Jenna Black - Replica

The sound of a door snicking shut seemed to indicate her prayers had been answered. No doubt Nate was going to try to make the shower quick, knowing she was waiting for him, which meant she didn’t have much time to work up her nerve. If she was going to do this, she had to get moving now .

As she’d guessed, Nate’s clothes lay in a heap on the floor, and the locket rested on top of a heavy walnut dresser. Keeping a wary eye on the bathroom door, she edged toward the dresser and picked the locket up in hands that shook just a bit. Her mouth was dry, and every beat of her heart pumped a new wash of guilt into her blood. Her eyes prickled, and she blinked rapidly to keep herself from crying. Guilt and tears were not luxuries she could afford.

The locket was still warm from contact with Nate’s skin. Nadia pressed on the clasp, and the locket popped open to her picture, which she took a moment to regard with a critical eye.

She’d known that Bishop had put a picture of her in the locket, of course. Hard to pretend it was a gift from her if her picture wasn’t in it. But she’d never actually looked at it before, and she felt an uncomfortable stirring in her gut now that she did.

There were thousands of pictures of her available on the net. Even if she hadn’t been semiengaged to the Chairman Heir, her status as daughter of a president made her a favorite with the press. Most were posed shots, where she wore her practiced Executive smile. Some were the embarrassing, unflattering shots the press loved with mean-spirited glee. Things like the picture of her at the age of three, all dressed up in pink velvet and ruffles, with her finger up her nose. The press had just loved that one—as if it somehow should have been embarrassing for an Executive three-year-old to act like a three-year-old.

Of all the thousands of shots Bishop had to choose from, he had chosen the very shot she would have if she’d actually had to choose herself.

It was a true candid shot, one she’d had no idea was being taken at the time. Although he wasn’t in the picture, Nadia remembered that she’d been talking to Nate. It had been the occasion of his eighteenth birthday, a gala ball that made the wedding reception that led to his death seem like a small family gathering by comparison. Nate and Nadia had been cornered by the Terrible Trio, who had, as usual, flirted and simpered and fed Nadia a steady stream of sly, backhanded compliments.

Nate had the glibbest tongue of anyone Nadia had ever met, and for every backhanded compliment the Trio had handed her, he’d handed them one right back. Only his were so smooth and elegant none of the Trio had ever guessed they were insults. Only Nadia had recognized what he was doing, and her eyes glowed with that knowledge when the photographer snapped the shot.

Instead of her usual practiced smile, she wore an expression she would almost call impish. There was life and vivacity in her expression, a sense of contained energy that in some ways resembled Nate’s. She looked beautiful, and intelligent, and somehow very real .

Was it just dumb luck that had caused Bishop to pick that particular photo, or did he know her better than she’d ever realized?

You’ll never know, because you’re going to help Mosely capture him, and he’s going to die.

The thought brought guilt flooding back into her system, and Nadia carefully picked at the edges of the photo to dislodge it so she could slip the tracker behind it. The photo came loose, and she lifted it out, expecting to see nothing but the metal back of the locket. What she did see made her gasp and drop the little photo of herself.

If she’d been a little less naive, Nadia might have guessed that Bishop wouldn’t give Nate a locket with only her picture in it. It was a love gift, after all, even if the boys needed her picture in it for camouflage. Maybe she should have been expecting to find a picture of Bishop behind her own. But even if she had, what she saw would have shocked her.

It was a picture of Bishop, all right. Only it wasn’t a head shot like Nadia’s—it was a full-body portrait. And he was naked.

A proper Executive girl would have averted her eyes the moment she realized what she was looking at, but though Nadia told herself to cover up the photo at once, she found herself unable to move, even to tear her eyes away.

The photo was tiny—it had to be to fit in the locket—and yet there was more than enough detail to flush Nadia’s cheeks with scalding heat. She’d known about the tattoos on his arms and torso, as well as his facial piercings. It was hard not to know about them when he made a habit of wearing mesh shirts when he wasn’t in his livery. But she hadn’t known that the tattoos had continued down below his waist. Nor had she ever had reason to know he’d been pierced in places she hadn’t even realized it was possible to be pierced.

She told herself to quit gawking, but she couldn’t seem to follow her own advice. She knew what the male anatomy looked like, of course. Executive girls were supposed to be demure and innocent, but as long as the net existed, they would never be as pure as the nineteenth-century misses they were supposed to emulate. Nadia and her friends had spent many a stolen moment looking at photos and videos their parents would heartily disapprove of. But that wasn’t the same as seeing a photo of someone you knew .

The sound of the shower turning off finally shocked Nadia out of her paralysis. She was running out of time. She hastily covered the image of Bishop with her thumb as she used her index finger to pry the edge of the photo up. Urgency made her fingers clumsy, and she almost dropped the tracker as she tried to slip it in behind Bishop’s photo. If Nate caught her at this, she would be completely busted, no way out. She couldn’t afford the nerves any more than she could afford the guilt.

She managed to wiggle the tracker into place, then gingerly snugged the edges of Bishop’s photo back in, painfully aware that her fingers were brushing over the image of his naked body. She bent to retrieve her own picture, glad to cover the photo that was turning her into such a klutz. The locket was only designed to hold one photo at a time, and it was a tight fit to get both photos and the tracker back in. If Nate opened the locket and looked at Bishop’s picture, he might notice how tightly the locket’s contents now fit.

Finally, she got everything back in and snapped the locket shut. She put it back on the dresser just in time, slipping out of the bedroom just as the bathroom door started to open.

Aboutthe last thing Nadia wanted to do on this already incredibly long day was put on her public face and play the role of the dutiful Executive daughter at one of her mother’s dinner parties. But unless she could manufacture another bout of flu, there was no getting out of it. Entertaining was one of the chief responsibilities of Executive spouses, and Nadia’s mother took her responsibilities very seriously.

Even when hosting the smallest, most informal of Executive events, Esmeralda was stressed for days in advance as she tried to make sure every detail of the evening was carefully planned out, with backup plans and backups for the backups. Today’s dinner was worse than most, however, thanks to Nadia’s visit to the security station, which the press was still gleefully harping on. A handful of guests—including the Rathburns, naturally—who had previously accepted the invitation called to make their excuses, leaving Esmeralda in a state of high anxiety as she hurriedly rethought her carefully conceived seating arrangements.

Nadia tried to be helpful and tried to put real thought into questions such as whether Edward Brandywine could be seated within hearing distance of Marvin Hamilton without danger of a loudmouthed political debate that would make nearby guests uncomfortable or whether it would cause murmurs if Rebecca Kay were seated near Mark Rickman, who was rumored to be her lover. Decisions such as these would be a big part of her life once she was married, and because of her exalted spouse, they could have serious social and political ramifications. But how could she treat seating arrangements as important with all that was going on in her life now?