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telling Tom. I wondered if he’d believe or if I’d have to cut myself or something to prove it. Yet wasn’t the accident proof enough?
    Stella took out a red-and-black checkered hat, a thing I’d never be caught dead in before, but I let her put it on, and when she angled the mirror on the door to the locker so I could see myself, I decided it looked good. But the short hair reminded me of the accident, the terror I’d experienced, and what I’d lost. Who I’d lost.
    The now-familiar pain exploded in my chest, and for a moment I was stunned at its magnitude. My heart, apparently, was one thing they couldn’t fix with any amount of protein concentrate. I struggled for breath, struggled not to collapse to the floor and curl into a fetal position. “I have to see Tom,” I said, forcing the words between clenched teeth. “His sister, she was in the car. She’s dead. He grew up in foster homes until she found him. He doesn’t have anyone else but me.”
    Because I’d been trying not to repeat mistakes that had caused me so much embarrassment and pain in the past, he’d barely met my family. They had no idea how I felt about him—which I guess put them about even with me since I didn’t quite know how I felt either.
    “I know. He’s holding her funeral tomorrow.” Stella’s eyes showed pity. “Yours is tomorrow, too.”
    I whirled then and started for one of the huge automatic doors. I was leaving, going back to Tom and my family. That was more important than any secret software or Unbounded struggle for control. Afterward, I would return to learn more—on my own terms, and not as their prisoner. Because a part of me desperately wanted what they were saying to be true. I wanted to be someone. To make a difference as I hadn’t attempted doing since leaving college.
    Stella didn’t move to stop me, and Cort only kicked his feet up on one of the computer desks and leaned back, his hands folded over his stomach. I received a brief impression of somber amusement and hoped that didn’t mean all the exits were locked.
    Next to the huge outer doors, I spied a smaller one with a regular knob. I angled toward this, praying it would open. It did. In a second I was through and hurrying over a cement loading dock that connected to the parking area by means of a concrete ramp.
    It was early evening, as far as I could tell, and the day had been a hot one even for early September. Heat radiated off the parking lot, the hot air rising in visible distorted waves. In every direction I saw buildings and cement, and only one road leading away. Though no people were in sight, the honk of a horn and the racing of distant engines were welcome sounds after the isolation of the warehouse. I might have to walk some distance before I knew where I was, but with the stolen cell phone, it would be only minutes before Tom was on his way to me. I quickened my pace.
    A rush of air blew against me, and a man stood in my way. He was tall and tanned and muscular, and his black hair was longer than I generally liked on a man, yet it fit him perfectly. Power poured off him like the heat from the tarmac. By the hard lines of his square jaw and his determined stance, I knew he wasn’t there to wish me well in my bid for freedom.
     

 
     
     
     
     

     
    I TRIED TO MOVE AROUND him, but he stepped in front of me again. He was closer now, his wide shoulders level with my eyes, his muscles tight under the navy T-shirt. I let my eyes trail downward, taking in hiking boots and faded jeans that he filled out to good advantage before moving back to his tanned face. Despite my irritation, I couldn’t help but stare. If Stella could possibly have a male opposite, this man would be a good candidate for the job. His face wasn’t as perfect as hers but it was attractive in a rugged, compelling way, the bronze skin marred only by beard stubble.
    “You’re Ritter, I take it.” I didn’t hide the bitterness in my voice. He certainly wasn’t the