The Duplicate

Chapter Twenty-four

The muscle in Trip's jaw twitches. "No."

"You haven't come up with anything?"

"I said no." There's a dangerous edge to Trip's voice, and he notices it as well as we do. Teeth gritting, he glances away and tries to tone it down. "I haven't exactly had the time to think about it."

"Well... then... maybe..." Dax's face scrunches in hesitation, searching for the appropriate words. Then he just goes for it. "Well, maybe if you just forgot about your file. I mean, is it really that important to go through all the trouble of getting it? It's just—" He stops when he realizes Trip's hard, chilling eyes have bolted to him. Dax starts to backtrack. "It's just... if it is important to you, I mean, of course you'd want to get your file. Completely understandable. If I were you, I would definitely want to—"

"Floor Fifteen," a female voice drones, faintly. It takes a moment for me to realize it's not coming from our elevator, but from the elevator beside us. Strange, muffled voices spill into the hall. Then footsteps. A lot of footsteps. My eyes flicker, confused, towards the sounds.

At least ten men—ten soldiers with black full-faced helmets and black bulletproof uniforms—roar past the closing doors of our elevator.

I stop breathing.

And, suddenly, Trip is shoving me into a corner, out of sight. In my shock, I don't resist. I'm frozen—unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to even think. Hazily, I'm aware of our elevator doors easing closed and the voice humming over the intercom, informing us that we are "going down". My stomach drops as we start to descend—or is that just my nerves? I breathe a gasp, mind thawing, just a bit, trying to catch up with what I just saw.

They're here. The Force is here.

"Oh God," Dax voices my thoughts, sounding strangled. He's frozen, too, pressed against the control panel, mouth hanging wide open. "Oh dear God. We're dead. I told you right from the start, Triple, right from the very start, Ralston would figure it out and I was going to die. I freaking told you—"

"Shut-up, Dax," Trip says. Voice cool. Ice cold.

"What are we going to—?"

"Let me think."

Dazed, I look up at Trip, watching those gears turn in his mind again. His gaze darts around the elevator door, then the control panel.

"Hit the second floor," he says.

Dax stares. "Wha-what?"

Trip's eyes—two sparks, hot, scalding—flash at him. "Do it."

Spinning to face the control panel, Dax jabs the second floor button about eighty times in a frenzy.

Trip reaches behind him and pulls his gun. I'm close enough to catch a glimpse of a bullet as he double checks the chamber. "Listen. Both of you." He snaps the chamber back. "If I tell you to do something, do it. Don't hesitate. Don't ask questions. Don't make me repeat myself. Just do it." He looks across the elevator at Dax. "Understand?"

Dax nods. His bottom lip quivers. He's still pushing the second floor button.

Trip's pale eyes shift to me. My heart is thrashing so hard I can feel blood coursing in my throat, throbbing in my fingertips. My hands are shaking. And Trip's aren't. He looks calm. Fierce, yet calm. Where is all that anxiety now? What did he do with it?

"Ashford." Trip tilts his head, drawing me back from my thoughts. He's studying me, leaving frigid trails where his eyes trace over my face. "Trust me, at least until we get out of here. Then you can hate me again. Deal?"