The Body Electric - Special Edition by Beth Revis Page A

way.
    “No,” I shoot back. “Although you’re making me think I should call them.”
    “Don’t,” Jack orders. His jaw clenches. He looks furious.
    Like he can tell me what to do. If I have to, I’ll bring down the Prime Administrator on his head. But first: “I came for answers.”
    “Well, I’m not talking to you. All you do is hit me.” He tries to shut the door again, but my foot remains in the way. I push my shoulder against the door, and Jack curses as it opens more. I’m surprised to see that I can push my way through—he’s far bigger than I—but I have good leverage from my spot on the stoop. I shoulder the door open even further, and Jack gives up, letting it swing open.
    “Don’t punch me again,” he says in a defeated tone, backing into the shadows of the house.
    I step inside, hesitant, my hand covering my cuff. If I have to, I can push the panic button.
    “Shut the door,” Jack growls.
    “No,” I shoot back. I want answers, but I don’t want to be locked in a room with this possible psychopath.
    Jack reaches around me and pushes the door. It slams shut. My fist is already curled, and he has to duck out of the way to avoid being hit. “I said don’t punch me!” he shouts.
    I ignore him and test the doorknob. It’s not locked. I can still escape.
    “Why did you even come here if you were just going to leave?” Jack’s not yelling any more, but he still sounds furious. “And how did you find me?”
    I don’t answer, my eyes still on the door. Then I say, “Someone sent me a map program to my eye bots. It led me here. Did you do that?”
    Jack shakes his head angrily. “I told you I didn’t. Why would I even want you here?”
    “The map program used my father’s image.” The hologram of Dad stands silently beside Jack.
    Jack is silent for a long moment. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Ella,” he says, his voice softer. “I know how much he meant to you.”
    I jerk away from him. “Don’t pretend that you know me,” I snarl.
    For the first time, Jack’s face betrays an emotion other than anger and frustration: he seems surprised. Maybe even hurt. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
    “Regardless,” he says coldly, “it wasn’t me. But I need to know how you found me so I can make sure no one else can find me.”
    I open my mouth to argue, my mind racing. This isn’t fitting together the way I thought it would, and I feel unbalanced and thrown off course. I expected to find answers, but all I have is more questions. I need to find out who did hack the interface system and got me the map code. It had to be someone close, someone very close to me—it came from my cuff, after all, to say nothing of the appearance of Dad’s face. And I don’t think it was Jack—his shock was real.
    Jack whirls around, staring at me intently. “For there to be a tracking program, there has to be something to track. You can’t just track a person .”
    “Unless they have tracker nanobots in them,” I point out.
    Jack’s eyes widen, and he looks momentarily panic-stricken, as if he’d like to rip off his skin. But then he shakes his head, “No, that’s not it,” he says, almost as if assuring himself. “Xavier’s meds…”
    “Hmm?” I ask, watching him closely.
    “I don’t have tracker bots. There’s something else.” Jack narrows his eyes at me. “Son of a bitch,” he says, wonderingly. “I know what it is.” Jack rips his jacket off, his hands scrunching the black material, looking for something. There’s a flash at his collar from the golden bee pin he wears, but that’s not what Jack’s trying to find. From a hidden, inner pocket, he pulls out an old-fashioned pocket watch.
    I gasp. “That—!” I glance up at the holographic projection of Dad standing mutely beside Jack. But before I can finish the sentence— That watch belonged to Dad! —Jack throws it on the ground and stomps on it with all his weight. The watch crunches, and