BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

brakes suddenly, and the auto careened sideways,sliding across the slick pavement. At first, Irena thought the car was outof control. But she noticed the calculated look in the clone's eyes as he glancedinto the rearview, and she realized this was just his wild manner ofnavigating. The tires bumped against the curb as he parked parallel in front ofa large office structure. The Hancock Building.

Her stomach sank. She'd been here already. Harry's office. His lifeless body,twenty years in the past, after Cade killed him.

But now...only ten years in the past.

"Oscar—open the passenger door," said the clone.

"What are we doing here?"

"You're getting out." He reached into his pants pocketand retrieved what looked like a silver cigarette lighter. "You will needthis." He extended it toward her, but she didn't take it. The night airwafted inside her open door. "Please take it, Irena. Yourfather left it here for you, just in case."

"My father." She eyed him coldly. It figured. Her fatherdidn't know her at all. "I don't smoke."

He almost smiled. "It's more than it appears." He pushedit into her hand. "Go inside, find your husband's office. He won't bethere. He is currently on his way to the local police to pick up a certainpackage—in this reality."

How can that be? She frowned. He isn'tdead?

The clone patted her hand with the lighter in it. "Flip thecap and stare into the flame. The wormhole will present itself as a ripple inthe air before you. Step into it, and you'll cross over to your own world,where you belong. You'll be safe there."

"None of this makes any sense," she murmured. "Ithought you weren't supposed to tell me what to do."

"Your mission was a success, soldier." He chuckled."Now it's time for your exit strategy. This is it." He patted herhand again. "You have to trust me, Irena. Your father and I want you to live. But if you stay here,you will die. There's nothing we can do about it."

"Here." She eyed him. "In this reality."

"Yes."

"My father wants me to live." She didn't sound like shebelieved the words she repeated. "What about little Harry?"

"I will take care of him, Irena. Believe me when I tellyou this." His eyes became serious, and more than ever they looked likeher father's—the father she remembered as a child, when she'd loved him morethan any man in the whole world. "I will raise him as my own son. I willcare for him here until the day I die."

It was the truth. For some reason, she believed him.

Stepping out of the car, she clutched the lighter in one hand and,as if in a dream, moved toward the glass doors of the Hancock Building's foyer.She didn't look back.

Cyrus Horton's clone watched her go, watched her step inside,greeted by the synthetic security guard. Of course the guard recognized her:Harold Muldoon's wife. He didn't seem to think it strange that she wore amonk's robe. Nor did he seem to notice that she was older by a few years. Butwho would? Irena Muldoon was a gorgeous woman. In her eyes, the years hadtaken their toll, but her figure bore the grace and beauty of a woman half herage. She was glorious.

The clone adored her. But not as a daughter.

The memories were there, implanted in his synthetic mind. Watchingher grow up, from a precious baby to a beautiful girl. Loving her dearly, everystep of the way. Protecting her, whatever the cost. Paternal feelings. Yetthere was more, unrelated to his programming, to those memories that werenot his own. Emotions that had not been imprinted on him by his creator. Theystirred now within his synthetic heart, having sprung into being the momenthe'd first met Irena in the flesh. Only hoursago, at Alpha Geminorum.

He'd fallen in love with her. He could not describe it any otherway. Was such a thing possible for a clone? Was there something wrong with hisprogramming? Obviously. All he had to do was look in the rearview mirror andsee that his synthetic body had aged exponentially. That was unexpected.Perhaps time travel had affected his psyche as well.

Very interesting, mused the scientist inhim.

When the elevator doors closed, blocking his view, the clonerotated the steering grips, and the car left the curb.

He would return to the gate of the Wayist temple. He wouldintroduce himself as the infant's father, Cyrus Horton. He would allow themonks to read his ident tag—if they owned a scanner. They would be disinclinedat first to relinquish their charge of the child, but he would talk them intoit. He would put them at ease, explaining the current condition of his wife,that her substance abuse made it impossible to act rationally.

But he loved her. Oh, how he loved her. A singular woman, ascourageous as she was captivating, as intelligent as she was inimitable. Helonged to see her again, to bask in her brilliant presence.

But no, she had to leave this world. She had to be safe. Alive.Perhaps someday, when the twining of the timelines was complete, perhaps thenhe would see her again. He would find her, if it was the last thing he everdid.

For now, he would thank the two monks graciously as he carriedyoung Harry away in his arms. For the next ten years of his life, he wouldraise the boy in a HellTown apartment. The two of them would beinseparable...until the day the clone died.

Torn apart in a dark alley outside The Pearl.

But the monks would never forget the charge given them by theinfant's mother. For followers of the Way, their word was their bond.

EIGHTEEN

 

Now

Though I walk through the valley of theshadow of death, I will fear no evil.

How long had it been since Cade last descended these very steps inpursuit of Irena Muldoon, his blade dripping with the blood of a policesergeant? Blind in the black, which lurked with a heavy presence allits own. Eight or nine hours ago, perhaps. A lifetime ago. Then, he had beenthe master of his own fate.

He had been human. Or so he thought.

His time Underground had changed him. He had left the depths ofthis netherworld a different man. Not a man