjoyable distraction from the otherwise boring, mundane, school day. This is one of the reasons I refused to attend the prestigious private school like my parents had intended. I spent half of my freshman year there and found the serious academic students to be respectful and well-behaved, but dull and monotonous. I thought I should be provided with more entertainment for my efforts.

I stand and observe the Brazier twins now as they flirt with a group of sophomore girls walking up the stairs. The girls giggle and a few of the braver ones engage them in a friendly banter, likely flattered by the attention they are receiving from the notorious pair. Leland makes a few snide remarks to some unfortunate nerdish types, but lets them by without further assault. Tucker Schilling isn't so lucky.

Last year he made the mistake of admitting to his homosexuality and the Brazier twins ruthlessly badgered him all year long. It appears that the bullying will continue again this year as Mason now calls out some unflattering names, which Tucker ignores. I am not sure if Tucker's indifference sparks something in Mason, or if he is just showing off for the small group of female spectators, but in one swift movement he manages to shove Tucker hard enough to knock his notebook out of his hands, scattering all of its contents on the ground and into the path of the crowd of students now entering the school.

I feel a thrill course through my veins at the anticipation of a fight, but to my disappointment Tucker remains calm and unfazed, quietly bending down to retrieve his papers, barely giving Mason a second glance. Mason, not ready to let it drop, reaches down and grabs a fistful of papers, waving them in front of Tucker's face.

"Need these you queer?" he jeers, meanly jerking them away when Tucker attempts to grab them. There is giggling from the crowd of onlookers.

I shake my head, somewhat bemused by the whole thing too. Maybe agreeing to another year of school wasn't such a bad thing after all. It would be an interesting year watching the drama of high school juveniles unfold. I turn to leave, cheered by the thought, when I see a flash of brown out of the corner of my eye. The recognizable brunette, quick as a flash, snatches the crumpled papers from Mason's hands, as he's taunting Tucker with them again. Mason spins around, startled by the unexpected interruption and his eyes go wide with surprise when he sees the person behind the intervention. It's the banana slug girl, facing Mason head on. One hand on her hip, and the other with the handful of papers, raised as if she is about to clobber him with them.

"These are mine, and you've ruined them with your stupid, childish behavior," she hisses at him.

The warning bell sounds and the students slowly start to disperse. For once, Mason is speechless, unsure of how to react, and he looks over at Leland, who just shrugs his shoulders and retreats through the school doors with the rest of the students. Mason gives Tucker a nasty look and threatens him with future action, but leaves the girl alone, as he turns to catch up with his brother. I am stunned. Such courageous acts are rare in this high school and unfortunately, she picked the most unforgiving bullies to challenge. She's sure to be a future target.

I watch with curiosity as she now darts back and forth, chasing the papers that are being carried away by a gentle breeze. Her steps are quick and graceful, and she reminds me of a dancer. She is so intently focused on some papers that are being blown in my direction that she doesn't seem to notice me standing there until one of them lands a few feet away from me. I have it in my hand before she can act quick enough to grab it herself, and there is a moment of confusion in her eyes as she processes what just happened. She slowly stands up and meets my gaze as I hold the paper out to her.

Her face holds no hint that she recognizes me from the forest. She simply says, "Thanks," and walks away.

I watch as she catches up with Tucker to deliver his papers and I can tell by her smile and non-verbal actions, that he is receiving a much warmer welcome than I did. I follow them into the school, leaving enough distance between us to not draw their attention. Tucker is giving her directions to her first period math class, which just so happens to be my first class as well. Without giving myself time to think it through, I clear my throat to grab their attention. She is the first to turn around.

"I'm going to Mr. Emerson's class right now. I can show you the way," I say artlessly. She exchanges glances with Tucker who doesn't attempt to hide his surprise. After all, to him, I'm nothing more than a cold, selfish, good-looking rich kid.

She shrugs her shoulders and says, "Okay, lead the way."

"By the way, my name is Ronan Callahan," I say casually, my voice undoubtedly lacking warmth and enthusiasm. She looks up at me and flashes a big beautiful smile. The effect it has on me is completely unexpected. It stuns me, stopping me in my tracks and for the briefest moment, I lose my train of thought.

"Hi, my name is Cataryne McCullough, but you can call me Cat."

"As in kitty?" I ask, unable to hide the hint of amusement.

"Yes, as in kitty," she sighs, as if she's heard that question a million times.

"You're new to the school," I say, more as a statement then a question. She confirms with a nod of her head and we walk in silence for a few minutes. "So, have you licked any more banana slugs lately?" I ask, unable to resist any longer.

The side of her mouth turns up in a smile as she says, "I knew you weren't going to let that slide," confirming that she recognizes me from the trail, too. She doesn't try to explain the slug thing and we walk in awkward silence, our shoes hitting the concrete floor in unison, making a soft tapping sound.

"For what it's worth, my tongue stayed numb for hours," I finally admit and she whips her head around to look up at me, her eyes wide with astonishment.

"You tried it?" she asks in disbelief.

"I was curious," I say nonchalantly. She bites her lower lip, giving me the impression that she's trying not to smile.

"Why did you help him?" I blurt out, surprising myself with the level of interest she's generated in me. It takes her only a second to respond.

"Why didn't you?" she counters, abruptly turning around, blocking my entrance to Mr. Emerson's classroom. "I don't enjoy watching other kids get bullied, do you?" she asks accusingly.

Her question catches me off guard. Something in her tone reminds me of a parent talking to a small child. And, as I look down at her, I am suddenly reminded of my youth, when my second grade teacher scolded me for not informing her about Max Wheeler. He's a kid I abandoned on the school field with a broken leg that I caused. I purposefully kicked a soccer ball at him to inflict injury. It was one my first memories of my indifference to the suffering of others. There were plenty more following that incident.

There's never been a time when another student has even come close to intimidating me, but the pretty girl staring up at me, waiting expectantly for me to give her an answer, has me a little tongue-tied. Her big brown eyes seem to bore a hole through me, causing me to squirm uncomfortably. The final bell startles both of us, and in her moment of hesitation, I ease my way around her and enter the classroom without saying another word.

# CHAPTER THREE

RONAN

Most of the students have already taken their seats in Mr. Emerson's Advanced Calculus class when Cat and I enter. I scan the room and find a seat near the back. Cat heads for a seat in the opposite direction, but it is quickly claimed by another student before she can reach it. There is a look of disappointment when she realizes that the only available seat is in front of mine. I find it amusing, but don't let it show. As she makes her way to the back of the classroom, I can't help but watch her. She is slender and slightly above average height with long dark hair that is pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. Unlike most of the girls, she is wearing blue jeans and a sweater. Her attire is simple but classy. Her large dark eyes and wide smile remind me of a young Anne Hathaway. She has all the qualities of a classic beauty; a symmetrical face, clear porcelain skin, high cheekbones, full lips and a perfectly proportional body shape.

She meets my gaze and the side of her mouth turns up in sort of a smirk. As she eases into her chair, she leans toward me and whispers tauntingly, "I bet you avoid getting involved, because you're afraid of messing up that pretty little face of yours, huh?"

Before I can respond, Mr. Emerson begins with introductions and morning roll call. He is the only advanced math teacher for junior and senior students, but I had him my sophomore year as well. I am not surprised when he announces that there will be a pop quiz the first day of class, he is notorious for unexpected quizzes. There is an eruption of moaning from the class and he quickly reassures the students that it is just a formality to get a baseline idea of everyone's abilities. Forty minutes later, there is another eruption of moaning when he calls time up.

It takes me less than twenty-five minutes to complete my exam, which gives me plenty of time to steam over Cat's quick snap-shot judgment of my personality. The answer to her first question would be yes; I do enjoy the occasional school brawls. I mean, it isn't as if I have anything personal against Tucker or even the Brazier twins for that matter, I just like the excitement of a good fight. I wonder what she would think of that. She seems to be more conscientious towards the needs of others, and would likely disapprove of my impervious attitude. But the answer to her second question is a definite no. My "pretty little face", as she put it, is the least of my concerns, and I stew over her insinuations. As it turns out, she will not get the chance to hear my answer to either of these questions, because Mr. Emerson releases the class five minutes late, something he was also notorious for, and students scramble to get to their next class in time.

***

I don't expect to see Cat again today, as my classes are all Advanced Placement. So naturally, I am shocked to see her already seated in fourth period Spanish. She doesn't notice me quietly take the seat beside her. She is feverishly working on her math homework, breezing through the problems as if she were doing elementary math. Most students in Mr. Emerson's Advanced Calculus class, aside from Burke and me, struggle with his curriculum, but Cat seems unapprehensive about the assignment. In fact, she appears to be halfway through her math homework when Ms. Fuentes shuffles into the classroom and orders everyone to take their seats, in her husky, heavily-accented voice. Cat's startled expression almost makes me laugh out loud. It's as if she had forgotten where she was.

_"Hey dude, whatcha looking at?"_ Burke interrupts my thoughts and I scan the classroom to find him. _"To your left and behind you,"_ I hear him say. Burke and I have a unique ability to communicate mind-to-mind, telepathically as some would say. We discovered it by accident when we were about seven years old and playing hide-n-go seek in the woods behind his house. I wandered too far away and found myself disoriented and lost. I could faintly hear him calling from a distance, but couldn't tell from which direction. And then suddenly I had his voice in my mind, clear as if I were talking to him on the phone, asking me where I was.

I instinctively focused my attention on the image of his face and answered. His laugh was confirmation that he heard me loud and clear. From that day on, we rarely spoke out loud to each other, a behavior that used to worry our parents. And to this day, they have no knowledge of this secret talent. Our method of communication seems to be unique to the two of us. Neither of us have the ability to "connect a call," as we refer to it, with anybody else. We speculate that it has something to do with the CGEM's manipulation of sensory neurons in our brain, but we are not entirely sure.

I glance behind me and sure enough, there is Burke seated on the opposite side of the class, sporting a huge grin. I give him a half smile and the hang sign. No surprise, he is surrounded by a group of popular girls, and is leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. He is wearing a tight T-shirt that shows off his muscular body. His sandy blond hair is styled in a trendy short cut with spikes on the top, which obviously took some effort and the right styling products to accomplish. He looks like he just stepped out of a GQ magazine. His custom eye color is as unusual as mine, only his mom chose a color within the green family: a deep emerald green with a faint yellow hue around the iris.

_"Who's the girl you're staring at?"_ he nods towards Cat.

_"She's new, just met her this morning,"_ I silently reply, keeping the sound of my voice from exposing the possessiveness I am suddenly feeling. No girl is safe from Burke. I figure he has dated almost every attractive, and some not so attractive girl in the school, older and younger. Surprisingly, for as many broken hearts as he has left on the trail, the guy seems to have no known enemies. In fact, most girls would risk a second broken heart just to date him again.

"Hello, Ronan," the sound of Cat's soft, velvety voice interrupts my mental conversation with Burke.

I turn back around and find Cat smiling mischievously at me, as if she has just cornered a mouse. I am about to respond when Tucker Schilling interrupts us. He snags the seat in front of Cat, plopping his pack down and eagerly turning around to greet her, questioning her about her classes. She responds with equal enthusiasm and the two spend the next five minutes whispering back and forth about school schedules.

I don't know much about Tucker Schilling, except that he appears to be as much of a loner as me. Last year he would sit by himself in the corner of the cafeteria, with his guitar in his lap, working on composing or writing music. He helps his parents run a small music store with a recording studio in the back and, rumor has it, he's a fairly talented musician. Tucker really isn't the type of guy to flaunt his homosexuality, but he doesn't hide it either. He carries himself with the self-assurance and confidence of someone much older. He only revealed his sexual preference because Ashley Barton wouldn't stop flirting with him and telling everyone that they were dating. I wonder now if Cat can sense that he is gay or if she is developing some sort of crush on him.

Ms. Fuentes calls the class to order in Spanish and the classroom goes silent. She is a stout, round, middle-aged women, whose gray hair and wire rimmed glasses deceptively give her the image of the loving grandmother type. Nothing could be further from the truth. She manages her classroom like a military Colonel, commanding respect and obedience from her students, a no nonsense teaching style that works well for me.

She rarely speaks English and demands that students speak only Spanish while in her classroom, even if casually socializing. If she catches you doing otherwise, it is an automatic twenty point deduction in your grade. After going over some "housekeeping" items, she gives the first assignment: to stand up in front of the class and give a brief introduction about yourself, in Spanish, of course. There is an exchange of horrified expressions around the classroom. This is the one class that unqualified students make it in to. There're just not enough Spanish speaking students in Montana. It is painful watching and listening to students struggle through the assignment.

Tucker's turn up front, is an effort, but he is able to describe his parents' music store, and his love for writing and composing music, playing the guitar and singing. All in all, he does better than most students. Next, it is Cat's turn. She stands confidently, and in fluent Spanish tells the class that she is from California, but moved to Montana a month ago. She learned to speak the Spanish language when she was young, while living in Mexico with her parents who were serving as medical missionaries. I can see a look of appreciation in Ms. Fuentes' eyes. She instantly likes anyone who can speak her language fluently, and being the deeply religious women that she is, the medical missionary aspect is definitely an added bonus. _Cat should breeze right through this class, no problem_ , I think to myself.

When my turn comes, I contemplate what to say about myself. I picture the look on everyone's face, especially Ms. Fuentes, if I were to talk about my altered genetic makeup. Burke must have been thinking the same thing, because I hear him chuckle. I keep my introduction short, describing only the basics in fluent Spanish, of course. Ms. Fuentes already knows me from last year's class, and asks very little of me. I sense that I am one of the few people that she finds mildly intimidating.

The rest of the day goes by with relative ease. For some reason, my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Cat McCullough and as luck would have it, she is in my PE class as well. I learn that she likes running too, and while most of the other junior girls walk and gossip during the required two mile run, likely worried about ruining their hair and make-up, Cat keeps a respectable pace with most of the guys in class. As for me, I always have to remind myself to tone it down and not reveal my true athletic abilities. If anyone saw me run full speed, which is close to 50 miles per hour, throw a ball, or tackle a senior football player, I would be hounded with unwanted questions and attention. I chuckle to myself, thinking about the wasted money my parents spent to give me these traits, and how disappointed they must be at my lack of interest in organized sports. I pace myself just behind Cat and Tucker, unsuspectingly eavesdropping in on their conversation for the second time today. Unfortunately, I learn more about Tucker than I do Cat. I am getting the impression that she is better at listening than talking, as she quickly changes the subject whenever he questions her about her family.

***

By Friday, the mundane routine of school is interrupted only by the interesting observations of Cat McCullough. She is completely oblivious to the curious and maybe even envious stares of even some of the more popular girls at school, and spends most of her free time, including lunch, working on homework. Her attractiveness, confidence, and warm friendly character, makes her a natural magnet for all students within the high school social hierarchy. She is already being offered inclusion to some of the most preferred cliques. But it seems to be the outcasts of the school that Cat migrates towards. She said "Hi" to Nicholas Corbridge, a kid with a stuttering problem, and a few days later, he bravely approached her requesting help on a math problem. He then looked surprised when she said, "Of course."

I listened to her enthusiastically collaborate with Tucker on music arrangements, giving advice that every once in a while required her to demonstrate by singing. I smile inside every time. Her voice is one of the most melodic, purist sounding voices I have ever heard, and twice this week it's haunted me in my dreams.

***

The following weeks go by unexpectedly fast for me. Usually by the second month of school, I am bored to tears and painfully regretting my agreement to finish the year. I already have a growing fan club of female admirers, something I dread each year. More silly girl crushes, more broken hearts, more questioning stares and whispered rumors as to why I don't ask any of them out. It happens every year. I feel like making an overhead announcement, "Ronan Callahan is not interested in dating foolish high school girls, so lose the ridiculous fantasies!" Although, I reluctantly admit to myself that there may be one exception this year. I may be interested in the only girl here who barely acknowledges my existence and doesn't swoon over me every time I speak. The only girl that I have ever felt compelled to ask a meaningless question that I already know the answer to, just to look in her eyes and see her smile. As far as I can tell, Tucker Schilling is the only one with a flourishing friendship with Cat. Their playful banter in class frequently makes those around them smile. It reveals an unexpected side to their mostly serious personalities.

In Spanish, Cat is already seated, diligently working on her assignment when Tucker flips his chair around backwards, straddling it and resting his arms on the back, like he so often does. He sits silently for a moment, waiting for her to look up, but she continues working. Finally, in a soft voice he whispers, "Morning, Cat." She continues writing, but the corner of her mouth turns up in a faint smile.

"Morning, Tucker."

"So...Cat, I was wondering," he pauses and looks at me and winks. "Do you want to get married tomorrow?"

Without missing a beat, she says, "Sure, when?"

Tucker smiles broadly, thrilled that she is playing along. "How about some time in the morning?"

"Hmmm...morning huh? Well let's see, if I get up, get Claire breakfast, start the laundry, then feed and walk the dog..." Cat lets her voice trail off, continuing to appear fully absorbed in her homework assignment.

Tucker interrupts her, "Uh, Cat, you don't have a dog, remember?" She grins and chuckles. "Well, there you have it. I should have time to get married between 9:30 and 10:00!" she says enthusiastically.

I'm fascinated by their playful conversation and can't help smiling in spite of myself.

Tucker leans in a little closer. "So Cat, you going to wear a pretty white dress?"

"Nope," she says matter-of-factly. "If I wear a dress, I will have to shave my legs and that will take too long. I think I will wear sweats and a T-shirt if that's okay?"

Tucker frowns for a second, then his face lights up. "All right. How about hair and makeup?" he questions.

Cat stops writing, her pencil in midair and her brow furrowed, as if she is concentrating heavily on his question. "Nope. I think I'll just wear my hair in a ponytail, that way I can go for a run afterwards," she finally says, shaking her head. Tucker starts laughing and she joins in, tossing her head back, letting out a perfectly pitched giggle. It makes the people around us stop and stare. A few even smile along.

"My, my, won't you make a lovely bride. I can't wait to see who the lucky guy is that gets to watch you walk down the aisle;" Tucker says, with a smirk on his face.

"Anyone who can't watch me walk down the aisle in a pair of sweats, T-shirt, and my hair in a ponytail, can't really be serious about marriage," she says confidently.

I think, _amen to that!_

# CHAPTER FOUR

CAT

It's been a month since I moved into the house on Hurley Way and I'm only now getting around to unpacking the rest of the moving boxes. I knew the pictures would be the hardest. They are, after all, a reminder of our past, a fairytale childhood that was no longer. There was no warning, just a stupid last minute change in plans, and Claire and I stayed behind from a day of family sailing so she could attend a friend's birthday party. They died and we lived. Doctors say I have survivor's guilt. I call it a curse. Death would have been so much easier, so much less painful. I swallow the lump in my throat and silently chant my mantra for survival, _"Be strong for Claire, be strong for Claire, be strong for Claire."_ A runaway tear rolls down my cheek and I silently curse. "Always look for the rainbow in the clouds," my dad would say and I always did, until the day the police officer knocked on the door and delivered the news that would change our lives forever.

I feel a hand on my arm and I quickly banish the tear, making a lame excuse about getting dust in my eyes, even running my finger over my lower lid in a fake attempt to remove the foreign object. One look at Claire confirms she doesn't buy it. She is the most perceptive five-year-old on the planet, I'm sure of it. Her large brown eyes say so much of what her lips don't.

"It's just pixie dust. Any moment now, I am going to fly," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

Claire holds my gaze, but she doesn't respond. Her silence is the worst part; it's a constant reminder of how I failed her. How I should have fought harder to keep us together. Doctors say her muteness is due to the traumatic experience of losing her parents and a brother, but I think it's because we were separated at a time when she needed me the most. They said it wouldn't last long, but that was eight months ago. They said I shouldn't feel guilty, but I do.

The only advantage to having a mute kid sister in my situation was the ability to disguise her extraordinary intellect. If someone heard a five-year-old reading a high school textbook or reciting a Shakespeare poem, they would be inclined to call her gifted, which I guess was better than being called a witch, like her former foster family accused her of. One incident involving unexplained airborne inanimate objects and they were on the phone with her social worker. I might have disputed their claims that "the plate of spaghetti dumped on Mr. Stevens' head, was caused by Claire, who was standing in another room at the time", but the incident resulted in us being reunited.

The slam of a car door and the sound of footsteps approaching the front door interrupt my thoughts.

"Let's hope this is the one," I mutter, glancing at Claire, wondering what her reading would be on this potential babysitter.

Ultimately, it would be Claire's decision on who I hired to care for her while I was at school. She had a unique way of reading people and so far, none of the other candidates passed her color screening test. A test that over the past year I have relied on more than ever. My mom and dad called it an energy field, a circle of light created from the vibration of particles emitted from a person, a reflection of their true intentions. Claire just says that good people glow yellow, sometimes orange, and bad people are blue, sometimes gray. The lighter the shade of yellow, the better the person, and the closer they were to gray, the more devious. My parents proudly claimed that only a few gifted people in the world, had the ability to see these energy fields of color, and Claire was one of them.

I look at my notes scribbled on the note pad.

Mrs. Sanchez

Raised her grandchildren who are now grown

Mostly Spanish speaking, understands English

Can babysit M-F, wages negotiable

I open the door after the second knock and hold my breath. Mrs. Sanchez looks to be in her early sixties. She's wearing a frock that covers a plump, round figure. She has a warm smile and soft voice and peers at Claire over thick rimmed glasses.

"Hi, I'm Cataryn McCullough," I introduce myself in Spanish and use my formal name (I think it sounds more grown-up then Cat), then invite her in.

Mrs. Sanchez is already aware that Claire only communicates by sign language, but this doesn't stop her from talking directly to Claire and asking her questions. It's a bold move, considering the awkwardness that will surely follow, when she can't understand Claire's response. Maybe it's a grandmother thing, but she seems to intuitively understand what Claire is saying and they converse back and forth for a few minutes.

"Call me Giselle," Mrs. Sanchez says warmly and I like her immediately. A negative reading on Giselle would be disappointing, so I avoid looking at Claire, busying myself with fictitious paperwork.

Within a matter of minutes, to my relief, Claire takes her by the hand, motioning her to the corner of the room to show off her dollhouse. She turns around and smiles at me hugely, and signs the word "yellow."

***

The first week of school is uneventful in that my classes are completely predictable, nobody bothers me with personal questions, and things are going well between Claire and Giselle. I gained an unexpected friendship with a guy named Tucker Schilling who I felt almost an instant connection with. He reminds me of my twin brother Chord; easygoing, non-intrusive and unusually mature for his age. Like me, he plays the guitar and has an interest in songwriting. By the end of the week, I have an open invitation to stop by his family's music store and recording studio.

A friendship with Tucker doesn't come without a price, though. Because of his homosexuality, he is frequently the target of harassment by the Brazier twins and he worries that my friendship with him would subject me to the same treatment. So far, I have gotten by with nothing but curious stares from the Brazier clan, not that I would allow their actions to deter me from a friendship with Tucker anyway. Of all the things I fear in life, school bullies was not one of them. In fact, prior to my parents' death, I was fearless of almost anything. However, now I have a list of things that terrify me, and at the top of it is being separated from Claire. It permeates my thoughts constantly, almost driving me crazy. I could manage all the other worries about things like finances, paying bills, meeting our basic needs, but being separated from my sister again would destroy me.

***

Ronan Callahan has the kind of face that you would never forget in a million years, and I recognized him immediately on the first day of school. His presence there seemed oddly out of place, like finding a high profile celebrity in a Walmart store. Nothing about him is average. From his tall, well-built stature, to his flawless, model good looks, everything is stands out. Everything! Even the way he quietly observes other students, with a mixture of boredom and bemusement on his face, radiates a certain level of confidence. Tucker tells me he's a snobbish, rich kid from the north side of town, and his unexpected offer to escort me to class on the first day of school was completely out of character for him. He's known for being a loner, apparently only interacting with one other student, Burke Harold.

"Excuse me Cat, do you know if Mr. Emerson wanted us to do evens or odds on this assignment?" I feel the warmth of Ronan's breath as he whispers in my ear and it sends a shiver down my spine.

"Evens," I respond, refraining from turning around and looking into his eyes.

"Thanks," he says, and I picture him grinning.

This is the second time this week that he has asked me a question that I know perfectly well he already knows the answer to. I find his interest in me concerning, in more ways than one. A snobbish rich kid would be the most likely to squeal on me if they found out about my independent living arrangement with Claire. Although Ronan didn't strike me as the squealing type, I didn't want to take any chances. Second, the unsolicited interaction is drawing unwanted attention from envious girls sitting nearby. The last thing I wanted was to be accused of getting in the middle of some unspoken love interest. So I keep my distance, busying myself with tutoring other students and minimizing my interactions with Ronan as much as possible. I figured it was only a matter of time before he turned his focus to the beautiful, popular girls clamoring and fighting for his attention anyway.

He shares the spotlight with Burke Harold, as the most discussed topic in the girls' locker room and there are already rumors about him being gay likely started by those he'd rejected. I suspect that if he isn't asking any of them out, it's because he's long outgrown the girls in the high school, and has moved on to college-aged females.

As the weekend approaches, I become more and more apprehensive. It has been more than a week since I heard from my Uncle Karl, and I knew that it was just a matter of time before he calls or even worse, shows up at the house. Claire and I had been sent to Montana to live with him by the California Foster Care system. He is our only living relative and although our parents never appointed him guardian, with good reason, he agreed to take us in when he found out that the state would give him a reimbursement check each month, to cover the expense of caring for us.

Outwardly, he appears successful, as an attorney in a successful law group, but I remembered my parents saying that his alcohol and gambling addictions prevented him from making ends meet. The first day we met him, Claire's reaction was severe. She cried and buried her face in the back of my leg, refusing to look at him at all, signing the word _gray,_ over and over again. We endured just over two weeks of his drunken rages, and although he never physically touched us, he threatened to, and I believed him. I was finally able to convince him to let us move out by promising him that I would keep my mouth shut and allow him to keep all checks being sent to him by the State. Most of the money I inherited from my parents went to attorney fees to get us out of Foster Care. The small amount sitting in the bank was just enough to pay for the necessities for the next year.

# CHAPTER FIVE

RONAN

Professor Michael Lowry isn't at all what I expect from a person holding his title. Dressed in a pair of faded blue jeans and T-shirt, he looks more like a preppy college student than a professor. We were supposed to meet with him on a Monday or Tuesday, so I'm surprised when I come home Saturday night to find him, along with my parents and the Harolds seated in our living room. Burke is the only one standing, facing the fireplace with his back to the room. I can't see his face, but when he greets me mentally, I instantly hear the subtle sound of despair in his voice.

"Hi, Aunt Terry," I address Burke's mom as she stands to give me a hug, and then turn to shake hands with William Harold. For as long as I can remember, I've referred to them as my aunt and uncle, even though they are unrelated. My dad and Dr. Lowry stand simultaneously as my dad introduces us. I am briefly distracted by Dr. Lowry's short stature, and as I stand towering over him, I can't help but wonder if he is even five and a half feet tall. _"I know right?"_ I hear Burke comment and see a smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

Dr. Lowry doesn't waste any time getting started. "Ronan, I understand that you have a desire to find your prenatal records and I think I can help you," he says confidently. "I am leading an investigation into the genetic modifications done to patients by CGEM."

"Why?" I blurt out before he can continue. His piercing blue eyes meet mine and I sense him possibly debating on how much to tell me. "I want to know everything," I demand, in response to his hesitancy.

"Some of CGEM's former patients have contracted and died from a virus that we don't completely understand. Until we locate the records of all CGEM patients, we won't know who is at risk and why."

I feel my chest tighten at his words, but I keep my face from showing any emotion. "How do you know the virus is limited to just genetically modified kids?" I ask.

"Because the virus is linked to a strand of non-human DNA, it could only be present in someone that was genetically modified, and CGEM is the only known company to possess and use this type of advanced technology."

Aunt Terry starts to cry and my mom reaches over to hold her hand. Burkes releases a string of profanities that thankfully no one else can hear but me and my dad rubs his forehead as if nursing a bad headache. Professor Lowry continues to stare at me, as if waiting for some expected reaction. I feel the rage start to build in my chest and I instinctively slow my breathing, exhaling my breath, in a controlled, deliberate manner.

"What are the symptoms?" I finally ask in a voice that sounds foreign to me.

Professor Lowry speaks slowly and distinctly. "Some of the first symptoms seem to be neurological, um, behavioral changes, such as violent outbursts for example." He glances over at my parents before continuing. "As the virus progresses, it leads to paralysis and eventually respiratory and cardiac collapse."

At the sound of his words, my heart takes off like a racehorse, and my previously controlled breathing now comes in short gasps. I can see in Dr. Lowry's eyes that my parents have already told him about the bathroom incident. There is a hint of sadness and compassion in his eyes which only fuels the rage inside of me. My legs feel weak and I sit down next to my mom and bury my head in my hands.

"Why?" I moan. I feel my mom stiffen next to me, anticipating my words. The words that I have held back for the past three years, now spill from my lips like floodwaters over a dam. "Why would you disassemble our DNA and rearrange it with animal DNA? Why?" Mrs. Harold starts to sob a little louder and my mom puts her arm around her shoulders, avoiding my icy glare. "If you wanted a little monkey boy, why didn't you just buy a chimpanzee?" I say, jumping to my feet.

My dad starts to object, "Wait a minute son..."

"Hah, you call me a son? I'm not a son! I'm not even fully human. In fact, you don't know what I am. I don't know what I am. I might sprout wings any day now. Would you like that dad? Would you like to have a flying monkey boy?" I say as I start flapping my arms around the room, grunting like a gorilla. I look around wildly at the alarmed expressions of the adults around me. The hysteria inside me continues to rise and I toss my head back, laughing recklessly.

"Look everyone. Look at our beautiful, brilliant designer boy. He can see you from a mile away, and hear you whisper from across the room. He can overpower five grown men, and run as fast as a cougar. Does that make you proud mom? Is that what you brag about with the other moms over coffee?" I ask sarcastically. She cringes as I continue my onslaught of accusations, unloading a pile of pent-up emotions.

Nobody attempts to stop my ranting. Maybe they intuitively know it will make things worse. When I'm finished, I am instantly remorseful, but I don't tell them that. Instead, I turn around and slowly walk to the front door, open it, and take off in a full sprint across the lawn. It's not quite dark but I don't care. I barely register the shocked look of drivers on the road, when I pass them in a 40 mph speed zone. I feel Burke trying to connect with me mentally and I purposefully block him out.

***

As I lay in a small meadow, gazing at the stars above me, the chilly night air turns my breath into wispy clouds. Dressed only in jeans and a T-shirt, I wonder if it will get cold enough to cause hypothermia. I hoped so. _Sounds like a much better way to die than respiratory and cardiac collapse_ , I think. Dr. Lowry's words echo in my mind like words bouncing off the walls of a deep canyon. Maybe my violent rages were just the result of teenage hormones; I try to reason with myself. After all, there were plenty of non-engineered kids who experienced far worse outbursts then mine. Then, my next thought is, _how long it will take for the virus to take my life,_ and am surprised that I didn't think to ask Dr. Lowry. I fall asleep on the cold hard ground, hoping I won't ever wake up again.

***

When I return Sunday morning after spending a very cold night in the forest, I find my parents and Dr. Lowry sitting at the kitchen table, going over a stack of documents. My parents look relieved to see me, but oddly enough don't question me on where I've been.

"Burke will be over later this morning," my mom volunteers. Of course, she doesn't know that I already know this. I connected with him earlier and he filled me in on the plan.

"Sit down Ronan, I have some things I want you to look at," Dr. Lowry says with a tone of authority. I take the seat next to him and he shoves the stack of papers in front of me. "Look through these and see if you can find anything on Dr. Kappel and his family. They disappeared shortly after the CGEM investigation and no one is sure of their whereabouts. His daughter Elizabeth was one of the first to be genetically modified, she may or may not still be alive, depending on whether she carried the virus or not."

I remember my grandmother's story about Elizabeth and estimate her to be three to five years older than me. "There is a good chance that if she is still alive, that she will help us find the records, there are rumors that she has an estranged relationship with her parents," Dr. Lowry continues.

His words remind me of my personal conflict with my own parents and I involuntarily glance up at them. The color in my mom's cheeks and pain in my dad's eyes confirms that they, too, see the parallelism of our relationship to the Kappels.

It doesn't take me long to immerse myself in the stack of paperwork, grateful to Dr. Lowry for giving me the tedious task to keep my mind occupied. With the combined skill of speed reading and an eidetic memory, I am able to review three times the number of papers as the rest of them. By the time Burke arrives, we are close to being finished with what I will soon learn, is just the first of four boxes full of documents. Five hours later, with the addition of Burke, we have gone through all four boxes and have a stack of promising leads to finding Elizabeth and Dr. Kappel. My dad tells me that Michael, as he now insists to be called, will return to California tonight, but has already booked a return flight to Montana. After a heated discussion, I agree to remain in school for now, even though I think that with my potentially shortened life span, my time would be better served trying to locate the Kappels.

***

Monday morning comes way too soon and I reluctantly get out of bed, leaving myself just enough time to get to school. The house is quiet and I realize my parents have already left for work. Even though the sky is gray and it is already starting to drizzle, I take the motorcycle, allowing the chilly air to finish waking me up. I am four blocks from the school when I pass a familiar figure walking alone on the side of the street. I recognize the silhouette and the long dark hair wildly blowing around in the wind and, going totally against my nature, I pull over to offer her a ride, rationalizing my decision by the fact she would likely be late if I didn't. I ease the motorcycle up to the curb, just ahead of her and remove my helmet so she won't mistake me for some pervert.

She looks up and smiles and it feels like my heart does a somersault. I now understand the saying "her smile lights up a room". It's been just over a month since the first day of school, and even though I share three classes with Cat, this will be my first meaningful interaction with her.

"Hey Cat, do you want a ride?" I ask casually.

She hesitates and looks around as if weighing other potential options. "Um, no thank you, I really don't mind walking," she says unconvincingly, as she eyes my motorcycle with what I'm sure I must be mistaking for admiration.

"Ok, but you'll be late for school," I taunt.

After a long pause, she says, "All right, I guess just this once," and doesn't waste any time swinging one of her long legs over the bike.

"Uh-uh, not without a helmet young lady," I say teasingly as I slip my helmet over her head. My hand brushes her face as I fasten the buckle under her chin. Her skin feels warm and silky and my hand lingers there a little longer than it should. I feel her tremble and I reactively pull my hand away, a response that makes us both smile simultaneously. I mount the bike in front of her and as the engine roars to life, I hear her whisper words that I'm sure weren't meant for me to hear and would have escaped the attention of someone with normal hearing.

"Go fast!"

I don't question my hearing or wait for a second invitation.

"Hold on!" I yell as I slip the bike in gear and give it plenty of gas. She wraps her arms tightly around my waist as the bike launches forward with such force that the front tire lifts slightly off the ground. I hear her laughter trailing after us like a melody and it makes me laugh too. Within seconds, we are in front of the school and I briefly contemplate driving right past it. I'm not really ready to let this moment go: the feel of her arms around me, the warmth of her body next to my back, the sound of her laughter and the feel of the wind in my face. The dark cloud that hovered over me when I got up this morning is suddenly gone. I feel free, thoughts of violence and death momentarily erased from my mind.

I pull into the school as the warning bell rings and she is off the bike before I have time to kill the engine. She removes her helmet and runs her fingers through her wild, tangled hair.

There is a look of excitement in her eyes and she breathlessly says, "Thanks! That was great."

"Can I pick you up tomorrow?" I blurt out, instantly wondering if I sound too eager or desperate. The look on her face confirms my doubts and I instantly regret my words. I can't tell if it's fear or caution, but her earlier enthusiasm has definitely died, and now so has mine. The threat of her rejection is torture. Never having been on this end of the experience, I suddenly think about all the girls I've so callously disregarded and I'm instantly remorseful. It seems like an eternity as I wait for a response. She looks directly into my eyes and I get the sense that she is searching for something, maybe trying to decide if I am trustworthy? Normally, I hate people staring into my eyes, but with Cat, I can't seem to look away. "It's ok to say no, I understand," I say hoping she can hear the sincerity in my words, as hard as the impending rejection is sure to feel.

To my relief, she smiles and says, "That would be nice. I'll meet you on the corner of 65th and L Street, near the Starbucks." Before I have a chance to respond, the final bell rings and we both take off in a dead sprint to get to our first class.

***

Mason Brazier doesn't waste any time singling Cat out as a prize that he wants to be the first proud owner of. He considers himself "all that" when it comes to the ladies, so when he corners Cat McCullough near the gym to ask her out, he fully expects a favorable response. Instead, she politely declines and quickly excuses herself to get to her next class. By the end of third period, knowledge of his rejection is starting to pop up on some of the social networking sites, and Mason takes out his humiliation on Tucker, sucker punching him while passing in the hallway. Within a matter of minutes, this too becomes public knowledge and in PE, Cat glares at Mason, while taking obvious measures to avoid him. Mason isn't the type of guy that takes rejection well or gives up easily, so it doesn't surprise me when I hear him confidently tell Leland, "She'll change her mind." _We'll see about that_ , I think, smiling to myself.

***

I am on my motorcycle, getting ready to leave school for the day when I see Mason walk up behind Cat and grab her arm. She swings around and using a martial arts technique easily breaks his grip. Taking a step back from him, she assumes a guarded stance. I remove my helmet and turn the motorcycle off, quietly listening to their conversation. He starts out polite enough, complementing her on her swing in tennis today during PE. She curtly says thank you, and starts to walk away, not showing the least bit of interest in him. He speeds up, and pivots around in front of her, blocking her path.

"What, are you some high-classed snotty bitch, too good for a Montana boy?" he sneers. I start to get off my bike, ready to intervene, but Cat daringly unleashes on him.

"I'll tell you what I'm too good for Mason Brazier," she says, walking towards him with her hands balled up in fists by her side. "I'm too good for an ill-mannered, disrespectful, inconsiderate, insolent bully like you. I would rather clean toilets than spend my free time with someone like you," she hisses, now standing within inches from him, breathing heavily as she waits for his response.

"My God, that girl is fearless," I mutter to myself as I make my way over to them, not trusting Mason to react in a gentlemanly manner. I didn't think he would stoop so low as to hurt a girl, but I didn't want to take any chances. Plus, I did have my own agenda, to protect-tomorrow's motorcycle ride.

"Hey, Cat," I say casually as I acknowledge Mason with a nod, trying to keep from grinning when I see him squirm. "Sorry to interrupt you two, I just wanted to confirm that you did say to pick you up on the corner of 60th and L tomorrow morning?" I watch Mason out of the corner of my eye, wildly looking back and forth between the two of us, obviously trying to figure out if we are an item. I haven't had this much fun in a long time, and if I thought Cat would let me get away with it, I might have leaned in and kissed her for added effect.

She smiles flawlessly and shakes her head, "65th and L, you have my phone number if you forget again," she says winking at me. At the mention of exchanged phone numbers, Mason starts to back up, and I am on cloud nine, that she would even joke about giving me her phone number.

"I'll see you around," he mutters sullenly, and turns around and walks away.

"Thanks," she says, playfully punching my arm, then she turns to leave.

"Um, Cat, can I give you a ride home?" I ask, once again hating how pathetically hopeful I sound.

She looks like she might say yes, but just then Carrie Tooley walks by and mutters, "He's a jerk, I would stay away if I were you."

Cat looks at me questioningly and I just close my eyes and shake my head. What could I say to that?

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," she says softly and walks away.

# CHAPTER SIX

CAT

Thoughts of Ronan Callahan continue to occupy my mind, even more so since he stopped to give me a ride to school. For the first time in my life, I feel the heat of a blush stain my cheeks when I catch him looking at me and I pray nobody else notices, especially him. There is something about the uncertainty in his eyes and sincerity in his voice that makes me look at him a little differently now. His response to Carrie Tooley's criticism wasn't that of anger or arrogance as I would have expected, but more of remorse and sadness, something I didn't think he was capable of before yesterday. I shake my head as if the action alone might erase the image of his face from my mind. "Stay focused Cat," I mutter under my breath. "For Claire's sake, you must stay focused." I'm still not sure if agreeing to a ride tomorrow was a good idea, but I was looking forward to it in spite of myself.

***

I am seated in my usual spot in the cafeteria, helping Nicholas with his math, when I happen to look up just in time to see Mrs. Sanchez walk through the door, holding a wide-eyed Claire's hand. She scans the room until she spots me and hurriedly starts making her way over, dodging distracted students who stare at the two curiously. I am immediately panic-stricken and jump out of my seat to meet them halfway. Something terrible must have happened to prompt Mrs. Sanchez to show up at the school with Claire and a hundred scenarios pass through my mind. "Giselle, is everything ok?" I whisper in Spanish, looking down at Claire for signs of injuries.

"Cataryn, I must go to Helena right away. My sister is in the hospital. The doctors think she had a stroke. I called my agency to see if they could send someone to replace me, but there is no one available until tomorrow. I'm so sorry to show up like this," she says, worriedly.

I smile and sigh in relief. I could handle finding a temporary babysitter for Claire, and I feel almost ashamed that I'm glad it's her family and not an issue with my uncle or the State Foster System.

"Giselle, you should leave right away. Please don't worry about us. I'll think of something to tell my teachers and if the agency can't send someone to watch her tomorrow, then I will stay home from school." Claire's face lights up when I say this. "Please drive carefully," I say, as she kisses me on the cheeks.

"I will call you as soon as I get there and have a better idea when I will be returning," she calls over her shoulder as she hurriedly walks away.

My mind races as I think of which classes I can skip and what I will tell my teachers when I show up with my mute little sister. I feel Claire tug on my arm and I look down to see the all too familiar look of worry on her face. Her large brown eyes are so expressive and say so much of what she doesn't say vocally. She is clutching Hannah, her stuffed Golden Retriever that she's had since she was a toddler, and she is dressed in blue jeans that are a few inches too short for her and a dirty T-shirt. "It's my job to worry, not yours," I remind her, something I have been doing a lot of lately. For only being five, she seems to understand adult concerns all too well, and it breaks my heart.

"Will I have to stay with Uncle Karl?" she signs, and I can see the fear in her eyes.

"I will never send you to stay with him," I whisper a little too harshly. Then softly add, "Don't worry, I will figure something out."

It's hard to blend in when you're in public with Claire. I'm not sure if it is her exquisite beauty that attracts attention, or if people are just curious about the sign language thing, or if it's a combination of both. But even in a high school full of self-absorbed kids, we are drawing unwanted stares from fellow students.

"All right, first things first, have you eaten lunch?" I ask hopefully.

I can tell she doesn't want to tell me no, but she shakes her head anyway.

I bite my lower lip, considering that all I have is a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich and not a dime to my name. Nonetheless, I dig through my jean pockets, hoping to find an undiscovered dollar bill waded up there. As we walk back to my now abandoned table, I catch Ronan staring intently at us, not bothering to look away when I meet his gaze. My heart beats wildly and I briefly consider skipping the Spanish class, I share with him next period, before I remember that I have a test today.

"Here, start with my sandwich," I say, shoving the untouched half of PB&J in front of her, while I continue to search in my backpack for any loose change, knowing full well, I'll find none. Every night I go over my finances, praying that I will find a mistake in my calculations. The small amount of money left from my parent's estate was dwindling fast between rent and childcare expenses. Skipping meals was becoming a necessity and I can feel my clothes starting to sag on my body.

"Hello, Cat." The sound of Ronan's voice makes me jump and I look up to find him standing there holding a twenty dollar bill out to me. "This fell out of your backpack," he says casually.

I stare at him dumbly, trying to process what he's saying. "Um, I don't think so," I say reluctantly, glancing at Claire who is staring at him unabashedly.

"Yes, I saw it drop out of your backpack just now," he insists, motioning me to take the money.

I look around to see if there is anyone nearby that may have accidently dropped it, but the cafeteria is now nearly empty. I eye the money and think about how I could feed us for a week on twenty dollars and it takes willpower to refuse it.

"Ronan, you must be mistaking, I'm sure someone dropped it when they were walking by. Why don't you turn it into the cashier?"

The look of frustration in his eyes puzzles me. "I'm not turning it into the cashier, the money belongs to you," he says firmly, slapping the bill down on the table with enough force to make the legs wobble. He smiles at Claire, then turns and walks away, giving me no further chances to argue.

Ms. Fuentes is gracious about allowing Claire to accompany me to class today, especially after I mention that she understands Spanish perfectly. Ronan is already seated, and doesn't look up, until I slip him a piece of paper with my phone number on it. He grins broadly, taking my breath away, and immediately enters it into his cell phone.

I skip my next two classes and Claire and I walk home, stopping by the market to stock up on some necessary food items, using the newly acquired twenty dollar bill to pay for it. I know very well that Ronan didn't see it drop from my backpack, but I can't understand his motive for lying. It suddenly occurs to me that maybe he knows about Claire and me. I start to panic, thinking of worst case scenarios. "Claire, what color was Ronan, the boy in the cafeteria?" I ask, remembering her valuable gift, available to me for situations just like this.

She shrugs her shoulders, not looking at me and my heart sinks.

_He has to be blue or gray,_ I think to myself, feeling completely deflated.

"Claire, please. It's important that I know," I say pleadingly.

She looks up at me hesitantly, than slowly signs the word, "White."

***

Arguing with Claire on a Friday morning, when I'm already late for school, is on my top ten list of things sure to get me in a bad mood. "It's just for one day, Giselle will be back on Monday," I whisper to her as she stands pouting in her bedroom.

"I am better off alone," she signs, then adds, "Please!"

I shake my head no, unwilling to budge. Even a color screening of orange/blue wasn't enough for me to agree to leaving her alone for the day. In a perfect world, I would have just taken the day off from school, but the last thing I wanted was to risk having the school contact Uncle Karl to excuse my absence.

"I'll call you at lunch. I have to go," I say, kissing her on the forehead and hurriedly grabbing my coat before she can pursue the matter any further.

Megan, the replacement babysitter, makes no attempt to put Claire or me at ease. She has been on her phone texting ever since she arrived, and even now, she barely acknowledges me as I prepare to leave. If I had any other options for childcare available to me at this moment, I would have kicked her tattooed ass out to the street in a heartbeat.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

RONAN

Burke's surprised expression confirms to me that I am outwardly more cheerful than expected, after the weekend meeting with Dr. Lowry. He doesn't readily say anything but eyes me suspiciously and I know what's coming before I hear his voice in my mind. _"Hey dude, what's up with you? Are you ok?"_ he asks, infusing just the right amount of sincerity and concern in his voice. I wonder if this is how he saves himself from the wrath of a female's broken heart.

_"Yep. I'm good,"_ I respond casually.

I don't say it, but I am more than good. The thoughts of Dr. Kappel and my destiny for destruction and death are replaced with images of a beautiful face with large, warm, innocent eyes that are full of questions as well as secrets. A smile and laugh that turns me into Jello, and the promise of a silly motorcycle ride tomorrow morning. It almost makes me laugh out loud, the absurdity of it all. Two days ago I was lying in a meadow, hoping that hypothermia would prematurely claim my life, and now I'm dying for tomorrow morning just so I can feel Cat's arms wrapped around me for a seven-minute, if I had the long route to school, motorcycle ride.

I am careful to block Burke from these thoughts. I had caught him a couple of times staring at Cat with a look that I was very familiar with. A look of interest and desire, the way I had seen him look at countless other girls before he asked them out. A look that previously I found amusing but now I find it infuriating.

Burke had proudly let me know last year that he was no longer a virgin. I didn't ask for the details, but he hinted that the first girl was Lindy Larson, a senior from last year whom he had dated for less than three months. When he broke up with her, she reportedly cried for two weeks straight. He has since been with multiple others and it doesn't seem to bother him at all, that he uses girls in this way.

He thought it was hilarious that I hadn't even kissed a girl. The closest I had come was with Carrie Tooley, a girl who I had taken for a ride on my motorcycle a few times. She was a popular, cheerleader type, who made it quite clear that she had a crush on me since the ninth grade. When I finally offered to take her for a ride, she eagerly accepted. I took her on a beautiful ride along a windy canyon road that was framed by tall redwoods on either side and ended at a rustic restaurant that catered to the motorcycle crowd.

The experience was less than enjoyable as she screamed at me the whole time to slow down and then threatened to call her dad to come get her when we stopped for lunch. In my eyes, the experience was a total deal breaker and I thought it would be in hers too. No one was more surprised than I was when she asked to go again. This time I stayed in town and drove slower than the posted speed limit, but she still got off the bike looking a little pale and shaky. Clearly, motorcycle riding was out of her comfort zone.

When I dropped her off at her house, she invited me in, letting me know in a not so subtle way that her parents and brothers were out of town for a baseball game. Burke thought I was out of my mind for not accepting her offer. Carrie mistakenly thought I was caring and sensitive and pursued me even harder. Evidently, I had a lot to learn from Burke on the art of letting a girl down. Until yesterday, Carrie hadn't spoken a word to me since last year and although I could never prove it, the key scratch on the driver's door of my pick-up is a reminder to me of how not to end a perceived relationship.

***

At lunch, Cat sits with Tucker and Nicholas, the kid with a stuttering problem. Even though I am sitting halfway across the cafeteria, I can hear her tutoring Nicholas in math, and I wonder how a kid like him gets a gorgeous girl like Cat to agree to that. I hear the Brazier twins wondering the same thing, and when their conversation with Cat's name in it, turns mean and dirty, I instantaneously feel a need to protect her. _You say anything to her, or lay a hand on her and I'll kill you_ , I think to myself.

I spend the next fifteen minutes ridiculing myself for taking such an active interest in her. _What the hell has gotten into you Ronan?_ I ask myself as even now, I can't seem to take my eyes off of her. I watch as she enthusiastically explains to Nicholas how to work an algebra problem. Her voice is so soft and soothing. Naturally, he's staring at her with pure adoration, and I wonder if he is making any effort at all to understand what she is teaching him.

Their tutoring lesson comes to an abrupt halt when Cat suddenly jumps up and hurries over to meet a woman holding the hand of the little girl that I saw with her in the woods for the first time. At first, I assume the elderly lady is a parent or grandparent, but quickly learn by their conversation that she is a babysitter, needing to leave town for a family emergency. Cat, for whatever reason, seems to be responsible for the little girl, even intensely dismissing the idea of seeking help from an uncle. The resemblance between the two is obvious, and I mentally calculate approximate age difference to rule out an offspring.

Cat rummages through her pockets and backpack for lunch money after pushing her half-eaten sandwich in front of the girl and it leaves me feeling disturbed, especially considering I have over a hundred dollars in my wallet at any given time. I didn't expect her to willingly take money from me, but I am able to come up with an impromptu plan that leaves her no other choice.

Later she slips me a piece of paper with her phone number on it and I immediately enter it in my cell phone, hoping she doesn't see my hand shaking as I do.

***

It takes me less than two hours of internet research to learn the truth about Cataryn and Claire McCullough. I stare at the computer screen displaying the headlines of her parents' and brother's death, and feel ashamed that I stooped so low as to go behind her back to get her story. It's a story that should only be told by the author, and had I known, I would have waited to hear it from her lips. Her story preoccupies my mind long after I've gone to bed and again the next morning when I wake up. It explains so much about her: the reason she steers away from conversations about her family; the reason her brows furrow in worry; the mysterious sadness in her eyes; and the mature relationship she has with her sister.

***

The threat of thunder showers the next morning has me questioning whether or not Cat will still accept a motorcycle ride to school. I am more nervous about this than I have ever been about anything in my entire life. I arrive at the corner of 65th and L Street almost twenty minutes ahead of time, just as the first drops of rain start to fall. I glance up at the sky and silently cuss at the dark, violet, heavy clouds which hang ominously low. Another five minutes pass and the first flash of lightening zigzags across the clouds, followed by a low rumble a few seconds later. _She's not going to show up. Maybe I should call her. Maybe I should go home and get my truck. No there's not enough time. I'm sure she will drive herself_.

A constant flow of insecurities flood my mind as the next ten minutes pass, and I've all but convinced myself that she won't show when I see her walking up the street. She looks up, spots me, and flashes a wide grin. Motioning to the sky, she mouths, "Can you believe this?" I am relieved to see her so lighthearted about getting drenched. In a few easy strides, I close the gap between us and hold my coat out to shield her from the rain; an action that I never would have considered for anyone else, but somehow comes naturally with Cat. By now, the rain is coming down in sheets and the wind is blowing hard enough to nudge her closer to me. Another flash of lightning, followed immediately by a loud clap of thunder, has us both running for the Starbucks.

The coffee shop is somewhat crowded, but we are able to find stools near the window and after helping her out of her coat, I offer to buy her one of the fancy coffees that half the kids in high school drink. I can't help but smile when she wrinkles her nose.

"Hot chocolate sounds good," she says.

"Just a plain cup of hot chocolate?" I tease.

"Well, anywhere else it would be just a plain cup of hot cocoa. But since we're here, I guess I'll have a grande, low fat, two-pump, extra-hot, no whip, hot chocolate," she says in a singsong sarcastic voice and we both laugh out loud.

A few minutes later we are both sipping hot cocoa, watching the storm intensify.

"I love thunderstorms," she says in a breathy voice. "We used to spend a few weeks every summer at Lake Powell in Arizona and almost every afternoon, the thunderclouds would roll in, producing the most spectacular lightning storms ever seen. The lake would get ocean size waves, and everyone would scramble trying to get stuff secured." A smile plays across her lips as she recalls the memories, but at the same time there is obvious sadness in her voice.

I take a deep breath and plunge into the conversation that I already rehearsed throughout the night. I wanted desperately for her to trust me enough to tell me the truth, so I ask a question that I hope will lead her there. "Cat, why did your family move to Montana? Did your parents relocate here for work?" My question causes an expected reaction. Her shoulders stiffen slightly and she nervously runs her finger around the lid to her hot chocolate.

"Um, relocate," she repeats, then pauses as if considering this as a possibility. "Yes, yes, I guess you could say that they relocated," she says absently, nodding her head.

I hold my breath, anticipating her answer.

"They relocated to heaven, along with my twin brother Chord," she reluctantly blurts out. Afterward she looks almost relieved by the confession, but then quickly looks at me and apologizes profusely. "I'm so sorry Ronan. I didn't mean to say it so bluntly. It's just that I've been here for a month and you're the first person to ask. I really wasn't expecting that," she finishes softly looking down at her cup.

"Cat, there is no need for you to apologize, I can handle it," I say, wanting more than anything to reassure her. "Do you mind telling me how they died?"

Taking a deep breath, she proceeds to tell me about the boating accident, confirming everything that I already knew surrounding the event. "They found the boat, but their bodies were gone. The police gave up searching for them after a few days. They said that a rogue wave had washed them overboard." The anguish is now apparent in her voice and her eyes swim with unshed tears.

"So why did you move to Montana?" I ask, gently steering the conversation in a new direction. This was one of the few questions that I didn't already have the answer to. "My only living relative, Uncle Karl, lives here."

This is the only time she breaks eye contact with me and I wonder if it's just my imagination, or is there apprehension in her voice when she tells me this? I make a mental note to revisit this question at a later time.

I take a deep breath and slowly blow it out, a mixture of emotions plague me. On one hand, I feel a sense of honor that she trusts me enough to tell me the truth, but there is still so much more that I wanted to know. I wouldn't get the chance to ask my questions today, as just then she realizes that we are both guilty of being truant from school.

She jumps up quickly nearly knocking her chair over, "Oh my God, Ronan, we have to go to school. What time is it?"

I look at my cell phone, and am shocked to find out that we have been talking for over an hour, it seems like only minutes have passed. _Definitely not long_ _enough,_ I think to myself. The rain has subsided and there are promising patches of blue breaking through the black thunderheads. "How about since we are already late, we skip our morning classes and go for that bike ride?" I offer, hoping she'll take me up on it. She hesitates just enough that I am encouraged and I playfully urge her further. "Come on Cat, just two hours. I promise I'll have you back to school before lunch. You'll love it, and you need it," I say, gently coaxing her into saying yes. She is biting her lower lip, clearly torn by the decision.

"Oh, all right," she finally concedes. "But I have to be back by lunch, I already made plans to meet someone." Instantly, I wanted to know who this someone was, but I refrain from asking.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

RONAN

The motorcycle seat is soaking wet, but it doesn't stop Cat from jumping on before I have a chance to fully dry it with a handful of napkins. It takes us less than fifteen minutes to reach the edge of town, and then we are winding along Highway 87 towards The Kings Hill Scenic Byway. The dew on the trees glistens like diamonds and the air is infused with the earthy clean scent of damp soil. Cat has her arms snugly around my waist and her cheek against my back. Every once in a while when the wind kicks up, her hair whips around and tickles my neck. Her body is relaxed and moves naturally with mine, as I lean the bike lower and lower around the curves in the road. If she is nervous at all, it doesn't show. About fifteen miles into the drive, I pull off and park the bike in a spot marked by large boulders. She looks at me inquisitively, but doesn't say anything as I lead her down a path, then between two gigantic boulders, which occasionally narrow so that both of us have to turn sideways to fit through. Another large boulder partially obscures the view of the river, and there is no path leading around it. "Ok Cat, you're going to have to trust me on this. The view is well worth the effort," I say as I prepare to climb the side of the boulder.

"Wait, we're going to try and climb up this thing?" she asks in disbelief, looking up the side of the rock and running her hand over the slick, wet surface

"What, you're not afraid of getting a little wet and dirty are you?"

"Not if you say the view is worth it," she responds softly, looking at me trustinglGazing in her large brown eyes, I have a sudden urge to ensure her safety, something that never really crossed my mind before now. I motion for her to go ahead of me so that I can catch her if she should slip. "I will point out where to place your hands and feet, and when you get one third of the way up, there will be a ledge that you can stand on to hoist yourself to the top," I say.

"All right I'll lead the way," she says shrugging her shoulders and flashing a broad smile, once again causing my heart to do a cartwheel.

"That a girl!" I respond, grinning back at her. I demonstrate the foot and hand holes once and she impatiently says, "Ok, I've got it, let me try."

"I will be right behind you, if you need me." She doesn't hesitate a second and easily scales the side of the rock, using the hand and foot holes just as I had demonstrated. I think to myself that she has to be the coolest chick I have ever met in my life.

She waits for me on the ledge, and there is barely enough room for both of us without my body pinning her up against the boulder. For the first time today, I see a look of alarm in her face, which makes me burst out laughing.

"It's only for a second Cat, I'll help you up in a minute," I say, and when she doesn't respond right away, I jokingly add, "Um, unless you want to stay here?" When she still doesn't respond, my humor fades and I start to panic. "Really, I'm just kidding. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Here give me your foot and I'll boost you up." My words are coming faster than I intend and I feel like I am rambling. _Ronan you're such an idiot for making her uncomfortable_ , I think to myself.

When she finally looks up at me, instead of seeing anger or fear, as I expect, I see a look of amusement on her face, as if she is trying to stifle a smile. I wasn't even aware that I was holding my breath until I hear a long exhaled breath escape my lips.

The view from the boulder looking out over the river doesn't disappoint Cat, and we sit and talk for the next hour lightheartedly about things we've done, places we've been, and different people we've met.

"My parents believed in giving of their time to make the world a better place, so we grew up volunteering with them during their medical missionary trips. My brother used to play the guitar too, so we would teach the local village kids all of the popular American songs," she reflects smiling fondly.

Her stories are much warmer and colorful than mine, full of details that reveal her character: committed, caring, compassionate, loyal and loving. She is everything that I am not, and the realization of this suddenly makes my head hurt.

***

As promised, I get us back to the school just as students are filing out for lunch. The unexpected sound of my motorcycle pulling into the parking lot draws a few curious stares from students, including that of Carrie Tooley the last girl to climb off my bike. Cat hands me my helmet and unsuccessfully tries to run her hands through her tangled hair. _She really has no idea how gorgeous she is_ , I think as I watch her.

"Ronan, I had a really great time today, thank you for everything," she says sincerely.

Before I have a chance to respond, she places her hands on my shoulders and raises up on her tip toes, lightly kissing my cheek. Instinctively I wrap my arms around her waist and gently pull her closer, a move that feels entirely too comfortable given the amount of time we have spent together. She must feel the same because without hesitation she embraces me as well, resting her head on my chest. Neither of us say a word, but in that moment, I know that something deep within me is changing. I will never be the same man that I was when I woke up this morning, that's for certain.

***

It turns out that Cat's lunch meeting is with Nicholas again, whom she has agreed to tutor in math for the next few weeks.

"It would probably be better if you didn't sit with us at lunch. I think Nicholas would find you very intimidating and it would make it harder for him to learn," Cat says, when I request to have lunch with her. Absently she reaches up to straighten the collar on my jacket, an intimate gesture that if it were anyone other than her, would have made me uncomfortable. With her, it feels entirely natural and I fight the urge to pull her in my arms..

"I think poor Nicholas will be so distracted by you that he won't even know that I'm here," I reply, making her roll her eyes and blush.

"That's ok, I have some work to get done, too," I say reluctantly when she doesn't change her mind.

Tucker joins Cat and Nicholas for lunch and I hear him question Cat about her absence in Spanish class. She tells him that she was with me, and I am relieved that she doesn't feel the need to lie. He raises his eyebrows and I hear him say, "Ronan, really?" Cat doesn't give him a chance to comment further. She is already in deep concentration reviewing Nicholas's homework, making corrections and assigning Nicholas algebra problems that will likely take him the rest of the lunch hour to figure out.

***

Finally, it's Friday, and I am awakened at 5:45am to Rhoda and John in the kitchen discussing plans for Dr. Lowry's arrival tonight. Personally, I hadn't given him a second thought this whole week, so their discussion catches me off guard and immediately my chest tightens. Last night I surprised my parents by offering to take them out for dinner. I rarely volunteered to spend much time with either of them and my mom immediately became suspicious.

"Ronan, you've been acting a little strange lately. Is everything okay?" she asked nervously.

"Ahem, well mother I think you both will be happy to know that things are going exceptionally well," I admitted, watching the two of them exchange hopeful glances. "I met a girl..."

"From the high school?" my mom eagerly interrupted.

"Yes. Her name is Cat and she moved here this year. I've been giving her rides to school in the mornings."

"I told you he seemed happier," my mom said looking triumphantly at my dad.

"Please tells us Ronan, what's she like? Will we get to meet her soon?"

I was flooded with questions by Rhoda, while my dad quietly sat back with an amused expression on his face, listening to the two of us. It was a pivotal moment for the three of us and I found it surprisingly easy to tell them all about Cataryn.

"I'm going to ask her out tomorrow," I finally admitted to them, solidifying the event in my mind. I was anxious to talk to her again, but finding time alone (other than on a motorcycle) was becoming too much of a challenge.

***

Cat, Tucker and Nicholas are already seated when I get to the cafeteria. The lunchroom is crowded today and every table is taken. Burke invites me to sit with him on the opposite side of the room, and seeing no other options, I accept his offer. He is seated with two girls that I am certain he dated at different times last year. One of the girls, a blonde with too much makeup on, immediately takes an interest in me and wastes no time trying to seduce me into a silly, meaningless conversation on the difficulty girls have in finding the perfect prom dress. I fight the urge to tell her to shut up. When she notices that I am preoccupied with a table behind her, she skillfully leans forward in such a way that it is impossible to ignore her exposed cleavage in the very low cut blouse she's wearing.

Before I have a chance to block him mentally, I hear Burke snickering, encouraging me to ask her out. I don't bother responding, I am trying intently to listen to the conversation of the three students across the lunchroom. If I focus hard, I can still isolate the sound of Cat's voice over the other hundred students. Like previous days, she patiently coaches and mentors Nicholas as he painfully tries to understand his math assignments. Tucker has his guitar in his lap and is quietly strumming a soft melody. Every once in a while he looks over at Cat and Nicholas and the corner of his mouth turns up in a faint smile.

Having tolerated about all I can from my current lunch companions, I quickly finish eating and am packing up my stuff when I hear a loud clatter, followed by a commotion coming from the direction of Cat's table. It takes me less than two seconds to process the scene: Nicholas's lunch tray and food strewn over the floor; spaghetti sauce splattered on Cat's face, noodles and meat sauce stuck on the front of Nicholas's sweater; and Leland Brazier pulling him from his seat by a fistful hair.

Cat's eyes are wide with fear and I hear her scream, "NO, PLEASE STOP!"

Tucker is out of his chair, trying to persuade Leland to let Nicholas go, and Mason Brazier is making his way over to the scene with his fists clenched by his side, eyes flashing with excitement and hatred. Without letting go of Nicholas, Leland picks up a lunch tray and chucks it hard at Tucker, catching him in the gut which causes Tucker to double over.

"Shut up faggot," Leland sneers. A crowd of onlookers has already started to gather around the table.

My reaction is swift and spontaneous. Like a large predator, I am governed by instinct, focused on one thing - the kill! My hand lands on the back of Leland's neck and I effortlessly lift him off the ground with one arm. He instantly lets go of Nicholas's hair and his hands flail wildly as he tries to escape my grip. I barely register Mason's fist pounding on my back as I head for the door. Once outside, I fling Leland like a ragdoll and he lands in a crumpled heap at the base of a large oak tree.

I hear the crowd gasp and Mason Brazier bellows, "GET HIM!"

I'm not sure how many there are, but it doesn't matter. I am calm and focused, my body moves with precision and fluidity. A high kick to Mason's chest and he is down on the ground moaning. A fist to another's face and blood splatters on my shirt. A body collision between two others and the sound of breaking bones. I am so intently focused that I am only vaguely aware of someone trying to pull me away. And then in the midst of all the chaos, I hear it. The sound of Cat's voice. Sweet, melodic and pleading.

"Ronan, stop please." A sob escapes her lips and the sound is enough to break my trance. I am now aware of Burke at my side.

"For God's sake Ronan, get a grip," I hear him hiss through clenched teeth, as he tries to restrain my hands behind my back. I ignore him and easily break his grip. All I want is to see Cat and I start walking in the direction of her cries. She has her head buried in Tucker's chest and he has his arms around her, gently consoling her. Before I can reach her, the principal and a couple of male teachers detain me. I sense that they are apprehensive about physically restraining me, and I speculate that they must have witnessed some or all of the fight. I want to reassure them that I am in control now, and that I'm no longer a danger, but the words don't come. I obediently follow them to the school office.

***

Mr. Colter, the school principal, is sitting across from me, silently studying me as he rolls his pen between the fingers of his right hand. It's been just over an hour since my lunch time brawl and he has been in and out of the office, talking to police, getting statements from Tucker, Cat and Nicholas as well as various other witnesses to the event. I can hear the whispered conversations between faculty members even though the office door is closed. I learn that there were a total of five kids taken to the hospital with various degrees of injuries, from broken bones to a concussion suffered by Leland Brazier when he hit the tree. I am not remorseful. Had the sound of Cat's voice not stopped me, I was certain they would all be dead.

# CHAPTER NINE

CAT

"Miss McCullough, please come in," Mr. Colter, the school principal, says as he holds the door open to his office. He is a tall, thin man whose hooked nose and beady eyes make him look severe, so I am caught off guard by the sound of his soft, slow, southern accent and warm smile. He offers me a piece of hard candy that he has sitting in a dish on his desk and I politely decline. Mr. Colter has already interviewed and released Nicholas and Tucker, and I am painfully aware that Ronan is being detained in the next room.

Uniformed police officers have been in and out of the office as well, and Mr. Colter now tells me that one will be present in the office to record my statement. I am terrified. Terrified for Ronan and terrified that my involvement in the fight will somehow prompt a call to my Uncle Karl or generate questions about my living situation. My hands start to tremble and I slip them under my legs, but not before Mr. Colter sees.

"It's ok, Cat, this is just a formality. You did nothing wrong," he says in his slow southern drawl, and I start to relax a little.

Just then, the door opens and his secretary announces, "Officer Jones from the police department is here." A young uniformed police officer walks in and shakes hands with Mr. Colter, then turns to me and in a very serious, business like tone lets me know that he will be taking a statement from me. He adds that I need to answer each question truthfully and thoroughly. I am instantly suspicious of his authoritarian approach, thinking it is a little excessive for the situation, but I assure him of my intent to cooperate fully.

"So, Cataryn McCullough, tell me what happened first that prompted this fight?" Officer Jones says as he poises the pen, ready to take notes.

"Well, I was sitting with Tucker and Nicholas. I...I am tutoring Nicholas in math," I say, feeling the need to explain why I was sitting in the cafeteria with two guys. I see a look of curiosity in both of their eyes as if this is not typical and instantly I regret mentioning it.

"Ok, go on."

"Um, Leland Brazier came up behind Nicholas and grabbed him by the hair."

Officer Jones holds his hand up to stop me and says, "Did Leland say anything as to why he was angry?"

"Well he was mimicking Nicholas's speech impediment, I use the proper term that my parents taught me. And he called Tucker a faggot, along with some other unflattering words that I don't want to repeat."

I can see a look of respect in Mr. Colter's eyes now. I attribute this to him being a little more old-fashion, but Officer Jones is unfazed by my demure demeanor and continues to question me like I am a witness in a trial.

"Did any of you do anything to provoke the attack?" he says accusingly. I can feel the heat starting to rise in my cheeks and I temporarily forget about staying under the radar.

"Only if you consider being a homosexual or having a stuttering problem as a perfectly valid reason to be physically harassed by a bunch of bullies," I say icily, using as many politically charged words that I can think of. My tone catches them both off guard, and Officer Jones quickly reassures me that he is not justifying the bullying and has no problems personally with homosexuals.

He now redirects his questioning toward Ronan's involvement and asks me what happened when Ronan came over. At the mention of Ronan's name, my heart takes off like a racehorse and my breath catches in my throat. Ronan, the beautiful boy, who just a few days ago was nothing but a sweet, kind, considerate, gentleman with pure intentions. Now, the image I hold is in stark contrast to that of a few days ago.

The Ronan I saw today was frighteningly wild, strong as a bear and quick as a mountain lion, moving in a way that didn't seem humanly possible. He had a rage in his eyes that looked lethal and I am certain that he easily could have killed all five of the kids had something not stopped him. I fight to keep my voice even and monotone. I remind myself that the Brazier twins had it coming to them, and although I wouldn't lie, neither would I embellish the story to incriminate Ronan either. I give the officer a very generic, straight forward statement, leaving out phrases like "strong as a bear" and "quick as a mountain lion." I simply say that Ronan is a very skilled fighter and leave it at that.

The interview takes up most of the remainder of the afternoon and Mr. Colter releases me to go home early, which I am grateful for. I want to avoid the questions and stares from other students that are sure to follow in an event of this magnitude. My house is almost a mile from the school, which if I were to run, would take me less than ten minutes. I choose to walk today, giving myself the extra time to think about everything.

I wanted so much to talk to Ronan, but had no way of contacting him. He had my phone number, but I didn't have his and I had no idea where he lived. "Please call me Ronan," I whisper. The thought of going the whole weekend without knowing what happened to him was going to be torture. _Please, please call me_ , I plead as if he can hear my thoughts.

Giselle and Claire are immersed in a game of chess when I get home. I'm not sure how Claire is able to talk her into playing every day, considering that she loses every single time, but Giselle seems to be good natured about the whole thing. I assure her that Claire beats me in chess most of the time too. I use their preoccupation with the game to make a quick phone call to Tucker. He answers on the second ring, and I can hear the sound of relief in his voice when he hears me on the line.

"Cat, are you ok?" he asks with genuine concern in his voice.

"Yes, still a little rattled, but doing ok. How are you?" I counter, speaking in a low whisper which he picks up on right away.

"Are you home with Claire?" he asks knowingly. I have shared enough about myself with Tucker that he knows how protective I am of Claire and he doesn't ask questions that require me to explain things that might inadvertently be heard by her little ears.

"Tuck, I need a favor."

"Sure, what is it?" he says readily.

"I need to talk to Ronan and I don't have his phone number, do you know how I might get a hold of him?" I ask urgently.

"Hmm, I know he has been in the store before. Maybe I could find an old receipt that has a phone number or address on it. Let me do some research and I'll call you back."

"Thanks, Tucker." I place the phone on the receiver and turn around to find Claire standing behind me with a questioning look on her face. I scoop her up in my arms and give her a quick squeeze, then immediately move to the kitchen to figure out dinner. Mrs. Sanchez comes in with coat and purse in hand and says goodbye, giving Claire and myself a kiss on top of our heads, just like any grandmother would do.

***

Over dinner, I ask Claire about her day and she briefly tells me that she and Giselle walked to the park, fed the ducks, and played two games of chess.

I am poised to ask the question that I ask almost every day, which today she anticipates and immediately signs to me "No. I didn't move anything with my mind today."

"Good girl!" I say giving her a high five. Claire's gift for mobilizing inanimate objects without physically touching them is a constant worry of mine. Although I only learned about it earlier this year, I suspect that she unconsciously exercised the power long before she knew she even had it, as we would always find unexplainable objects in her crib. She insists that she can't help it, things just move even if she isn't trying to make them move. Admittedly, sometimes she seems as distressed as me when objects fly across the room. I could hardly expect a five-year old to control her thoughts at all times, but in order to start school next year, she had to be able to regulate them somewhat.

***

The cheap macaroni and cheese meal is a typical dinner for Claire and me. After eating, we clean the kitchen together. I am anxious to hear back from Tucker and keep looking at the phone in anticipation of his call. I finally conclude that he must have gotten busy in the music store and forgotten, so I usher Claire into the shower, then take a long hot one myself. When I finish, Claire is already in bed waiting for me, fighting hard to keep her droopy eyes open. It's just past 7:00 p.m. which is a little early for her to go to bed, but I don't say anything, thinking it will give me some time to myself to think about things.

I pick up my guitar and sit on the edge of her bed. "Watcha want me to sing tonight?" I ask grinning at her. We have a definite bedtime routine, which doesn't differ much from when our parents were alive. I had always been the one to sing her to sleep, even as an infant. My mom used to brag about our special bond, something that always made me especially proud. The truth is, I did love Claire so much. From the first day my parents brought her home, I wanted to be involved in her care. My mom would refer to me as "mini mom" because I was so protective over her. Claire now signs to me a request for "Return to Pooh Corner" her all time favorite bedtime song, and I comply, watching her eyes slowly flutter shut until she is faintly snoring.

***

I make myself a cup of tea and wrap a blanket around my shoulders, then ease into the rocker on the front porch. I replay Ronan's movements over and over again, trying to make sense of it all. I had seven years training in martial arts and my dad was a master black belt instructor, so I have seen the skill of some of the best karate practitioners around, but Ronan's skill and strength exceeded even my dad's. As I contemplate all of today's events, the sound of an approaching car interrupts my thoughts.

The house that we are renting is one of four on a quiet dirt road, and even though we have only been living here a few weeks, I instinctively know that a car approaching at this hour is not the norm. When the car comes into view, I instantly recognize the black Camry and my heart nearly stops. Uncle Karl. I grab the blanket and duck inside the house just as the Camry pulls up into the driveway. I immediately bolt the door, but it's too late to shut off the lights.

Uncle Karl had been married to my mother's only sister, Grace, and right from the beginning, he abused her. They didn't have any children (which my mom used to say was a blessing), but he blamed her for the three miscarriages she had while they were married. He was a suspect in her disappearance ten years ago, but was never charged. Now, as I hear his footsteps coming up the stairs, I wonder if Claire and I will suffer a similar fate. The bile creeps up my throat, like a volcano getting ready to explode. I can feel myself shaking and am not sure if my legs will hold me up.

"Please be sober, please, please be sober," I quietly plead. When Uncle Karl drinks, there is no reasoning with him at all, at least sober, there is a slight chance he might be nice. Karl had the best weapon to keep me in line. All he had to do was just threaten to turn Claire and me in to the State Foster System. Being separated from Claire was the thing I feared above anything, and he knew it. It was best just to give him what he wanted, which I assume is money.

I open the door, just as his hand is in midair getting ready to knock, and he stumbles forward. I instantly recognize the smell of brandy on his breath and my heart sinks. "Hi, Karl. What do you want?" I say coldly and business like.

"Well, hellooo little kitten," he slurs.

I cringe as he uses a nickname that is reserved only for my dad. I plant myself firmly in the doorway, blocking his view into the house. "Karl, I already gave you money this month, I don't have any more." I can tell by his wicked grin that he isn't going to accept no for an answer, and I reluctantly turn to get the little bit of cash stashed in the kitchen cupboard. He doesn't waste any time, following me through the door and closing it behind him.

I turn to hand him my last ten dollar bill and find him leaning against the door, with his arms folded across his chest and a smirk on his face. I suddenly think of how terrified my Aunt Grace must have been, living with this every day. The fear I feel now is almost crippling. He is like a ticking time bomb that I know at any time could go off.

"This is my last ten," I say, holding the money out to him. He doesn't readily take it and a new wave of panic washes over me.

He looks down at the money and says, "It's not enough."

"It's all..all, I have," I say, becoming increasingly nervous. "I can get you more tomorrow," I stammer.

A sly smile spreads across his face, "Or you can pay me in other ways," he says, eyeing me up and down.

_Oh God, please no, please no,_ I silently beg. "Uncle Karl, please, Claire is asleep and it's getting late. Why don't you go home now and get some rest. I will get some money to you by Monday," I say trying to keep my voice smooth as I attempt to reason with him.

"I'm not tired," he sneers, walking towards me.

I know what is about to happen even before I feel his large hand on my throat pinning me to the kitchen wall.

"You know, you look just like your Aunt Grace," he jeers. I can feel his fingers tugging at the buttons on my shirt and reflexively my knee comes up hard, connecting with its intended target. A slew of profanities exit his mouth and he grabs a fistful of my hair, swinging me around, forcefully throwing me into the fireplace. The instant pain in my shoulder is excruciating and an unintended cry escapes my lips. I hear the phone ringing in the distance and think of Tucker. And then I see Karl's fist above me and I brace myself for what I think might be the final blow. I think of Claire and hope he finishes her off too, the thought of her being orphaned in this world, possibly in his care, is terrifying.

I see the fireplace poker levitating above Karl's head before it comes down hard, striking him on the top of his skull. The blow stuns him, but doesn't knock him out, and he slowly turns to see who the assailant is. His eyes settle on Claire who is standing in the bedroom doorway, clutching a stuffed animal under one arm. She looks like an angel, dressed in a white nightgown, her wavy golden hair flowing over her shoulders. The expression on her face however is anything but angelic. Her eyes are locked on him and her lip is curled up in what looks like a snarl.

This time he sees the fireplace poker flying through the air without a hand attached to it and his eyes go wide. He holds his hands up to shield himself, and the iron catches him on the arm, making a loud snap on contact. He yells out in pain and attempts to scramble to the door, but he only gets halfway, when the iron swings around and collides with his lower leg. "Claire NO!" I scream. I see a look of confusion on his face as he looks at Claire, then at the poker, trying to make the connection between the two, and I instantly regret calling her name.

"Get out!" I order him as I stagger trying to get up, clutching my arm to my body. "Get out of here now!" I scream as I see the iron flying through the air for a fourth round. He gets up, limping, and runs for the door, making it out just as the iron comes down again, barely missing him and putting a large dent in the door frame. The door shuts quietly behind him and I see the dead bolt turn, making a clicking sound as it locks in place.

# CHAPTER TEN

RONAN

I have always gotten along well with Mr. Colter, and even now, as we sit across from each other, separated only by a mahogany desk, I don't get the impression that he is particularly angry with me. He is wordlessly staring at me with a somewhat puzzled expression on his face, like a person trying to figure something out, but can't quite put a finger on it.

"So Ronan, you didn't hurt yourself did you?" he asks.

"No sir. I'm fine."

"You haven't been having trouble with the Brazier boys have you?" he probes.

"No sir. They don't bother me," I reply, wishing Officer Jones would get his ass in here, so I'd only have to do this once.

To my relief Mr. Colter doesn't question me any further and quietly tells me that both my parents are on their way to the school.

He doesn't know that I have listened to the last three interviews with Tucker, Nicholas, and Cat, being conducted in the room next door. They all three gave similar accounts of the event, which at least favored me as somewhat of a hero, versus a violent delinquent. Cat's statement was the hardest to listen to, not because of the words, but because of the emotional strain that was evident in her voice. My mind is full of questions, not about the status of the Brazier gang, or my fate, but only of Cat. _What was she thinking? I'm sure she thinks I'm crazy, maybe even a sociopath_. I want to tell her I would never hurt her, never in a million years. I consider calling her when I get home, then instantly worry that she doesn't want to talk to me.

As the minutes on the clock tick by, my patience begins to wear. In any other circumstance, I simply would have gotten up and left. I had little doubt that anyone at the school would have tried to stop me. I watch as Mr. Colter grows even more restless than me, shifting in his chair and gripping the arms as if bracing for a rough landing in an airplane. He glances at his watch every five minutes and periodically abruptly gets up, opens the office door and sticks his head out, glancing around the waiting area.

"Maybe it was time for his coffee and donut break," I mumble sarcastically, eliciting a smile from him. Finally, he punches the intercom button, holding it down with enough force, that his finger tip turns white.

"Shirley, where is Officer Jones?" he asks, clenching his jaw.

"He's outside talking with some of the female students," she replies hesitantly.

"Tell him that I said to get in here now!" he bellows. It's the only time I've heard anything other than a slow, soft southern drawl come out of his mouth and I can't help but chuckle. Within five minutes, Officer Jones comes sauntering in as if nobody has anything better to do than wait for his arrival. Immediately I recognize his face. I silently count how many times we've crossed paths in the past few weeks. I've seen him hanging around the school, passing me in the grocery store aisles, sitting behind me in restaurants, even parked in front of a house two doors down from mine. At the time I didn't think much of it, but now that I've computed a total of twenty nine encounters with the guy, I have a nagging suspicion that he's not here by coincidence.

"Officer Jones, this is Ronan Callahan," Mr. Colter quickly introduces us.

I stand and offer a handshake, mostly to force him to have to look up at me. He extends his hand reluctantly and I grip it with a little more force then intended causing him to wince and jerk his arm away.

He asks some general questions about where in the cafeteria I was sitting and with whom. He asks me if I had ever had a run in with Leland and Mason Brazier and I tell him yes, explaining the incident that occurred over a year ago.

"And were you hurt in that incident?" he inquires.

"No, not really," I say, already seeing where the conversation is headed.

"And were either of the Brazier boys hurt?" he asks with a smirk on his face.

"Yes. I think so," I reply.

"What were their injuries?" he says, leaning towards me as if I am on a witness stand.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask their doctor?" I reply coldly. I see Mr. Colter shift uncomfortably in his chair and Officer Jones backs up slightly.

"All right Ronan, why did you intervene when you saw Leland approach their table?" he suddenly asks.

"Because I feared for my friends' safety," I say slowly through clenched teeth.

"And how do you know they were in danger? The statement the Braziers gave indicated that it was all in good fun," he says innocently.

I give Mr. Colter a "is this guy for real?" look. I am quickly losing my patience with him, but I plaster a bored expression on my face (something that used to drive my parents crazy).

"You know, Officer," I pause to make sure I have his attention, then echo a version of Cat's interview. "I'm getting the impression that this is a one-sided investigation, and I'm concerned that you are prejudice against people in the LGBT community." Officer Jones immediately becomes nervous. _Bingo,_ I think to myself. I don't give him a chance to respond. I quickly follow with, "Who is your supervisor? I really think we need to have someone who is not bias present during this investigation." Now I did it. A bead of sweat starts to form on the young officer's brow and his eyes widen with fear.

"Wait a minute, I didn't..." He looks to Mr. Colter for help "I didn't sss...say anything about Tucker being gay," he stammers.

I lean back in my chair and look at Mr. Colter with a concerned expression. "I don't know, I am just really feeling discriminatory undertones here. Maybe we should call Cat, Tucker, and Nicholas to see if they felt it too?" I say, shaking my head. Mr. Colter doesn't react, but I see the corner of his mouth turn up in a faint smile. Officer Jones checks his notes and says he has all the information he needs, and will call if he has any further questions. He then abruptly leaves the office. "Ronan," Mr. Colter says, shaking his head. His secretary announces the arrival of my parents and he doesn't finish his thought.

***

I am relieved that I am excluded from the meeting between Mr. Colter and my parents. I have no interest in the conversation. I can pretty much predict my parent's reaction to the incident, and know I will get a repeat of the conversation when they get home anyway. School was released almost an hour ago, so the parking lot is deserted and I easily spot my motorcycle. I weave in and out of rush hour traffic, making it home in less than fifteen minutes. There is an unfamiliar car parked in our driveway and immediately I think, _please not an undercover cop_. The car is empty, so whoever it is has let themselves inside already. Instead of going through the garage, I enter the house through the front door and find Michael Lowry seated on the couch in the living room. "Shit, that's right," I mutter and he chuckles lightly I had completely forgotten about Dr. Lowry coming in tonight.

"Nice to see you again, Ronan," he says as he stands to shake my hand. His eyes lower to my blood splattered shirt, but he doesn't say anything. A noise from the hallway bathroom makes me look at him questioningly, but before he can say anything, I see a young girl walking down the hall. She already has a smile on her face and walks directly to me with her hand outstretched.

"You must be Ronan," she says with a warm smile. "My name is Elizabeth Kappel." I am stunned into silence and it takes me several seconds before I can respond.

"You're Elizabeth Kappel? You're Dr. Kappel's daughter?" I say, shaking my head in disbelief and looking to Dr. Lowry for confirmation.

"Yes, I am Dr. Kappel's daughter," she confirms.

I find the nearest chair and plop down in it; she takes a seat next to Michael on the couch. I remember my Grandmother's stories about her and instantly have a million questions. I've already started a checklist in my mind. The first question I direct towards Michael, "How did you find her?"

"I didn't," he responds with a mischievous grin. "She found me."

She smiles too and for the first time, I take note of her features: long blonde hair, unusually bright blue eyes. They are almost violet with a faint halo of yellow around the iris. I'm not sure what it is with parents, but they seem to consistently go for the unusual eye color combinations when given designer options.

_Yep-looks like a Designer baby to me_ , I think to myself. "Do my parents know?" I ask Michael. He shakes his head no.

"They told me about the incident at school," he pauses and once again regards my blood stained shirt, as does Elizabeth. "I thought it would be better if we waited until they got home," he says. Elizabeth now looks down at her hands as she nervously winds a tissue around her finger.

"How long do I have?" I ask bluntly, catching them both off guard.

Michael looks at Elizabeth, then shrugs his shoulders and softly says, "If you're infected, maybe eight months to a year."

I suck in a deep breath and slowly blow it out. Suddenly I can't sit. I jump up and start pacing back and forth in the living room, feeling like a caged wild animal. The fire begins to burn in my chest and my long exhaled breaths make a hissing sound. "Does your dad have any idea of the death sentence he's given us?" I say through clenched teeth.

Elizabeth quietly replies "No. He died four years ago."

For the second time tonight I am speechless.

***

Between our family, the Harolds, Michael, and Elizabeth, every seat at the dining room table is taken. There are four empty pizza boxes stacked at one end of the table and my mom and Aunt Terry are slowly cleaning up. The mood in the air is somber as everyone reflects on the information given by Elizabeth Kappel. It took her almost two hours to recount everything that she knew about CGEM and the type of genetic modifications authorized by her dad. We learn that there were approximately three hundred Designer babies created over the span of twenty years, each one with slightly different DNA combinations. According to Elizabeth, Dr. Kappel used a variety of different animals to engineer each child.

"He had a vision to create a superior collection of kids that he could showcase to the world," she says with sadness in her voice, and I am instantly reminded of my grandmother's stories of Elizabeth accompanying her father to medical conferences. "His goal was to improve only on the physical traits already given to humans, not add unusual traits such as wings or fins," she says, as if this makes things better.

"Gee thanks a lot," I mutter sarcastically. She ignores me and continues, "So most of the Designer babies were infused with non-human DNA that would give them such things as superior eyesight, hearing, strength, speed, and sometimes smell." Elizabeth catches me glaring at my mom at this point but before I can say anything, she quickly adds, "Most of the parents had no idea that their babies were being modified with non-human DNA." My mom and Aunt Terry nod their heads in agreement.

Michael Lowry proudly interjects, "Elizabeth has already partially isolated the source of the deadly virus that is claiming the lives of genetically modified children."

"I think the virus is the result of cross linking DNA from chimpanzees with other non-human DNA. We need to find out what the other DNA strand is from," Elizabeth says matter-of-factly.

"How did you determine that chimpanzee DNA is partly to blame?" Burke asks.

"Because testing on symptomatic Designer's reveal virus strains that commonly occur in primates." Elizabeth pauses and hesitantly looks around, resting her eyes on me, "It's the mystery DNA strand that we think is causing the aggressiveness seen in the symptomatic Designers. The virus strain found in primates isn't necessarily deadly or dangerous, but when it's linked with the other DNA strand, it can become lethal," she finishes.

"Why can't they just take a DNA sample from me and determine my DNA profile, so they can start working on a cure?" I blurt out impatiently, as if this is completely obvious. Everyone is quiet for a moment, looking at Elizabeth questioningly. Once again, she looks down, winding the napkin around her fingers. I want to tell her to stop, but look away instead.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and looks around the table at seven pair of eyes staring at her. "It might not be in your best interest to seek help within the medical community," she says slowly, glancing up at my parents through a set of thick lashes.

My dad speaks for the first time. "Elizabeth, my wife and I are both in the medical field, why wouldn't we trust our colleagues?" he asks in his quiet, gentle way like someone whose had years of practice, coaxing information out of unwilling patients.

Elizabeth smiles at him appreciatively and continues. "There is rumor that the virus that Designer's are carrying has the potential to mutate into a strain that is very deadly and contagious to all humans. The Center for Disease Control believes that it could be the next super virus that has the potential to wipe out three quarters of the human population," she says swallowing hard. If that's the case, they will view us as a threat and attempt to quarantine us. The look on Dr. Lowry's face tells me that he is as shocked as the rest of us by this revelation. I glance around at the rest of them and everyone has a similar look. But now, I notice that Burke and Elizabeth are locked in a gaze with such intensity that Burke doesn't hear me immediately in his thoughts.

_Burke this isn't the time!_ I silently scream at him, assuming he is trying to pick up on her. He turns his head slowly in my direction and his face is ashen as he responds, _She can connect calls with us, Ronan_.

_What?_ I say, instantly looking to Elizabeth, focusing my attention on her and silently speaking to her mind. _Elizabeth can you hear me?_ I ask pronouncing the words distinctly.

_Yes,_ she responds in a daze.

The rest of the occupants at the table are oblivious to the silent dialogue between the three of us.

My mom is the first to speak. She clears her throat and pushes her chair back from the table. "Well this sounds like some conspiracy theory hysteria, more than anything," she says, trying to minimize the news as she starts to clean up the table. Aunt Terry gets up to help her and Mr. Harold, my dad and Michael engage in further conversation about the improbabilities of a super virus killer.

Elizabeth, still getting used to her new form of communication, says to Burke and me with perfect clarity, _I have a reliable resource that says the government is trying to track down all CGEM patient's, not to help with a cure, but to eliminate the threat. Please don't let your parents expose you._ Her words send a shiver down my spine.

_What about Michael, can he be trusted_? I ask, now feeling suddenly paranoid.

She nods her head yes.

***

The remainder of the meeting is somewhat of a blur to me. The Harolds eventually go home and Michael and Elizabeth go to their hotel, promising my mother that they would take her up on the offer to stay at our house tomorrow night. Elizabeth eases my mind by letting me know that I wouldn't be contagious for a while, at least not until I develop respiratory symptoms. I immediately think of Cat, suddenly having an urgent desire to see her.

***

My phone call to Cat goes unanswered and I spend the next thirty minutes thinking of every reason why she wouldn't want to answer the phone. In the end, with the house now empty, and me with built up excess energy, I decide to go for a run. Once out the door, I take off like lightening through the night air. I am across town in minutes and walking down Hurley Street to Cat's house, grateful that I covertly followed her home two days ago. As I walk up the driveway, I notice that the living room lights are still on and I once again insecurely start to question the reason for my unanswered call. It takes me several minutes to get up the courage to knock on the door as I try to think of perfectly valid reasons for stopping by unannounced.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

CAT

The pain in my right shoulder is excruciating and I struggle to keep the macaroni and cheese from reappearing as a wave of nausea washes over me. Claire is still clutching her stuffed animal and the earlier snarl on her face is replaced with the wide innocent eyes of a frightened five-year-old. Her lower lip is trembling and I see her bite it, just like I do when I'm trying hard not to cry. I want to comfort her and tell her it's going to be ok, but she and I both know that we are in deep, deep trouble.

Uncle Karl is gone for now, but he will be back. He's just not the type that would easily surrender power to two minors, especially girls, no matter how supernatural the earlier circumstances were. He is evil and malicious to the bone, and all doubts about his involvement with my Aunt Grace's disappearance are gone. He definitely killed her, I know this. Just like I know he would have raped me tonight. That is, if Claire hadn't used her gift to intercede.

Claire's gift...the supernatural power to move physical objects with her mind.

A gift that I have been trying so hard to discourage her from using.

A gift that I was worried would keep her from doing normal things like going to school or playing with friends.

A gift that would label her as a "witch".

A gift that before tonight, I was sure would destroy us.

My fingers on my right hand are starting to tingle now, and I am reminded of what the doctors told me the last time I had a dislocated shoulder, "If not put back in place, it could cut off the blood supply to your hand." I am ninety-nine percent positive that I dislocated my shoulder when Uncle Karl threw me against the fireplace. At least I hope it is just that and not a broken bone. A dislocated shoulder could be put back into place by an experienced doctor, in just a few minutes, at least not the previous time it happened, it seemed like it only took a few minutes.

I try hard to remember how the doctor moved my arm to get it back in place and wonder if I could do it to myself. An involuntary shudder racks my body at the thought and I remind myself that before that procedure, I was given pain medication that made me sleepy for two days. The images of my parents and brother at my bedside with concerned faces, my mom rubbing my arm talking to me in a soothing, calming voice, and my dad kissing my forehead, now comes to mind and against my best effort, I start to cry.

Claire is by my side in an instant and tears are now running down her cheeks as well. I want to put my arm around her and hold her close, but I am scared to let go of my right arm, the tiniest movement sends a lightning bolt of pain down my arm. This time though, she is the one trying to console me. She gently pushes my wet hair out of my face and offers me the end of her nightgown to wipe my nose. The gesture only makes the tears come down harder. I tell myself to pull it together and try hard to concentrate on coming up with a plan. The most immediate need, fix my arm. Claire must have guessed this to; she gently touches my shoulder and looks at me with questioning eyes, signing the word, "Broken?" Oddly enough, her touch seems to ease the pain just slightly.

Before I can respond to Claire's question, there is a quiet knock on the door and we both freeze. A hundred thoughts race through my mind. _Uncle Karl is back. No, Karl wouldn't knock quietly, if he knocked at all. He would probably just kick the door in. Maybe it's the police, maybe Karl called the police. Oh God, please no, please no!_ I would rather face Uncle Karl again than a police officer. A police officer would take us away and put us in foster care, for sure. I would rather die than be separated from Claire again. Claire is at the window, looking out, before I have a chance to stop her.

"Claire no!" I hiss. Temporarily forgetting about the pain, I let go of my arm and frantically motion for her to come back away from the window.

She looks back at me with a puzzled expression on her face and signs, "It's the boy."

"Tucker," I whisper. _It has to be Tucker_ , I think. He is the only one who knows where I live and I am certain he is the one who called earlier. Relief suddenly washes over me and I stumble, almost tripping and falling, trying to get to the door.

The body on the other side of the door is that of an angel. A tall, strong, beautiful angel, with eyes full of concern and a voice that is soft, gentle and soothing. An angel with arms that are holding me close as I sob uncontrollably. I was expecting Tucker, but it was Ronan Callahan who stood there, looking like he wasn't sure if he should be there at all. I didn't wait to ask him why he was here or how he knew where I lived, just a few of my fleeting thoughts. I immediately collapsed in his arms and he readily determines something terrible has taken place. "Everything is okay now," he murmurs in my ear, his voice calm and reassuring. I can't be sure, but it feels like his lips are brushing the top of my head.

He addresses Claire with equal sensitivity. "Don't be afraid, I will take care of everything. Can you get me a phone so I can call an ambulance?"

"God no! Please Ronan, you can't call an ambulance. He'll find out! I can't go to the hospital. I can't afford it. They'll take Claire from me. Please don't!" I ramble hysterically, causing his arms to tighten around me.

"Cataryn, I won't let anyone hurt you or take Claire away. I promise. Please just tell me what happened. You have to trust me," he says gently lifting my chin, forcing me to look up. His golden eyes seem to glow in the dimly lit room, and I feel like I am being submerged into a pool of warm liquid gold. I'm not sure how or why, but in this moment I do trust him...completely.

"It was my uncle. He had been drinking and wanted some money," I begin, glancing at Claire who stands motionless watching the two of us.

"Claire, can you get me a towel, a washcloth and some ice?" Ronan asks, sending her out of the room to find the items.

"Cat, did he try to...," he asks glancing down at my torn shirt, his body tensing up.

"Tried but didn't get very far. Look Ronan, I don't want to get you involved. It's just family stuff that I need to work out..."

"Trust me Cat, I'm involved," he says interrupting me, his lips forming a half smile.

Claire comes back with the requested items and Ronan assigns her the task of holding an ice pack on my shoulder, while he makes a splint out of the towel, gently securing my arm in front of my chest.

It takes me over an hour to tell Ronan what happened. Strangely enough, I don't feel the need to lie. Well, unless leaving out the part where Claire inflicted injuries with a fireplace poker that she actually wasn't holding counts as a lie. At any rate, he doesn't question me further on the matter, so for now I am relieved of any potential guilt. Ronan is the first and only person to know of Claire and my situation with Uncle Karl and our undisclosed emancipation. He seems unalarmed by the news, as if a sixteen-year-old raising her five-year-old sister is completely normal. When I am finished with the story, he is quiet and his jaw is set, like he wants to say something, but is holding back. I can't tell if he is angry or just being thoughtful.

"Here is what we are going to do, Cat," he finally says with the self-assurance and authority of an adult.

I already told him that going to the ER was out of the question. First, because I couldn't afford to pay for it; second, because they would call Uncle Karl for authorization to treat; and third, they would call the police for sure. I had spent enough time listening to my parents' medical stories and helping them treat patients when they were in the Medical Missionary, to know how these things worked.

"I am going to take you and Claire to my house tonight. My dad may be able to fix your shoulder; if not, he will know who can," he says with finality, maybe predicting that I am going to object.

"Ronan, I can't get your parents involved in this, it's bad enough that you are here. If my uncle comes back..." I say, shaking my head, unable to finish.

"If your uncle comes back, I will kill him," he replies quietly and matter-of-factly. Suddenly, I am reminded of today's earlier events at school, and I am certain he is telling the truth. "Either I stay here, or you guys come to my house. The choice is yours," he says as if those are the only two options.

Before I can answer, he turns to Claire, "What do you say Claire? Do you wanna come stay at Hotel Callahan?"

The grin on her face is her confirmation and she nods her head vigorously.

"Well then, it's settled!" he says, grinning back at her and giving her a high five.

Ronan hadn't come by car, so he calls his dad to come get us. Judging by their short conversation, his dad must not be the type that asks a lot of questions; although I did hear Ronan say, "I'll explain later."

With my arm splinted and the maximum dose of Motrin on board, the pain in my arm eases slightly, and I am able to get a few things for Claire and I packed into a small suitcase. I am anxious about meeting Ronan's parents, and mentally prepare myself to answer the questions that Ronan didn't think to ask. I hear Ronan answering the door while I'm in the back bedroom packing, and I take the opportunity to have a private conversation with Claire.

"Listen honey," I whisper, kneeling down to look in her eyes. "Your gift saved our lives tonight, but now you have to be careful not to use it in front of the Callahans, okay?"

She nods her head and signs, "I know."

***

It is almost 10:00 p.m. when we pull into the Callahans' driveway. His house is one of the largest in a neighborhood comprised of large houses. Claire has fallen asleep on the drive over and her faint little snores make Mr. Callahan chuckle. Ronan doesn't hesitate to lift her out of the car, and she instinctively wraps her arms around his neck, only arousing awake to look around to make sure I'm still with her. I wonder what Mrs. Callahan will say when she sees us, not sure of how much warning was given of our situation.

My fears are alleviated as soon as she opens the door. Like Mr. Callahan, she is warm and inviting, ushering us into their home as if we are old family friends. I see Ronan look at her appreciatively and wonder if he was expecting a different reaction.

Claire is handed off to Rhoda, as she insists on being called, and she leads us up a flight of stairs, then down a long hallway to a guest room that she has already prepared for us. Ronan is right behind us with our bags. The guest suite has a private bathroom, and is tastefully decorated in a coordinating green floral stripe patterns. The queen size bed is raised a good two feet off the ground and I am immediately concerned about getting in and out of it with my injured arm.

As if reading my mind, Ronan says, "Hopefully we'll get your arm fixed tonight so you can get in and out of this thing."

"Shhh," his mom hushes him, insinuating that his voice might wake Claire up. She gently lays her down, tucking the blankets snugly under her chin.

"Ronan, take Cat downstairs to the kitchen please. My husband will look at your arm," she says, turning to me and smiling warmly. She sees my hesitation, and quickly adds,

"I will stay with Claire in case she wakes up while you are gone." Ronan watches his mom with a look of confusion, as if he is seeing something new for the first time.

Mr. Callahan is waiting for us when we come back down. He gently removes Ronan's homemade splint and palpates the bones in my shoulder, which quickly restores my previous level of pain. No matter how hard I try, I can't stop myself from moaning and clenching my teeth together. I catch Ronan fidgeting out of the corner of my eye, and wonder if he is the type that faints with medical stuff. Mr. Callahan reminds me of my own dad, working on patients, and the thought instantly brings tears to my eyes. He has the same calming voice and focused attention as my dad, even right now as his head is bent over examining my hand and fingers. He tells me to wiggle my fingers and asks me some questions about numbness and tingling of my hand. When he's done, he removes his glasses and wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"Can you reduce it here without an x-ray?" I say using the proper medical terms.

He looks surprised by my question. "You seem to know a lot about this?" he says, more as a question that requires further clarification than a statement.

"Um, yes, I had a dislocated shoulder from a ski accident a few years ago, and I also used to help my parents treat patients in some of the remote villages in Haiti. They were physicians as well."

Where are your parents now?" he asks, as he looks at Ronan with a "why didn't you tell me this before" expression on his face. And now I look at Ronan with the same expression. I assumed that he told them about my parents' death.

Ronan replies to both of us at the same time. "I didn't get the chance," he says a little defensively."

My parents are both dead, along with my twin brother," I say, fighting desperately to not tear up again. No matter how many times I say those words, I know it will never get easier.

He must sense that I am at my emotional breaking point, because he doesn't ask any further questions. He simply says, "I'm so sorry, Cat."

The next twenty minutes are spent debating on whether or not I should go to the emergency department to have x-rays and pain medication before my arm is moved. In the end, my pleading, well, actually begging, is enough to get Mr. Callahan to attempt a reduction in his kitchen. He gives me a strong pain pill and waits for me to feel drowsy, then tells Ronan to get me a rolled up wash cloth to bite down on.

"Are you going to be a good sport and hold my hand?" I say playfully to Ronan, adding, "I promise I'll try not to break your fingers."

"I'm not too worried," he says, placing two very large fingers in my outstretched palm.

Dr. Callahan carefully starts to raise my arm, while palpating the shoulder joint, and the agonizing pain makes me break out in a light sweat. I close my eyes and clench down on the wash cloth, squeezing Ronan's fingers with enough force to break them, at least I think so. I refuse to utter a sound, knowing that doing so might result in Mr. Callahan aborting the procedure. He gently puts traction on my arm while he continues to raise it up, rotating it inward as he does. The pain is unbearable and in spite of my resolve to not cry, a tear escapes and slowly rolls down my cheek.

"Just a little more, we are almost there," I hear Mr. Callahan murmur.

I start to feel lightheaded and know that I am only a few seconds away from surrendering. In the next minute, three things happen almost simultaneously. Mr. Callahan raises and rotates my arm and I hear a "popping" sound as my shoulder joint moves into place, I vomit all over the Callahans' floor, and I pass out, with Ronan catching me just before my head hits the countertop.

***

"Cat, are you okay?" I can hear the concern in his voice and want to tell him that I am, but my brain feels foggy and my tongue feels heavy. I am lying on something soft and my arm no longer hurts. Ronan is leaning close enough to me that I can feel the warmth of his breath. I reach up and run my hand along his arm, then up to his neck which is warm and moist, like he just finished exercising. I slowly open my eyes and blink a few times, focusing on his smiling face. It seems completely inappropriate to think about kissing him, but those are the thoughts that are occupying my mind right now, and I hope it's just the medication that's making me so loopy. The sound of approaching footsteps quickly dispels all thoughts of kissing and I struggle to try and sit up.

Mr. Callahan checks the pulse in my wrist and makes sure that the circulation to my fingers is good. "How do you feel, Cat? Is your shoulder hurting at all?" he questions me.

"No, I'm fine. Just tired," I say, yawning.

"Ronan, why don't you carry her upstairs and get her to bed," he instructs, and instantly Ronan lifts me and has me cradled in his arms before I ever have a chance to object. He effortlessly carries me up the flight of stairs and gently lays me on the bed next to Claire, who doesn't look like she has moved an inch since being put there over two hours ago. My arm doesn't readily unwrap itself from around his neck, and when he lays me on the bed, his head is pulled down with me. The touch of his soft, warm lips on mine is sweet and tender. He lingers, it seems, almost deliberately, waiting for my response. Instinctively I arch up to kiss him back, and then I feel his lips form a smile over mine, and I smile as well. I wonder if this is his first kiss too, but quickly discard the idea as completely unlikely. He's much too beautiful to be inexperienced in such matters.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

RONAN

I had never given much thought about God and religion until tonight. John and Rhoda were not religious, at least I didn't think they were, and there were never those types of conversations between the three of us. Tonight however, as I lay in bed, long after everyone else is asleep, long after my first kiss with Cat, and long after I've recounted all of the day's events, I find myself contemplating praying. I have never had difficulty expressing or articulating myself, but the idea of talking to an entity that I wasn't even sure existed has me at a loss for words. I mean how do you ask for the insurmountable from something that you really don't believe in, then find a way to believe that it somehow will miraculously materialize?

Somewhere between the first signs of dawn and a pathetic plea to God to give me at least a chance to a life beyond my teen years, I fall into a deep sleep and don't arouse until the sound of slamming car doors jolts me awake. I instantly recognize the voices of Michael, Elizabeth, and Burke in our driveway. It takes me only a minute to make the connection that Cat and Claire are still asleep in the guestroom down the hall and in a few minutes the house is going to be full of people working on a plan to find a cure to a deadly virus that I might be carrying, and if so, will be responsible for transmitting to millions of others. That is, if I'm not destroyed beforehand by some secret government agency. How do you explain that one?

I am downstairs before the doorbell rings, taking only enough time to get dressed and brush my teeth. The latter, just in case I get the opportunity for a second kiss.

Michael's hand is poised midair to knock when I open the door. I immediately put my finger to my lips for the universal "be quiet" sign. The three look a little puzzled but don't say anything as they follow me into the living room. The house is eerily quiet, and it dawns on me that Rhoda and John are usually up way before eight thirty in the morning. I assume they went out to get donuts and coffee for the morning crowd. The door to the guest room is still closed when I go by, so I hope it's a sign that Cat and Claire are still sleeping. Burke and Elizabeth simultaneously try to connect with me mentally, and I tell them, _"One person in my head a time please."_ This makes Elizabeth smile.

"First things first," I say out loud before there are any more exchanges of mental dialogue. "We had a late night emergency and some unexpected overnight guests, who are still upstairs sleeping," I say, keeping my voice low. Michael, Elizabeth, and Burke listen attentively as I recap last night's events, substituting an unknown intruder for the personal details about Cat's uncle. Basically, I give just enough information to satisfy their curiosity and enlist their support in taking care of Cat and Claire. The sound of a flushing toilet and shower running upstairs lets me know that I only have a short time to come up with a plan to keep Cat and Claire safe while still allowing us to conduct business. Burke's suggestion of moving the meeting to his house is adopted by everyone present.

It would have been much simpler to get Michael, Elizabeth, and Burke out the door before Cat came downstairs, but as luck would have it, John and Rhoda show up with bagels and coffee just as the three are getting ready to leave, and by the time greetings were exchanged, Cat was already making her way downstairs. Her arm is back in the sling, but her wet hair and buttoned up blouse tells me that she must have satisfactory use of her right hand. _Even with wet hair and no make-up, she is gorgeous_ , I think to myself, and judging by the look in Michael and Burke's eyes, I'm not the only one who thinks so.

The crowd in the kitchen momentarily catches her off guard, but once introductions are made, she quickly seems at ease. She engages my mom in a polite conversation about the status of her arm, the comfort of the guest bed, and Claire's mode of communication. Every once in a while we catch each other's eye, and I am sure the flirtatious way she bats her eyelids is completely innocent and unintentional, but nonetheless, it makes my heart beat wildly every time. In general, the mood in the kitchen is unexpectedly cheerful given the dire circumstances at hand.

Claire's quiet entrance into the kitchen goes unnoticed by the adults until Elizabeth greets her with a surprised and friendly, "Well, hello." Everyone turns at the same time to find Claire standing there in a white nightgown, with a stuffed animal tucked under one arm. Her eyes are wide with curiosity and a hint of fear until she spots Cat in the crowd, and then she relaxes and shyly starts fidgeting with her stuffed animal. She is a mini version of Cat, only with long, wavy, golden blonde hair. Her big brown eyes and delicate features make her look like a beautifully crafted porcelain doll. Cat is kneeling at her side almost instantly and Claire gingerly touches her injured shoulder, signing something that is easily interpreted as an inquiry regarding the status of her injury. The look of concern on her face seems out of place for a five-year-old.

"My shoulder is much better. I'm just wearing the splint as a precaution," Cat softly reassures her, "Really." It is evident very quickly that the two sisters share an unusually strong bond that goes beyond the obligations of orphaned family members. The two continue to converse by use of sign language for a few more minutes, then Cat stands up and clears her throat.

"Dr. and Mrs. Callahan, thank you so much for welcoming us into your home and taking care of my arm. Your generosity will never be forgotten. Ronan, if you don't mind, could we get a ride home?" Cat says with formality. Her question completely catches me off guard, and the thought of the two of them going back to the house alone with their crazy uncle on the loose is out of the question - at least in my mind it is. Before I have a chance to respond, there is a loud knock on the door that makes us all jump.

My dad goes to answer the door and as soon as Officer Jones announces himself and asks for me by name, I know that something unpleasant is about to happen. Burke echoes my concern with a silent, "Oh shit."

My dad returns to the kitchen and avoids eye contact with my mom. "Son, Officer Jones is here to see you."

I hear Cat suck in her breath and I quickly look at her, hoping my smile conveys reassurance. Our eyes lock and now I see my earlier worries for her reciprocated in her eyes.

Officer Jones is standing in the living room with a smirk on his face, obviously enjoying the power that he has over me right now. He doesn't waste any time telling me the purpose of the visit. "Ronan Callahan, you have the right to remain silent..."

I don't register the rest of the Miranda Rights being read to me by Officer Jones, or feel the handcuffs being placed on my wrists. I only comprehend that I am being arrested for assault and battery of the Brazier bunch. I hear my mom softly crying in the background and Elizabeth consoling her.

I hear Michael and my dad discussing good attorneys, and I hear Burke in my mind, telling me, "Hang in there, everything's going to be all right." I sense Cat by my side even before I feel the touch of her hand on my arm, and the first spark of anger comes only when Officer Jones insults her with a comment about "keeping better company." Even without the use of my hands, I could likely kill Officer Jones before he even had a chance to reach for his weapon. I look in Cat's eyes to squelch the rage that is starting to stir in my chest, and immediately I feel calmer.

***

By the time I have been fingerprinted and my mug shots have been taken, my attorney is waiting for me in a conference room. He introduces himself as Gerald Manning, and I instantly recognize the name as one of several in the partnership of the largest law firm in Great Falls. He doesn't waste any time getting down to business, and for the next two hours I relay every detail I can think of about the fight. He listens intently, taking notes and making diagrams, but eyes me skeptically, undoubtedly trying to figure out how I could inflict so much damage to five good sized kids and come out of it without a scratch. Mr. Manning concludes the interview by telling me that my dad is arranging for bail, and I should be out of here in a few hours.

A few hours turns into six before I am told that bail was denied.

"What? Bail is denied for a straight A, high school junior with no prior record and who was acting in self-defense?" I overhear my attorney bellow at one of the officers.

I am stunned. I am being treated like a violent criminal that committed some sort of capital offense. I have been denied phone calls or visits from anyone. Had it not been for my mental connections with Burke and Elizabeth, I might have gone berserk.

Burke informs me that Cat and Claire have agreed to stay one more night at my parent's house. Elizabeth and Michael Lowry are convinced that this is some sort of conspiracy by the government, and given the unusual circumstances, I am beginning to wonder if they might be right. By the evening I am exhausted, and eventually concede to the fact that I will be sleeping in a jail cell tonight.

I lie down and immediately start thinking of Cat. I suddenly remember Cat's whispered conversation to Claire last night and I reflect on her words, and their possible meaning, "Your gift saved our lives tonight, but now you have to be careful not to use it in front of the Callahans." I hear Cat's voice saying these words over and over again, and I am completely puzzled by what it means. What kind of a gift does Claire have and how did she use it to scare off a grown man who was intent on raping a young girl?

None of it makes sense, but then again nothing about my special gifts make sense either. I have a fleeting thought that maybe Claire is a Designer baby too. _No_ , I quickly say to myself, almost ashamed for thinking it. _But then again, why not, I mean she could be, couldn't she?_ Once again, I reprimand myself for even considering the idea. If she is, then wouldn't Cat be one too? From what Cat has told me about her parents being religious and all, it didn't seem likely. But then again, they were physicians too. I spend another hour in a mental battle with myself, thinking about the McCullough sisters and the possibility of them being Designer babies. I am almost asleep when a thought occurs to me that makes me bolt upright on the cot. If Cat and Claire were Designer babies, then maybe, just maybe, they could connect with other Designers the same way that Elizabeth, Burke and I do. My heart starts racing at the thought, and my breathing becomes somewhat labored.

"All right, calm down Ronan, you are acting like a fool," I say out loud to myself, grateful that I don't have a cell mate. I have nothing to lose and a lot to gain to know if they are. I close my eyes and concentrate hard on an image of Cat, and then I mentally call her name. I wait a few seconds and try again. I repeat this over and over again and receive no response. I can't help but feel a little disappointed. I then focus my attention on an image of Claire. I feel an unusual tingling sensation in my forehead when I mentally call her name, but there is no response. I try again, "Claire, can you hear me? Please answer if you can hear me in your mind." Still nothing, and I am beginning to feel a little silly now, but figure why not one last time just to be sure. I haven't had a lot of experience talking to little kids, so I try to mimic the way I've heard Cat talk to her. "Claire honey, it's Ronan. If you can hear me talking to you just say so. Please don't be afraid," I say in the most gentle, soothing mental voice I have.

"Ronan?" The small voice is faint, but definitely that of a little girl and I am instantly overcome with emotions that I rarely experience.

"Yes Claire, it's Ronan," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and even. "You have a special gift to communicate with certain people who share the same gift. Do you remember Elizabeth and Burke who were at my house this morning?"

"Yes," she says with a little more confidence.

"Well, they have the same gift, and should be able to talk to you in this way too. Are you afraid?" I ask, worried that this might be too much for a five-year-old.

"No, not really," she says, and I hear her yawn.

"How is Cat doing?" I ask urgently, detecting that she is getting sleepy.

"I think she is sad that you were taken away," she says earnestly, and I hear another yawn. "Listen to me Claire," I say, trying to keep her attention, "I will be back soon, but I really want you to stay at my house until I get back. Do you think you can talk Cat into that?"

There is a pause, and I worry that she has fallen asleep. "I like it here Ronan," is all she says and then silence.

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

RONAN

The hard cot in the jail cell didn't prevent me from getting a decent night's sleep, and I wake up just as the guards are changing shift. I hear them exchanging a report on the current prisoners, and when the name Callahan is mentioned, I am tuned in.

"Yeah, he actually seems like a nice kid. Hard to believe he's a ticking time bomb," one of the officers says and another chimes in with, "You know how these rich kids are."

"He is hot, hot, hot! You should see that ass," I hear a female guard comment, and that generates a lot of unclean jokes and bantering between several of the staff, which I suppose is not unusual for this type of work environment.

"I heard they are going to transport him to the military hospital for some tests today," the first guard says, and immediately I feel like I have been punched in the gut. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to stay calm when the guards make their rounds. I want to grab them by the neck and force more information out of them, but instead I lay quietly on the cot, pretending to be asleep when they walk by.

"Burke, can you hear me?" "Elizabeth, can you hear me?" I try to mentally connect with both for about the tenth time this morning and there is still no response. _How can they ignore me at a time like this?_ I seethe. _I bet they are together, I bet they are making out somewhere,_ I think, and the thought generates a new wave of anger. Desperate for information, I calm myself down enough to connect a call with Claire.

"Good Morning Claire, its Ronan, are you awake?"

It takes a few minutes, and then I hear a little chipper voice say, _"Hi Ronan."_

_"Claire, what is everyone doing?"_ I coax.

_"Um, some men came and told Burke and Elizabeth that they had to come with them, and now Mr. Lowry and your dad are trying to find them,"_ she says.

_"Did the men say who they were?"_ I probe further, trying hard to keep the panic out of my voice.

"Yes, they said they were from the CDC and they need to test them."

_"Claire, that's very good that you were able to remember all of that,"_ I say genuinely impressed, but not surprised. I hear my name being spoken by the guards and I assume they are getting ready to take me to a testing facility also.

_"One more question Claire, is Cat okay, are you still at the Hotel Callahan, and did you tell her about this little gift?"_ I ask hurriedly, wanting to focus on the guard's conversation.

_"Actually, that's three questions Ronan, but I can tell you're in a hurry so yes, yes and no,"_ she says candidly.

I laugh out loud in spite of myself and think I hear her chuckle too. _"Okay Claire, thanks for the update, I have to go now."_

There are a total of three guards that escort me to the waiting van, which I think is overkill and a complete waste of tax payer dollars. I'm not sure if all prison guards have chips on their shoulders, but these three seem to enjoy the power that the dark uniform and gun holster at their side gives them. One shoves me along as if to hurry me, even though the three have to almost jog to keep up with my pace. A second one roughly pushes me through the back of the van doors, then laughs cruelly when I stumble and bang my head on the seat frame. I am considering what the consequences would be for giving him a powerful blow to the chest with my leg when I hear Elizabeth's voice mentally and there is urgency in her tone. "

Ronan, are you there? Please answer me."

I immediately lose interest in the three guards and let them shackle me to the seat while I concentrate mentally on Elizabeth. _"I'm here Elizabeth, where are you? I have been trying all morning to connect with you."_

She ignores the trace of irritation in my voice and says, _"Ronan, listen please. The government has recovered some or all of the records of CGEM's Designers and they are tracking everyone down for testing. They are holding Burke & me at Malmstrom Air Force Base for further testing. We have been here all morning."_

_"What kind of tests?"_ I inquire.

_"Lots of blood work, Cat Scans and MRI's, you name it,"_ she says exasperated.

"How can they do that without your consent? Isn't it illegal?"

_"They said no, not when there is a worldwide pandemic threat to society. They can do anything they want including quarantining anyone they suspect that might be infectious,"_ she says, bitterly.

_"Um, do they know the results yet?"_ I ask hesitantly.

Her voice softens, _"No one has told us anything about the results Ronan, not yet anyway."_

I change the subject quickly, _"Why isn't Burke responding to my calls?"_

"They have him in the MRI Scanner and the room is constructed with Radio Frequency and Electromagnetic Interference shielding. I guess this blocks the energy waves of our thoughts, because I can't connect with him either. By the way, how are you doing?"

_"I am hanging in there; they are transporting me to the hospital now. How are my parents and Cat doing?"_ I say, trying not to sound defeated.

_"I'm not sure, we were hijacked pretty early this morning, but I'm sure your parents are working hard at getting you released. Cat agreed to stay with your parents until tomorrow; I think she is really worried about you Ronan,"_ she says softly.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat and change the subject. _"Her little sister Claire is a Designer too."_ I blurt out. Elizabeth doesn't respond readily and I start to repeat myself.

_"I heard you Ronan. How...how do you know?"_ she stammers.

_"I'll tell you the whole story later, but basically I connected a call with her. And no, as far as I can tell Cat is not."_ I say, anticipating the next question.

_"Does Cat know?"_ she asks next.

Her question makes me a little irritated and I am not sure why. _"No, I don't think so, but I won't know for sure until I talk to her."_

"Ronan, you need to tell her. If Claire's name is on the list and they seize her the way they did us, it will kill Cat."

Now I am fully annoyed, not necessarily at Elizabeth, but at the truth of her words. _"Look Liz, if I could talk to Cat right now I would,"_ I say through gritted teeth.

Another pause, _"I know how hard this is for you Ronan, I'm really sorry. I have to go now,"_ she responds sadly.

I am instantly remorseful.

***

I peer through the tiny van window and see the large lettering of Malmstrom Air Force Base as we pass through the first security check point. The hospital is at the back of the complex, and the van weaves around to the Emergency Room. Much to my surprise, I am not escorted in through the ER entrance, but instead the guards lead me through the loading dock entrance, just to the right of the ER. Once inside, we are almost immediately met by a high ranking military official, who says, "This must be the Callahan kid." There is an exchange of signatures as I am handed over to the military staff. "We'll take him from here," he says, nodding to a younger uniformed officer who applies his own set of handcuffs, then leads me to a nearby elevator where I am taken three floors down to a part of the hospital that has noticeably less military staff roaming the hallways.

The exam room has a small cot, and along one wall is a counter that holds blood tubes, IV stuff, a microscope, and other miscellaneous medical stuff. Above the cot, mounted on the wall, is a blood pressure cuff and thermometer. The military guard motions for me to sit on the cot, and immediately handcuffs me to the bed rail. Then he takes a seat in the only chair and starts playing solitaire on his cell phone. I can see the time on his cell phone and am shocked that it is already past noon. My stomach growls and I realize that I haven't eaten since the bagel I had yesterday morning. In fact, they didn't even offer me a meal at the jail, yet I remember the other prisoners being served dinner last night.

_What would be the reason for that,_ I silently ruminate. The answer comes to me about ten seconds later, when I recall my dad telling me that a person can't eat for twenty four hours prior to being operated on. My mind starts to race at the same time as my heart. _What if they are planning to operate on me? What if they want to remove my organs and harvest them for testing? How can they do this? How can they get away with this? This kind of stuff can't happen in a modern world, can it?_ As the questions flood my mind, I am vaguely aware that my breath is coming in short gasps, and I see the guard look up at me with curiosity.

"Hey man, you okay?" he asks tentatively.

I nod yes, but my mind is screaming, "NO!" For the first time in seventeen years, I yearn for my parents.

_"Burke, BURKE!"_ I mentally scream.

"Whoa, what man? You just gave me a splitting headache, what's going on Ronan?"

_"Burke, we have to get out of here. I think they are planning on taking us to the operating room. Have they let you guys eat?"_ I ask, with uncontrolled hysteria.

_"What are you talking about?"_ he asks suspiciously.

_"Have you eaten today? Have they given you any food today?"_ I am almost shouting again.

_"Uhm, no I guess they haven't, but it's just past lunch. Maybe they haven't thought about it yet,"_ he says apprehensively.

_"Listen to me Burke,"_ I say, trying to sound rational, _"They haven't fed me at all since I was arrested yesterday morning."_ I take a deep breath, hating that my voice is shaking, _"I think they are planning on taking us to the operating room."_

_"For what? Why would they do that Ronan?"_ he says, now matching my level of hysteria.

_"I don't know Burke, why are they doing any of this? Listen, Elizabeth says that when there is a worldwide pandemic risk, they can do all sorts of things: like quarantine or isolate you. Basically, you lose all rights as a citizen and you are at the mercy of the government. They haven't honored any of the laws or rights that they are supposed to. I haven't been allowed to talk to my parents, they denied bail for no reason, they are doing all of these tests on minors without parental consent. I mean you name it, they've violated it."_ I am gasping for air again, and once more, the guard eyes me skeptically. About the time he gets up and starts to walk over to me, the door opens and an attractive female wearing a lab coat walks into the exam room. She looks young, maybe early twenties, and carries a clip board in her hand.

"Hi Ronan. I am Dr. Salisbury," she says, extending her hand out for a handshake. She looks briefly embarrassed when she sees that I am handcuffed, but recovers very quickly. With a firm, no-nonsense, authoritarian voice, she orders the guard, "Remove those handcuffs immediately!"

He looks up from his cell phone, startled, and sputters, "I, I, can't ma'am, I mean doctor. All prisoners have to be handcuffed at all times."

My labored breathing doesn't go unnoticed by her, and she quickly leans over me, taking the stethoscope from around her neck as she does. "This man is in acute respiratory distress; take these handcuffs off him immediately!" she shouts, and for a second she has even me convinced that I am going to stop breathing.

The guard calls for back up support, but his requests go unanswered.

"He is a kid!" Dr. Salisbury screams, "If he dies because of your incompetence..." Her voice trails off as she fervently tries to get a blood pressure on me and checks the pulse in my wrist.

_"Ronan, listen to me,"_ I hear her say, only her lips aren't moving. _"Can you hear me?"_ she tries again, and this time it clicks. She's not speaking out loud to me.

_"Yes,"_ I respond keeping my eyes on her. The only indicator that she hears me is the faint smile at the corner of her mouth.

_"Ronan, I don't have time to explain, but we need to get out of here. How strong are you?"_ she says, still pretending to get a blood pressure on me.

_"Strong,"_ I say. My whole body now on high alert, ready to spring.

"Good, how fast are you?"

_"Fast! Forty plus,"_ I say confidently.

"Okay, as soon as this guard unlocks these cuffs..."

_"They are already off,"_ I interrupt her.

The surprised look on her face lasts for only a half a second, and she doesn't break her focus as she asks me to take slow, deep breaths, listening to my chest with her stethoscope.

_"Wow, you are strong,"_ she comments mentally. _"Okay,on the count of three, do you remember how to get out of here?"_

_"Yep!"_ I say, knowing exactly what she's getting at.

_"Oh and one last thing,"_ she pauses briefly, _"Stay in control at all times. Only use enough force to get away, not to hurt. We don't need a murder charge on top of all this."_

_"Understood,"_ I say, fixing my eyes on the guard.

_"One...Two...Three...GO!"_ she says calmly.

The guard had no idea what hit him: carefully directed pressure to his carotid artery by Dr. Salsibury, and he passes out. This is followed by an injection of, "sleepy medicine", as she calls it, to the thigh, and Dr. Salsibury says he will be out for a few hours. It is clear from the few maneuvers she uses that she is strong and an experienced martial arts practitioner.

"We have to find Burke and Elizabeth!" I yell, not bothering with the mental voice.

_"Already done, they should be meeting up with us at 57_ _th_ _and E. Railroad Avenue,"_ she responds mentally, making me realize that I should have.

I effortlessly retrace our tracks to the loading ramps at the back of the hospital and, as luck would have it, there is a truck waiting to be loaded with the key still in the ignition. She slips in the driver's seat and tells me to duck in the back, then simply drives away, seemingly undetected. How she manages to pass through the front security gate is a mystery to me, but when the vehicle stops we are off the military base and in a neighborhood with rows of identical looking houses.

"Let's get out of here," she shouts, as she pulls the military camo fatigue over her head and tosses it on the front seat. Even though it is still light out, we take off running at a fast pace and reach max speeds on the side streets. She has no problems keeping up with me.

"So, are you really a doctor?" I ask.

"Yes. I work with Michael Lowry at Stanford," she replies.

This leads to more questions, which she tells me will have to wait, just as a black SUV pulls up alongside of us. I don't wait to connect mentally with her I just yell, "RUN!" I veer off to my right, glancing back only to make sure she heard me. Her laughter as she hoists herself into the front passenger seat instantly makes me feel foolish, and I double back to intercede the SUV just before it approaches the on-ramp to the freeway.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

RONAN

Michael Lowry is the driver of the black SUV. Burke and Elizabeth are in the third row, leaving the middle row open for me to swing my body into as the SUV slows down only slightly while getting on the on-ramp to the freeway. Dr. Salisbury is now retelling the story of our escape and I am bothered by the tone of excitement in her voice. I find nothing about today thrilling. In fact, I am filled with a sense of dread at the realization that I am now a fugitive: a seventeen-year-old escapee. I interrupt Dr. Salisbury just as she is getting to the part about overtaking the guard.

"How did you get us off the base?" I demand. My dad had been a military physician, and I was pretty familiar with the strict security procedures for getting on and off the base. She waves a military photo ID badge with her name on it in front of me.

"My parents were military and I was able to convert one of my mom's old badges with a current scan code," she says grinning.

"You're damn lucky it worked, Ali," Michael says shaking his head as if the whole thing seemed preposterous to him.

"Where are we going?" I ask as we pass a freeway sign that says Kalispell. The question was directed to Michael, but it is Alisha who answers.

"Canada," she says nonchalantly.

"WHAT?" I shout.

"Ronan, we have to get out of the country, there is going to be a swarm of CIA and other government officials looking for you guys," Michael says calmly.

"We have to go back. We have to go back and get Cat and Claire," I say as the panic starts to rise in my chest. Michael doesn't turn around, but I see him look in his review mirror at me, with raised eyebrows.

"Ronan, I know you care about Cat, but this is serious stuff. Your life is at stake here," he says slowly, like someone trying to reason with a small child.

"Claire is a Designer!" I blurt out. "We have to go back and get them. Please trust me," I now almost beg him. He swerves the SUV to the right, taking an unanticipated off-ramp and pulls into a small gas station.

"She's a what?" Michael asks disbelievingly.

"Claire is a Designer," I repeat, emphasizing each word. "We can't leave them here! If you don't want to go back, then let me out now," I say, starting to reach for the door handle.

Alisha turns around and looks at me, demanding "Claire who?" Before I can respond, she answers her own question with a question. "McCullough?" she softly whispers.

"How did you know?" both Michael and I ask at the same time. Alisha doesn't answer immediately. She looks like she is concentrating heavily on something not visible to the rest of us.

"She was one of the last to be genetically enhanced at CGEM. She is also the one with the most modifications, the most non-human DNA, and the one with the most potential for destruction," she says absently, as if talking to herself.

Elizabeth now speaks up for the first time, "The last created, will determine what is fated."

Everyone looks at her and says "huh?" at the same time.

"The last created, will determine what is fated," she repeats a little louder, then looks at each of us as she silently repeats the saying to herself a few more times. "My dad kept repeating this over and over again before he died. I thought he was just delirious, but now I wonder if he was trying to warn me or pass a message to me that he didn't want anyone else hearing."

"She's the golden GEM!" Alisha practically shouts, making us all jump. "Michael, we need to go back and get them, now!" she orders. Michael puts the car in reverse to turn around, obeying Alisha without further questions.

It's Burke who objects first. "Wait a minute, will somebody please tell the rest of us what's going on? First of all, I don't know anything about a Golden GEM, but if we are serious about going back for Cat and Claire, we need a plan. Our houses are going to be under heavy surveillance, and there is no way that we can get Cat and Claire out of there without being detected. Let's everyone calm down and discuss a plan."

"He's right," Elizabeth says calmly, "We definitely need a plan."

***

Thirty minutes later, I am on the phone with Tucker Schilling.

"Tucker, it's Ronan Callahan," I say, and there is a long pause of silence, before he replies.

"Hey Ronan, what's up?" he asks suspiciously.

"Tucker, I know this is going to seem like an odd request, but I need your help. It's regarding Cat and Claire McCullough." Once again, there is a pause, and I hear him suck his breath in.

"Where is she Ronan? Are they okay?" he asks accusingly, and immediately I am defensive.

After what seems like a long conversation with Tucker, he finally agrees to help and the plan is set in motion.

***

_"Claire, can you hear me? It's Ronan,"_ I announce mentally.

_"Hi Ronan, where are you?"_ she asks bossily.

"Claire, I can't tell you right now, but I really, really need your help, okay?"

_"Okay,"_ she replies in a less certain voice.

"Is Cat there with you right now?"

_"Yes,"_ she answers.

"Are you guys alone?"

"Yes. I think so."

_"Are you home?"_ I ask hopefully.

_"Yes. Your mom dropped us off a little while ago,"_ she says with disappointment in her voice.

_"Okay good. Claire, I need you to do something for me. Do you trust me?"_ I ask, feeling suddenly apprehensive about her answer.

_"Yes,"_ she says without hesitation, and I feel a sense of relief.

"Claire, you need to tell Cat that we can communicate this way. You need to be honest with her and tell her now. Do you understand?"

_"Um, yes. Are you sure, Ronan?"_ she says, the worry in her voice evident.

_"Yes, I am sure Claire. I know that you have other gifts too, don't you_?" I say gently. She doesn't answer immediately and when she does, her voice sounds guarded.

_"Claire, you don't have to be ashamed about any of these gifts; you're not in trouble. I promise. Here is the message that I want you to give to Cat. Go ahead and write it down as I tell you. Tell her that Tucker Schilling will be calling your house any minute to ask her if he can take you and her to a movie this afternoon. She needs to say yes, and not ask any questions. I want her to pack as much clothing for the two of you that she can fit in an oversized bag without looking obvious. Once the movie starts, Tucker will lead you out the right side exit door. Tell her not to talk about any of this out loud because we are not sure if the house is being watched._ Did you get all of that Claire?"

_"Yep!"_ she says confidently.

"Ok Claire, connect back with me as soon as you have given her this message."

Another ten minutes goes by and I still haven't heard from Claire. The occupants in the car are getting very restless. I allow another five minutes to pass, and am just about to contact her again when I hear her voice.

_"Ronan, are you there?"_ she asks timidly.

_"Claire, how did it go? Does Cat believe you?"_ I ask impatiently.

_"Well, she does now, only because she just got off the phone with Tucker,"_ she replies with a hint of resentment.

"It's okay Claire. This is a lot for her to take in. Just help her get some things packed and we will see you in about an hour."

***

Michael is already turning the car around and heading back into town, taking mostly back roads. During the drive Alisha gives us an abbreviated run down on her connection with Michael and her knowledge of CGEM and the "Golden GEM". She tells us that she was the daughter of retired, high-ranking military parents, and after retirement her dad went on to become a very successful entrepreneur, making millions. He was a personal friend of Dr. Kappel and, like Elizabeth, she was one of the first Designer's. She, of course, has a genius level IQ and was one of the youngest graduates of Stanford Medical School.

The combination of cosmetic traits chosen for her are unusual, and stunning. She is of African American descent and her pale blue eyes stand out like bright stars against a night sky. Her dark skin is flawless, and her long jet black hair is pulled neatly into a pony tail. She tells us that she knew at a young age of her genetic modifications, and over the years probed her parents for more and more information, but it wasn't until she overheard a conversation between her dad and Dr. Kappel, that she started to understand the unforeseen dangers of messing with the human DNA.

"Dr. Kappel knew that altering genes could lead to mutations in viruses and diseases, as well as behavior issues. Inserting genes from felines into rabbits resulted in a mutant virus that wiped out two hundred and eighty rabbits in less than twenty four hours. The genetic engineers didn't even have time to finish testing on the first rabbit before all the rest were dead," she says, sending shivers down my spine. "I must have known subconsciously that genetically modified children would be at risk for unfamiliar diseases and viruses, because I felt an urgency to go to medical school as soon as I could be accepted," Alisha says reflectively.

She goes on to tell us that the Golden GEM refers to the one Designer kid that has the most genetic enhancements and the ability to harness the energy of thoughts from all other Designers. Elizabeth might understand what she's talking about, but one look at Burke confirms that he is just as much in the dark as me.

"We are much more than just an epidemic threat to the world," Alisha says softly, looking at each of us to make sure we understood the seriousness of her words.

I can't help but steal a glance at Elizabeth, wondering how she handles the knowledge that her dad was behind all of this. The tears brimming in her eyes as she looks out her window is confirmation that she struggles with the repercussions of his achievements.

Michael is the first to speak and it has nothing to do with Alisha's story about CGEM, power of thoughts, or mutant viruses.

"Um, guys, we have a little problem," he says urgently. At the same time he takes a sharp right-hand turn that sends me flying to the other side of the vehicle: the disadvantage of forgetting to buckle my seatbelt. "We're being followed. Hold on," he says even more urgently as he takes a sharp left-hand turn that sends me flying back to my original seat, and prompts me to put my seatbelt on.

We all turn around simultaneously to see a white car with two occupants take a sharp left-hand turn right behind us, almost taking out a stop sign in the process. Michael speeds up only slightly as we approach the edge of the city, and I suggest that he speed up more as the white Ford is now right on our tail.

"Can you see who it is and what they want?" he says looking over at Alisha, who has her eyes squeezed shut as if suffering from a bad headache.

"Already on it," she mutters.

"Why don't you just pull over and let me take care of them?" I suggest, feeling a sudden desire to fight. Alisha's mouth turns up with a flicker of a smile and I get the impression she would be on board with that.

"Oh for crying out loud, its only Charles and Spencer!" she suddenly screeches, and Michael immediately swerves to the side of the road.

"What the hell are they doing here?" he says, the agitation in his voice evident. The white Ford pulls up right behind us.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CAT

It took only a few seconds for the shock of Ronan's arrest to wear off, and then there was a flurry of activity at the Callahan residence. Mr. Callahan had one of the highest-paid attorneys in Great Falls, who happened to be one of my uncle's partners, secured for Ronan, and was already calling his bank to inform them of the large withdrawal that he would be making to post bail for his son. Mrs. Callahan called Terry Harold, Burke's mom, and she came right over. I had only met Elizabeth and Michael this morning when Ronan introduced them as "out of town friends". I couldn't tell if they were a couple or not.

Elizabeth made a special effort to talk to me, and even pulled me aside to say, "Ronan would like it if I stayed here again for the night." I wanted to ask how she knew what he wanted, but didn't want to risk offending her. I felt strangely comfortable being in the Callahans' home, even though I had just met them and they were in the middle of a family crisis. The truth is: I didn't want to go back to my house just yet, partly because I was certain that Uncle Karl would soon be making another visit and I felt much safer being here, but, more importantly, I wanted to be here when Ronan was released from jail. The look on his face when Officer Jones arrested him felt like it would rip a hole in my heart.

***

"Are you sure, Claire?" I whisper, trying to hide the doubt in my voice. She rolls her eyes at me and folds her arms across her chest: an expected gesture for maybe a teenager, but not a five-year-old. We are alone in the bathroom and she has just given me the rundown on her color screening. She says that Mr. and Mrs. Callahan and the Harolds are definite yellows. Michael is a yellow as well. Officer Jones, unsurprisingly, was a dull blue with some gray. But like Ronan, Burke and Elizabeth are both whites. "A very bright white," she signs, smiling.

Claire is adamant that she has never seen this color on anyone before Ronan. She also admits to another peculiar finding. "The white light sometimes travels between the three of them, like a beam," she signs.

***

It was just before noon when the Callahans got the call from Ronan's Attorney that bail had been denied, and the exchanged looks between Burke, Elizabeth, and Michael, had me wondering if they knew more about the situation then they were letting on. Rhoda Callahan broke down crying for the second time today, and I had to excuse myself to the guestroom to hide my own tears. Elizabeth was kind enough to keep Claire occupied with a game of chess, and I felt a little guilty not forewarning her of Claire's almost perfect winning streak.

An hour and a half later, I wake from an unintentional nap, feeling disoriented, and then guilty for indulging in a nap while Ronan was in a cold jail cell, and with his parents distraught with worry. I quickly splash water on my face and head downstairs to look for Claire. All previous concerns about her beating Elizabeth in chess are quickly dispelled when I find the two equally matched in a game, surrounded by an audience that includes Michael, Burke, and the Callahans. Wanting to make myself useful, I offer to help Rhoda fix dinner; and when I share with her my love for cooking, she readily lets me take over making the family meal, stating, "Cooking really isn't my thing." The second helpings and compliments I receive for my spaghetti dinner make me feel somewhat better about camping out here for another night.

By the end of the day, Claire has managed to charm everyone in the house, and I feel a pang of sadness to see the happiness in her face, realizing that she craves a family as much as I do. She gives Elizabeth and Michael hugs when they leave to go to their hotel, and her face lights up when they tell her they will be back in the morning. Rhoda seems especially fond of Claire, and I catch her interacting in such a motherly way that it makes me question if Ronan was an only child by choice.

***

Claire doesn't protest at all when I tell her it's time for bed. She had been rubbing her eyes and yawning for the past half hour. She begs me to sing her a song, and even though I don't think she will stay awake long enough to hear it, I comply. Like I suspected, she almost immediately closes her eyes, and just when I think she is asleep, she suddenly bolts up in bed; eyes wide open, staring intently at nothing in particular.

"Claire? Claire?" I call her name softly and wave my hand in front of her face, but she doesn't react at all. "Claire!" I shake her shoulders gently and she looks at me briefly but doesn't acknowledge me at all. I remember my dad once telling me that some people behave this way when they are having a seizure and I am momentarily frozen with panic. Just as I am getting ready to call for Dr. Callahan, I see her lips moving slightly, like she is trying to speak, something that she hasn't done in eight months, and my panic is replaced with hope. "Maybe she is getting her voice back," I whisper.

Her peculiar behavior lasts for less than a minute, and then she lies back down and falls asleep.

***

Michael and Elizabeth return to the Callahan residence early Sunday morning, just as they promised, bringing donuts and coffee with them. Burke arrives a short time later. The mood is much more somber than it was yesterday morning at this time, as thoughts of Ronan sleeping in a jail cell hover in everyone's mind. I dread the thought of returning to school tomorrow, knowing that he most likely won't be there. Mr. Callahan is already on the phone with Mr. Manning, Ronan's Attorney, and we know before he says anything that Ronan probably won't be released anytime today. I reluctantly go upstairs to get our stuff packed, leaving Claire to finish her second cream filled donut, a treat compared to her typical oatmeal breakfast. The disappointment in her big brown eyes when she sees me carrying our suitcases down brings a lump to my throat, and I avoid making eye contact with her.

***

For the second morning in a row, there is an unexpected knock on the Callahan door, and this time two men wearing suits and flashing badges request a private conversation with Burke Harold and Elizabeth Kappel. I overhear them say that they are investigators for the Center for Disease Control (CDC), and that they need the two to go to the local hospital for some tests. Dr. Callahan objects to them taking Burke, citing that it is illegal to treat a minor without the parent's permission, but the two men produce paperwork that must prove otherwise. I don't get the impression that refusing is an option, and evidently neither do Burke and Elizabeth, because they willingly go with the two men. Michael Lowry exchanges worried looks with the Callahans, and quietly murmurs that he will make a call to Stanford University to enlist the help of some powerful, influential colleagues. Rhoda contacts Terry Harold with the news and John Callahan sits in the kitchen chair with his head in his hands, looking at the floor, not saying a word.

***

Rhoda once again offers me the option of staying at their house one more night, and when I politely decline, she unenthusiastically agrees to give us a ride home. I would have thought with everything going on that having overnight guests would be an added stress, but our presence seems to have the opposite effect, and I believe Rhoda Callahan when she says, "You are more than welcome to stay anytime."

When we pull up in front of our house, I see the look of curiosity in Rhoda's eyes as she studies the house, and I imagine she is trying to recall the things that Ronan might have told her about our situation. All at once, she looks hesitant about leaving us there, and I almost expect her to refuse to let us out of the car. I give her a reassuring smile and a quick hug, thanking her profusely for her generosity. She promises that she will call me immediately when she has news of Ronan. Claire signs a reluctant, "Thank you," to Rhoda, and before she has the chance to shed the first tear, I swiftly gather her in my arms and usher her into the house.

The little house on Hurley Way looks no different than it did two days ago when we were rescued by the Callahans. I close my eyes, imagining Ronan's arms around me: strong, secure, and confident, all the things that I am not right now. The fireplace poker lies on the floor where it fell the night Claire used it to clobber Uncle Karl. That thought makes me turn around to check the front door, making sure I locked it behind us. It's just past noon, and I start the dubious task of meal planning, opening every kitchen cupboard to survey the remaining rations. I had given Karl my last ten dollar bill, which was supposed to be our grocery money for the week, and now, looking at the empty cupboards, my heart sinks at the thought of Claire going to bed hungry. At this point, I seriously question my decision to leave the Callahan residence.

As I search areas of the house for hidden coins, I walk past Claire, who is sitting on the couch, unmoving. My blood runs cold when I realize that she is having another staring spell, and, once again her lips are faintly moving as if she is talking to an unseen force. I watch her slowly get up and walk to the kitchen table, pick up a pen, and start writing something on a piece of paper. When she finishes, I see her smile faintly and nod her head.

"Claire, what are you doing honey?" I say in a soothing, non-accusatory tone.

She looks at me and signs, "Talking to Ronan."

It takes a few seconds for the shock to wear off, then I kneel down and gently grab her hands in mine. "Claire, Ronan isn't here," I say, looking around just to make sure.

"I know. I hear him in my mind," she signs, and seeing my expression, she quickly follows with, "He wanted me to give you this message," and hands me the piece of paper with her neatly written note.

Tucker Schilling will be calling our house any minute to ask us if he can take us to a movie this afternoon. We need to say yes, and not ask any questions. Pack as much clothing for the two of us that can fit in an oversized bag, without looking obvious. Once the movie starts, Tucker will lead us out the right side exit door, where he will be waiting.

Now I am on the verge of completely freaking out. Not only can Claire move inanimate objects with her mind, but she also hears voices? I want to respond maturely, like my mom would in a situation like this, but instead I throw her a "are you out of your mind?" look, which prompts her to fold her arms across her chest and glare at me. I start to discredit her when the sound of the phone stops me dead in my tracks.

At the sound of Tucker's voice, I start crying, which is an understatement because crying implies that a few tears are trickling down my cheek in a controlled manner. I am actually sobbing out of control. Hiccups and everything. He doesn't wait for me to calm down, he just says, "Hold on, I'll be right over," and hangs up the phone. Less than fifteen minutes later he is standing at my door, and there is a repeat of the scene two nights ago, only Tucker is not as gifted at comforting a blubbering fool as Ronan was.

***

On the way to the movie theatre I steal a glance at Tucker out of the corner of my eye. His normally soft, relaxed expression is replaced with a worried look, and his lips are pressed together tightly.

"Look Cat, I don't know what's going on, but this whole sneak out of the movie theatre in a shroud of secrecy has me a little on edge," he finally admits.

I don't respond instantly because I don't want him to know that it has me on edge too. The most puzzling of all was the fact that Claire's note read that Ronan would be waiting for us at the exit door, and I was certain that Rhoda would have called immediately, like she promised, if he was released from jail. At the thought of seeing him again, my heart catches in my throat. I tell Tucker about the incident with Friday night's "intruder", and how I ended up staying at the Callahan's, only because he scolds me for not answering the phone all weekend. I purposefully leave out the part where Ronan was arrested. Claire is in the back seat, gazing out the window, and I reach over the seat to squeeze her hand, my way of apologizing. I want to ask her if she's heard any more Ronan voices in her head, but I don't.

The movie theatre is crowded, as would be expected for a Sunday matinee involving a Disney flick. It isn't until we get to the ticket booth that I realize that I don't have any money. Tucker doesn't hesitate to pull out a wad of bills, and pays for all three of us. He later leans over and says, "I might be gay, but I still pay for the ladies." I give him a small peck on the cheek and thank him. He tells us to go ahead and find a seat near the right exit door as he makes his way to the popcorn counter. He returns with two large buckets of buttered popcorn, which has Claire bobbing with excitement, and me grateful that I don't have to worry about feeding her for a while.

It's been a long time since I've had the luxury of seeing a movie in the theatre, but it seems like the pre-movie advertisements have gotten completely out of control, and we are almost completely done with our popcorn when the lights finally go off. Tucker is already grabbing our coats and looks at me, mouthing the words, "Let's go."

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RONAN

Michael and Alisha hop out of our car and are standing at the windows of the white Ford before Spencer, the driver, has time to come to a complete stop. The expressive way Alisha uses her hands make it clear that she isn't happy about the two's arrival. Michael tells her to tone it down. He's worried someone may call the cops thinking this is a case of road rage. The conversation only lasts a few more minutes, and then Michael and Alisha return to the vehicle with a slightly different disposition; subdued might be an understatement.

"Cash Ingersoll, the Director for the Council for Responsible Genomics, was shot and killed last night," Michael says solemnly.

Alisha wipes a tear from her eye as she searches for a tissue in her purse. Elizabeth, Burke and I exchange a brief telepathic conversation, but refrain from asking our questions out loud.

***

After a mini debate about who should meet Cat and Tucker, it's decided that it would be best if Elizabeth, Burke, and I stay in the car while Michael and Alisha go, the two least likely to be associated with them. I connect with Claire and she confirms that they are standing outside the right exit. A few minutes later, the five of them are walking towards the SUV, and at the sight of Cat, my heart soars like an eagle. Unable to contain myself, I leap out of the vehicle and bridge the ten feet between us in a fraction of a second. The look of uncertainty in her eyes a few moments ago is now gone, and she giggles lightly as she launches herself into my arms, burying her face in the crook of my neck as we embrace. I hear Alisha hissing for me to get back in the car but I ignore her, releasing Cat with one arm, only to scoop Claire up into my other. I had forgotten all about Tucker until I see him staring at us with a perplexed look on his face. He is following the rest of us, but I can tell he's not sure if he should be. I steer Cat around to intersect him, and extend my hand to shake his.

"I owe you, buddy," I say, and he half smiles.

"Look, Ronan, I'm not going to ask what's going on here, but I never got to thank you for intervening with the Braziers, and well," he pauses and looks down at the ground, "If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call me," he finishes.

Both Cat and I thank him, and as he turns to walk away, Cat grabs his arm. Without saying a word, they embrace in a hug that reflects the deep bonds of friendship.

"Take care of her Ronan," he says, and then he turns to go.

Burke doesn't waste a second to interrupt my happy thoughts, "Man, you are turning into a freaking family man, dude. What the hell has gotten into you?"

"She's changed me," I simply reply and leave it at that. Claire is sandwiched in-between us in the back seat, but that doesn't stop me from reaching my arm around Cat's shoulders and pulling her towards me. I know that there is not much time, and a difficult conversation lies ahead of us. So as soon as Michael is on the freeway, I turn to her and softly say, "We need to talk."

She nods her head and says, "I know."

The fact that I haven't known Cat all that long seems irrelevant to me because of the deep inner connection that I have with her. It's as if the moment that I looked into her eyes on that first day of school, the subconscious part of my brain accepted her as a part of me. I have no choice but to reveal to her the naked truth about who I am.

"Cat, I need to tell you something about me that I haven't shared with anyone else, except the people in this car that share a similar background."

"What, you're a fugitive?" she says jokingly, and everyone in the car chuckles.

"Well, besides that. Um, before I was born, or actually shortly after I was conceived, my parents had me genetically modified." I pause, letting that sink in.

"Genetically modified," she says thoughtfully. "What, as in change your genetic makeup?"

"Yes, as in change my genetic makeup," I say, letting my breath out. This might be a little easier than I thought, at least until Claire's name comes up.

"In what way?" she predictably asks. "Well, everything from my eye and hair color, to strength, speed, vision, hearing, and even my intellect." Now I feel her tense up, and, once again, I hold my breath.

"Why?" she says, asking the same question I've asked myself a thousand times. I close my eyes and lean my head against the back of the seat.

"I don't really know for sure. I suppose they thought it would give me some sort of advantage."

"And has it?" she interrupts softly.

"Not unless you count beating the snot out of the Brazier clan," I say wryly, then remember that Claire is in the car and look down at her to see if she caught that. She is already sound asleep with her head on Cat's lap, her long golden hair flowing around an angelic face. Cat's hand brushes my cheek and I turn my head, gently brushing my lips over the back of her hand. Burke clears his throat behind us, and Elizabeth speaks up now, informing Cat that her dad was behind the Designer kid movement. She then gives her a brief overview of his clinic and his vision for a genetically enhanced society. She also tells her about her own enhancements, leaving out the psychic telepathy part. We have been on the road for about an hour by the time Elizabeth finishes.

The sun is just starting to go down, creating a beautiful red-orange glow over the mountain range. In any other situation, it might have been a scene that you would want to stop and take a picture of, but we're not tourists on vacation, and photo ops are not on the agenda.

"Hey, Michael, where are we going?" Burke asks suddenly and everyone looks up, now with the same look of curiosity.

Alisha has her head bent over a map and says, "Whitefish, near Glacier National Park," then turns to Michael to let him know where the turn off is to Highway 2.

Cat has a look of panic in her eyes and looks at me for an explanation. "Cat, there is still much more to this story that you need to know about," I say, aware of the sadness in my voice, which she must hear too, because she leans back in her seat and waits for me to continue.

"Everyone in this car, with the exception of you and Michael, has been genetically designed," I say carefully.

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" she quickly says, looking down at Claire.

I slowly repeat myself, this time saying, "We believe that _everyone_ in this car with exception of you and Michael has been genetically enhanced." She slowly moves her hand from my shoulder and shifts her weight slightly to the door.

Without looking at me, she asks, "Are you saying that Claire is ...?" She doesn't finish. "Is that some kind of sick joke, Ronan?" she says suddenly, turning to me.

Her words sting like a whip across raw skin. I catch her chin in my hand and look deep into her eyes. "Cat, I would never, ever, say or do anything to hurt you. I swear," I say with more sincerity than I have ever felt in my entire life.

"How do you know?" she finally says with a quiver in her voice. Burke, sensing that things are getting a little tense, leans forward and squeezes Cat's shoulder. He gently tells Cat about our ability to communicate psychically with each other, and how this seems to be a universal enhancement with at least some of the Designer kids.

"Claire's note from you," she whispers, quickly putting the piece together. Her hand covers her mouth as she lets out a gasp and her breathing becomes irregular. I hear a muffled sob escape her lips.

Burke still has his hand on her shoulder and in a very soothing, melodic voice, he tells her, "Everything is going to be okay, we all have gone through our own grieving and it's good to let it all out."

Whatever he's doing, it seems to be working. She starts to calm down and Alisha glances back at him with a smirk on her face. It dawns on me that this is how Burke magically breaks up with every girl he dates and comes out smelling like a rose. Cat dabs her eyes with the end of her shirt and looks at me with apologetic eyes.

I send a mental message to Burke, "I appreciate the help buddy, but don't ever forget Cat will always be mine." He smiles, but quickly withdraws his hand away from her shoulder.

***

Highway 2 to Whitefish is mostly deserted, with the exception of our SUV and the white car trailing behind us. Michael tells us that he has a cousin who owns a second home outside of Whitefish that rarely gets used, and although he hasn't asked, he's certain that it won't be a problem if we hold up there for a few days.

"Why are we running?" Cat asks out of the blue, and this leads me into telling her about the Designer virus and the events at the hospital.

"You really are a fugitive," she says looking at me with false shock on her face.

"Yeah, I guess I am," I say laughing.

Claire sleepily sits up, rubbing her eyes, looking around at each of us, then taps on Cat's arm to get her attention and signs something to her.

Cat looks at her apprehensively and says, "I'm not sure."

"What did she want?" I ask out of curiosity.

"Oh, she wanted to know if we were going to get dinner tonight," Cat says, looking slightly embarrassed.

"You make it sound like going to bed hungry is a possibility," I say, and when Cat doesn't respond, I follow up with a quick, "Is it?"

"Sometimes," she says quietly.

Alisha reassures all of us, but mostly Claire, that we will be pulling into Whitefish in about ten minutes and we will stop at the grocery store before heading to the cabin. I am getting the distinct feeling that Alisha is used to being in charge, and I briefly consider asking Michael to pull into the local McDonalds just to defy her.

There's only one supermarket in Whitefish and the store hours indicate that it closes in twenty minutes. Once again a mini debate ensues as to who should go in to do the shopping, and finally Alisha and Cat are elected: first, because they are the least wanted fugitives in our group; second, because Cat is the only one with cooking skills in the group; and last, because Alisha said so. It turns out they were a good pick. Twenty minutes later they come out with a cart full of groceries, and a menu plan for the next three days. Spencer and Charles, who had been trailing us, pull up just as we are leaving. Michael informs us that the drive to his cousin's house is just under twenty-five miles. It turns out that twenty-five miles on a windy dirt road actually ends up being a forty-five minute drive, and by the time we pull up to a locked gate blocking our entrance to the driveway, everyone is a little edgy. Burke and I watch Michael fiddle with the padlock for about three minutes before Burke pulls him aside, and I give it a hard yank, breaking the chain in two.

***

Michael's cousin's "second home" sits on eighty acres of land, nestled up to the southwest corner of Glacier National Park, a perfect retreat for a group of runaways. Judging by the layer of dust on the furniture, Michael was right about the home rarely getting used. Alisha immediately starts barking out orders for everyone, and within a few minutes, groceries are unloaded and unpacked. Cat is in the kitchen chopping onions and potatoes to go in a stew that is already starting to smell good. Michael and Alisha retreat to the living room with Spencer and Charles to get the details surrounding Cash's death, and Elizabeth and Burke embark on a tour of the house and property. I pick Claire up and set her on the counter, sneakily handing her a piece of French bread, which I am instantly rewarded for with a big smile, much like her older sister's.

"Ronan, there is something that I need to tell you, too," Cat says, as she stirs the stew.

"Yeah, what's that?" I ask with a mouth full of French bread.

"Claire has other gifts, too," she says hesitantly, looking over at Claire, who is wide eyed staring back.

"I know," I say nonchalantly. Both Cat and Claire turn to look at me, stunned.

"How?"

"I heard you in the bedroom when you were packing. You told her not to use the gift that saved your life," I say shrugging my shoulders.

"You heard that from all the way in the living room?" she asks incredulously, then not waiting for an answer, she mutters, "Wow, you do have superhuman hearing."

"So, are you ladies going to tell me what this gift is?" I ask lightheartedly, shoving another piece of bread in my mouth.

Cat looks at Claire and nods, "It's okay Claire, go ahead and show him."

Claire looks around the kitchen as if searching for something and then her eyes settle on the salt and pepper shaker sitting on the kitchen table. She stares at the items intently for a few seconds, and then slowly the salt shaker rises off the table, hovering for just a moment, before whipping across the room and landing in her hand. I about choke on the piece of French bread I'm eating. Claire smiles at me triumphantly and holds the salt shaker out to me, as if to prove it was real.

"Wow," I say blowing out a low whistle.

"She used her gift to beat my uncle with a fireplace poker," Cat says, stifling a giggle. The wide-eyed, innocent look on Claire's face makes me bust up laughing, which draws curious stares from Burke and Elizabeth, who've just returned from a walk around the property.

"What's so funny?" Burke asks, grabbing the loaf of bread from my hand and shoving half of it in his mouth.

"Hey Claire, why don't you pass Burke the butter to go with his bread," I say, winking at her. Cat starts to object, but Claire is already on it, dragging the butter dish across the counter, then launching it through the air towards Burke, whose eyes are as big as saucers. She holds the butter dish suspended right above his hand, which he reflexively opens, and then showing off, she spins the dish around in the air before gently placing it in his open palm. Alisha's shrill laugh breaks the silence in the now over crowded kitchen.

"Bravo Claire!" she says, ignoring Cat's disapproving look. Cat starts to say something, but Alisha cuts her off. "Claire really is the Golden GEM, isn't she?" she says, looking at Elizabeth for conformation.

"The Golden what?" Cat asks, starting to fidget nervously. Michael clears his throat, trying to divert Alisha's attention, but she ignores him and reiterates to Cat and Claire what she told us earlier in the car.

"Imagine a little five-year-old having the power to push a button that can blow the whole world up," Alisha finishes flippantly.

Cat, in a daze, drops the spoon used to stir the stew, splattering soup all over the floor, and Claire slips down from the counter, edging her way over to Cat. Without taking her eyes off Alisha, she reaches for Cat's leg and hooks her arm around it, only then dropping her gaze to bury her face against Cat's leg.

The room is quiet, until Burke mutters, "You're such a jerk, Alisha."

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RONAN

"Oh, cut the 'I'm Mr. Sensitive crap' with me, Burke. Cat was going to find out sooner or later. She's a big girl, she can handle it," Alisha hisses through gritted teeth. The two have been out on the front porch for the past ten minutes quarreling over the appropriateness of Alisha's bombshell about the Golden GEM to Cat and Claire.

"You could have been a little more tactful and at least told Cat privately," Burke now says with equal passion, adding, "Claire is only five years old."

No one is more surprised than me at Burke's unexpected defensiveness over Cat & Claire, and although I'm momentarily suspicious of his motives, I don't dwell on it. I am becoming increasingly confident that Cat belongs with me, and it is this certainty that keeps me from experiencing any feelings of jealousy or insecurity. In some ways, I am glad he's the one to confront Alisha. It gives me a chance to be alone with Cat. And besides, I suspect that Burke could argue until he's blue in the face, and Alisha would never concede or apologize for her actions. She's just not the type that would admit to wrongdoing.

***

Dinner is terrific, at least as far as the food goes. The mood in the room is solemn, and everyone eats their dinner in silence, except for the occasional compliment to Cat for the delicious stew. Finally, Alisha sets her glass down and looks directly at Cat and Claire, sitting opposite of her at the long narrow table.

"I owe you both an apology," she blurts out, something that surprises not only me, but everyone else at the table.

Cat maintains eye contact, but doesn't say anything, and Claire appears preoccupied with picking carrots out of her stew.

Alisha is undeterred. "I should have exercised better judgment with how I delivered the information that I did to you today. But the truth is we need to have this conversation, as difficult as it is." She is now looking around the table at the rest of us as she continues, "Every single one of us has been given our share of bad news in the past six months and I'm no exception. And frankly, I'm scared too. Now Cat, if you want to wait until Claire goes to bed to discuss this any further, then that's your call. Personally though, I think Claire needs to hear this." She pauses and smiles at Claire, "Most of the Designers that I have met are exceptionally mature for their age, and I don't think Claire is any exception."

The corner of Claire's mouth turns up in a faint smile at the last comment, and she turns to Cat, tapping her arm to get her attention. There is an exchange of sign language that, judging by the over exaggerated hand movements and stubborn facial expressions, has something to do with Claire being allowed in on the meeting. When Claire looks at Cat with the universal pleading puppy dog eyes, Cat reluctantly says, "Okay," then nods at Alisha to proceed.

Alisha pushes back from the table and paces back and forth across the room, just like a college professor giving a lecture would. "OK, here is what we know so far. First of all, we think that there were about three hundred kids that were genetically modified at CGEM. However, we don't know how many are still alive. And we don't know which Designers have the same level of sophisticated enhancements as us. Some received only cosmetic enhancements, making them low risk for being infected with the virus. The CDC strongly believes that this virus will mutate, creating a worldwide pandemic, so they want to find every single one of us and quarantine us if they can." She pauses and looks at everyone to make sure there are no questions, then continues. "Second, we know, or at least we think, that some Designers, depending on their level of enhancements, have the ability to tune into each other's thoughts as if transmitting and receiving on the exact same frequency. It's different from reading minds," she clarifies for Cat and Michael's benefit. "Think of it as a mental radio or telephone. Sending and receiving messages is by choice. A person has the option of blocking the call, don't they Burke?" she says giving him a dirty look, obviously referring to a previous unanswered call of hers. He smirks but doesn't say anything. "All right, and last," she pauses again, looking at Cat and Claire, obviously trying to choose her words more carefully than she did earlier. "You've all probably heard of the Law of Attraction or the Universal Law?"

Everyone except Claire nods.

"Simply put, it means that our thoughts are made up of energy, so whatever we strongly think about will come to pass in the future. Claire has the unique ability to convert her thoughts to energy almost immediately. It's called psychokinetic energy. That is why she can move objects around using only the power of her mind. But here's the catch," Alisha pauses, holding one finger up in the air. "Claire also has the ability to collect and store our thoughts and convert that to energy as well. The more thoughts sent her way, the stronger the output of energy. Think of it this way, Claire is the power substation in an electrical distribution grid. When we connect mentally, all of our collective thoughts are transmitted to her. She then just converts it to energy, turning our thoughts into action." Alisha's eyes are sparkling with excitement as she nervously waits for our reaction. But before anyone has a chance to comment, Alisha impatiently says, "Let me demonstrate." She calls for Elizabeth and Burke to come stand beside her, than kneels down in front of Claire. "Okay, Claire, are you ready for this exercise?"

Claire nods eagerly.

"All right, I want you to just clear your mind and accept our thoughts as they come to you, can you do that?"

Once again, Claire nods confidently.

"Cat, can you take Claire outside so she can't hear what we are about to do?"

Cat looks hesitantly at the rest of us, and then allows the enthusiastic Claire to lead her outside.

"Alright, just as Claire did earlier, we are going to move the salt shaker from the table to the countertop."

Burke chuckles and says, "Right."

"No, I'm serious. Just follow my instructions," Alisha says confidently. "Close your eyes and first connect with me mentally."

They follow her instructions and she nods when presumably she has them both locked in mentally. "Ok, on the count of three we are going to connect with Claire and tell her to move the salt shaker from the table to the counter top. Is everyone ready?" "Ready," Burke says and Elizabeth nods, biting her lower lip.

"OK, one, two, three," Alisha says in a low, breathy voice.

It takes a few seconds, but, sure enough, the salt shaker rises off the table, making a few jerky movements, as if being told to go in different directions, then smoothly sails to the counter, dropping on the countertop with a loud clang.

Elizabeth and Burke exchange "did we just do that" glances with the rest of us. Alisha finds the nearest chair and plops down in it and, tossing her head back, she lets out a victory laugh. Claire comes bounding inside enthusiastically clapping her hands, followed by Cat, who has a puzzled look on her face. Alisha explains to us that Claire knew about the salt shaker without being in the room because our thoughts had to be transmitted through her to be converted to energy. "It's called Thought Energy Conversion," she says simply.

"Claire has one more unique little gift that may or may not be important, but I think you guys should know about it anyway," Cat says, looking down at Claire, who is seated on her lap. We all hold our breath in anticipation and Cat continues, "Well, she can see fields of energy vibrating around individuals and these energy fields omit color."

"What kind of color?" I ask, looking to Claire for clarification.

She signs and Cat interprets for her, "Mostly yellow, orange, blue and gray, at least that is until she met you guys, which I will explain in a minute. The colors represent a person's energy field, with yellow and orange associated with rapid vibrations and blue and gray associated with dull, or lower vibrations. The faster vibrations are associated with good character and the color gray is associated with pure evil."

Claire taps Cat's arm to get her attention and signs something.

"Yes, Uncle Karl is definitely gray," Cat says, smiling at her. "Basically, she is able to immediately determine someone's character by assessing the energy of color they omit. We call it Claire's color screening test," Cat says, laughing.

"So what color are we?" Elizabeth asks curiously.

"Well, it seems that Designers have a unique energy field, a very rapid energy field. Claire says everyone glows white and there are light trails that intermittently connect you guys to each other." She looks down at Claire who nods her head vigorously in agreement. Alisha already has a notebook out and is taking notes. "Look, I know it sounds a little quirky, but, trust me, she is dead on every time. Our family followed her color screening advice for years and she has never been wrong," Cat finishes.

"So that's why you looked at me so funny the first time I met you. No wonder your sister agreed to go out with me," I say, laughing as I give Claire a playful nudge.

Cat catches my hand and links her fingers in mine, leaning over to whisper, "I'm not sure if even a blue could have deterred me from you, especially after the first motorcycle ride."

I smile knowingly. That motorcycle ride changed my life.

The rest of the evening is spent teaming up with each other to move different inanimate objects around the room, and when we finish with items in the house, we go outside looking for bigger, heavier things. Cat, Michael, Spencer, and Charles cheer us on all the way. When someone suggests the SUV, we all laugh, but Alisha says, "Sure why not?" Not only are we able to move it, but we generate enough speed to climb the small hill leading to the frontage road. I think the thought occurs to all of us simultaneously, but it's Elizabeth who says it first, "If five of us can move a large SUV up a hill, what can twenty of us do? "

***

Michael's cousin's house is designed with guests in mind. There are a total of four bedrooms; three on the main level and a large recreation room with a bunkhouse downstairs, which sleeps up to four people. Michael glances my way when he remarks that there will be no co-ed sleeping quarters, and I catch Burke stifling a chuckle as we head downstairs to the bunkhouse, followed by Spencer and Charles. I wanted the chance to talk to Cat alone, but she is already ushering Claire, who can barely keep her eyes open, to one of the bedrooms on the main floor. I hear Alisha criticize Cat for not making Claire brush her teeth before going to bed, and Cat's curt reply telling her that it's none of her business makes me smile. Spencer and Charles are the first to fall asleep in our dorm, and it doesn't take long for Spencer to begin snoring so loudly that I'm convinced he will keep not only me, but everyone else in the house awake. But to my surprise, even I eventually fall asleep, only to wake up a few hours later in a cold sweat from a dream about police officers shooting at me, as I barely escape capture. As hard as I try, sleep evades me, and eventually, I give up and head to the kitchen, looking for a midnight snack.

"You better be careful, someone might think you're an intruder and tackle you," I hear Cat say in a playful, quiet voice.

"Are you volunteering?" I ask in an equally teasing tone, turning to face her with a tub of ice cream in one hand and a jar of peanut butter in the other.

She takes a step back and, folding her arms across her chest, she eyes me up and down. "Yeah, I think I might be able to take you down. You know I hold almost a black belt in karate, don't you?" she says challengingly.

I carefully set the peanut butter and ice cream on the counter, and, before she has a chance to react, I encircle my arms around her, pinning her arms to her side and easily lift her off the floor, till she is eye level with me. She squirms vigorously trying to wiggle free, which only makes me laugh. After a few seconds she gives up, becoming almost limp in my arms. Her face is close enough to mine that I can smell the mint of her toothpaste on her breath. I gently set her on the counter, releasing her arms which she immediately wraps around my neck, slowly pulling my face to hers, until our lips are touching. There is nothing about kissing Cat that escapes my attention. The softness of her lips, the smell of her breath and taste of her mouth, the sound of a barely audible moan escaping her lips when I pull her body close to mine and the way she runs her hands through my hair are all experiences which are forever imprinted in my brain, never to be forgotten or replaced. We are both breathless when we finally loosen our embrace, and it takes a moment to recompose ourselves.

"So Ronan, does this mean we're dating?" she asks lightheartedly, looking at me inquisitively as her eyes search mine.

"Not that I'm experienced in things like this, but I think this definitely qualifies," I say, laughing as I lean in to kiss her once more, scooping her off the counter and setting her lightly on her feet. We each grab a bowl of ice cream and head to the front porch, where we sit side by side on the steps, gazing at the clear, black, velvety sky, sprinkled with millions of luminous twinkling stars.

"Ronan, why would our parents do this?" she blurts out quietly, and I can hear the pain in her words.

I let out a deep sigh and turn to look at her. "I wish I had an answer Cat. My parents have never explained to me why they felt the need to genetically modify me. I don't know if the whole thing just sounded so good that they couldn't resist, or if they wanted something more perfect than they thought they could create on their own. I wish I had the answer."

She's silent for a moment. "My parents were such purists, and naturalists, it just doesn't make sense to me that they would alter Claire. They seemed perfectly satisfied with Chord and me. I feel like somehow I let them down in some way. Like, I pushed them to want something better than what I had to offer," she says, her voice breaking at the last words and I see her brush a tear from her cheek. I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her close.

***

The sound of Alisha's voice cuts through the silence like a fire truck siren, just four hours after Cat and I had gone to bed.

"Come on everyone, let's get to work!" she barks.

Burke groans and rolls over in bed, and I plan just to ignore her until I hear Cat's voice pleasantly telling her and Elizabeth, "Good morning." It's motivation enough to get me out of bed at 5:00 a.m. As annoying as Alisha can be, I can't help but admire her ambition and focus.

It's just before 8:00 a.m and she has all of us assigned to a list of tasks that will likely take us all day to accomplish. Spencer and Charles, the two that followed us to Whitefish, are brilliant, non-Designer computer geniuses who have worked with Michael and Alisha for almost two years trying to locate CGEM patients. It's evident that Alisha and Michael trust them, even though, to the rest of us, they seem oddly reclusive. If it weren't for their rare consultation with Michael and Alisha, or each other, you would forget they were even around. They have successfully hacked into social media accounts of several suspected Designers and are working on more.

Cash Ingersoll, Michael and Alisha's Director at Council for Responsible Genomics, was likely murdered Michael tells us this morning. "We think that whoever killed Cash was looking for this list of CGEM patients," he says gravely, and Alisha nods her head in agreement.

"Our goal is to find all the Designers that share our telepathic gift," Alisha says simply, as if it's something she's done a hundred times before. Before any of us can ask how, she is already enlightening us to her plan. "Let's break up into pairs: Elizabeth and Ronan, you work with Spencer, and Burke and I will work with Charles at this computer." She motions for Elizabeth and me to join Spencer in the kitchen, while she and Burke pull up chairs alongside Charles. "Spencer and Charles will get us into their social media accounts, and once we have studied their photos, we will attempt to connect with them mentally.

I steal a glance at Cat and Claire, who are in the kitchen having a silent conversation via sign language, and, once again, I am led to believe by their facial expressions and hand signals that they are negotiating on something. Sensing that they are being watched, they both turn to look at me at the same time. I grin sheepishly and sign, "Good morning, how are you?" something I learned to do from watching Claire, and they both smile widely, obviously pleased at my feeble attempt at sign language communication.

"All right, here is the first one," Spencer says, pulling up the Facebook account of a young female. We read her profile together: eighteen years old, accepted into Harvard Law School, speaks three languages, and pre-qualified for the Olympics in swimming.

"Yep, sounds like a pre-engineered and modified kid to me," I murmur, mostly to myself. Her name is Natalie Nesbeth and she is from Colorado. Her profile photos further support our suspicions; she's physically beautiful, with auburn hair and emerald green eyes, rimmed with a faint yellow rim around the iris (something not seen naturally). She has a younger brother who also seems to share her achievements, making him a likely Designer as well.

"Should we give it a shot?" Elizabeth says hesitantly.

"Ladies first," I say, and she responds with a "gee, thank you very much" look.

Elizabeth and I effortlessly connect mentally, almost as easy as Burke and I do. Once we are locked into each other's thoughts, we focus on the image of Natalie. We can almost feel the energy building up in our thoughts.

Finally, Elizabeth softly says, "Natalie, can you hear me?"

Nothing. I nod to her to try again.

"Natalie, my name is Elizabeth, if you can hear me, please say so," she says, a little more firmly.

"Who's there?" a frightened voice responds within a few seconds.

Elizabeth's face lights up with excitement and I feel my pulse quicken. "Natalie, please don't be scared. My name is Elizabeth Kappel. I am able to communicate with you in your thoughts, much like someone would be able to talk to you on the phone, because our brains have been altered."

We hear Natalie mutter, "I must be going crazy."

"Natalie, please, you are not going crazy. Have you ever heard of Center for the Genetically Enhanced and Modified, CGEM?" Elizabeth tries.

There is silence and I feel an energy surge through my brain, almost like a wave of heat passing over my head.

"Yes, actually, I have. My parents went there for fertility treatments. It is where I was conceived," she says matter-of-factly.

"How about your brother?" Elizabeth probes.

"Yes. How did you know I had a brother?" she demands suspiciously, and Elizabeth immediately responds, "If he was modified at CGEM, you may be able to communicate with him, the way that you are communicating with me now. It's a gift that some Designers have."

"Designers?" Natalie asks, with a hint of wonderment in her voice.

"Yes. We are Designer kids. We were genetically modified and designed by someone," Elizabeth says quietly. Before Natalie can ask more questions, Elizabeth explains to her how to mentally connect a call with her little brother, and urges her to do so now, promising to connect with her again in about an hour.

We spend the next five hours trying to find other Designers that are gifted with telepathic abilities. In the end, there are only two successful connections, and possibly a third if Natalie's brother, Austin, is confirmed to be a Designer with the gift. Michael is able to get messages to our parents through a string of untraceable associates, letting them know that we are okay. He also gets a message to Cat's babysitter, Mrs. Sanchez, letting her know that Cat will be out of town for a few weeks. After lunch, Alisha gives us some free time to rest our minds. Claire begs Cat and I to take her for a walk, and we willingly oblige, jumping at the chance to get outside in the clean mountain air.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RONAN

Cat and I each take one of Claire's small hands, swinging her between us as we walk along a path that leads us away from the house, towards a ridge that borders Glacier National Park. The sky is beautiful and clear, and there is just a slight breeze that kicks up every now and then, stirring the orange, golden leaves on the forest floor. Claire is delighted at being outside and quickly gets bored walking with us. She runs ahead, stopping intermittently to examine a bug or object that happens to catch her eye as she passes by.

Cat tells me about the California Foster Care system, describing the separation from Claire and her fight to get them reunited.

"The last time I heard Claire's voice was when she was screaming as they took her away to meet her foster family. The next time I saw her she was mute," she says, her voice full of anguish.

"Cat, once we get home my parents will help you find the right specialist to help Claire," I reassure her. "Why didn't your parents have a guardian designated in their will anyway?"

"They designated my aunt, but after her death, they never revised it. We had no other living relatives besides her and they didn't have close family friends that they felt comfortable in asking. My brother and I always acted more mature for our age and our parents treated us like we were adults. I suppose after we reached a certain age, they just figured we could manage on our own. If Chord were alive, he never would have let them split us up," she says remorsefully.

"Listen to me. You're doing an amazing job taking care of the both of you," I say, grabbing her arm and twisting her around to look at me. "I don't know of any girl your age who could have handled your situation with more courage and capability then you have. You should give yourself more credit Cat."

"Thank you," she says quietly, slipping her hand in mine as we hold each other's gaze.

"You were really close with your family weren't you?"

"My family was great. My brother was my best friend," she says nodding. When Cat speaks about her parents and twin brother, the love and respect is clearly reflected in her voice.

"I had the best sixteen years that anyone could ask for. My parents were true adventurers, and they exposed us to all sorts of experiences. I've experienced more in my sixteen years than most people experience in a lifetime," she says appreciatively, smiling fondly at the memories.

After hearing her stories about a ten day backpacking trip through Europe, scuba diving with sharks in Taiwan, and taking flying lessons at the age of fifteen, I have to agree that she has experienced more than most people do in a lifetime.

Cat's childhood is in stark contrast to mine. I feel at ease telling her about my strained relationship with Rhoda and John, and my lack of affection for anyone until I met her. She listens intently when I explain how I came to find out about CGEM, my genetic enhancements, and Dr. Kappel. We talk about the Designer virus and I admit to how close I was to killing the kids in the cafeteria.

"Michael says that some of the infected kids have committed murder," I confess, now walking ahead of her, afraid to see her reaction. "He says most die within a year after the violent behavior starts."

I stop at the top of the ridge and watch Claire explore the inside of a fallen hollow tree, her long golden hair getting snagged on the stump as she tries to crawl through it. Cat comes to stand beside me and gently grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze before entwining her fingers in mine.

"The day that my Uncle attacked me," she says quietly, "Claire had a look on her face much like the look you had that day at school. She was intent on killing him with the fire poker iron. I know she would have if I hadn't stopped her." Cat's voice quivers as she fights back tears.

I turn slowly to look at her as the reality of her words sink in. "But she's only five. Michael said all of the infected Designers were in their teens. There is no way she is infected Cat, there's just no way. She's too young," I say, trying to reassure her.

Cat starts to reply, but the sound of a helicopter in the distance interrupts our conversation, and we both call Claire's name at the same time. She reaches us just as a large military chopper comes into view, and we instinctively pull back into the trees.

"Do you think it's looking for us?" Cat asks breathlessly.

"I don't know, but we aren't going to take any chances. Claire, listen to me. We are going to try to change the way the helicopter is flying, not to make it crash, but just to scare them into turning around," I say hastily, while swinging her up in my arms. "Just like we did last night, accept my thoughts and let me guide the helicopter."

She nods her head, seemingly understanding the urgency of the situation.

"Okay, Claire, we are going to make the main rotor blade slow down, are you ready?"

She nods and I feel a surge of warmth pass across my forehead as we both lock in on the main rotor blade of the approaching chopper and use our combined energy to induce resistance against the rotating blades. The subtle decreased rotor speed would have escaped any normal person's attention, but I could see it slowing way before the chopper starts to lose altitude.

"It's working," Cat whispers.

The pilot tries to correct the problem by giving more throttle to the engine, which causes the helicopter to launch up and forward, once again flying in the direction of the house. This time we use enough energy to almost completely interrupt the flow of air over the blades, causing an audible sputter in the aircraft's engine, and a two hundred foot drop in the chopper's altitude before the pilot has a chance to recover. We hold our breath as the helicopter hovers in place for a few minutes, then exhale a sigh of relief when it slowly turns around and disappears over the ridge in the direction it came from.

Everyone is on edge after we tell them about the helicopter, and a debate ensues about whether or not we should move locations. In the end, by majority vote, we decide to stay. Alisha is the least concerned about the whole thing and almost appears eager for the opportunity to practice using our collective thought energy to manipulate an object that large.

"Yesterday, it took all of us to move a SUV, and today you and Claire could have downed a helicopter. The more we use this gift, the stronger it becomes," she says excitedly.

Michael puts his hand on her shoulder and reminds her that this energy needs to be channeled for the good only, not to do unnecessary harm. The rest of us echo his sentiment, which irritates Alisha, and she shoots us a glowering look before going outside to scan the skies for any signs of approaching aircraft.

I assist Cat in the kitchen preparing dinner, while Burke, Alisha, and Elizabeth continue to work with Spencer to connect with other Designers. By the time dinner is ready, they have attempted to connect with over thirty Designers, but none have resulted in a successful connection.

"My dad must have only selected a handful of CGEM patients to alter in this way," Elizabeth says to Alisha apologetically when Alisha throws her pen down in frustration.

We all are encouraged when Natalie Nesbeth connects a call with us, and excitedly introduces her brother, Austin, to the group.

"I connected with him while he was at a basketball game," she says, and he laughs, saying that, it caused him to miss the basket on a free shot.

Alisha wastes no time getting down to business, telling them about the deadly Designer virus as well as the government's attempts to track them down. She assures them that they do not want to be held hostage by an overzealous government group that will perform unpleasant, and possibly harmful, tests on them. Burke looks at her and rolls his eyes.

Claire begs us to go outside after dinner and Alisha says it would be a good idea for someone to keep an eye out for approaching visitors. No one is even sure if the helicopter today was even looking for us, but we all agreed that it was odd to see a military helicopter flying this far away from base. The back deck of the house faces National Forest land, and a large meadow separates the house from the trail we hiked earlier today. Off to the left is a small pond that provides a water source to a variety of animal wildlife, and Claire is off to explore the area before we've even had a chance to take the covers off the deck chairs. Michael and Elizabeth join us on the deck, and I notice Michael pulling his chair up right next to Elizabeth's, so that their arms are touching. She looks at him in the same way I catch Cat looking at me sometimes, and I speculate that we are not the only ones involved in a budding romance. Spencer and Charles were sent to the store for more groceries, and Michael tells us that he has enough cash to last about another ten days. Cash Ingersoll had set him up with a private company banking account, but he didn't want to risk making a withdrawal yet, in the off chance the government had discovered it and was tracing activity.

"Cash anticipated something like this happening with Designers," Michael says sadly, shaking his head.

"What do you think is going to happen to us? I mean, how do we get out of this mess?" I ask, not expecting him to be able to really answer my question.

"Alisha thinks that once enough Designers are linked on the telepathic network, you will hold the power to protect yourself against anybody or anything. Up until a few days ago, I never would have believed it, but judging from what I've witnessed in the last 48 hours, I'm inclined to believe her," Michael says gravely.

"Okay. What about the virus? Does she think we can protect ourselves from this?" I respond cynically, and I feel Cat place her hand on my arm.

Michael shrugs his shoulder. "I spoke with one of my associates and he said without Alisha, they are not making much progress on the vaccine. They need someone with Designer genes to test it against."

Before anyone has a chance to respond, there is a loud roar from the direction of the pond, and we all freeze.

"Bear," the words barely escape my mouth, and Cat screams "CLAIRE!" while launching her body over the deck railing, with Michael and I trailing close behind.

I am first to make it to the pond, and the scene before me stops me dead in my tracks. About 300 yards away, a large grizzly bear is pawing the ground, shoulders squared and ears pinned against its head, making a "Whuff" sound while it swings its massive head back and forth. A small cub is standing on its back legs about fifty yards away, and right smack in-between, stands Claire. She is still as a statue, with one arm outstretched to the adult bear, in a universal hand-arm signal to, "Halt."

Cat tries to scream, but it comes out as a hoarse, choked cry, and she stumbles forward trying to run, unable to get her legs to cooperate. I grab her around the waist and cup one hand over her mouth, whispering, "Stay still," in her ear. I can feel her body trembling against mine.

If Claire is terrified, she's not showing it. She remains motionless with her eyes locked on the bear, and I can see her lips silently moving. The mother grizzly is still agitated, but isn't charging, and every once in a while, she stands on her hind legs to look at her cub who is now preoccupied sniffing and digging in the dirt. Alisha, Burke, and Elizabeth silently creep up to where we are standing.

Burke murmurs, "Holy shit!" and Elizabeth gasps in horror. Another minute goes by, and Claire and the bear are still at a stand-off, but the bear is noticeably calmer and Claire now drops her outstretched arm and takes a small step backwards. She is completely unaware that the six of us are transfixed on her, and I even see a smile play at the corner of her mouth when the mother bear calls to her cub. Once again, her lips move as if she is talking directly to the bear, and she continues to slowly back up, clearing a path between the grizzly and her cub.

Cat's breathing is slowly returning to normal, although I still hold her tightly, unconvinced that she won't take off for Claire if I let go. The minutes seem like hours, but Claire eventually clears enough distance that the cub playfully bounds over to its mother. It immediately seeks out a nipple to suckle, while the mother grizzly rocks back on its haunches and cradles it in her forelegs, licking the top of its head.

Claire turns and starts skipping in our direction, stopping abruptly when she spots us, and smiling shyly like a kid who just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She shrugs and glances back at the mother grizzly as if it were nothing more than a friendly dog.

I can tell that Claire's emerging talents have Cat worried, and I'm not sure I blame her. Claire's declaration that she can communicate with animals would be viewed by most people as a child with an overactive imagination. In Claire's case, it is the only explanation for the fact that she is not only alive, but unharmed after coming between a mother grizzly and her cub. Alisha is already logging notes about the incident and ignores Cat's hints that she's tired of interpreting for Claire when the questions become more and more detailed. It isn't until Claire is almost asleep in Cat's lap that Alisha reluctantly puts her computer away. The sweet sound of Cat's voice drifts from the bedroom as she sings a soft lullaby to Claire, unaware that the melody is also lulling the rest of us into a peaceful, relaxed state.

***

Spencer and Charles return from the grocery store with more than groceries. On the front page of the local paper is an article with a headline that reads, _"Fire at the Callahan Residence Still Under Investigation",_ and there is a picture of my half burned house plastered below it. I feel a wave of shock wash over me and the words temporarily blur on the page before me. I barely react when Alisha hastily snatches the paper out of my hand and reads the article out loud to the rest of the group.

"A fire, which appears to have started in the bedroom, quickly spread to other areas of the house, causing extensive damage to the local residence. The home is owned by Doctors John & Rhoda Callahan, who authorities say were reported missing by co-workers when they failed to show up for work yesterday morning." "Fire Chief O'Hara confirms that the fire does appear suspicious, and they are working in cooperation with police and fire investigators. At this time, foul play cannot be ruled out."

The room is dead silent as all eyes are on me, waiting for my reaction.

"I have to go back," I manage to croak out.

"No," I hear Cat plead, and it tears me up.

"Ronan, just wait a minute, let's think this through," Michael says, and the others echo his advice.

"I have to go back and check on my parents," I insist, looking to Cat, the one person whose support means the most to me. Tears are already starting to pool in her large chocolate eyes. Burke comes over and places a hand on my shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. He understands my love/hate relationship with my parents better than anyone else, and would support me in my decision.

"Look Ronan, maybe there is another way to check on your parents. What if this is a trap?" Alisha says, and there is an eruption of commotion as everyone voices their opinion. "Let's try to get a message to your parents tonight and get some rest. If we haven't heard from them by morning, then we'll split up and some of us will go back with you," Alisha announces, as if the decision has already been made.

"I can't jeopardize the safety of everyone else," I reply firmly, shaking my head. "I can sneak into the city much easier by myself, versus a group of us. I'm going alone."

"Doesn't my opinion matter?" Cat says quietly.

I pull her into my arms and kiss the top of her head, murmuring, "Your opinion is everything to me," and I feel her arms slide around my waist.

A normally quiet Elizabeth clears her throat and all eyes divert her way. "I don't know how the rest of you feel, but personally, you guys have become like a family to me, like the brothers and sisters that I never had. I think we need to stick together right now and make decisions as a group."

She brushes her long blonde hair away from her face and tucks it neatly behind her ear, smiling warmly at Cat and me. Everyone agrees with her, and reluctantly, I concede to wait until morning to go home. Michael agrees to let me try to call my parents from his pre-paid cell phone, the only one without a GPS, even though we all know they probably won't answer. I dial my dad's cell first and it goes straight to voicemail. I punch in the numbers to my mother's work cell phone, expecting it to do the same, so when the unfamiliar male voice answers I am momentarily caught off guard.

"Um, is Rhoda there?" I say hesitantly.

"Hello Ronan, we've been waiting for your call," the deep voice on the other end replies. Before I have a chance to speak, he continues, "Listen carefully, Ronan. If you want to see your parents alive ever again, you must do exactly as I say." I let him finish, trying to hide any trace of emotion from the anxious pair of eyes glued on my face.

"Okay, thank you," I say simply, and hang up.

Alisha is beside herself with anticipation. "Who was that and what did they want?" she demands.

"It was someone from my mom's office. She must have left her cell phone in her desk," I lie, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the group.

I wait a good three hours after everyone has gone to bed before I quietly get up and get dressed. I easily find Spencer's keys to the white Ford, and smoothly slip a note on the nightstand next to Cat's bed. I stare down at her beautiful face as she sleeps peacefully next to a snoring Claire and I fight the urge to wake her up just to hold her, and kiss her one last time.

"I love you," I whisper and quietly leave the bedroom, softly closing the door behind me.

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

CAT

Claire's nudge startles me out of a deep, dreamless sleep and it takes me several minutes to shake the fog from my brain. She's standing next to the bed and there is a look of concern in her eyes as she urgently signs for me to get up, handing me a piece of folded paper. I recognize Ronan's handwriting at once, and feel a sense of dread even before I read the words.

Dear Cat,

For reasons I can't fully explain yet, I have to go back to Great Falls. You and the others must not follow. Please!! If everything goes well, I should be back here in a day or two. I will keep in touch, mentally speaking of course.

Just know this-I love you.

Ronan

I read the note over and over again before it finally sinks in that he's gone. A mixture of emotions run through me: sadness, fear, anger, and even love. Yes, I love him too, I admit to myself. I anxiously look to Claire, but she shakes her head no before I even have a chance to ask if she's heard from him. The clock on the nightstand says 6:00 a.m, and I can already hear the clanking of dishes and closing of cupboards from the kitchen.

The others read Ronan's note and share my panic, with the exception of Alisha, naturally. She's initially pissed that he left in the first place, then she's furious because she can't connect a call with him. Burke and I want to leave immediately to find him, which leads to a heated argument between the two of us and Alisha. Ultimately, it is Michael who determines our course of action, when he refuses to let us have the keys to the car.

Alisha says in her typical bossy way, "Well, we have to keep moving forward, so let's set up the computers and try to reach the rest of the Designer's on our list."

Spencer is not happy about Ronan taking his car, and his normally tolerant behavior towards Alisha is replaced with warning looks that make me nervous he might explode any minute. While Burke and Elizabeth work to establish initial contact with more Designers, Alisha and Claire work with Brandon, Natalie, Austin, and the newest member: Nathan Miller.

She coaches them through the process of channeling a single thought through Claire to create energy. Alisha proves the technique to the new members individually by having them select a household item of their choice for the group to move. When it comes to Nathan Miller's turn, an eighteen-year-old from Idaho, who is the most skeptical of all, he challenges the group to move his grandfather's tractor, which has been at the bottom of a twenty five foot deep lake for the past three years. Alisha confidently says okay, and Claire squeezes her eyes shut, anticipating the flow of energy that is about to saturate her mind. It takes a full twenty minutes and Elizabeth and Burke's help to achieve Nathan's request, but when they do, there is an eruption of cheers from our living room. I can only imagine how Nathan must feel, seeing it first hand, and more importantly, how he is going to explain the re-appearance of the tractor to his family.

By the time lunch is served, a normally determined Alisha is sitting at the table warily, rubbing her forehead with the tips of her fingers. "We need more Designers with telepathic abilities," she murmurs to herself.

"Look, Alisha, there are currently nine of us. Why don't we focus on strengthening our abilities, and forget about finding more Designers for right now?" Burke says.

Before Alisha can answer, I speak up. "I think we need to give Claire a break for a while anyway," I say, glancing at Claire, who looks like she is ready to fall asleep at the kitchen table.

"Claire will be fine," Alisha responds curtly, barely looking up from the computer.

I carefully set my glass down and grip the edge of the table, trying to control the rising anger. "I said, Claire will take a break," I repeat in a steely voice that catches the attention of everyone at the table, including Alisha, who looks up from the computer.

"And I said, we won't stop until we are finished," she counters in a daring tone.

Michael puts a hand on my shoulder and whispers, "It's okay Cat, just calm down."

Ignoring Michael, I push back from the table and lean over it towards Alisha, so my face is within a few feet of hers. "Alisha, you do not have authority over either of us, do you understand me? Claire will take a break and she will not resume working until I say so. Claire, get your coat, we are going for a walk," I say through clenched teeth, turning to go.

Alisha's actions are so quick that I don't have time to move out of the way or block her swing. Her right hook catches me in the jaw, knocking me off my feet, and the last thing I remember before hitting the ground is the look of fury on Claire's face and the sound of Elizabeth's scream.

***

I'm not sure how long I'm unconscious before I wake up in the bedroom with Claire, Elizabeth, and Michael all looking down at me. Elizabeth's eyes are full of worry as she puts something cold on my jaw, and the excruciating pain makes me arch my back up off the bed. I can feel the familiar nausea coming on, which I always get with severe pain, and the thought of opening my mouth to throw up has me fighting back tears as I struggle to sit up.

Michael murmurs, "I think she broke her jaw. We are going to have to take her to the ER."

A muffled, "No," escapes my lips. It's the only discernible word I can get out without moving my jaw much.

He starts to explain to me that it's not an option, I would likely require surgery, and at these words, I break down sobbing uncontrollably. Through my tears, I see Claire staring at me. There is something about her expression that captures my attention, and I feel my body start to relax. She gingerly pushes Elizabeth's hands out of the way as she's attempting to reapply the ice compress to my jaw, and places her own small hand on my jaw. There is an instant surge of warmth to the area where the ice had been, and I feel a tingling sensation radiate down my neck and up the side of my face.

Claire closes her eyes and her breathing becomes slow and deep, like when she is sound asleep. As she continues to hold her hand on my jaw, ever so slowly, the pain starts to ease, until there is nothing more than a soreness left, and I can easily open and close my mouth. Michael and Elizabeth are gaping at us with their mouths wide open in total disbelief. When Claire is finished with my jaw, she reaches around to the back of my head and places her hand on an area that I only now become aware of as hurting. Once again, she closes her eyes and relaxes her breathing so much that I worry she might stop at any moment. It takes only a few minutes for the pain in my head to completely subside, and I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, ready to get up.

Elizabeth engages Claire in a game of chess while Michael takes me out on the back deck to fill me in on the events which occurred after Alisha punched me. Using her mental forces, Claire apparently threw Alisha against the wall and pinned her there with a knife to her throat for close to a minute, before Burke & Elizabeth could talk her into releasing her. I share with him the incident with Uncle Karl, and my concerns over her growing violence and he reassures me the way Ronan had yesterday that she is much younger than any of the other infected Designers. We sit silently, watching Burke and Alisha slowly make their way across the meadow from the trail behind the house. He has his arm around her shoulder in a consoling way, and as they get closer, it's evident that she had been crying. Her remorse eases my anger slightly but not enough to let her off the hook. I am prepared to set some ground rules when it comes to Claire, especially now that we know Claire's capabilities. They come up the stairs slowly and I see Alisha worriedly searching my face for any sign of injuries.

"Cat, I am so sorry. I don't know what got into me," she says sincerely, sitting down next to me.

I reach over and give her hand a quick squeeze, letting her know that I am fine. "Alisha, I am sorry about Claire too," I say, shaking my head as we both chuckle.

"That kid has some serious power," Alisha says, and I am relieved that she isn't holding a grudge against Claire.

"You don't even know the extent of it. None of us do," Michael joins in. "She healed Cat's broken jaw," he says proudly.

Alisha looks at me astonished. "She healed you?" she repeats, searching my face again for hidden injuries.

"Well, we don't know that my jaw was really broken," I say, almost a little embarrassed now.

"Oh, trust me, as hard as I hit you, your jaw should have been broken."

We all sit in silence, lost in our own thoughts about the implications of Claire's new talent, until I unexpectedly blurt out with certitude, "Alisha, you can never, ever override my authority with Claire ever again."

She quietly replies, "I know."

***

It's now been twelve hours since the time we think Ronan took off to Great Falls, and he hasn't connected with anyone. Even Alisha is now showing apprehension over his whereabouts, and informs us that she is going to check on him, which evokes questioning stares from all of us except Michael. I am learning more about psychic abilities than I ever wanted to know. Coming from a Christian background, I wonder what my parents would think about all of this, and then I remember that it's because of their decision to genetically modify Claire that we are being exposed to this kind of stuff in the first place. Nonetheless, I say a quick prayer asking for God's forgiveness. Just in case.

"Remote Viewing is simply a mental faculty that allows me to see objects or situations from a distance using extrasensory perceptions," Alisha smoothly explains.

She gathers a pencil and some papers, and gives us explicit instructions not to interrupt her when she retreats to one of the back bedrooms. An hour later, she emerges holding the papers that now have sketches and drawings on them, and her brow is furrowed as if she is concentrating deeply on something. She plops down at the dining table, and spreads the sheets of paper out on the table and the rest of us crowd around her. Claire, unable to see around the adults, nudges between Michael and Elizabeth and boldly climbs in Alisha's lap, completely uninvited, but not unwanted apparently, judging by the smile playing at the corners of Alisha's mouth. The room is dead quiet while we wait for Alisha to decipher the images for us. I'm not sure about anybody else, but none of it makes sense to me, and I am reminded of the game Pictionary, and how I always sucked at it.

Finally, Alisha speaks in a grave tone that makes my heart sink.

"I am pretty sure they have him contained in a shielded room, like an MRI scanner, which means they have suspicions of his ability to transmit thoughts to us. It's also possible that they are sedating him so he can't respond, but either way, we need to get to him as soon as possible."

After a short, civilized debate, we collectively decide as a group to split up; sending Michael, Burke, Claire, and myself back to Great Falls to find Ronan, while Elizabeth, Alisha, Spencer, and Charles stay here to continue their work with the new Designers. I assure Alisha that Claire will be available to participate in the new Designer training process, which, theoretically, she could do remotely from anywhere in the world.

In the past few days, Spencer and Charles have kept mostly to themselves, interacting with the rest of us only to assist with computer stuff. Had I not known any better, I would have thought they were mute, like Claire, but Michael defends them saying, "They are true computer geeks, and their quietness is completely typical of them."

I am in the bedroom getting Claire to bed, and Elizabeth just steps out of the shower when we hear Charles holler loudly, "Hey guys, you need to take a look at this!" and we automatically know that it must be urgent.

Elizabeth struggles to get dressed and I hastily kiss Claire goodnight, telling her to stay put. I race to the living room, my heart already pounding loudly in my chest, and when someone mentions Ronan's name, I start to feel dizzy. Burke and Michael step back to make room for me, one look at their face and I am instantly filled with dread. The message on the computer screen confirms Alisha's predictions.

Need help. Please!

Ronan

My knees start to buckle, and I feel myself being led to the couch by Burke and Michael.

"Maybe it's a hoax or a trap," I hear Elizabeth say in her sweet, optimistic voice. "No way, the message came through a members only website," Charles says assuredly.

Alisha immediately jumps into action, barking out orders to the rest of us, and within an hour, we are on our way back to Great Falls.

# CHAPTER TWENTY

RONAN

I reach the edge of town long before the sun is up, and pull over on the side of the road to figure out my next move. With a three hour drive behind me, one would think I'd have a plan by now, but I don't. The man with my mother's cell phone sounded ominous, and I wasn't sure if I had any alternative but to follow his orders. He instructed me to meet him on the west side of town, in a vacant lot behind a row of abandoned apartments, an area known for gang activity. The voice on the phone didn't sound like it belonged to a local gang thug; it was more mature and polished. It wasn't a voice that I recognized either.

"I have your parents, and if you want to see them alive, do as I say." The words echo in my brain and I feel the familiar fury swirling around inside me. This time, I do nothing to squelch it. The most troubling part of the phone call was that whoever it was knew enough to warn against bringing the others with me. I glance at the clock, 3:45 a.m., forty-five minutes before I'm due to meet my parents' kidnapper. I think about going early to scout out the area, but in a split second decision I pull into my neighborhood instead.

The street leading to my house is empty, as would be expected in a neighborhood like ours, where cars parked on the street are against HOA rules. I leave the car parked three blocks away, thinking that if I should need to make a quick escape, it would be faster on foot. The yellow crime scene tape frames the front yard, and the house appears just like it did on the front page of the newspaper, the whole north wing roofless, and half the siding missing from the master bedroom. My stomach feels queasy, and I fight the urge to turn around and run. The slider to the living room off the back deck is already open, and the overpowering stench of burned synthetic materials saturates my lungs, causing me to choke.

Tonight, I am grateful for the DNA enhancement that gave me superior night vision. I can see everything in the room almost as well as I would in the daylight. There doesn't appear to be fire damage to the kitchen and living room, but nonetheless, the rooms are in complete disarray, with stuff scattered everywhere. Not the way my normally very tidy parents would leave it. Suddenly, I feel an overwhelming uneasiness, and I abandon the idea of searching the rest of the house. I weave my way around piles of debris in the living room and just make it out on the back deck again when I hear the click of a Taser gun, and, at the same time, feel every single muscle in my body lock up.

A moment later, I hear voices laughing at the way my body is flopping around on the deck, and Officer Jones triumphantly exclaims, "I knew he'd come here first."

I try to focus on the faces around me, but they are muted in a halo of white light. It seems like hours pass before two large men half carry, half drag me to the unmarked car and push me on to the backseat. The muscles in my arms and legs continue to twitch involuntarily, and my bottom lip feels like it's been shot full of Novocain. I have no control over the drooling and wouldn't even consider trying to speak at this time.

It takes me a moment to recognize the loading docks to the back entrance of the hospital, where I had been a few days ago. At least I think it was a few days ago, now I'm not sure, maybe it's been weeks. I focus hard, trying to recall the map to the exam room: down three floors, take a left, then two rights, or was it two lefts, and one right? Funny, I never have a hard time recalling details like this. My brain is like a computer, it stores everything, and the information is always readily available to me. I guess this is how normal people feel when I see them struggle to remember things, and I think it totally sucks.

I am escorted by the two large men to a much bigger exam room than what I was in before. This one has two gurneys in it, separated by a red cart with a defibrillator and EKG machine. There is a full bank of cabinets along one wall, which has a list of supplies neatly typed and taped to each door. I am shoved towards one of the gurneys, and this time, both hands are handcuffed to the gurney rail. I am oblivious to the fact that I lost bladder control with the first Tasing until one of the guards looks down at my wet pants and smirks. I reactively swing my leg around, kicking him in the chest, and he flies across the room, landing on the other gurney with a thud. Officer Jones cusses at me and pulls the Taser gun out of his holster, pointing it directly at me. I curl up in the fetal position, like a helpless dog, being kicked by an abusive owner. I'm not sure if knowing what to expect helps, or if my muscles are just desensitized, but round two with the Taser doesn't seem quite as severe as the first time. When I hear the guard claim that, "I think my rib is broken," I conclude that it was probably worth it.

Once my brain cells began firing normally again, I immediately try to connect mentally with Burke, Alisha, Elizabeth, and even Claire. There is no response. I try again, and still nothing. I fall asleep trying to connect calls with my Designer family, and it is not until I feel someone unlocking my handcuffs that I wake up. Rolling over, I am face to face with a forty something year old prison guard who smells like tobacco and looks like a human version of a pit bull dog. It's a stark contrast to the beautiful angel I was dreaming of just moments before and I close my eyes hoping to recapture the image of Cat.

"Time to wake up kid," the guard says gruffly, nudging my shoulder.

"What time is it?" I ask, looking around for a clock.

"Past my lunch time, on my day off thanks to you," he responds snidely. "You try and kick me and I'll use more then a Taser gun on you. Now sit up. I don't take kindly to being called in on my day off because some stupid punk attacks one of my co-workers," he starts in.

"Ah, come on Tommy, a little overtime right before Christmas can't hurt," the second guard chimes in, good-naturedly. This only prompts Tommy to go into a lengthy protest over missing the second half of the football game, which continues as the two of them escort me down the several long corridors until we come to an area that says 'Radiology'.

***

Dr. Jason Lundgren is waiting for me when I arrive. He introduces himself as the doctor who will be overseeing my care.

"Is that what you call this? I actually would call it a conspiracy," I say sarcastically. He doesn't attempt to disagree.

"Ronan, why don't you have a seat," he says motioning me to a chair directly across from the one he's sitting in. He is soft spoken, with intense blue eyes that never leave my face as he questions me. He appears to be in his early thirties, even with the touch of gray in his hair and goatee. The diamond earring post in his right ear reveals his youth and gives the impression that he's a little bit of a rebel.

"So based on the notes I have from the school incident as well as the injuries inflicted on one of the guards, it appears you arequite strong. Would you agree?" he asks.

"Maybe. Why is that important?"

"We want to determine what DNA modifications were done to give you extraordinary strength," he says bluntly. "How about your hearing and eyesight? Are they enhanced?"

"That depends. If you compare me to a ninety-year old then I suppose my eyesight and hearing might be considered enhanced," I reply and I see him smirk as he jots a few notes down.

"All right Ronan, how about speed. Will you tell me how fast you can run?"

"Why don't you unlock my handcuffs and I'll let you clock me as I'm running out the door," I say almost beginning to enjoy myself.

He treats me respectfully even though I am considered less than cooperative. "And one final question Ronan. Are you psychically gifted?"

I actually laugh out loud at this question. "Yes, would you like me to read your palm or speak to one of your dead relatives?"

He chuckles, then informs me that they are definitely going to run tests on me, nothing invasive, except blood draws for lab work.

***

The sound of the MRI scanner makes a loud, rhythmic tick, tick, tick as it passes over my brain. I was given a sedative, even though I adamantly refused. Dr. Lundgren said it was crucial that I lay perfectly still for the scan. The sedative makes it hard to concentrate on any one thing, and a jumble of images cloud my mind: my parents being bound and gagged in a dark dungeon, Cat with her large innocent eyes, full of warmth and compassion, a motorcycle ride along a windy canyon road. They say you can't change a person, but I know Cat has changed me, because I am praying for the chance to see my parents again, to tell them how sorry I am.

After about an hour, the rhythmic ticking of the MRI scanner slows down, and then comes to a complete stop. Dr. Lundgren and the MRI Tech come in and release the straps from my wrists, and I am escorted to the bathroom and instructed to "relieve myself". This time, not only are there military soldiers lingering around the radiology department, but there are plenty of plain clothed men casually standing around as well. Only a Designer would see the tiny microphones attached to their collar, and detect the exchange of voices over their ear pieces. _CIA_ , I think to myself, _and undoubtedly armed with deadly force_.

The bathroom provides the only privacy I have had all day, and I know this could be my one and only shot to get a message to the others. The cell phone I lifted from the hospital aide's pocket has internet access, and it takes me only a matter of seconds to log on to the Designer Website and send an email letting the others know that I need help. I then turn it off and bury it at the bottom of the trash can, hoping the aide won't notice it missing until the end of his shift.

The EEG lab is much quieter than the MRI. I am still unable to transmit mentally with the others, and I'm not sure if it is due to the sedatives or if I'm still in a shielded room. At least I was able to get a message out, and this alone makes me feel better. It may be a false sense of confidence, but I feel that I am going to make it out of here alive. I feel a wave of peace wash over me, and I allow myself to drift into a semiconscious state.

***

My first thought when I look down and see my body lying motionless, wearing a red skullcap embedded with electrodes, is that I have died. I mean I've heard stories of people having near death experiences, where they float above their bodies and are sucked into a beautiful white light. I look around for the white light, the tunnel that will be lined with all my ancestors who have gone before me, encouraging me not to be afraid. I'm not afraid, at least I wasn't until a few seconds ago, but now, I consider that maybe I'm not good enough to go to the white light and I feel a brief moment of panic. The heart monitor below speeds up, and this makes the tech and Dr. Lundgren look up at my now uninhabited body with nothing more than mild curiosity. Certainly not with the alarm that I would expect to see if I was really dying. It dawns on me that I am still very much alive. My heart is beating like normal and my chest is rising and falling as I breathe. Somehow, I have managed to separate my conscious mind from my physical body in some sort of out of body experience.

I turn to look at Dr. Lundgren, who is on the other side of the glass, in the next room speaking with another physician. The second I think about joining them, I am there, floating above them. The other physician is Dr. Childress, whose name tag identifies him as a physician with the Center for Disease Control. They are both dressed in military camo fatigues.

"It's virtually unheard of to have this much electrical activity in all lobes of the brain, at the same time," I hear Dr. Childress tell Dr. Lundgren, and he lets out a low whistle and shakes his head in disbelief. "I wonder if all their brains look like this?" he asks, mostly to himself.

Dr. Lundgren responds with a nod of his head, "The EEG and MRI of the Harold and Kappel kids were almost identical to this." They are both silent as they continue to watch the wavy lines on the computer screen. "Do you know the Callahans?" Dr. Lundgren suddenly asks Dr. Childress.

He shakes his head no. "You?"

"Yes, I worked with John Callahan, nice guy and a good physician. I think this is their only kid," Dr. Lundgren pauses as if contemplating what to say next. He glances uneasily at the tech, than asks him to go in and check on me, which he obediently does.

As soon as the tech is out of ear shot, Dr. Lundgren blurts out, "I'm not quite sure that I agree with them, that these kids need to be destroyed."

They both glance up at the heart monitor that is suddenly bleeping much faster, and Dr. Childress attributes it to the tech being in the room with me.

"Jason, you know these kids have the potential to create worldwide destruction. We only know the tip of the iceberg of what they are capable of. The government never intended for them to live this long, we just assumed that the virus targeting them specifically would have worked much quicker. Had we known they would develop immunity so quickly, we would have considered other ways of disposing of them. I mean, seriously, how many kids have been affected? Only six or seven?" Dr. Childress asks, chuckling and shaking his head.

I see Dr. Lundgren give him a dirty look, but it doesn't deter him from continuing.

"You've got to hand it to Kappel, he thought of everything, even superior immune systems. The guy really was a genius, but he should have stopped with physical and personality traits and left the rest to nature. Now we are left with a dangerous mess, trying to get to these kids before they learn about their supernatural abilities."

"But what if these kids don't really possess the gifts that Dr. Kappel wrote about? I mean, he never had the chance to test his theories. What if these are just normal kids with a few superior traits, and that's it? Are you willing to have the blood of innocent kids on your hands, just because they're beautiful?" Dr. Lundgren says passionately.

"Jason, you'd better be careful. Your first priority is your government and your country," Dr. Childress warns. "And besides, look at that kid's brain scan," he says impatiently, pointing to the images on the screen. "That alone should convince you, and besides, if Dr. Kappel wasn't positive of the outcome of his work, he never would have written about it. Unless there is a way to control or disable their gifts, they are considered too much of a security risk for the rest of the world," Dr. Childress says firmly.

Jason Lundgren changes the subject and asks how many kids have been located.Dr. Childress takes his time in answering.

"Dr. Kappel, apparently, was able to warn most of the parents, and they scattered all over the country. He supposedly destroyed most of the medical records, so all we have to work with is a partial list of last names. The Kappel and Harold kid, as you know, are nowhere to be found now."

Dr. Lundgren doesn't have a chance to reply as the two are interrupted by one of the undercover agents, who whispers something in Dr. Childress' ear. Dr. Lundgren wouldn't have heard the message, but I did loud and clear, "They want the kid taken care of by tomorrow."

I hover over the two physicians thinking, about my next move. Alisha was right, the government really did view us as a world threat, and they really did have plans to dispose of us. To me, our supernatural abilities just don't seem like that big of a deal. So what, if we can communicate mentally, and move inanimate objects around? Big deal. It's not like I want to sit around with a bunch of other Designers, making airplanes in the sky do somersaults just to terrorize a bunch of innocent people.

In fact, all I really want is to get back to Great Falls, with Cat and Claire, making sure they are taken care of. I wouldn't even be opposed to finishing high school, knowing that I would see Cat every day. Then we would make plans for college, and eventually she would become my wife, if I happened to be so fortunate. The prospect of my incredibly normal future with Cat suddenly gives me a strong desire to see her, and about the time I wonder if it's possible to travel to Whitefish, I am there, hovering over the dining room table just in time to see Alisha take a swing at Cat, knocking her out cold.

The rage inside of me is tempered only slightly when I see Alisha pinned to the wall with a knife at her throat, Claire being the obvious force behind it. I watch helplessly as Michael carries Cat to the back room and I repeatedly beat myself up for leaving her. It's not until I see her sit up and talk that I am able to leave the premises. I consider one last stop in my travels before returning to my body in the MRI scanner.

I knew Officer Jones was scum from the moment I met him at the school, but I never dreamed he would be involved in something as serious as kidnapping. The words, "I knew he would come here first," is testimony enough that he knows something about my parents' disappearance, and I am determined to find out what. I find him seated at his desk in the police station, with one leg lazily draped over the corner. He is chewing on a straw, ambitiously working on a crossword puzzle from the local newspaper. A female, uniformed officer drops a large envelope on his desk and purses her lips as she notes his leg propped up on the desk.

"This is the last of it," she says, then waits impatiently for him to respond.

"Thirty-eight down, got it!" he hollers, carefully filling in the last letters of the crossword puzzle.

She gives him a disgusted look, but doesn't say anything.

"Are you sure this is all of it, Mary?" he asks accusingly as he reaches for the envelope.

She glares at him and looks like she's about to punch him, but instead, turns to walk away, calling over her shoulder, "You know where to find me if you have any questions."

His eyes fixate on her ass as she's leaving, and a slow smile spreads across his face. He waits until she is out of view, than turns the envelope over revealing the large bold print on the front: EVIDENCE FOR CALLAHAN MURDER CASE.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

RONAN

"NO!" the scream explodes inside my head and I am instantly back in the hospital EEG lab, clawing at the hard plastic cap on my head. I immediately hear an overhead page requesting back-up assistance, and then feel someone trying to pin my arm down. I see several unrecognizable faces standing over me, and hear Dr. Lundgren shout orders for someone to give me sedation through the IV catheter. It takes only a slight tug for me to break the hospital wrist restraints, and now, as I look into the eyes of the nurse getting ready to inject the medication, I see a slight hesitation. She pauses just long enough for me to yank the IV from my arm, spraying blood on the front of those standing closest. In the sea of faces surrounding me, it's Dr. Lundgren's that stands out, and looking directly at him, I beg him to stop. The rage and fight that I normally would experience in a situation like this is absent, and I am like a helpless child, whimpering and pleading. Maybe, it is for this reason that I see his eyes soften, and he orders everyone to back off.

Gripping my outstretched hand, he says in a soothing, gentle voice, "You have to calm down Ronan. It's going to be okay, but you have to calm down."

His words are like a tranquilizer and I repeat after him, "Yes. I need to calm down. I am going to calm down now."

He keeps a grip on my hand and turns my arm over, and I acknowledge the stream of blood running down my arm from where the IV had been.

"The nurse is going to stop the bleeding now, Ronan. I want you to let her put a bandage on your arm. Do you understand?"

I nod, but don't take my eyes off of him.

I allow the hospital staff to clean me up. There is blood everywhere from the dislodged IV catheter. I am dressed in a clean hospital gown and escorted by wheelchair to a part of the hospital that has patient rooms. Dr. Lundgren is waiting for me when they wheel me into a private room with a hospital bed, TV, and nightstand with a dinner tray on it.

"Food?" I ask disinterestedly.

"If that's what you want to call it," he says with a faint smile. He glances uneasily at the non-discreet men that followed us from downstairs and now sit outside the door, sipping coffee. I ease myself into the bed, trying not to groan as I do. Every muscle in my body hurts from the Taser, and I am grateful for the hospital bed and not a prison cell cot. Dr. Lundgren tosses a pair of hospital pajama bottoms, sensing that I might be a little uncomfortable in an opened back hospital gown. I slip them on and pull the covers over me, fold my hands in my lap, and wait for him to speak. He gives me a long look, studying my face, as if trying to decide what or how much to say.

I relieve him of his dilemma and blurt out, "Why my parents?" and then start to sob.

He doesn't look surprised at all by my knowledge of my parents' death, nor does he attempt to deny it, taking away any hope that I had mistaken what I saw in the police station.

Dr. Lundgren sits quietly and listens to my rambling confessions to years of shameless behavior towards my parents. I disclose all the details of growing up a Designer, the struggles, the successes, the resentment towards my parents for genetically modifying my genes. If he's judging me, it doesn't show. I see the men outside the room watch me with curiosity, and I suspect the room is wired with listening devices. I play the audience to my advantage.

"We are not the bad guys you know. None of us are. All we want is to live our lives in peace. We don't want to hurt anyone, really," I plead to him. When he doesn't reply, I become more brazen. "So, when will I be murdered like my parents? You know that it's murder when you take an innocent human life, don't you?"

My questions have the desired effect, as I notice the men outside nervously preoccupy themselves with cell phones. Even Dr. Lundgren shifts in his chair, and avoids my gaze, while he motions for the nurse to give me something in my IV. I don't really expect him to answer my question, so I continue my morbid dialogue, hoping to speak to their conscience.

"If you are planning on going to my funeral, can you get a message to a friend?" I ask, and he nods yes. "Her name is Cataryn, but she goes by Cat. Just look for the most beautiful girl you've ever seen in your life, and it will be her," I assure him.

He smiles sadly.

"Will you tell her that I was planning on asking her to marry me someday, that I would have taken care of her forever? Let her know that it's only because of her that I've felt joy and happiness for the first time in my life. Would you let her know?" I say groggily as the medications starts to kick in, and my eyelids flutter close. I will myself to keep talking, telling him everything I would want Cat to know, certain now that I will never see her again.

***

"Ronan, where are you?" the sound of Burke's voice sounds far away, and at first I can't tell if he is just part of the bizarre dream I'm having or if he has found a way around the medications to connect with me mentally.

I can tell that I still have medication in my system, but my mind is starting to clear a little as I become more aware of my surroundings. I try not to move, as I don't want to alert the men guarding my room or the nurse that I am awake. I heard Dr. Lundgren give them specific orders to keep me sedated, and any detected movement or change in my heart rate would surely prompt them to give me more.

"Burke, I can hear you, are you there?" I try tentatively.

The relief in his voice is apparent, "Hey, where are you buddy?"

"I am in a hospital room. The nurse's name tag says 3 North, but you can't come up here. This place is surrounded with undercover agents."

There is silence as he considers his options. "Who are you with?" I ask with mixed emotions, wanting to see Cat and Claire, but also wanting them to be where it's safe, not here.

He confirms that Cat, Claire, and Michael have accompanied him, and they are in the hospital parking lot. I hear my heart monitor speed up slightly, and the nurse comes in to check on me as I lay motionless in the bed, faking a snore. She seems satisfied that I am still sufficiently sedated for now, but I hear her tell one of the men that I'm due for another dose soon.

"Hi Ronan, are you ok?" Claire's sweet, angelic voice fills the spaces of my mind, and I can't help but smile. Before I can respond, she lets me know that Alisha, Elizabeth, as well as three other Designers are connected.

If I concentrate hard, I can vaguely hear Alisha barking out orders to the crowd. As quickly as I can, without missing important details, I describe my surroundings, patient rooms, which appear to be empty, the number of undercover agents and their location, the nurse's station, etc. I let them know that the nurse is getting ready to give me more sedation in my IV, and that's when I hear Alisha's dominant voice. She instructs me on how to dislodge the catheter from my arm while leaving it taped in place, so it looks like it is still attached to my arm. She tells me to apply pressure to the site, and I recall the bloody mess the last time I yanked my IV out. By the time the nurse gets to my bedside, I have the end of the IV catheter out of my vein, bleeding from the site has stopped, and IV fluids are dripping on the sheets under my arm. I roll over and look at her as she tries to find a port to push the medication through and watch her eyes follow the IV tubing down my arm. Worried that she might detect the moisture on the sheets, I effortlessly distract her.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?" I say dreamily, flashing a smile.

She blushes and smiles back, then quickly pushes the medication into the IV port. I curl up and close my eyes as I murmur, "Thank you," letting out a big sigh for added effect. She leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

"All right, she's gone," I tell the group, and they fill me in on the plan.

***

It only makes sense that if our combined thoughts create enough energy force to move large objects, then why not create fire? It surprisingly takes little effort on the group's part to ignite an impressive fire in the trash can near the nurse's station. I watch as the undercover agents run over to help the lone nurse trying to use the fire extinguisher to put it out, and as soon as their backs are turned, I jump out of bed and turn off the bedside cardiac monitor before unhooking the leads from my chest. I ditch the hospital gown and grab my coat, throwing it over my bare chest as I quietly exit the room. I don't anticipate there being additional undercover officers outside the unit doors, and the look of surprise on their faces mimics mine. They recover quickly and draw their concealed weapons, pointing them directly at my head and chest.

"Guns," I alert Claire, and she immediately re-directs the energy from the burning fire to the two guns being pointed at me, easily forcing them from the grips of their owners, sending them flying down the corridor, with the agents chasing after them.

I race down the long hallway, reaching the stairwell doorway within seconds. I don't notice the military guard emerge from an empty patient room until I hear a loud bang and feel a searing pain near my shoulder blade. The second shot narrowly misses my head, and I scream for help. The door to the stairwell opens, then swiftly closes behind me as I race through, just as a third shot is fired. Claire uses the mental energy of the crew to hold the door closed against the men trying to break through on the other side. It takes me less than ten seconds to run down the three flights of stairs and burst through the door leading to the outside.

"Which way?" I scream, trying to get my bearings of the hospital building in relation to the front gate. Alisha is immediately in my mind, giving me directions as I describe my surroundings to her. A guard at the front gate draws his gun and orders me to stop, but he underestimates the speed at which I am running, and I reach him long before he has a chance to radio for help or even aim his weapon. My punch knocks him out cold.

As soon as I'm in the black SUV and the door is shut, Cat's arms are around my neck. Her body next to mine feels like heaven and I bury my head in her neck, inhaling deeply the scent of her hair, temporarily blocking everything else out, until Burke notices the blood soaking through my coat and yells for Michael to pull over.

"Holy shit," Burke says, as they examine the gaping wound in my back.

"We have to get him to a hospital," Michael says even though we all know that that's the last place I can go to right now. He pokes and prods around the wound, almost sending me through the roof, and eventually concludes that the bullet isn't lodged in the tissue, but bleeding and infection are still a concern. Claire impatiently tries to push Burke's hands away as he holds pressure to stop the bleeding, and he scolds her, which induces a flurry of hand movement as she angrily signs a message to Cat. Having already seen her healing abilities with Cat, I confidently give her permission to take care of my wound, and she eagerly lays the palm of her hand over the gushing wound, creating a pleasant warm tingling sensation under my skin.

"Add miraculous healer to your list of talents," I say fifteen minutes later, and she smiles proudly, signing, "You're welcome." I may still have an open wound, but the bleeding and pain have subsided, and I suspect by morning the wound will be completely gone.

We are on our way back to Whitefish after stopping for a quick bite to eat, when I share with the others, the events that took place, starting with the cell phone conversation with my parent's kidnapper and capture at my house. I tell them about my out of body experiences and the conversation between Dr. Lundgren and Dr. Childress.

"I am not sure how much they know about our psychic abilities, but they must know enough to realize our potential danger," I inform them. I also tell them that the government created the virus specifically to target Designer kids.

"Are you sure you weren't just dreaming or hallucinating?" Burke asks skeptically.

I leave them no room for doubt when I describe in detail the events that occurred between Alisha and Cat. Finally, I take a deep breath and share with them the news about my parents. Cat starts to softly cry, and leans her head on my shoulder. Burke pounds his fist on the back of the seat, letting out a string of profanities that he later apologizes to Cat and Claire for.

Michael just shakes his head sadly. "Your parents were terrific people, Ronan. They certainly didn't deserve this."

Claire stares off in the distance with a perplexed look on her face, then connects a call with me. "Ronan, I don't think your parents are dead; I would feel it if they were. I'm pretty sure they are still alive," she says happily, then leans back in her seat and closes her eyes.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

RONAN

Alisha plants a fist in my right arm that rivals that of a boxer. "That is for leaving in the first place, you idiot," she spits.

"It's good to see you too, Ali," I say, patting the top of her head condescendingly, which only infuriates her more and she gets ready to swing a second time.

Cat holds her hand up, giving her a signal to stop. "Alisha, we don't need my five-year-old sister practicing full time medicine, so give it a rest."

The others nod their head in agreement. I'm too tired to fight with her. I am consumed with sadness and guilt over my parents' death, and need to be alone to work it out. I head outside to the back deck, and Cat quietly follows. Alisha starts to object, but I see Burke lock eyes with her, and she becomes silent while he likely fills her in on the news of my parents.

I thought I wanted to be alone, but as it turns out, Cat's warm hand in mine feels like a lifeline, and I wrap my large fingers around hers and pull her hand to my lips.

"I'm not even half as close to my parents as you were to yours, and it's killing me to think of them being gone. I don't know how you survived the loss of your family," I say, looking down at her.

It takes her a while to respond, but when she does, her words send a chill down my spine. "Had it not been for Claire, I would have chosen to join the rest of my family," she says softly, as she continues to stare up at the sky.

"Cat, please tell me that you will never consider that as an option again," I manage to choke out.

She slowly turns to look at me and smiles warmly, bringing my hand to her lips now. "I should have known that God had something wonderful in store for me," she whispers.

Her words make one of the suckiest days of my life a little brighter. "Cat, I want to tell you—"

My words are interrupted by Claire who was sent as Alisha's messenger to summon us back inside.

Spencer and Charles are busy at the computers and announce that the Designer website has grown to five new members.

"That's one more member than there was just this morning," Alisha announces proudly, and all of us sincerely thank her, acknowledging the accomplishment.

There is a flood of questions and concerns from the new members regarding their supernatural abilities, the deadly virus, and the government's plans for them. I quickly fill Alisha and Elizabeth in on the details that Burke left out, including my newly discovered talent for traveling out of body, which Alisha eagerly compares to her gift for remote viewing. The two seem to be related but, not entirely the same, and I get the impression that she is bugged by the fact that my gift may be superior to hers. I swiftly change the topic and reveal the conversation I overheard between Dr. Lundgren and Dr. Childress.

"They are behind the virus? Those creeps!" Alisha hisses.

Elizabeth shakes her head sadly, but says she's relieved that her dad isn't fully responsible for the deaths of young kids. Everyone is relieved when I tell them that Dr. Childress thought that our immune systems were already fighting the virus, as the death toll wasn't as high as they expected.

"All right everyone, listen up," Alisha commands, and everyone falls silent, waiting for her to continue. "It's time to fight back. These guys are serious about hurting us and we need to stand up to them!" she says with authority. Michael starts to object, but she quickly cuts him off. "I am not going to live my life on the run, in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder. I want to have a normal life, my own medical practice, and they are not going to stop me!" she says defiantly.

"Amen!" I say in agreement, thinking about my own future goals with Cat and Claire. I walk over to stand beside her in a show of support, and she glances at me appreciatively. "I have been held hostage and shot at by these guys, and I agree with Alisha, I don't want to live a life on the run either." I lock eyes with Cat and continue, "I want to finish school and someday get married." Cat smiles and blushes sweetly, but nods in encouragement for me to continue. "We are now powerful enough to fight back, so let's give them an ultimatum."

Michael jumps out of his seat before I can finish. "Are you suggesting we go to war with our own government?" he asks incredulously. Spencer and Charles look at each other in disbelief.

"I am saying that we convince the people behind this that it is in their best interest to back off this witch hunt they are on," I say slowly. Michael still doesn't look like he's completely on board, so I push a little further. "We are children and they killed my parents, is that not enough?"

Michael sits down on the coffee table and runs his fingers through his hair. He is silent for a moment, then grins and, looking at Elizabeth, says, "Okay, you're right. They won't stop until you are all dead, and you are kind of like family to me now. I guess I'm on board." Elizabeth walks over and kisses the top of his head, before sitting down next to him.

Alisha doesn't waste any time. "First things first. We need to make sure we have full support of all Designer members. I will draft a memo that we can post to the website by tonight, letting them know the latest developments and our intent. Ronan, you need to perfect your skill for out of body travel, we are going to need to get into places with tough security. Michael, why don't you help induce him into a relaxed state? Burke, if it's okay with Cat," she pauses and looks at Cat questioningly, "Maybe you can work on exercises with Claire and the new Designers, to strengthen the energy?"

Claire signs something to Cat and she nods in approval. Claire happily skips over to Burke and takes him by the hand, leading him over to Spencer to pull up profiles of the newest members.

"All right, there are a total of eleven of us now, and that may be enough, but I still think we need to find and recruit new Designers. Out of three hundred patients, we have made contact with only one hundred and seventy. We are just over halfway through the list. Elizabeth, why don't you work through the rest of the names on the list?"

Elizabeth nods in agreement and pulls a chair up to Charles' computer.

Lastly, Alisha turns to Cat, "You're the best cook we have, would you mind?"

"Of course, I'll take care of the meals," Cat says, looking relieved to have an assignment.

"All right, let's get to work!"

***

The house is eerily quiet for the next two hours. Michael gives me a mild tranquilizer (although I'm not convinced I need it at all) to help me relax, and uses a form of hypnosis to lull me into a very relaxed state. If I was worried about being able to leave my body once again, I didn't need to be: it seems to come naturally to me. I take my first journey to Burke's parents' house, as I promised him I would. They are alive and well, but I leave immediately when my parents' names come up in their conversation. Next, I check on Cat's house and make sure it's not being staked out, which it doesn't seem to be. Finally, I travel back to the hospital, easily popping in and out of only the rooms that I had been in, looking for signs of Dr. Childress or Dr. Lundgren. So far, I am only able to travel to places that I've previously been to, and I know this won't be enough, so I try hard to migrate beyond the rooms, into hallways, or adjacent rooms. It's not as if it's impossible, but the items in the room become fuzzy or muted and I am unable to see details clearly.

I re-enter my body and wake-up to find Cat sitting at my bedside instead of Michael. There is a sadness to her smile, and she starts to say something, but I cut her off, grabbing her to pull her down on the bed next to me. I slowly roll over on top of her and cup her face in my hands, looking deep in her eyes.

"I didn't think I was ever going to see you again," I say hoarsely.

Tears well up in her eyes, and one spills over her lower lash, slowly trickling down her cheek. "I was so scared," she whispers, and pulls me closer.

I gently wipe the tear away with my thumb, but another one soon takes its place.

"I'm so sorry about your parents. I wish I could have gotten the chance to know them better," she sniffles.

I sigh and roll on to my back, and she lays her head on my chest, draping one leg over mine. "Me too; I think they were ready to adopt you and Claire after two days," I admit, running my fingers through her long silky hair, letting it fall between my fingers, where it spills over my chest.

"I think the feeling was mutual," she responds sleepily, and I feel her yawn, which makes me yawn too.

***

When I wake up, the house is silent. Cat is still curled up sleeping next to me, and Claire is sound asleep next to her. I ease my arm out from underneath her head and roll up on to my side. The clock shows 4:00 a.m. We slept right through dinner and heaven only knows what else. Cat shivers next to me and I realize the temperature has dropped dramatically in the house. I pull the blankets up over the three of us and think about going back to sleep, but the soft contours of Cat's body molded so close to mine becomes too much of a distraction.

_Better leave for awhile and cool off_ , I think to myself, and flick a switch in my brain, allowing me to disconnect my conscious mind from my physical body. Once again, I am able to leave out of body, and I make the trip back to Great Falls, visiting all the places that I am familiar with. I check once again on Burke's parents and they are sound asleep. I return to the hospital and check all the rooms that I had been in previously, but they are still empty. I think about places further away, like Chicago, and the instant the image of our old house comes to mind, I am floating in the living room, looking at photos of the strange family that now lives there. But I just can't seem to move past the boundaries into areas that I have not been. I return to my body feeling defeated. Unless I figure this out, there is no way I am getting into Top Secret facilities. Just when I'm about to give up and go back to sleep, a thought occurs to me. Maybe I could travel to unfamiliar places if I had a clear enough picture in my mind.

"That's it," I murmur.

"That's what?" Cat asks groggily.

"Shhh, go back to sleep," I whisper as I start to get out of bed. She ignores me and follows me out into the living room.

Charles is awake working on the computer, and barely acknowledges us when we come up behind him. I ask him to pull up images of the Center for Disease Control main headquarters and for the next hour, we scroll through still pictures of the campus, and I memorize every detail that I can, even down to the types of plants that line the walkways. He then pulls up satellite images and we do the same thing, combing over every square inch of the campus until I am satisfied that I have enough details to attempt an out of body trip.

I then ask him if it would be possible to hack into government data bases, and he responds with a confident, "Yep, do it all the time. What do you want access to?"

"I need the layout to the offices within the Center for Disease Control. Do you think that's possible?"

He wordlessly moves his fingers rapidly over the keyboard, typing in a string of addresses and codes, until finally he is in the private internal website for the CDC. He easily pulls up the office department directory and scrolls through the list.

"What I really need is the visual layout, such as the virtual design of each floor: hallways, office décor, filing cabinets, even artwork," I say, hoping that he won't laugh at me.

"That's going to take a little more time," he replies, but shrugs his shoulders as if it's no big deal.

***

Cat is already busy in the kitchen cooking a lumberjack breakfast for the group, likely trying to make amends for shirking her dinner duties last night. She slaps my hand playfully when I reach for a piece of bacon, and gives me a verbal warning to stay out of the kitchen.

"Or what?" I challenge her, making the mistake of reaching for a second piece.

"Or this, she says, simultaneously grabbing my arm and with surprising strength and speed, twisting it behind my back in an arm lock, and pinning me against the countertop.

"That wasn't half bad, for a little kitty," I say teasingly, easily breaking her hold and swinging around to face her.

She smiles triumphantly, "Maybe I really am a Designer after all. Let's see if I can connect on the same frequency as you."

She closes her eyes and crinkles her brow in mock concentration, and I can't resist leaning in to steal a kiss. The moment my lips touch hers, she has her hands entwined in my hair, pulling me closer and kissing me deeply. Her lips part and she allows my tongue to explore uncharted territory. As her body relaxes against mine, I can't help but think that everything about her is a perfect fit for me. Like she was specifically designed; intellectually, physically, and emotionally just for me. I can feel her heart pounding against my chest and somewhere in the pit of my stomach, a fire ignites. I feel as if I'm falling off a cliff in slow motion, only instead of being afraid, I am enjoying every single second of the ride down.

The sound of Alisha's voice in the next room has the same effect as someone running their fingernails down a chalkboard, and Cat automatically releases her arms from around my neck, lightly pushing me away.

"You better watch out Designer Boy, Alisha is going to put you in timeout," she murmurs facetiously.

"Me?" I say innocently. "I was just doing what your mind told me to do," I laugh, ducking just in time to avoid the dishrag being chucked at me.

Over breakfast, I tell the others of my fruitless attempt to gain access to unfamiliar locations. I share my idea of using internet images to trick my mind into accepting them as places I've been to, and Alisha has an "ah-ha" moment.

"I think our two gifts, remote viewing and out of body travel, are meant to work together, she asserts, and Michael, Elizabeth, and Burke, agree with her.

As annoying as Alisha can be, once again I find myself marveling at how brilliant she is. _Her parents probably paid for a forty point IQ boost_ , I think silently to myself and I wonder if I'm a little jealous. Alisha is already formulating a plan to get into the CDC building.

Since the recruitment of new Designers has slowed way down and the exercises for thought energy conversion was momentarily halted, Alisha relieves Claire of her Designer duties, and Claire happily occupies herself in ways not typical of a five-year-old. First of all, she exhausts any willing adult in a game of chess, and after winning most of them, she wanders outside and successfully secures friendships with the local forest animals: deer, bunnies and even a Golden Eagle, which keeps her occupied for several hours. One can only imagine the conversation she is having with them, and just the thought makes me grin.

The experience of working collaboratively with Alisha on an exercise of mental travel is less than pleasant. The cryptic images that she receives don't always hold enough detail to allow me to travel there out of body, and this seems to offend her. Every time I don't quite follow her instructions, she reaches over and smacks me, leaving welts on my inner arm. Even the extraordinarily patient Michael seems to be getting annoyed by her bossy demands, and at one point warns her that he is ready to leave. Finally, after several hours of practice, the symbolic, cryptic images in her viewing exercises start to make sense to me. I now can extract enough details from her viewing that I am able to remotely travel to the same location and see everything with perfect clarity, as if I have personally traveled there. We are able to pair our gifts to remotely access any location in the world, uninhibited by the level of security. We are getting ready to stand our ground against a government, who seems intent on destroying us.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CAT

It's been almost a week since Ronan picked Claire and me up from outside the movie theater in Great Falls, but it feels like a lifetime ago. I came to Montana as an orphan, endowed with the responsibility of taking care of my little sister Claire, and keeping us safe from a crazy uncle who hated us for no reason. We had no one in the world but each other, and now we were part of a family. A family of fugitive Designers: beautifully and superiorly altered humans who hold extraordinary powers, and my little sister Claire is one of them. Although I would never understand my parents' motives for genetically altering her DNA, I marvel at the phenomenal gifts which are part of her genetic makeup. Even now, I watch her peculiar interaction with a herd of deer in the meadow outside the back deck. She doesn't speak, at least not vocally, but it's obvious by the way the deer respond to her hand signals that she is communicating on some level with them. As she walks among them, they look at her with mere curiosity, as if she is a natural part of the landscape.

I don't hear Ronan come up behind me, but I feel his arm slide around my waist. I automatically shift my weight and lean back against his hard, lean body, resting my head against his chest as we silently watch Claire together. At the tender age of sixteen, almost seventeen, I am in love with him. Not in a silly romantic way, but in a profoundly deep way. I love him the way that I love Claire, from the depths of my heart, unconditionally and completely.

"How did it go with Alisha?" I ask, already guessing his response.

"As well as anything can go when working with her," he says wryly, turning his arm over for me to see the welts.

I run my fingers lightly over the marks and I feel him quiver. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"

He sighs in response, and I feel his body tense up. Like everyone else, he is apprehensive about Alisha's proposed plan to stand against our government, but we all know that we have no other choices. The Designer movement had come too far to turn back now. There were five other Designer kids, and probably more, around the nation, depending on the success of this mission to ensure their future freedom and safety.

Claire looks over at us and grins, and I feel Ronan nod his head, responding to something she's saying to him mentally. Her ability to conveniently communicate this way with the other Designers is becoming a problem, and I worry she will never have a reason to use her voice again. Even now, she gets impatient at having to use sign language with me and often times will have another Designer speak on her behalf.

Before I have a chance to ask, Ronan says, "She wants to know if we are dating."

I laugh at her candor and I feel his arm tighten around my waist.

"I told her yes, and someday I'm going to marry you," he whispers quietly in my ear.

I whip around to face him and unintentionally let out a gasp. "Ronan, you can't say things like that to her, she is only five. She will take it seriously, and I don't want her hurt."

He smiles broadly and puts a finger to my lips to silence me. "Cataryn Avalon Cascadia McCullough," he softly cites my full hippy birth name that no one, outside my family, even knows about, at least so I thought.

I swallow the lump that's lodged in my throat and fight to remain reasonably rational. "You are only seventeen, you can't possibly know—"

He cuts me off mid-sentence. "I am seventeen with the mindset of a twenty-five-year old, and yes, I can and do know precisely what I want. Someday you will be my wife." He says this slowly and with such complete confidence and certainty, that I momentarily forget about our circumstances.

I study his face, looking for a hint that he's joking, but his eyes are full of sincerity and warmth. The smile on his face takes my breath away and I start to feel dizzy.

As the silence lingers, he starts to shift his weight, nervously waiting for me to respond. He leans down and I feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. The stubble from his unshaven face tickles my skin as his lips lightly brush my ear. "Um, Cat, this is the part where you reassure me that your feelings for me are mutual and you see me as a permanent part of your future too," he says playfully, kissing my neck.

The words "I love you," barely leave my lips, when Claire's scream pierces my heart like a dagger.

Claire hasn't uttered a sound in over a year, and yet I instantly know that the blood curdling scream belongs to her. Ronan and I turn just in time to see her small body crumble to the ground amongst the herd of deer. I am frozen with fear, but Ronan instantly flies into action, ordering me to go get the others as he catapults himself down the stairs and races across the meadow. He has her lifeless body in his arms when Alisha meets him halfway across the field. She briefly checks for a pulse and yells something, before they both take off sprinting for the house again. I want to go to them, but I can't move, the dread in my heart feels like an anchor pulling me down deeper and deeper into an abyss. The place where I descended the night I learned of my brother's and parents' death. The place that made me believe in something called hell. I slowly follow them into the house, and watch as Alisha barks out orders, and the other's scramble to get her supplies. I feel the life being sucked out of me as I watch them work over her. She starts an IV and Michael pushes something in a syringe through one of the ports. I see the fear in their eyes, even Alisha's, and I know she's gone, even before they start doing CPR. Nobody notices when I leave the room.

***

"Cat, wake up, it's me, Ronan." I hear urgency and concern in his voice, but I can't respond.

Someone says, "Wave this in front of her nose," and immediately a strong, pungent odor burns my nostrils, making me choke and cough. I try to sit up, but he gently pushes me back down.

"Just take some slow deep breaths," he says soothingly.

The ground feels wet and hard and I inhale deeply, sucking in the earthy smell of forest, trying to clear the lingering smell of ammonia. I'm not sure how far I ran or where I ended up, but the darkening sky tells me that I've been gone for several hours. The image of Claire's pale, unconscious body flashes in my mind, and I curl up into a ball as I feel a new wave of sobs convulse my body. Ronan scoops me in his arms and I don't resist.

Burke's familiar voice says, "We need to go back, they are coming for us."

My heart is too dead to ask questions. I simply bury my head in Ronan's chest and listen to his heavy breathing as he carries me back to the house, where we will wait for our own execution.

The second we walk through the door, Alisha barks at Ronan to put me down and get busy. There is no compassion or sympathy in her voice, and she doesn't even acknowledge me. Instantly, I am filled with rage at her lack of mourning for the lost life of my little sister. Before Ronan has a chance to stop me, I wiggle out of his arms and lunge for her from behind, grabbing her in a choke hold and dragging her out of her seat. I can't suppress the low growl that escapes my lips. She fights hard to free herself, but even her strength is no match for the emotion behind my assault. I vaguely feel Ronan's hands pry my arms from Alisha's neck, and once released, she gasps for air.

"What the hell has gotten into you, Cat?" she spits, rubbing her neck.

"She was my baby sister!" I sob, looking around for something to throw at her. "I loved her! She was all I had!" I'm almost hysterical now, and I grab the kitchen chair, raising it up to bust over her head. Alisha was an easy target to take my anger and grief out on. There was no one else here that I wanted to kill more than her. Burke intersects the chair and Ronan locks his arms around me, pinning my arms to my side.

"You didn't tell her? Alisha shrieks, looking at Ronan with contempt.

"I was sort of busy, Ali," he says through clenched teeth. He grabs me by the shoulders and whips me around to face him. "Cat, listen to me. Claire is alive. She just fainted, I'll explain later. Things are happening fast. Go in the bedroom and lay down with her. Don't disturb her We need her to stay connected to the group. I will be in as soon as we are finished."

"Claire is alive?" I whisper.

"Yes," he replies softly, kissing the top of my head.

I feel Michael's hand on my arm, leading me away to the bedroom, just as Elizabeth moans, "They are getting closer." She is sitting on the couch with her eyes clenched shut and her hands to her temples, rocking back and forth.

"Burke and Ronan, connect in, we need everyone that we can!" Alisha roars and immediately they take a seat next to Elizabeth, and close their eyes, concentrating heavily on using their mental horsepower.

Claire is lying motionless on the bed, still pale, but the faint rise in her chest and the bleep of the cardiac monitor confirms that she is alive. "Claire," I whisper, slowly walking over to the bed. A tear trickles down my face, and I fight hard to maintain my composure.

Michael warns me not to touch her.

"What happened?" I ask, trying to make sense of the recent events. "I saw them doing CPR on her. I thought she died," I say, suddenly feeling shameful for my behavior towards Alisha and wondering if I had hallucinated the whole event.

Michael briefs me on what happened in the two hours that I was gone. Apparently, Claire has the same gift as Ronan to out of body travel, which she discovered suddenly, while down in the meadow. "Instead of easing her subconscious mind out of her body, she abruptly left, causing her body to go into a state of shock," Michael explains. "Chances are she would have realized on her own that her physical body was in trouble and returned before things shut down for good, but we didn't know what was happening at the time, so we took the necessary actions to revive her. When she regained consciousness, she told us that she had a premonition that someone was coming for us, and instantly she was transported to Virginia and the offices of CIA Director, Robert Johnson. While there, she observed him giving orders to a team of undercover agents in Great Falls approving an attack. Somehow they found out that we are here."

"They are coming to attack us?" I say numbly.

"Thanks to Claire's quick thinking, she was able to obtain the direct phone number to Mr. Johnson, and Alisha has been on the phone with him, warning him to call off the attack."

"Or what?" I ask, but unsure if I really want to know the answer.

"I'm not sure," he says shaking his head. "There's only eleven Designers connected right now. I'm not sure how much energy they can generate, but I think we're going to find out soon enough."

"Why don't we just pack up and leave?" I say, once again on the verge of hysteria.

Michael shakes his head. "Alisha and the others don't want to run. They are convinced that now is the time to stand our ground if we are ever going to live freely. Let's hope they are right," he says, standing to go.

"You love her don't you?" I blurt out for some unknown reason.

My question stops him in his tracks, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "Elizabeth is a special lady," he says, walking out the door with a smile still on his face.

***

At first, the shaking of the bed and gentle rippling of the floor feels like part of the dream I'm having. It isn't until the bedside lamp crashes to the floor that I am jolted awake, trading one nightmare for another.

Somewhere in the house, someone screams, "EARTHQUAKE! Everyone Outside!"

Claire bolts upright and looks at me triumphantly, and it dawns on me that somehow she is involved, but now's not the time to ask questions. I grab her hand and yank her off the bed, just as we hear the loud crash of breaking dishes from the kitchen. The sound of Ronan's voice calling our names is drowned out by the loud rumbling noise that resembles a freight train passing close by. Just as we reach the bedroom door, the house goes pitch black, and I momentarily lose my grip on Claire's arm as we are thrown against the wall.

"Claire!" I frantically reach into the blackness, straining my eyes to see any sign of her.

From out of nowhere, Ronan is by my side. "I've got her," he says calmly and yanks me sideways, out of the path of a large dresser toppling over. His grip on my arm feels like steel as he leads us through the house. I'm not sure if part of his Designer qualities includes night vision, but he seems to have no problem navigating in the pitch-dark. Once we are outside, the light of the moon highlights the meadow beyond the deck, where everyone is congregated.

Michael does a headcount, calling out everyone's name like an elementary school teacher, and when everyone is accounted for, he turns to Alisha, "How much damage did it do?"

"It was stronger than we intended. Sorry about the house; we didn't think the damage would reach this far," she responds quietly. The whole thing lasts less than two minutes, and when it's over, we sit in stunned silence.

"So, you guys did this?" I finally whisper to Ronan.

"Yep," he says grimly, giving my hand a light squeeze.

The cell phone in Alisha's pocket is our only connection to the outside world, and up until now has gotten very little use, so when its ring shatters the night silence, we all jump.

"Mr. Johnson," Alisha answers, acknowledging the caller.

The rest of us hold our breath.

"The earthquake is just the beginning if you don't leave us alone," Alisha says coldly.

There is a long pause while he makes his own demands.

"We are not turning ourselves in, we did nothing wrong," she replies, shaking her head as she looks intently at the rest of us.

Once again, there is a period of silence and Michael leans closer to Alisha, trying to hear Mr. Johnson's response.

"No, we are innocent kids trying to live a normal life. _You_ are the danger. _You_ created a virus to destroy us. You've used lethal force against a minor, and you are likely responsible for the murder of innocent people," she replies, looking sympathetically at Ronan and pushing the speaker button, so the rest of us can hear his response.

"And you don't think that causing an earthquake is jeopardizing innocent human lives?" Mr. Johnson is saying.

Michael answers his question before Alisha has a chance. "It is not our intent to hurt innocent people. We just want you to call off your witch hunt."

Mr. Johnson is silent, likely caught off guard by the new unfamiliar male voice. Finally, he says threateningly, "I can have the President call in the military."

Alisha sucks in a deep breath and the rest of us join her. "Mr. Johnson, we were able to shift tectonic plates beneath the Earth's surface. Do you really want to mess with that kind of power?" She snaps the cell phone shut, not waiting for his reply, and there is a hushed silence as we all try to grasp the full extent of what we are up against.

"Cat, I'm hungry." Claire's first words break the silence, and make everyone laugh except for me. I start sobbing, and gather her in my arms, hugging her tightly. Not only is she alive and well, but she is using her voice for the first time in over a year. In the midst of all the chaos, I suddenly feel as if the weight of the world has been lifted off my shoulders and, unashamed, I look up and thank God, over and over again.

Elizabeth, Michael, Burke, and Ronan join us in a group hug, and I hear Elizabeth murmur, "Amen."

Alisha clears her throat, "Uh guys, this is all really touching, but we have a lot to get done," she says coolly, causing us all to turn and look at her.

Claire wiggles out of my arms and without a word, walks over and throws her arms around Alisha's legs, which, judging by the expression on her face, is the last thing that she expected. One by one, we all follow Claire's lead, this time including Alisha in another group hug.

In spite of her obvious awkwardness at the outward display of affection, the corners of her mouth turn up in a faint smile before she pushes us away and hollers, "Let's get to work!"

Ronan and Michael make a sweep through the house to survey the damage, while Burke and Alisha walk down to the barn to check the status of the cars. The evening temperatures in Montana are near freezing, and none of us are equipped to survive a night in the wilderness. Elizabeth and Claire snuggle together under a blanket, trying to stay warm while we wait on the back deck for Ronan and Michael to give us approval to go back inside. A normally easy-going Elizabeth suddenly cocks her head to one side and looks intensely in the direction of the meadow. Her exceptional hearing picks up on the footsteps of the stranger long before we see the silhouette running at an inhumanely fast pace towards us. She jumps up, knocking a sleepy Claire off her lap, and calls for Ronan and Michael, who seem to appear almost immediately.

"He's a Designer," Ronan murmurs, and Elizabeth nods her head in agreement. Ronan orders, "Wait here," and he takes off to intersect the interloper mid field.

When they exchange a friendly handshake, the rest of us let out a collective sigh of relief. Alisha and Burke return, just as Brandon Freeman is being introduced to us. Alisha instantly recognizes him as one of the Designer members who, less than an hour ago, was mentally linked to the group in a forceful effort to induce a magnitude 7.8 earthquake. Brandon tosses his head back, and laughs with delight at the success of their mission. He admits to Alisha that he thought she was crazy for threatening the CIA with an earthquake, but couldn't be more pleased with the outcome. Like the other Designers, Brandon is tall, well-built, and clearly fast with presumably superhuman strength, hearing, and eyesight. He is dark skinned with jet black hair, appearing of Asian descent. Even in the darkness, it is obvious that one side of his face appears asymmetrical, a feature that becomes even more pronounced when he smiles.

"What happened to your face?" my now vocal little sister asks innocently.

"Claire, that's rude," I retort, and she cowers behind Elizabeth, avoiding my glare.

"Oh, that's okay," Brandon says good-naturedly, looking directly at Claire. "I messed my parents' handiwork up when I decided to get in an airplane crash. I burned almost thirty percent of my body," he chuckles. "Imagine that, they paid almost ten thousand dollars to get me a perfect Designer face, and one day I'm modeling for GQ magazine, and the next, I'm lying in the ICU with bandages covering my face." He shakes his head and grins broadly, flashing perfectly straight white teeth, and the rest of us can't help but smile too.

"How did you find us and how did you get here?" Alisha asks now, looking around.

"Yeah right, as if we wouldn't hear an approaching car?" Burke says, rolling his eyes at Alisha.

Sensing the tension between the two, Brandon quickly replies, "I flew in to a private landing strip, about five miles north of here. I came to get you guys out of here. The earthquake did a lot of damage to the roads, but I don't think it will deter the undercover agents. They're still trying to find a way to get up here."

"How many passengers does your plane hold?" I ask, suddenly recalling what I learned in ground school about weight and balance. "Eight total," he says, briefly looking around, counting the number in our party. Michael tells him we have two more inside, trying to recover the computer equipment.

***

It takes us less than an hour to reach Brandon's airplane, running at a pace set by me, the slowest of the group (well technically Claire would be the slowest, but between Ronan, Brandon, and Burke, she was carried the whole way). Even running couldn't keep us warm enough from the near freezing temperatures, and by the time we reach the aircraft, our fingers and toes are on the verge of frostbite. Our plan was to make a stop in Great Falls to get much needed warmer clothing and other personal items, but when Brandon radios the air traffic controller, he is told that the earthquake caused too much damage to the airport, and all air traffic was being diverted to Helena. We decide collectively to head south towards California, stopping tonight in Portland, Oregon.

Ronan, sensing my disappointment at not being able to get a few changes of clothes, whispers in my ear, "I'll take you shopping tomorrow in Portland."

I wasn't sure if it was the idea of having a much needed change of clothing or spending a day with Ronan on a shopping date, a real date, that was making me feel giddy, but suddenly, I can't wait for tomorrow.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

RONAN

Brandon Freeman is a skilled pilot, and has no problem landing his twin engine Cessna at Portland International Airport. It is late and everyone is anxious to get to bed. Brandon insists on staying in an upscale hotel, and then pays for all four rooms at the Hilton, not even blinking an eye at the two thousand dollar credit card charge. Like almost all Designer kids, he comes from money and he has the necessary "gifts" to make money. Designers just have a natural ability to attract the things they strongly desire or need from life, and money is no exception. It must be what Alisha refers to as the Law of Energy. Only in our case, it is the Law of Energy on steroids.

After a much needed dinner at a fancy restaurant across the street, our party sluggishly congregates in Brandon's large suite to catch up on the news about the earthquake, and decide our next move. The 7.8 magnitude earthquake was the largest in Montana history, with most of the damage occurring in the rural areas between Great Falls and Glacier National Park. We all breathe a sigh of relief when the reporter states that there were no known casualties. None of us wanted the loss of innocent human lives on our conscious. Alisha calls Spencer and Charles, who were left behind in Whitefish due to lack of room on Brandon's plane. They tell her that they are almost to the Canadian border, and will call her in the morning with an update once they arrive. They seemed a little freaked out after the earthquake and readily accepted the plan to separate from the rest of the group and drive to Canada.

Burke announces to Alisha that he is going to contact his parents, and right away, she starts to protest, looking to Michael to back her up.

"Burke, I'm sure they are tracing all incoming phone calls to your parents' house. We just can't take the risk of them tracing it back to us," she says, shaking her head firmly.

"I'm sorry Ali; it's a risk we are all going to have to take. Look, I'm sorry that the rest of you have lost your parents, but mine are still alive, and they deserve better than to sit at home wondering if their only son is alive or dead. I can leave the group if you would like," he says quietly, looking around at each of us for conformation.

I'm the first to speak in support of Burke. After all, his parents are like an aunt and uncle to me, and Burke has always been close to them. "Alisha, we have the power to monitor anyone, anytime, and from anywhere in the world with out of body travel, especially since Claire doesn't need your viewing help to get there."

Claire looks up and smiles.

"So what if they trace his phone call? We will know about it even before he hangs up and we will change our plans accordingly. So what if they come for us? We just induced a 7.8 magnitude earthquake, and we have the power to disable aircraft, cars, destroy computer systems, you name it." I pace restlessly in the crowded room, as the enormity of our power really starts to sink in. "There is really nothing that can stop us," I say out loud, even though it's not really necessary. I can see by the look on everyone else's face that they have already come to the same conclusion, and there is a moment of silence as we all consider the implications.

"Damn, no wonder the CIA is out to get us!" Brandon says, slapping his leg as he roars with laughter. The rest of us don't quite share in his enthusiasm.

Cat sits motionless on the bed, with a now sleeping Claire in her lap. It doesn't take a genius to connect the dots. The power that the group really holds comes down to the innocent five-year-old girl in her lap. Without Claire, there is no way to convert the group's thoughts into an immediate usable source of energy, at least not on the scale that she does. She is the key to our strength. And because of this, she is the one in the most danger. The fear in Cat's eyes is echoed in the rest of our thoughts.

"Maybe Claire could teach one of us to do it," I offer hopefully, and Elizabeth shakes her head slowly in response.

"With my dad, there were no plan B's, only plan A. He meant for there to be only one converter, one substation," she says as her voice trails off, and she looks despondently out the window.

"I think we all need to get some rest," Michael says as he walks over and squeezes Cat's shoulder.

Alisha hesitates for a moment then says, "Claire is like a sister to all of us, Cat. We will risk our own lives to keep her safe."

We all nod in agreement. Sometimes I have to give Alisha credit, she can really nail it when she tries.

No one protests when I announce that I will be sharing a hotel room with Cat and Claire, although I hear Burke snicker in my mind, and I tell him to mind his own business. I wasn't about to let either of the girls out of my sight; knowing what I know now. Having the ability to remotely monitor the lobby and hallways, gives me the added advantage of detecting an intruder. Cat instantly falls asleep in my arms, and I spend the next few hours awake, thinking about our future.

The next morning, I hear Burke trying to connect with me mentally, way before I am ready to wake up.

"Go back to sleep Burke, it's too early," I moan grumpily, apparently not quietly as I intended.

"Who are you talking to?" Cat asks sleepily, rolling over to look at me.

"Burke is trying to connect. He wants to call his parents before they leave for work, and needs Alisha and I to monitor for eavesdroppers."

Burke is very somber after his conversation with his parents. He tells me that his folks took care of the funeral arrangements for my parents, and I am immediately engulfed with sadness and remorse. I want to ask for the details about their death, but I can't yet. I feel so ashamed that I can't meet his eyes, and he quickly changes the subject, filling us in on other details of their conversation. The school has been calling about our absence and the Harolds filed paperwork to obtain legal custody of me. They informed the school that Burke and I were out of the country, but I was sure that Principle Colter wasn't buying that for even a second. School was the least of my concerns anyway. My college entrance test scores would be so high, that it wouldn't matter if I finished high school. Cat on the other hand, was very worried about the school contacting her uncle, to which I reply, "He is no longer a concern to you, consider him erased from your life."

"Let me at least contact Giselle, she must be worried sick and she really has been good to us," she pleads, and Alisha agrees, thinking it unlikely that they would trace the nanny's calls.

By nine o'clock in the morning, we've taken care of a lot of business, but there's still something major on our "to do" list. We still needed to make follow-up contact with Robert Johnson, the CIA Director who was the reason for yesterday's earthquake.

"Let's see if he has a little better attitude today," Alisha murmurs, reaching for her cell phone.

Alisha and I work together to get me into Robert Johnson's office at the CIA headquarters, and I find him sitting at his large oak desk. He is busily working on his computer when his secretary comes in and hands him some papers. He glances down at them, then smiles broadly.

"Bingo," he mutters to himself, and quickly enters some information from the papers into the computer.

After about ten seconds, the computer finally loads the page, and the familiar face on his computer screen sends me scrambling back to my physical body.

"He knows about Claire," I blurt out, then immediately regret it when I see the fear in Cat's eyes. I lower my voice, and in a more controlled manner, share what I saw with the group. "He knows about Claire, and he is getting ready to put out a bulletin for a missing child. We need to stop him."

Before I finish my sentence, Alisha is already hashing out a plan.

***

"Hello Mr. Johnson, this is Alisha. I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully." Alisha is perched on the desk, with one leg neatly folded over the other. She looks more like a posing runway model than a doctor who is about to once again threaten the Director of the CIA.

Burke, Elizabeth, Brandon, and Claire, plus three other Designers, are mentally connected, waiting for the signal. I travel back and forth between Mr. Johnson's office and the hotel room, listening to both conversations at once.

"Delete the Missing Child bulletin on Claire McCullough now! Do you understand me?"

Robert Johnson frantically looks around his office and, as expected, he pushes a button on the phone to trace and record the call. I give Alisha the signal that she has a minute left. His eyes reflect his fear, but you would never know by the sound of his voice as he responds to Alisha's demand. "Look lady, you may have predicted the earthquake, but I have consulted with many experts, and nobody believes that you kids induced that earthquake. Threatening a government official will get you nothing but prison time. If the girl is with you, turn her in, or we will add kidnapping charges to the list."

Alisha keeps her temper in check and calmly repeats her command for him to delete the bulletin. He changes the subject and attempts to keep her on the phone with reassuring promises of having everyone's best interest at heart. Alisha rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

Finally, I give Alisha the signal and she hangs up on him. She mentally connects with the others, and together they send Claire the message to set his computer on fire. The view from above couldn't have been any better, because the scene below looks like something out of a comic strip. The first few popping sounds from the computer monitor startle him, but not enough to get him to move away. The loud bang that follows as the computer spontaneously combusts knocks him backwards, tipping his chair over. Within seconds, smoke starts to fill the room, and the fire alarm sounds, activating the overhead sprinklers. Once I am certain that his computer, along with all the papers on his desk, is sufficiently destroyed, I return to the hotel room.

Alisha calls him back and leaves a message on his voicemail, "Next time it will be you."

It doesn't take much to amuse Brandon, but he is still laughing hysterically long after the rest of us have stopped. By noon, the story of the fire is breaking news on every major network. Apparently, not all of the sprinkler systems were in good working order, and it took the fire department over twelve minutes to respond, in which time the fire had already spread to other offices, causing major damage. Thankfully, no one was injured, although the reporter states that, "Mr. Johnson did get transported to the hospital for anxiety and chest pain related symptoms."

We were fairly certain that our second successful mission against the CIA would rattle them enough to keep them off our trail, so even Alisha agrees to stay another night in Portland and take the day off to go shopping with the rest of us. I take a chance and make a large withdrawal from my banking account, hoping the Feds didn't put a hold on my account. I don't think they will expect a seventeen-year-old to have a few million dollars sitting in the bank, but just to make sure, I travel behind the counter, glancing over the teller's shoulder at the computer screen. As far as I can tell, my banking account information looks clean, with no detectable alerts, and the young teller confirms my assumption by counting out twenty, very crisp thousand dollar bills. I pass one back to her and tell her to break it down into smaller bills, and neatly fold the other nineteen into my wallet.

***

We split up from the others when we get to the mall, with a promise to meet up for lunch. Cat and I first take Claire to the kids clothing section, and Claire's eyes light up. Cat is timid about letting me pay and diligently looks for sale items.

"Are you sure it's okay? You know I won't be able to pay you back for a while," she says, looking up at me worriedly.

"Cat, you are with me now, and I will take care of you. I have plenty of money, and I can't think of anything or anyone that I would rather spend it on."

She reaches up to kiss me and giggles when my now untrimmed mustache almost covers my top lip.

"Yea, it's time for a shave," I admit, and she adds, "And a haircut." I hand her one of the thousand dollar bills and leave her in the department store to finish up, reminding her to buy winter clothes as well, and head out to find a barber shop.

***

The man staring back at me in the mirror is foreign to me. I had always been sloppy about my appearance, haphazardly taking the time to shave and maintain a hair style. I have had, at the very least, a mustache of some sort since I turned sixteen,one of the reasons people mistake me for much older.

The hair stylist is complimenting me on my new look as he runs the gel in his hands through my hair, showing me how to style my now short, classic cut. All facial hair is gone, and my clean-cut look, if anything makes me look tamer, maybe younger too. Several of the other stylists comment, which draws curious and admiring stares from the other clients in the salon.

All I really care about is whether or not Cat will like it, so I quickly pay the stylist and leave the shop, not wanting to look at my reflection any longer. "Claire, where are you?" I inquire, after connecting mentally.

"Um, we are in Macy's on the third floor, in the women's section, looking at panties for Cat. I think it would be a good idea if you wait for us downstairs," she says maturely. I laugh out loud and hear her giggle too.

"All right Claire, I will be downstairs." I want to tell her to ask Cat if she needs help shopping for these items, but refrain, thinking that Cat would definitely disapprove of involving her little sister in our romantic banter.

Claire recognizes me before Cat, and runs up to me, springing her little body into my arms. "Wow, Ronan, you look nice," she says admiringly, and it makes me wonder what she thought of me before. She wiggles free and excitedly tells me about the new clothes she got. Never having shopped with females, even my mom spared me from the experience, I am amused that something as mundane as clothing could generate so much enthusiasm.

I catch Cat staring at me from over the clothing rack and I sheepishly ask her what she thinks. She smiles slyly and bites her lower lip, while slowly making her way over to me, her eyes never leaving my face. When she gets close enough, she rubs her cheek on my clean shaven face and in a breathy voice whispers in my ear, "I think it's a good thing we are not alone in the hotel room."

"Cataryn, Avalon, Cascadia McCullough, you better be careful in what you say to me," I tease, trying to act shocked. I grab her by the waist and pulling her towards me, am about to kiss her when Claire interrupts us.

"Ahem, is anyone else getting hungry?" she asks innocently.

***

Even Alisha is in a good mood when we meet for lunch. She and Elizabeth compliment me on my new hairdo, and the guys give me a hard time. Cat continues to stare at me through lunch, and a few times I catch her blushing, which makes me chuckle. Had I known that a shave and haircut would have this kind of an effect on her, I would have done it immediately after the first day of school.

After lunch, Elizabeth and Michael offer to take Claire to an area of the mall with a small amusement park, allowing Cat and I to finish our shopping. Alisha, Brandon, and Burke head off to find a coffee shop with Wi-Fi to try and make contact with Spencer and Charles. As Cat and I walk hand and hand through the mall, talking and laughing, I realize that we are on our first real date. I pull her into one of the photo booths and we take a picture capturing the memory: both of us smiling, both of us happy, and both of us in love. It's one of the best days of my entire life.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RONAN

Dr. Lundgren is the last person on earth I expect to find waiting in my hotel room when we return from the mall. Cat and I each have our arms full of shopping bags, so Claire runs ahead to open the door to our room. Cat is still giggling over something said on the ride here, and I am totally captivated by her smile. I don't even notice him sitting in the corner until I hear Claire's voice in my head, "Who is he?" I don't give him a chance to speak. In one swift movement that even he isn't anticipating, I have him pinned against the wall with one hand on his throat.

He holds his hands up in surrender and chokes out, "Here to help."

It's only after Claire repeats the word "yellow" three times that I release my hold on him. "How did you find me?" I demand.

He points to my leather jacket hanging in the closet. "I put a tracking device in your jacket, while you were in the hospital," he says, rubbing his neck where my hand left print marks. He notices Cat and Claire standing right behind me. "You must be Cat. Ronan has told me all about you," he says, extending his hand towards her.

I move to block her from shaking his hand, and she says, "It's okay Ronan, I trust Claire's judgment. If she says yellow, then he is more trustworthy than most."

I know how defensive Claire gets when someone doesn't believe her, but after overhearing his conversation with Dr. Childress, I'm not convinced of his integrity at all. I feel Cat's hand on my shoulder and I reluctantly move out of her way.

"Yes, I am Cataryn McCullough and this is my little sister, Claire," she says, elegantly as she shakes his hand.

He looks at me, and there is a sadness to his smile. "She is every bit as lovely as you said, Ronan. You two look right together."

"Save the flattery, what are you doing here Dr. Lundgren?"

"Please, call me Jason," he says gently as he sits back down in the chair. He ignores my question and his gaze shifts to Claire. "How old are you?" he asks, addressing her directly.

"Five, almost six," she proudly replies.

"Almost ready to start school, aren't you?"

Cat clears her throat in a nervous manner and protectively puts her arm around Claire as she answers for her, "Yes, next year," then steers her towards the bedroom to unload the shopping bags.

Dr. Lundgren runs his hands through his hair, then buries his face in his hands. It seems like several minutes pass before he speaks. "Ronan, you have every right not to trust me, but I really am here to help."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think that what they are doing is right, and I would want someone to step in if it were my son," he says softly.

"Do you have a son?" I inquire.

He doesn't answer right away, and when he does, the despair in his voice is clear. "Yes, I did have."

"Was he a Designer?"

"No. He and my wife died three years ago in a car accident. I was bitter and depressed when I took the job with the Federal Government and I didn't fully investigate what the expectations were," he says looking down at his hands. "I was initially told that the Biological Response Team was developing a biological agent to be used offensively against a specific group of terrorists in the Middle East. The whole thing was Top Secret and I didn't even discuss it with my colleagues. It wasn't until the first Designer kids came down with symptoms of the virus that I became suspicious and started snooping around for answers, which led me to your parents. In some ways, I feel responsible for what happened to them," he says sadly.

My stomach tightens at the mention of them and I am not sure I want to know why, but I ask anyway.

"When I met your dad on the military base, he hinted that he was doing his own investigation. He had a lot of high ranking friends on base that may have been sympathetic enough to pass along information. We'll never really know for sure, it's just a theory. I do know that your dad had made a phone call to the head of National Security and demanded an investigation, the day before you were arrested on bogus assault charges. And a week later, they are gone."

I take a deep breath and ask the question that I had been avoiding.

"How were they killed?"

He studies me for a long moment, then says, "I'm not sure, Ronan. I knew about the kidnapping, but I had no knowledge of their death until you told me in the hospital. I checked into it afterwards, and nobody from my agency is talking. I can tell you that there were no bodies at the funeral, though." I get the impression that he finds this suspicious in and of itself.

"Aren't you at risk of the same fate?" I ask bluntly.

He smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "I lost everything three years ago. I can't tell you how many times I regret not being in the car with my family. I don't have a real purpose for my life, but you do, and I think you are a noble enough cause to stand behind," he says smiling warmly at me.

I look away embarrassedly and quickly ask him how he is able to help us. He reaches down and pulls a satchel out of a large brief case.

"I have the vaccine to the virus we created," he says grinning.

"I heard you say that Designer kids were developing their own immunity to it," I challenge. If he is surprised by my knowledge of his conversation with Dr. Childress, he doesn't show it.

"There is no guarantee that you have or will develop immunity, and it is only a theory anyway. As far as we know, once you have the virus, there is no cure."

"What about the virus mutating and infecting non-designers?" I ask.

"I guess theoretically it could happen, but it would take many years for this virus to mutate into a strain that would attack humans with normal DNA. It was a made up threat, so that the government could get the CDC involved and justify quarantining any suspected Designers," he replies.

I catch Cat standing in the doorway, and judging by the smile on her face, she overheard at least the last part of my conversation with Dr. Lundgren.

***

"Are you out of your mind?" Elizabeth screeches telepathically to the rest of us as we line up to receive the vaccine from Jason Lundgren.

Her outburst is so out of character for her, that even Alisha pauses to reconsider. We calmly remind her of Claire's color screening test, and the potential consequences of refusing, but Elizabeth doesn't budge. She silently stands in the corner with her arms folded across her chest, a worried expression on her face as she watches Jason administer the vaccine to each of us. From the very beginning, Elizabeth has maintained a strong stance against trusting anyone associated with the government, so her opposition to Jason shouldn't come as such a shock to us.

When it comes my turn to receive the vaccine, I keep my eyes locked on Cat's. They are full of love and reassurance. She smiles widely when he pushes the plunger of medicine into my arm, and when he finishes, I sit back and finally allow myself to dream about a future with her. Claire is just as brave as the adults, and barely flinches at all when Jason injects the vaccine into her thigh. When he finishes with us, he turns to Liz and tells her that he will save one, just in case she changes her mind.

"Fat chance," she mutters under her breath.

***

There seems to be no reason not to disclose our emerging powers to Jason Lundgren. He already suspected as much, based on the classified material he was privy to while working at the CDC. He tells us that somehow, parts of Dr. Kappel's research documents made it into the hands of the government, igniting the hunt for Designer kids.

"What exactly did the documents say?" Elizabeth asks curiously.

"They confirm what you have just told me about the energy of your thoughts being linked together. He based his theory on the premise that triggering certain brain cells during embryonic development would trigger a higher frequency from the radio waves transmitted from the brain, and because like energy attracts like energy, anyone who has the same energy vibration as you will be automatically linked. He just sped up the evolution process in you," Jason explains, taking a bite of his pizza.

"What do you mean by sped up the evolution process?" Alisha quizzes him.

"One hundred, maybe two hundred years from now, all of mankind will be in a higher state of consciousness, and the world will be linked together in unity as one," he replies, looking at her as if he expects her to challenge the notion.

"Why are they so threatened by us then?" Elizabeth asks in her soft-spoken voice. Her wide-eyed innocence, beauty, and modesty give her a certain appeal which attracts male attention, and Jason seems to be no exception. He looks away embarrassedly when Michael carefully slips his arm around her shoulder, and it takes him a moment to regain his train of thought.

"Well, it's like anything, man fears what man does not understand. Your supernatural abilities are seen as a threat because of the power you hold. It's human nature to automatically assume that people with power will use it for evil intent, not good. I could see right away that Ronan was a good person, as I can see that all of you are too," he pauses and looks directly at Alisha, "Yes, even you, the high spirited one," he says laughing as he bumps his shoulder playfully into hers.

Alisha fakes a surprised look, but beneath the pretense, it's obvious that she is pleased by his compliment.

We sit in the pizza parlor until almost closing time, laughing and sharing like old friends. Claire becomes the center attraction when Jason Lundgren asks for a demonstration on her telekinesis ability, or her ability to move objects through mental power. Even for those of us who have seen it and directly participated with her, it still blows our minds away when she twirls the salt shaker around the table, stopping briefly to dump a pile of salt on Brandon's slice of pizza just as he gets ready to take a bite. He howls with delight, drawing curious, unwanted looks from the restaurant staff, who are patiently waiting for us to leave. As we walk back to the hotel, Cat leads us in a tune by the band group FUN, called "We are Young," and even Alisha lets down her guard to robustly join us in the chorus.

***

The next morning, we receive an early morning wake-up call from Alisha telling us to turn on the TV. Making National News is the story of the McCullough sisters.

"The two sisters from Montana have been missing since October 15th. Authorities suspect the two have been taken across state lines, and are not ruling out foul play. Anyone with information is requested to contact the authorities," the reporter finishes, flashing a close-up photo of the two girls.

Cat gasps and looks at me in horror. We quickly get dressed and congregate in Brandon's hotel suite once again hashing out our future. Alisha cusses and immediately wants to light Robert Johnson's pants on fire.

"Hold on Ali, he may not be behind this," Michael warns. "And besides, regardless of who is responsible, we have to deal with this now. Nobody forgets two beautiful faces like theirs, and the whole world is going to be on the lookout for these two. We need to find a better place to hide than in the middle of a major city."

"Let's send them back," Burke says casually, and Alisha tells him to, "Shut up."

"No, I'm serious," he insists, "What's the worst that can happen?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "In fact, I think we should all go back. Now that we know our true power, why continue running? Ronan, you said it yourself, there's nothing they can do to stop us or hurt us. So let's go home. Let's stop being fugitives and let's get our life back," he says slamming his fist down hard on the desk.

Claire is the first to speak up. "I agree with Burke," she declares matter-of-factly.

Brandon, unsurprisingly laughs out loud. There is something about his lopsided smile that makes the rest of us smile every single time. He puts his arm around Alisha and says, "I don't know, I find this life on the run kind of exciting, don't you?"

"Hardly," she says, rolling her eyes, as she slides his arm from around her shoulder, and walks over to the window.

Elizabeth is the first to say what I'm guessing most of us are thinking, at least I am. "If we go back to our own lives, that means the group splits up, and we'll all end up in different states. I don't think I'm really ready for that," she says, looking to each of us for affirmation that we feel the same way.

"Why don't you all come home with me?" Brandon says unexpectedly, and we all wait for the punch line and laughter to follow. "No, I'm serious. I have a big enough house in Canada and you can hide out until we reach an understanding with the US government."

"Not all of us have passports to get into Canada, and I'm pretty sure there will be missing children's posters of Cat and Claire up everywhere at every border crossing," Alisha says impatiently, as if he should be thinking of these things on his own.

"Well, what if we don't have to stop at the border?" Brandon says, grinning broadly. Before Alisha can go off on him, he explains, "I have dual citizenship and I fly back and forth across the border all the time. Of course, it helps that I have a cousin who works as an air traffic controller and another cousin who works as a border patrol agent."

"But we have to land somewhere," Cat says questioningly.

"Private landing strip less than 200 feet from my house," he replies, and already I can see the group members considering his offer.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

RONAN

Jason Lundgren stands in the corner of the room, quietly listening to the rest of us work out the details of getting into Canada via Brandon's private aircraft. Something about his expression catches my attention, and I can tell he is not entirely on board with the idea.

"Do you have a better plan?" I ask, motioning for the group to quiet down to let him speak.

All eyes turn towards him, and he thoughtfully regards us, taking his time to express his ideas. "Well, maybe there is another option to running and hiding out as fugitives. What if..." he pauses and looks at me, "What if..." he starts again, "Instead of running and instead of fighting, we convince the government that you are more valuable to them than you are a threat to them?"

The room falls silent, as even Alisha considers his proposal.

"You mean, go to work for our government? What as some sort of international spy?" Brandon asks, exchanging excited glances with Burke.

"Well, I was thinking of something less dangerous and more domestic," Jason laughs, pleased with the positive reception to the idea.

Alisha looks hesitant, but doesn't bust the idea completely.

"I could help you negotiate a deal with them. All we have to do is prove to them that you are in alliance with them," his voice rises as he becomes more enthusiastic with the idea, and I have to admit, it sounds better than the options we were considering earlier. I look to see Cat's reaction, and her smile reassures me that she is open to the notion. I grab her hand and pull her in front of me, wrapping my arms around her tiny frame and kissing her softly on the neck. I feel more hopeful of achieving some sort of normalcy than I have in a while.

Alisha, Michael, and Jason are the official spokespersons negotiating on the behalf of the Designers. They contact Robert Johnson with a final proposal, and this time, Jason does the speaking.

"Mr. Johnson, I know you think that these kids are a danger to national and international security, but what if they were on your side? Think about it: the power they would give to the United States," Jason coaxes.

Mr. Johnson doesn't respond immediately, and from my remote view, he looks like he's actually considering the proposition. Finally, he slowly responds, weighing each word carefully. "I'll be perfectly honest with you. I don't buy any of this shit about these kids. I think it's total nonsense and if it were left up to me..."

"What!" Alisha screams into the phone, ignoring Jason's warning look. "If you don't believe we hold any power, then why the hell are you so bent on destroying us?" she shrieks.

Robert Johnson rolls his eyes. It's clear he prefers talking with Jason over Alisha, and I speculate it has more to do with his general attitude about women than anything personal against her. "If you would let me finish young lady, I will tell you why," he says condescendingly. "As I was saying, I think this whole thing is complete hogwash. I don't believe in witchcraft. However..." He pauses and we all lean towards the phone in anticipation. "However, I have to follow orders from those higher up than I, and they are convinced that you kids have some sort of super powers. So, yes, I would be willing to meet with you to discuss how, ahem," he clears his throat, "...to discuss how a bunch of kids can help us with our international security," he says amusingly.

Cat and I leave the room, letting the others negotiate the details. Alisha wants me to remotely monitor him for the next few hours, and just to appease her, I tell her I will do it from my own hotel room. However, after watching the sixty-year-old, overweight, bald man shove down a large Subway sandwich, then release gas about every ten minutes, I've had enough, and abandon my remote view duties to focus on something much more pleasant: the dark haired beauty perched on the bed, brushing out her long dark hair.

***

The next morning at breakfast, Jason tells us that the details of the meeting have been finalized. Robert Johnson has agreed to meet us in Colorado Springs in two days.

"He thinks we're driving. We didn't want him to know that Brandon's a pilot, as airplanes are easily traced. In fact, since they haven't identified Brandon as a Designer, it's probably best to keep him hidden anyway," Jason says.

"No way, I'm not being left out of this!" Brandon says immediately, seemingly offended that it would even be suggested. "He doesn't need to know that I'm a pilot, but I'm going!"

Alisha shrugs her shoulders and says indifferently, "The more the better." She then turns to me and asks if I saw anything suggesting that Mr. Johnson was planning on setting us up. Without admitting to exactly how much time was spent monitoring him, I reassure her that I didn't see him make any phone calls or send any e-mails that were suspicious.

***

Although the flight to Colorado Springs only takes a few hours, we leave the day before and fly directly into Denver. From here, we decide to split up, making it more difficult to track us. Brandon and Burke fly, while the rest of us travel by rental car. Agreeing to a meeting in Colorado Springs seems a little risky, considering the city is surrounded by both Army and Air Force military installations, but Jason and Alisha thinks by accepting, it shows a level of confidence on our part. Interestingly enough, Mr. Johnson didn't request the meeting to be held on one of the military bases as we expected. Instead, he insisted on meeting at Cheyenne Mountain State Park, just at the base of Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Station.

"Maybe he just wants the reassurance that he can get help quickly if he needs it," Elizabeth offers.

At any rate, the meeting would take place at the amphitheater within the park, just as he requested.

***

"He could have picked some place warmer," Alisha complains, shivering in her light weight jacket.

"Here, I'll warm you up," Burke says, taking the opportunity to embrace her in a hug, which surprisingly she allows, slipping her hands in his jacket pockets.

The rest of us were smart enough to dress for winter, as the weather in November can be unpredictable in Colorado. But even with our winter jackets, standing under the shadow of the amphitheater makes for a chilly wait. Jason glances at his watch again and announces the time before anyone has a chance to ask. Robert Johnson is forty-minutes late for the meeting and that's not going over well with anyone except Claire. She has been entertaining herself by shouting random words, just to hear them echo back off the amphitheater walls.

For the first time since agreeing to this meeting, I feel a slight bit of apprehension, wondering if this was a smart decision. I pull Cat closer, wrapping my arms around her, and make one more mental trip around the immediate area, looking for anything suspicious. The state park is closed for the season, so there's no one here except us. I scour everything in the vicinity: campground, visitor's center, campground store, hiking trails leading to the tree line, and find nothing.

By the time Robert Johnson's black limo pulls into the campground, all of us are ready to strangle him. He gets out of his car and Claire says, "Gray," then hides behind Burke's leg.

"I thought you said orange?" Alisha whispers.

"That was two days ago. Today he's gray," she says defensively.

Instinctively, I move in front of Cat, putting a barrier between her and Johnson, but she gently nudges me aside and takes a stand next to me, slipping her gloved hand in mine. He was expecting only five Designers, but didn't look at all surprised to see nine of us standing there. Once again, I feel a wave of uneasiness and connect with the others immediately.

_"Something's not right, I can feel it,"_ I say and right away, the others agree. _"Claire and I have both surveyed the area,"_ I say before Alisha has a chance to question me.

All of us hear the static from the listening device that's hidden in his coat jacket.

"It's my pleasure to meet you, I'm Jason Lundgren," Jason says, extending his hand to Mr. Johnson in a professional manner.

Mr. Johnson briefly shakes his hand, then turns to examine each of us individually. When he sees Claire peeking around Burke's leg, the corner of his mouth turns up in the faintest hint of a smile. "Well, well, if it isn't the infamous Designer kids. You're sort of the topic of discussion at most of our board meetings, you know. Everyone thinks you have some kind of superpowers," he says, swirling his arms around in a mocking gesture as he says it. "All right, show me what you've got," he says, folding his arms on top of his large belly.

"Not so fast," Alisha says, and immediately his expression changes.

"You must be Alisha," he sneers, obviously recognizing her voice.

"Yep, you've got it," she chirps, causing his expression to darken even further. "Before we demonstrate anything, we have terms to discuss," she says.

His face turns red and he points a finger at her. "I don't take orders from a bunch of little punks."

"Ahem, Doctor," she corrects him, which only serves to deepen the color in his face.

He takes a deep breath and turns back to Jason. "I'm not sure what kind of tricks you have up your sleeve, but I'm going to give it to you straight. I have four of my top snipers surrounding this place," he says, pausing long enough for his words to settle, then laughs out loud when he sees us searching the area.

_"Shit Ronan, you said you looked everywhere_ ," Alisha screams to me mentally, while she smiles prettily at Mr. Johnson.

"You won't be able to find them. Those high powered rifle scopes can see the stripe on your jacket from a mile away," he says smugly.

_"Claire, go all the way to the top of the mountain and start on the right, I'll take the left,"_ I order her. Alisha and Jason keep him talking, but I turn all my attention to remote travel, soaring over the hillside, looking for the gunmen. About the time I consider that he might be bluffing, Claire announces to us that she's spotted the first one.

_"On the boulder, he's lying down,"_ she says. _"Take his weapon!"_ Alisha practically screams, and Burke reminds her to, _"Tone it down with Claire."_

_"I need your guy's help_ ," Claire says, and we all make a focused effort to send energy through our thoughts.

I am vaguely aware of Cat stepping towards Mr. Johnson with an outstretched hand, and my concentration falters.

_"Stay focused Ronan, she knows what she's doing,"_ Alisha warns. Cat easily distracts Mr. Johnson, charming him with a smile, and submissively agreeing when he tells her that Claire and she will be accompanying him back to the Cheyenne Mountain Air Force Base. She proceeds to ask him questions, giving us just enough time to take care of the first sniper. We catapult a nice size rock at him, striking him in the head, and he staggers to get to his feet, dazed, dropping the rifle. It's easy enough to send it down the side of the cliff. With the first one down, Alisha now has some leverage with Mr. Johnson.

"The sniper on the boulder on the top of the ridge just lost his rife down the side of the cliff," she blurts out.

Mr. Johnson looks at her like she's lost her mind.

"Go ahead and call him," she challenges, looking directly at the hidden microphone under his collar. He hesitates, before saying, "Is that true Chris?"

There is a long pause, than the faint, "Yes," of the shamed sniper is heard from the tiny earpiece located in Mr. Johnson's left ear.

Sniper two and three are spotted in trees, not too far apart from each other, just west of the first. As we engage in a discussion about the best way to handle them, we are distracted long enough for Mr. Johnson to grab Cat, pointing a gun to her head.

"There are three more out there," he warns, backing up, dragging a wide-eyed Cat along with him. No further discussion was needed about the two snipers. With little effort, they both are simultaneously thrust from their perch in the trees, falling to their death.

"We just took care of the last three," Alisha bluffs. "And if you don't put the gun down, you're next," Alisha warns.

He looks wildly around the mountain side, and a bead of sweat starts to form on his brow. "I don't believe you," he challenges, but the tone of his voice says he does. He continues to back up towards his car, with the gun still pointed at Cat's temple, and the rage inside of me threatens to explode.

He starts to call the names of the other snipers and Alisha orders, _"Scramble his reception!"_ At any other time, the look on Mr. Johnson's face would have been amusing, but with a fourth sniper still out there and Cat in his clutches, none of us are laughing.

_"Claire, get his gun,"_ I say as I slowly walk towards him.

Alisha and Burke mentally order me to stop, and Cat mouths, "No," but I continue walking towards him, never taking my eyes off her.

"I'm warning you son, I'll kill her," he hollers, the hysteria in his voice evident. He reaches his car and shoves his hand in his pocket for his key. When he doesn't readily find it, he shoves Cat to the ground and turns the gun on me, his hand trembling. The sound of gunfire echoes off the canyon walls, stunning all of us, and Cat's scream, knocks the wind right out of me. Robert Johnson lies in a crumpled heap on the ground next to Cat, dead from a single gunshot wound to the head.

***

Cat clings to me like a person who's drowning, and buries her head in my chest. The rest of us stare at Robert's dead body in total shock.

"We need to get out of here," Burke murmurs, breaking the silence.

Before any of us can react, Alisha's cell phone rings and we all jump nervously. She looks at the caller ID and shakes her head.

"I don't recognize the number, should I answer it?" she asks, looking to the rest of us. Alisha never asks us what to do, so her question catches us off guard and goes unanswered until Jason grabs the phone out of her hand.

"Hello," he says quietly, then immediately puts the caller on speaker phone.

The female on the other end wastes no time in introductions. "You kids need to get out of there now!" she says firmly. Jason starts to ask whose calling and she cuts him off. "I'll call you in an hour, get out of there now!"

***

Four hours go by and the nine of us sit in a hotel room on the outskirts of Denver, waiting impatiently for the call of the mysterious women. Eventually, we give up and return to our own rooms, after Alisha promises to wake us up the minute the phone rings. It's not the nicest hotel we've ever stayed in, but we traded luxury to be close to the small general airport, where Brandon's plane was tied down. Cat dutifully tucks Claire in, and she's asleep before we finish brushing our teeth.

"Did you guys really kill those snipers," Cat asks quietly, and I nod my head. She looks sadly at Claire. "This is hardly the life I would choose for a five-year-old, Ronan."

"I know," I say, pulling her close.

She starts to cry softly and I hold her closer. There's not much I can say right now to fix things, so we go to bed and she cries herself to sleep.

***

The mood is solemn the next morning until Alisha's cell phone finally rings, displaying the same number as the caller in the park. We all hold our breath as Jason takes the call, once again placing the caller on speaker phone. This time she immediately identifies herself.

"My name is Bernice Stoddard. I am the Director of National Intelligence. I know you have a lot of questions, but most of them I won't be able to answer right now. What I will say is that Robert Johnson was not representing your government when he agreed to meet with you. He acted on his own, and while I regret the circumstances, I hope that you can put it behind you and consider meeting with me to discuss a future partnership."

You could hear a pin drop in the room, as we consider the extraordinary turn of events. Bernice Stoddard, Director of National Intelligence, a retired Navy Four-Star General, and direct advisor to the President of the United States, is requesting a meeting with us Monday morning in McLean, Virginia at the office headquarters.

***

Things happen quickly after the call with Bernice Stoddard. With the weekend approaching and a request for us to be in her office on Monday morning, we hasten our check out of the hotel. Alisha still isn't happy about the group splitting up, but Cat can be just as stubborn as her when she believes strongly in something.

"I need to go back and resolve the issue with our disappearance, and I need to gain freedom from my uncle," she insists, looking to me pleadingly for support.

Of course, I would stand by her, anything less was not an option, and when Burke adds his desire to see his parents, well it's settled. Brandon will fly the five of us back to Great Falls, Montana, while the others start the cross country trip to McLean, Virginia by car.

***

Cat's face lights up when Brandon invites her to help him pre-flight the airplane and check the weather. It's evident that she's still interested in flying, and I make a silent promise that as soon as we are settled, I will see to it that she gets the opportunity to resume her flying lessons. Claire sings softly to herself as she accompanies Burke and me to the airport café. Even though she can talk now, she still prefers to connect mentally rather than engage in verbal conversation, something that I know bothers Cat. The one exception though is her constant singing, whether it's to the radio, with Cat, or by herself, she always seems to have a melody on her lips. Not that anybody minds too much. Her voice is just as beautiful as Cat's, pure and gentle; it almost has a comforting and calming effect on the group. She treats Burke and I like older brothers, insisting now that we each take a hand and swing her high in the air as we walk across the airport tarmac.

_"So, Ronan, how are things going between Cat and you?"_ Burke asks mentally.

I knew it wouldn't be long before he started asking questions. He had been watching us more and more lately. _"Good,"_ I reply, keeping it short.

Apparently, my answer didn't satisfy his curiosity, because he pushes for more. _"So have you guys had....? You know, have you done it yet?"_ he asks.

_"You mean have we had sex? It's none of your business,"_ I reply.

"Oh come on, I'm your best friend," he unintentionally blurts out loud, generating a curious look from Claire, and a warning look from me.

I felt an obligation to protect Cat's privacy, but at the same time it was something that had been on my mind, and it would be nice to have someone to talk to about it. I sigh, and consider how much to say without dishonoring Cat.

_"No, we haven't yet,"_ I admit, and he looks at me incredulously, a response I half expected.

_"Why not, you sleep next to her every night?"_ he points out.

_"It's not exactly as if we are alone,"_ I say glancing down at Claire, who likely senses that we are having a private mental conversation, because she lets go of our hand and darts ahead of us. _"And besides, I want the timing to be right for her, not rushed or while we are on the run,"_ I try to explain to him, but I can still see by his expression that he finds it unbelievable that we haven't.

"Man, if I were lucky enough to go to bed with her every..."

I don't let him finish. The force of my swing knocks him backwards onto the pavement and almost immediately there is a stream of bright red blood oozing from his nose. I lunge towards him, not ready to be finished, and am stopped in my tracks. I can still move, but just not towards him. It's as if there is an invisible shield between the two of us. I figure it out about the same time I hear Claire in my mind.

_"Knock it off Ronan,"_ she says authoritatively.

Burke gets up, and pinches his nose to stop the bleeding. There is blood all over the front of his shirt and hands.

"Don't ever, ever include Cat in your fantasies. She is not just any girl, Burke," I say out loud, and walk away.

***

Burke is already back at the airplane when Claire and I return with sandwiches for everyone. His nose has stopped bleeding, but he still has his hand cupped over it. I toss him an ice bag, sanitary wipes, and a new T-shirt that I had purchased from the airport gift shop, my way of saying I'm sorry.

Cat raises her eyebrows questioningly but doesn't say anything, and Brandon shrugs his shoulders and says, "Let's eat."

It's late afternoon by the time we are airborne. It makes the most sense for Cat to take the co-pilot's seat since she has some hours of flying experience under her belt, so I keep my mouth shut when Brandon instructs both Burke and I to the back of the aircraft. Claire's hands-on-healing to Burke's broken nose does wonders for his disposition and he sits next to her, challenging her to a game of chess.

I close my eyes and listen to the sound of Cataryn's voice as she and Brandon discuss the flight plan, and he lets her radio the tower with a flight following.

About an hour into the flight, Brandon announces, "It's going to get a little bumpy. We're flying into some minor weather."

Burke and Claire put away the chess game and tighten their seat belts. I hear Brandon tell Cat that we will fly above the cloud cover at 13,000 feet, and she radios the tower with the changes in altitude. The first few bumps feel like nothing more that pot holes in the road, but a short time later, the aircraft rises sharply, then falls about 1,000 feet.

"Hold on, it's going to get rough," Brandon yells again over the headset. The twin engine Cessna is no match for Mother Nature, and it gets tossed around like a ping pong in a washing machine. Claire clutches Burke's arm and mentally lets us know she feels sick to her stomach. Burke reaches for a barf bag a second too late and ends up with a lap full of Claire's regurgitated lunch, and the cabin immediately fills with the stench of vomit. I hand Burke the sanitary wipes and turn my head to look out the window, so neither of them see me laughing.

"Trees!" Claire bellows, and Brandon instantly pulls hard on the yoke, sending the aircraft in a steep climb and roll to the right. It is almost pitch black outside, with zero visibility to the average human eyes, but the tops of the trees are visible to our Designer eyes. I am not too concerned until I look over at a normally "cool as a cucumber" Brandon and see the bead of sweat roll down the side his face. It is only then that I realize we are in trouble. He is able to successfully avoid collision with the side of the mountain, but the ice buildup on the wings is preventing the airplane from climbing any further. In fact, it is now slowly descending.

Cat yells, "You guys have powers, do something!"

Burke and I are already connected mentally with Claire, but our thoughts are wildly fluctuating, working in opposition of each other.

"Two thousand feet," Cat says, the strain apparent in her voice. "Claire, use your power to lift the aircraft."

"I can't, everyone is working against each other," she wails.

Brandon tells Cat to fly the aircraft and joins us in our mental conference room. _"All right, everyone let me lead, just follow my thoughts."_ He thinks about the ice melting off the right wing, and we all visualize the same. Then he does the same with the left wing, and almost instantly, the airplane starts to climb. _"Good,"_ he says, sighing with relief. _"Now we are going to ascend to 13,000 feet over the next minute,"_ he says, and in perfect unison, we all mimic this thought, and it's as if a giant hand is beneath the plane, slowly lifting it in a controlled ascension, higher and higher, until we pop out of the cloud cover and a brilliant burst of light fills the airplane. Down below, the dark, swirling thunderclouds are the only reminder of the violent storm taking place below us.

The remainder of the flight into Great Falls is uneventful, although landing on the only runway open after the earthquake is a little rough. The last hour of the flight was dead silence in the cabin, with the exception of Brandon talking to the tower on our final approach.

"You guys just came over the Bitterroot Mountain Range in this weather?" the airport assistance asks when he overhears our conversation.

Brandon smiles his lopsided smile and murmurs, "Barely."

Cat's legs are wobbly after the flight and I eagerly hold on to her when she half collapses in my arms. We rent the last available rental car and head straight to Cat's house.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CAT

Walking into the little house on Hurley Street is surprisingly easy with Ronan by my side. He and Claire already did a thorough search of the premises, remotely of course, prior to our arrival. I was already pre-warned of the disaster waiting for me, but it still was shocking nonetheless. The house is in complete disarray, with overturned couch cushions, cupboards and drawers wide open, half emptied of their contents, and stuff strewn all over the floor. It's certainly not the way I left it, and it's obvious that someone had been here searching through my stuff. Claire goes directly to her bedroom and emerges a short time later, holding up two stuffed bears and sporting a huge smile. Her room is the least destroyed room in the house, and she doesn't hesitate climbing in bed, tucking her stuffed animals alongside her.

"Will you sing me a song?" she says, looking at my guitar propped in the corner of the room. Whoever ransacked the house must have overlooked it; otherwise I was sure it would be missing.

"Only if you help me," I say, happily picking up my guitar and swinging it over my shoulder.

She joins me in harmony on several of our routine favorites, and I have to fight back the tears of joy.

"I love you so much," I say kissing her as I tuck her in.

"You are the best sister ever," she responds, clinging to my neck.

When I go to leave, Ronan is standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. I am reminded of the first day of school when I saw him leaning against the pillar, only now, his face is soft and there is a tenderness that has since replaced the cold, hardened look. He is still breathtakingly beautiful, maybe even more so now, and my heart does a 360 in my chest. I remind myself to breathe.

"That was beautiful," he murmurs, and he follows me down the hallway to my bedroom. His eyes darken with anger as he processes the scene. It's clear that the intruder spent the most time in my room, turning every drawer and my closet inside out. For some reason it doesn't bother me as much as it should. Maybe I have subconsciously let go of this life and the things in it. I don't take it personally. We step over the piles of clothes and in one full sweep his large arm clears the junk off the bed. He slips his shirt off over his head and, leaving his jeans on, stretches out on the bed, holding his hand out for me to join him. I sit down facing him and lightly trace the muscles on his chest with my fingertips.

"We need to talk," I say, looking directly in his eyes.

"I know," he responds tenderly.

"Why did you and Burke get in a fight?"

He sighs and doesn't answer right away, so I question him further.

"Did it have to do with me?" I already know the answer to this question. I knew about Burke's reputation and lately I've caught him looking at me in the ways that I have seen him look at other girls. I suspected the answer was "Yes," even before Ronan says it. "May I ask what it was about?"

Ronan picks up my hand and plays with the ring on my pinky finger. "It was about us," he says, gauging my reaction. Already anticipating my next question, he says, "He wanted to know if we have had sex."

There, it was out. We both take a deep breath and blow it out. "And what did you tell him?" I ask because it seems like the next logical question, even though I already know the answer to this too.

"The truth," he simply says.

I lie down next to him and he rolls over to face me, propping his head up on his hand.

We stare into each other's eyes for the longest time, and finally he clears his throat and says, "Okay, I'll go first. I think I have made my feelings for you perfectly clear, but just in case there is any doubt on your part, let me say it again. I love you. I love you in a way that I know is not typical for a guy my age. I love you unconditionally and I love you completely." I silently curse the tears that are already forming in my eyes, one making a slow descent down my cheek, but Ronan just casually brushes it away and continues. "I won't say that it's not hard lying next to you every night, the desire is definitely there, and I have been known to take trips out of body, just to cool down," he says grinning, before his expression becomes serious again. "I don't want this to freak you out Cat, but I have to say it. I know, without a doubt,that you are meant to by my wife. I just can't see a future with anyone but you."

I don't disagree, because I know that I am meant to be his wife, too.

"But I want you to be ready in every way and I want things to be perfect for you," he says, glancing around the room. "I want you to be surrounded by beauty and serenity, not this. Not in a room torn apart by some intruder and not in a hotel room with Claire sleeping in the bed next to us. Not in a rush because we are running for our lives, and definitely not because you think we have to," he says with assurance. He becomes quiet, but doesn't take his eyes off my face.

"Geez, did your parents pay for extra romance genes?" I finally ask, and we both burst out laughing. He waits for me to take my turn, twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers like he often does at night. "Thank you Ronan," I whisper, kissing his lips, lightly at first, then more passionately, moving closer to him.

He gently pushes my shoulders back and says, "Uh-uh, your turn."

He wasn't going to be distracted and let me off the hook in this discussion, so I take a deep breath and begin. "I know that my future is with you too, and all of the things that you said are true for me as well. I want the timing to be right. Physically, I am more than ready, but emotionally, I don't think that I am. I mean, I have already been prematurely thrown into adulthood, parenting Claire, and I just don't think I am mentally ready. I think things need to be more settled than they are right now," I say, relieved that things are now out in the open.

He doesn't respond right away and for a second, I wonder if he really is okay with waiting, a question that is quickly dispelled when he replies. "So, we'll wait then. And when you're ready, I'll be ready too. And if that happens to be on our wedding night, then that's okay. And if it happens to be before our wedding night, then that's okay, too. When we decide the time is right, we will go get contraceptives together. Do we agree?" he says grinning, broadly.

"Agree," I say and I fall asleep in his arms, thinking about how I have to be the luckiest girl on the planet.

***

If Ronan and Claire are apprehensive about the meeting with Uncle Karl, it doesn't show. They have been playfully bantering with each other all morning, and look at me with surprise when I snap at them for leaving their morning McDonald's wrappers on the table. Ronan eagerly offers to meet Uncle Karl alone, slamming one fist into the palm of the other as he says so, which amuses Claire and she giggles. She has already announced that, "She is not one bit scared of Uncle Karl anymore," and her bravery gives me a boost of courage. She insists on wearing one of the new dresses that Ronan bought for her, bright blue with yellow butterflies, even though it is freezing outside, then refuses to let me brush her hair, instead handing Ronan the brush to complete the task. The whole morning is filled with opposition from Claire, and by the time Brandon and Burke pick us up to drive us to the law offices, I am officially in a bad mood.

The secretary keeps her eyes on us as she pushes a button to Karl's office and announces, "Cataryn McCullough is here to see you."

He appears almost immediately in the lobby, his face already red with anger. He stops short when he sees Ronan with us, and when I look up, I see Ronan already grinning with amusement. I make a polite introduction between the two and firmly tell him that I need to speak with him.

He smoothly asks Claire and Ronan to wait in the lobby, and before I have a chance to reply, Ronan firmly says, "No, we're joining you."

There is something about the way Ronan's jaw sets and his golden amber eyes narrow like a lion's when he's mad, that commands respect, even from those twice his age. So it doesn't surprise me when Uncle Karl doesn't object, and he promptly turns around to lead us to an office at the end of the hallway. Having never been there, I am caught off guard by the size of his office and the plush, mahogany furnishings that adorn it. He hurriedly takes a seat behind his desk, then quickly stands up when he sees Ronan towering over him.

"Do you know how much trouble you have caused me, young lady?" he growls in a low, threatening tone, turning his attention on me.

I ignore his accusations and get right to the point. "I want you to grant me legal emancipation with full custody of Claire. Draw up the papers now!"

He looks at me in complete disbelief as if I have just lost my mind, which he confirms with, "Have you lost your mind?"

"Draw the papers up now, or else," I hiss, gathering courage with each passing second.

He hesitates briefly, then reaches for the phone.

"I'm going to have my secretary call the police and they'll haul your ass off to jail," he sneers.

The phone slides a foot to the right, just out of his reach. His eyes widen with fear and I repeat my demand to have legal papers drawn up. He lunges for the phone once again and it moves to the left, with all three of us standing several feet away. Claire giggles. This process repeats itself a few more times, and I have to admit, watching him frantically dart back and forth, trying to grab the phone is pretty hilarious. Finally, he gives up and tries another tactic.

"Hey, aren't you the kid who escaped from custody a couple of weeks ago?" he accuses Ronan.

Before Ronan has a chance to answer, Claire blurts out, "You killed Aunt Grace."

This stops him dead in his tracks.

She proceeds to slowly walk towards him. "You killed her in the bathtub and buried her body between the pine tree and the large boulder on the Chester ranch," she snarls, curling the corner of her lip up, the way she did the night of the attack.

Uncle Karl's face turns pale, and he starts to hyperventilate. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. "You are some kind of witch," he sputters, pointing his fat little finger at her, and backing up to the wall, looking wildly around the room for an escape.

Claire continues her verbal accusations, disclosing one detail after another about the night my Aunt Grace died. I can tell by his behavior that she is telling the truth, and I feel sick to my stomach. He looks like he is on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Claire, honey, let's let Uncle Karl get the papers we need so we can go," I say carefully, worried about her pushing him too far and never getting the paperwork we need. "Karl, you'll never have to see us again, just draw up the papers and we will quietly leave town," I coax him.

He looks frantically between the three of us, as if considering the offer, but then makes the huge mistake of saying, "Go to hell, you little tramp."

The only thing that saved Uncle Karl from certain death at the hands of Ronan Callahan was the actions of the little five-year-old standing in his office. How she summoned enough mental force to hold Ronan back until Brandon and Burke could come to her aide is a mystery to me. It makes the incident with the Brazier twins seem like a minor annoyance. Ronan dove straight over the desk, stopping just a few feet from Karl with his arms still outstretched.

"I'm sorry Ronan, I can't let you do it," Claire says calmly when he begs her to let him go.

Brandon and Burke burst through the office doors, followed by a frantic secretary, and lastly Gerald Manning, Ronan's attorney from when he was arrested.

Gerald Manning watches Uncle Karl with interest as he rambles on hysterically about how Claire is a witch and has super powers. He even seems somewhat amused as he glances down at an innocent looking Claire, who looks up to smile sweetly at him. After the distraught Karl is led away by the EMS staff to be evaluated for his acute psychotic breakdown, Mr. Manning leads us into a large conference room and has us take a seat at a long oak conference table. His secretary brings in sodas and a plate of cookies, which Claire and Brandon dive right into.

"First things first," Mr. Manning says in a gruff voice, looking directly at me. "You and Claire are on the top ten missing children's list with the FBI. Do you know that they take runaways and throw them in juvenile hall?"

His words terrorize me, and I slip my sweaty palm in Ronan's hand. Ronan starts to speak on my behalf, and Mr. Manning holds his hand up to silence him.

"You have your own set of problems, son," he warns. He starts to go down the list of charges that the two of us are currently facing, but is interrupted by the young secretary, who quietly slips a folded piece of paper in front of him that has URGENT, scribbled across the front of it. He quickly reads it, and Ronan squeezes my hand as he hurries out of the office.

"Bernie," Ronan says under his breath.

Apparently, Burke had already been mentally in touch with Alisha, and Dr. Lundgren placed phone calls to Bernie Stoddard on our behalf. An hour later, thanks to Ms. Stoddard, the five of us are walking out of Mr. Manning's office with official documents releasing Karl as my guardian and granting me emancipation as a minor, with temporary supervision over Claire. All charges against Ronan were dropped, and Claire and I were removed from the FBI's missing children's files before we had left the office.

"Man, Bernie Stoddard has some real clout," Brandon says, chuckling.

***

We spend the next few hours packing up the few things from the Hurley house that I plan on keeping (which is mostly family photo albums and pictures) and then ship it off to Brandon's house in Canada. I call Giselle and she comes right over, bursting into tears when she sees us.

"I was so worried," she says over and over again, as she strokes Claire's face. She agrees to take the furniture and other household items off my hands, and I call my landlord to give him my final notice. I am slowly letting go of anything tying me to Great Falls, Montana, with only one exception.

"Tucker!" I squeal.

He grins ear to ear and picks me up, twirling me around in a big bear hug. He ignores Ronan's outstretched hand and instead gives him a hug as well, slapping him on the back like an old friend. "Hey guys, I want you to meet my partner," he says openly, introducing us to Carlos Lopez.

"Ah, so you are senorita Cataryn, and senor Ronan, very nice to meet you both," he says, shaking both of our hands.

Carlos is from South America and has been Tucker's boyfriend for almost two years. He is a musician as well, and has collaborated with Tucker on a few demo tapes. Tucker's music studio is impressively stocked with sophisticated equipment and a variety of instruments, all of which I am certain he knows how to play. I beg them to sing for us and they perform a couple of Latin songs, then a couple of popular modern rock songs. Their voices blend in perfect harmony together and, when I join in on the last song, the three of us are in perfect pitch. Both Tucker and Carlos make me promise to work on a future project with them.

"Tucker, I am moving away," I finally break the news.

He had refrained from asking questions about our disappearance, but now he looks at me for some explanations. We keep it simple, telling him only about my Uncle Karl and Ronan's parents, which he already knew about, and I reassure him that we are no longer fugitives.

"Good, then you can call once in a while," he says good-naturedly.

I promise him that I will and I mean it.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

RONAN

I pick up the 8 by10 framed family photo of the McCullough family off the mantel and study it before packing it in the box. Cat has her mom's smile and her dad's eyes. Her parents look young, and I can see the adventurer in them that Cat talks about. Chord has one arm draped over Cat's shoulder, and they are laughing. He is a good-looking kid, his likeability evident even in a photo. Claire is propped on her dad's shoulders, looking down at Cat and Chord with pure adoration. The photo makes me sad. Sad because I want to be able to shake her dad's hand and ask his permission to take her out on a date, then feel the responsibility of following through on having her home by a certain time.

I want to promise both her parents that I will treat her like a princess. I want to join them on family camping trips and learn how to sail, while I teach her brother how to ride a motorcycle. And most of all, I want to ask for her dad's blessing when I request her hand in marriage, then see him walk her down the aisle and know that she is perfectly happy.

Cat comes up behind me and wraps her arms around my waist, and I carefully place the photo in the box with the others. She's not taking much from the little rental house, even though I offered to rent a storage shed to hold it until we settle into our own house. The thought of us having a house and a future together dominates my thoughts.

_"One thing at a time,"_ I silently remind myself.

We still didn't know how the meeting with Ms. Stoddard was going to go, however, we were all encouraged by the fact that she was willing to use her authority to get all of the charges dropped against us.

We still have all day Saturday to finish packing, but Cat insists on getting it done today, and with Burke and Brandon's help, it doesn't take long. Most of the stuff being shipped to Brandon's house in Canada is Claire's, as she refuses to part with anything other than clothes. Brandon tells us that the house is almost 19,000 square feet, with an indoor pool. His parents are multimillionaires, owning several small companies in the electrical industry. They live in the Philippians in the winter and spend only a few weeks at the place in the summer. They only keep it for Brandon, who really only likes it because of the airport hanger and landing strip. For the most part, he uses the guest house in the back for living quarters and the main house stays empty.

"Not for long," I remind him.

We spend a few hours at Tucker Schilling's house before Burke picks us up and drives towards my parents' house. It's our last stop for the day and the thing I am dreading the most, probably much the way Cat was dreading going to her uncle's office this morning. Tucker agrees to let me park my motorcycle and truck at his house in exchange for use of both. Most of the furniture was damaged in the fire, and Mr. and Mrs. Harold had already cleaned and donated what they could. The house would be going up for sale in the next two weeks. Burke's parents are waiting for us at my parents' house and Terry's eyes fill with tears when she sees me. Both of them embrace me like a son, and I unexpectedly choke up.

_"What did you tell them?"_ I mentally question Burke, kicking myself for not asking earlier.

_"I told them the truth,"_ he replies.

"You told them we are going to Canada and may be working undercover for the CIA?"

"Yep."

I wasn't sure if that was such a good idea, but at the moment, I couldn't think of why.

The house is like I remembered it the night I was captured. I tell Cat and Claire to wait on the back deck while I quickly make my way to the bedroom in the back. The keys to the truck and motorcycle are right where I always leave them, and I grab them and shove them in my pocket. I look around the room, trying to think of what else I should be taking. Clothes can always be replaced, and these smell like smoke anyway. I see the stack of school books on the desk and think turning them in would be the responsible thing to do. Cat was turning hers in, anyway. I reach to pick them up and notice a yellow sticky note sticking out between pages in my Spanish book. I know I didn't put it there and it wasn't there on my last day at the school. I recognize my dad's handwriting right away and it's written in Spanish, which is very unusual. The note translates to English as, "Will see you in Belize." My heart starts racing and my hand starts to shake. _Could it be? No, it's impossible._ _But then again, Claire did say that she didn't think they were dead_... I shake the thought from my mind, but quickly tuck the paper into my pocket, exiting the house as fast as I can.

Burke and Claire drive my truck, while Cat climbs on the back of the motorcycle with me. The drive to Tucker's is just across town, but I take a detour and follow the ridge above the city lights. It's much too cold to be on a motorcycle, but Cat doesn't complain. She wraps her arms around me and tucks her hands inside my coat and we gracefully bend together, back and forth around each curve in the road, and for a moment, it feels as if we are one: one body and one spirit. The grin on Tucker's face when I hand over the keys to both vehicles makes me feel good. He doesn't have a lot of money, and the car he drives is constantly in the shop for repairs.

"You better be careful on that thing," I tell him, nodding in the direction of the motorcycle.

"She'll be in good hands," he replies.

We say goodbye for the second time today.

The weather system that we ran into on the way into Great Falls is moving slowly to the north, and visibility out of Great Falls airport is less than a mile. The air traffic controller argues with Brandon when he tells him we are taking off in a twin engine Cessna. He asks if the aircraft has defrosters and when Brandon tells him "no" he mutters, "This guy is on a suicide mission."

The excitement in Brandon's eyes is obvious. Meeting up with the others is only part of the reason he wants to take off in this storm. We all know what the other part is. The knowledge that we can do what no one else can do is powerful and empowering. We all feel it, even Cat, who is the only Non-Designer on board. She trusts us and believes in our powers enough to relinquish all control. Once again, she takes the co-pilot seat, and the rest of us connect in our mental conference room. Working together in mental unity under the direction of Brandon and with Claire as our energy producer, we lift and guide the aircraft through the storm with complete ease.

We make it to McLean, Virginia late Sunday afternoon, and are met at the airport by Elizabeth, Michael, Alisha, and Jason. Everything is pre-arranged. Our hotel room, dinner reservations, even tomorrow's wardrobe.

"Jason thinks it would be better if we wear similar attire, to show our unity," Alisha says, throwing a navy blue sweatshirt at us.

"Blue jeans and a sweatshirt are considered a uniform?" I question, not that I care too much about what I wear.

Claire is the only one who is enthusiastic about the matching sweatshirts. She holds hers up and parades around the hotel room like a runway model, making us all laugh. We share with the others our airplane experience, and I can tell that Jason Lundgren is very impressed.

After taking showers and getting cleaned up, we meet for dinner at the restaurant on the 5th floor of the hotel. I wait until after everyone is finished before I pull the yellow sticky note out of my pocket.

"I have one more thing to tell you guys," I say, and nervously read the note from my dad. I share with them that Belize is a place that we vacationed at when I was ten. "It was one of the best family vacations we ever took together, so at the end of the trip I told my parents that when I turned eighteen, I was going to move there." Everyone is quiet when I finish my story and my hopes are deflated when no one makes eye contact with me, except Claire.

She looks at me impatiently and says, "I already told you Ronan, your parents aren't dead."

Cat gasps and hisses, "Claire, stop it!"

Claire folds her arms across her chest and throws her chin up defiantly. "Cat, stop telling me what to do."

There is a hushed silence as Cat and Claire have a stare down. Finally, Cat says, "Get your coat."

"No!" Claire says, stomping her foot.

We all hold our breath. It's the first time we have seen Claire directly challenge Cat, and judging by her attitude, no one is quite sure how it's going to end.

"Get your coat, now," Cat says, gritting her teeth.

"No, I'm not ready to leave yet," Claire says, stubbornly.

Cat silently gets up and starts making her way around the table towards Claire. She gets about two feet away, and then is abruptly halted, unable to advance any further. I know exactly what's happening, but it takes the others a while to figure out that Claire is using her powers to block Cat as she repeatedly tries to break through the invisible wall that Claire has erected between them. Cat's cheeks turn pink and her eyes fill with tears. Even Alisha isn't quite sure what to do, and it is Jason Lundgren who is the first to react.

"All right Claire, you can stay here," he says soothingly, as he gets his coat on. "Come on everyone, it's getting late, let's go."

Claire looks around hesitantly as the rest of us follow him, silently getting our coats on as we get up to leave. Cat looks at Jason gratefully and takes me by the hand. We all exit the table together, leaving Claire sitting there by herself, not looking back as we enter the elevator. Cat paces in the hotel room nervously, not entirely comfortable with the idea of leaving Claire alone in the restaurant, but Jason assures her that she needs to, "Nip this behavior in the bud, or it will only get worse."

To make Cat feel better, I travel out of body to check on her and find her still sitting alone at the table, looking at the elevators, obviously expecting that one of us will come back for her. It isn't until the waitress comes over and asks her where her mommy is that she slides out of her chair and walks over to the elevator. A few minutes later, there is a faint knock on the door.

***

Elizabeth brilliantly offers for Claire to have a "slumber party," in her hotel room, promising that they will paint each other's toe nails, and Claire excitedly accepts after cautiously asking Cat if it's okay. The hard feelings between the two are still evident, and Cat wisely accepts Elizabeths's offer, sensing the need for a sisterly break. Jason later comes to our room to talk to Cat about Claire's behavior. He tells us that he is a Pediatric Specialist, and he is worried about Claire's ability to handle the level of responsibility that the group is placing on her.

"We don't have a choice. She is the key to the power we hold. Without her, we are just a bunch of beautiful people who can communicate telepathically," I tell him.

He reassures Cat that she is doing a terrific job of raising Claire, and gives her some suggestions on how to handle future situations. As he's leaving, he turns around and says, "You know, she may be right about your parents, Ronan."

***

After a brief remote view exercise, I return to body to find Cat sitting on the bed next to me, anxiously chewing on a fingernail.

"Well, anything?" she says, her brows furrowed as she tensely waits for my report.

I shake my head not wanting her to hear the disappointment in my voice.

She lies down next to me, and rests her head on my chest. "Where all did you look?"

"Everywhere my memory would take me," I answer flatly. I had traveled out of body to Belize and searched every hotel, restaurant, beach, even the rain forest, looking for my parents, and found nothing.

"You know, she's only five..." Cat starts to say, trying to rationalize Claire's remarks.

"I know," I snap, immediately feeling Cat tense up in my arms. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to take it out on you," I say softly.

She's quiet for a moment, then sits up suddenly, and a slow smile spreads across her face. "Let's go for a run," she says, grabbing my hand to pull me off the bed.

"Cat, it's late, and we have to be up early. Besides, we're in the middle of downtown," I try to dissuade her but she is already up, digging through her suitcase for a pair of sweats.

"Come on, just a short one, we'll blow off some energy and we'll both sleep better," she says as she quickly changes her clothes. Her enthusiasm is catchy. While I'm changing into my sweats, she's halfway out the door, yelling, "I'll race you to the elevator."

As it turns out, Cat was right. Three miles into the run, all thoughts of Belize and finding my parents have nearly vanished. Five miles into the run, we are picking out our top ten desired colleges, and discussing future professions; and somewhere between mile six and mile eight, we take a few wrong turns and end up in a very seedy neighborhood, with a car full of thugs following us in a Chevy Impala lowrider. Even with their stereo blasting, I can hear the crude comments coming from the driver and his backseat passengers.

_Just go ahead and try it_ , I think to myself, already sizing the four of them up. "Cat, darling, we may have a problem with these kids," I mutter, as I watch the car drive ahead of us and flip a sharp u-turn in the road, facing us head on.

The three passengers jump out at once, and I hear Cat say, "You think?"

The largest of the three has a bat in his hand, and is swinging it in a circle. "Give me your wallet," he hollers with a thick Spanish accent.

"Don't have one," I yell back in perfect Spanish, something they obviously weren't expecting from two young yuppie-looking white kids. "Cat, I'm going to distract them. I want you to stay on this street, run as fast as you can north, and then take a left at the second light. That street will take you back to the hotel. On my count of three. Do you understand?" I whisper, keeping my eyes on the advancing gang.

"Yeah, in your dreams, Designer boy," she says, as she lunges for the smallest of the three, placing a perfectly delivered high kick to his chest, sending him flying backwards. My body instinctively reverts to whatever animal DNA is programmed into me. I am vaguely aware that I might be growling as I crouch and spring towards the bat yielding assailant. I see his startled expression revert to agony as I grab the bat and in one swift motion, crack it into his lower legs. He crumbles in a heap and doesn't get up again.

The last of the three yields a knife and is waving it in front of Cat who warns him, "Put it down or you're going to get hurt." She's smiling when she says this, which must be offensive to him, because he snarls and calls her some insulting names. I reach him before she does and pitch him into the windshield of the waiting car, cracking the glass in front of the driver. It's all over in a matter of a few minutes. The driver is stunned, wide-eyed, and immobilized with fear. The other three are disabled. I grab Cat's hand and we take off running in the direction of the hotel, not bothering to look back.

Minutes later, we enter the hotel lobby, and I grab her arm and pull her down an empty hallway.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" I say, swinging her around to face me.

"Excuse me?" she murmurs, the excitement in her eyes slowly giving way to surprise.

"Cataryn, I told you to run, not fight," I say, unable to hide my irritation, fueled by my fear for her safety. "You could have been hurt, or even worse. What if they would have had a gun? You think that just because you have a few years of training in martial arts that you can take on just anybody?"

She backs away from me, until she is up against the wall. My confrontation catches her off guard and she looks temporarily crushed. But the look of hurt quickly dissipates and her cheeks turn pink as her eyes flash with anger.

"That was insulting Ronan! How dare you! Get out of my way," she hisses, shoving me hard in the chest, and marching past me towards the elevator, with me right on her heels.

"Cat, I'm sorry, but the gangs in big cities are not like back in Montana, they are much more dangerous."

The elevator doors open and she remains silent as we ride up to the sixth floor with several other guests. "I can defend myself probably better than Michael, but you would never send him running away in a situation like that," she says accusingly, after we reach our hotel room.

"That's true, but it's different," I start to say, and she interrupts me, "Because he's a guy and I'm a girl?" She rolls her eyes. "That is so chauvinistic, Ronan."

"Cat, I'm only looking out for your best interest, that's all," I sigh.

She stares at me for the longest time, before she says, "Ronan, I spent the past year in foster care, separated from my sister because people were deciding what was best for me. It just about destroyed us both. You need to trust in me. I know better than anyone else what my capabilities are."

Of course, she's right, but it's hard to agree with her right now, and while trying to think of a reasonable reply, I become aware of her attire: a tank top, pair of sweats, and her hair up in a ponytail. I am suddenly reminded of her playful banter with Tucker about getting married in a pair of sweats.

"You know, I would proudly watch you walk down the aisle in a pair of sweats," I murmur, letting my thoughts become my reply.

When she realizes the meaning behind the comment, she cracks up laughing and slowly walks over to me, throwing her arms around my neck.

"I would shave my legs for you," she whispers, and then we both fall on the bed laughing.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

RONAN

Cat doesn't budge when the alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m., and I hit the snooze button three times before I even think about getting up. Today was a big day for the Designers, and I couldn't have had a worse night's sleep. Last night Cat and I had our first argument, which was followed by our first kiss and make up, and that coupled with the fact that Claire was relocated to Elizabeth's hotel room made for an environment completely not conducive to honoring our vow to be sexually responsible. I spent most of the night teleporting out of body, traveling to anywhere that didn't have a memory with Cat in it. She rolls over sleepily and grabs my arm, wrapping it around her and tucking my hand beneath her chin, giving me an excuse to hit the snooze button a fourth time.

***

Alisha and Michael are already in the hotel lobby, looking over some paperwork. There is something about Alisha that catches my eye, and I can't readily put my finger on it, but she seems different. She smiles when she sees me, which is definitely different, she rarely smiles at me. She's dressed in a pair of blue jeans with a Cashmere, so Cat tells me, navy sweater that has "DESIGNER" in small print in the upper right corner. Just like mine. Her straight, black hair cascades loosely over her shoulders, a departure from the normal tight ponytail she keeps it in, and she is wearing a small amount of makeup that perfectly highlights her already near perfect features.

Burke and Brandon arrive right after me, wearing blue jeans and the matching sweaters. Burke looks like he just stepped out of a men's magazine, and Brandon is sporting his familiar lopsided grin. In spite of the scar tissue contracting the right side of his face, he is Designer beautiful just like everyone else. Cat joins the group next, carrying a smiling Claire on her back. I am relieved that the previous night's conflict seems to have been resolved.

"All right, I guess we are only missing Elizabeth and Michael, anyone seen them?" Alisha asks.

"Elizabeth is on her way down, she was right behind me," Cat answers.

Claire wiggles down from Cat's back and connects mentally to me, simply saying _"Up."_ I know exactly what she wants, and I swing her up in my arms automatically. She is the youngest of the group, and yet the most powerful, bringing all Designers' thoughts together to form a powerful current of energy that could move a mountain, literally. If you dressed her in a white gown, she would look like an angel, but today she is dressed in a pair of blue jeans with a navy sweater like the rest of us. Her long blonde hair is curled at the ends, and half of it is pulled back in a ribbon that matches her sweater. The stuffed animal, "Hannah," that she's clutching under one arm is a constant reminder of her innocent childhood. Jason Lundgren comes up and talks to her quietly, asking her questions about Hannah, that only a Pediatric Specialist would consider asking.

***

Bernice Stoddard, the Director of National Intelligence, is a petite, wiry, middle-aged woman with gray hair and dark rimmed glasses, which she peers over the top of, staring directly into each of our eyes, no doubt comparing the similar yellow hue around our iris. Claire color screens her as "bright orange, almost yellow", which isn't too bad for a government official. We passed many dark oranges, blues and even an occasional gray before we finally made it to Ms. Stoddard's office. Claire called them out to us, mentally of course, and entertained herself by keeping count.

"All right, let's get straight to business," Ms. Stoddard says. "We have a pretty good idea of what you kids are capable of, but I want you to show me," she says in a straightforward, no nonsense manner.

We demonstrate our abilities first by moving small objects around the office, which Ms. Stoddard looks almost bored with. We pique her interest slightly when we predict a computer outage lasting three minutes and eleven seconds. She sets the timer on her phone and looks impressed when her computer reboots at precisely when we say it will. But she still wants more proof. Alisha tells her to pick any major earthquake fault line in the world, and she chooses a relatively inactive one in Nevada. Twenty minutes later, she receives an alert advising of the 5.8 magnitude earthquake that we predicted. All of this should have provided her with ample proof of our power, but she still asks for more.

It isn't until an impatient Claire squirms from my arms and approaches her, saying, "In ten minutes, the President's plane will have to make an emergency landing in Morocco, postponing his secret meeting with England's Prime Minister," that Ms. Stoddard's face becomes pale and she struggles to speak. We, of course, have no choice but to follow through with Claire's prediction, and sure enough, Bernice receives an urgent interruption from her assistant advising of the President's detour.

She plops down in her chair behind the desk and a light sweat breaks out on her forehead. It takes her a while to regain her composure, but finally she looks up at us and quietly says, "All right, tell me what you want."

For having so much power in our favor, our wish list is relatively short.

Freedom and protection.

We remain anonymous and undercover.

The government will provide us each with a salary, including Claire

The government will provide us with a residence

We will not be asked to hurt or kill other people, unless in self defense.

Something about our request must put Ms. Stoddard at ease because the corners of her mouth turn up in a faint smile and her face relaxes as she leans back in her chair.

"Welcome to the service of your country. You may call me Bernie," she says, firmly shaking all of our hands. "I look forward to our future partnership together." She informs us that we are now undercover agents for the United States of America.

***

Brandon's Canadian home just outside of Calgary, Alberta, makes Michael's cousin's home in Montana look small. The 19,000 square foot home sits on five acres of land, and backs up to the Bow River. True to his word, there is an airplane landing strip with a hanger about 200 feet from the front porch. The open space is welcomed after being cooped up in hotels for the past week. There are four levels to the big Colonial house, six bedrooms and ten bathrooms, but it's the mention of the indoor pool on the ground floor that has Claire begging Brandon for a tour.

Our first undercover assignment wasn't for another two weeks, and we made an agreement with Alisha that there would be no practice sessions or recruitment of other Designers. We were finally free to relax after being on the run for nearly a month. Brandon wants his house to be the permanent residence for the Designers, and is eager for our approval. He enthusiastically gives us a tour of the multimillion dollar residence. The indoor pool on the ground floor is surrounded by glass on the west side, giving vista views of the river. There is an adjacent workout room that holds a couple pieces of exercise equipment and a weight bench. The main level of the house has a gourmet kitchen that is twice the size of the one in Montana. Cat already starts planning the menu for the Thanksgiving dinner, which is only a few weeks away. The large great room next to the kitchen has a rock fireplace and a wall of windows that also face the Bow River. The three bedroom suites on this floor are taken by Alisha, Elizabeth, and Michael. The third floor has a large library with two executive desks and a hallway leading to three more bedroom suites, each with their own balcony. Jason, Claire, Cat, and I will occupy these rooms. On the fourth floor is another large great room that functions as a recreational room, with a pool table and a large theatre TV screen, framed by two large recliners and a leather sectional couch.

The two bedroom guesthouse next to the hanger is already occupied by Brandon and he smiles sheepishly, excusing the mess, as he quickly gathers clothing items and clears dirty dishes from the counter.

"If we're going to be roommates, I guess I better learn to clean up after myself," he says, looking apologetically at Burke.

Burke just shrugs his shoulders, unconcerned, and plops down on the sofa, kicking his shoes off and grabbing the remote to the TV. He's already made himself at home. "As long as someone else does the cooking, I can hang with just about anything," he says, grinning.

I find Cat leaning over the small deck outside of our bedroom suite, and I wrap my arms around her, encircling my hands over the top of hers. Her hands are cold, and I can see a cloud of water vapor every time she exhales. I know what's on her mind, because our relationship is on my mind too. I lean down and kiss her neck, then playfully nibble at her earlobe, distracting her as I intertwine my fingers between hers, craftily slipping the ring on her left hand. We spend another fifteen minutes kissing and talking before she even notices the diamond on her finger. She slowly brings her hand up in front of her face, and there is a moment of confusion as she tries to figure out what it is and how it got there. Then her eyes go wide and she gasps.

Fighting back tears, I gently take her hands in mine. "Cat, some people don't believe in love at first sight, but I swear I fell in love with you the moment I first laid eyes on you. In my heart, you are already my wife, and you are too good and too worthy to be my live-in girlfriend. Cataryn Avalon Cascadia McCullough, I promise to love you and care for you as long as I am alive on this planet. Will you please except my hand in marriage?" I say softly, bending down on one knee.

END OF BOOK ONE

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elle Davis lives in El Dorado Hills, CA with her husband and two daughters. She is a Registered Nurse and works part-time as a Wound Ostomy Specialist. In her free time, she enjoys cycling, boating, snow skiing and camping.

