I pack up the laptop bag, checking the inside pocket for the EpiPen I no longer need, grab my coat, and head to the door.
No bus to avoid. It’s later now, and the street is quieter. The crosswalk signal is green, so I march straight to my car, throw my stuff in the trunk, and get in.
The passenger-side door swings open as I press the ignition, and Jasper slides wordlessly into the seat next to me.
“I’m not changing my mind on this,” I say.
“I know.” He’s staring out the window, and even if he sounds resolved, he’s clearly not happy about the situation.
“So if you’re here, you’re coming to Wolfe Tech with me.”
He takes in a big breath and holds it. “I am,” he says on the exhale.
“And you don’t get to sit in the parking lot like I’ve run in for a pint of milk and will be right back.”
He laughs softly, but his expression is bleak. “I’ll be there with you the whole way.”
Jasper’s obvious nervousness is making me jumpy when I have zero room to second-guess myself. I say, “And if this is part of some scheme to double-cross me and?—”
“Morgan.” He’s gripping his hands between his knees, and the pop of his knuckles is audible. “Would you please put the car in gear before I change my mind?”
I wait a second longer, but when his next lecture on putting myself in harm’s way doesn’t come, I reverse out of the parking spot and head out onto the street.
Time for a little breaking and entering. Not exactly model superhero behaviour, but I never was much of a superhero. Mother always said there was no room for nuance between good and evil, but the longer Jasper and I are stuck together, the more I wonder if that’s really true. The normal rules don’t apply when you’re stuck in a time loop. What’s the worst that could happen?
CHAPTER 10
“Absolutely not.”
We get about a block and a half before we have our next disagreement. Now we’re pulled over in a pharmacy parking lot while Jasper puts forth his most absurd idea yet.
“Morgan, think about it.”
I’m learning that when Jasper gets really annoyed, he yanks the hat off and pulls at it between his hands. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop picking fights with him. He looks so much better without the green monstrosity on his head. I have to stop myself from smoothing his hair down again because it will only upset him more.
“I have thought about it.” I pet my dashboard instead. “This is my baby. There’s no way you can drive it.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Right. Because there will be nothing at all suspicious about you driving up to Wolfe Tech with me in the passenger seat. At least if I’m driving, we have a shot at getting past the gate. Come on, Morgan. You’re a smart guy. If we’re going to do this, we have to give it the best shot we can.”
I feel weirdly proud that he calls me smart, then annoyed with myself at my momentary preening.
The thing is, I wasn’t going to drive up to the front door. There has to be a back way in, like I took Jasper to the back at Ziro Labs. So maybe I’m arguing because he’s poking holes in my thinking. Acting on the fly isn’t my specialty. I’m a scientist, after all. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few days, it’s that time is not on my side. If I can die via deep-fried pickle, everything is on the table. Acting like I have days to strategize an assault on Wolfe Tech is naïve. If past performance is an indicator of future behaviour, even if I locked myself in a padded room, it would probably turn out I have an allergy to the insulation material and asphyxiate in minutes. So we’re going in.
I glance at Jasper. He’s got his mouth pressed shut tight and his nostrils are flared. I really love the flash of anger in his eyes.
Also, he’s right.
“Fine.” I pop my seat belt.
The Wolfe Tech complex—and it’s definitely a complex—is on the far side of town. It’s a sprawling gated compound, and Jasper fumbles to find the button for the window before he throws a cheery “Hey, Bobby, how’s your wife doing?” to the man in the guardhouse, like we’re popping by to visit Grandma at the retirement village.
Speaking of the man in the gatehouse, he stares at Jasper with a flat gaze like a rattlesnake. He’s older. White with whiter hair. There’s tinny country music coming from a battered wireless speaker in his booth, and he’s got what looks like half a ham sandwich in one hand. That’s all I notice before he turns the same glare on me and it gets assessing.
“No visitors allowed,” Bobby says.
“He’s a contractor,” Jasper says quickly.
Bobby pulls out a clipboard, flipping through the crumpled pages attached to it. He smacks his lips a few times before he says, “There’s no one on the list.”
