Archer? Emotionally fucked up.
I pick up my phone and reread his messages, trying to dissect every word.
Psycho. Check.
Megalomaniac. Check. Brownie points for being manageable when sober.
Controlling. Check.
Neat-freak. Check.
All the red flags.
And what do I do? Sleep in his bed. Right.
It’s Archer on my mind when I go to bed early and wake up at dawn the next day.
I run down to the beach for a swim, then walk to the Center. It’s still early enough, and I spend time making myself coffee in the break room and chatting up the surveillance guys.
I already know many of them by name. If I ever need info, I’m sure I can bypass Archer and Marlow and go straight to these guys.
Archer is not in his office, and it makes the day go by faster as I concentrate on files.
I work until dinner, then order food delivery through the Center dispatch.
Maddy is on a night shift at the doctor’s office. Marlow is on the Eastside. I don’t have any other friends, and the house will be boring.
The good thing about the Center is that it’s busy twenty-four-seven. Even the lab—which I haven’t yet seen, though it’s in the same building—never closes.
The Center feels more like home, always someone stopping by my desk for a chat. It’s impossible to tell what time of the day it is, but the lighting is designed to give an impression of a bright day like they do it in casinos. The sound of a rushing creek and birds gives additional stimulation to your brain to keep it awake.
I work for several more hours, going through the endless info of contractors. Nothing suspicious, which is disappointing.
I dial Craig at HR. He is a scrawny guy with a great sense of humor who I see in the break room now and then.
I should find Kolya and apologize for the scene the other day, make it all sweet so I can hang out with him again. Maybe I can lure him to a bar so we can shoot the shit in a more informal atmosphere, and I can fish for info.
Craig sounds confused on the phone and goes quiet for a moment as he searches for Kolya’s schedule that I requested.
“Well,” he finally says with a tsk, “it looks like his contract with Ayana was terminated.”
“When?” I frown, surprised.
“As of yesterday. And it looks like he was sent off the island this morning.”
“Anyone else?”
“No, just him. It was Mr. Crone’s order.”
Mr. Crone.
Oh, I can feel anger rise in me as I thank Craig, hang up, and call Marlow.
There is laughter in the background when he answers. “What’s up, Kat?”
“What’s up, Katura!” I hear the voice in the background that I recognize as Ty’s. I smile and right away feel jealous.
I tried to disregard the Outcasts during my weeks on the Eastside. Turns out, I had more friends there than I have here. The Outcasts felt like a family. The Westside is work.