BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (e book reader txt) 📕

"Well, I'm afraid he was only half-right. Which would makehim half-wrong, as well." His eyes twinkled, and the corners of his mouthcurved to follow suit. "Won't you come in?" He stepped aside andgestured with an outstretched arm for her to enter.

Of course she would. She was here to ask him about his research.To find out more about the BackTracker, the plastic wristwatch lying in herhandbag. She was not here as this man's daughter, to be reunited with a fathershe'd hated and missed in equal measure for the past two decades. That wasirrelevant.

All that matters is saving Harry's life.

This man, as far as she knew, was the only person in the world whocould help her.

"Would you like some coffee?" He backed away as the doorslid shut and locked with a metallic clunk.

They were in a large office with a wall of windows that looked outon a multitude of figures in identical lab coats and goggles, standing overcomputer monitors and blinking electronic equipment, laboratory apparatuses ofall shapes and sizes. Irena didn't know what she was looking at, but she had a feelingshe was seeing things the public at large would never be privy to.

"Fresh-brewed this morning." Her father stood at analcove beside his massive desk, open digital files strewn across the glowingsurface. He held a coffee pitcher in one hand and an empty mug in the other."May I tempt you?"

She smiled at that. She couldn't help herself. Her eyes stung, andshe blinked away the possibility of tears.

May I tempt you? The house smelling likefresh cookies as she crept downstairs in her pajamas, rubbing the sleep out ofher eyes. There he was in the kitchen, smiling at her, offering her a platterof warm, melted, chocolate goodness.

"Yes. Thank you." She stepped closer to the desk. Wheredo I begin? She opened the snap on her handbag and reached inside. Herfingers brushed against the watch.

"You have it with you?"

Her hand froze in the purse. She rotated her eyes upward to meethis.

"Armstrong didn't confiscate it?" He nodded toward thehandbag. "Sometimes they take such things."

"My bag?"

Mug of steaming coffee in hand, he approached her. "He mustnot have seen you as much of a threat."

Her frame relaxed. He doesn't know what I have, just as hedoesn't know I'm his daughter.

"Just a niece visiting her uncle," she saidflippantly—and regretted the words as soon as she said them. Stupid! Stupid!

He smiled as he handed her the mug. "Oh, but you're notAshland." His tone was matter-of-fact.

The room lurched, and she almost dropped the coffee.

I'm such a fool. This was a huge mistake.

"You're about the right age, though. She is in her earlythirties, from what I recall. And your coloring, your hair and eyes, are quitesimilar. But you were always much prettier than your cousin, Irena."He chuckled at her expression.

"How...do you know?" she managed to articulate. How is it possible that he would recognize me? I'm easilytwice the age of his daughter—the younger me, at this point in time.

He opened his hand toward the plush armchair across from his desk. "Please."He seated himself. "Trust me, you'll want to hear this sitting down."

She sat stiffly. The coffee remained untouched in one hand. Thehandbag remained open in the other.

"You would expect a father to recognize his daughter nomatter what, wouldn't you?" A thoughtful smile played on his lips."Regardless of the passage of time. You were always dear to your father'sheart, and he loved you more than his own life. He would have given anything tosee you grow up, to be part of your—"

"Wait." Why was he speaking about himself in the thirdperson? "Why—?"

"I am not your father, Irena."

She set the coffee down. "Then who the hell are you?"

He paused briefly. "I'm Cyrus Horton—anatomically,physiologically, psychologically. I even have Dr. Horton's ident tag." Heheld out his wrist and watched her. "But I am not your father."

She nodded slowly. In this when, maybe he wasn't herfather. Of course, he couldn't be. He was the father of a fourteen-year-oldgirl named Irena Horton. My father lives Underground and createsSYN-children to keep himself company. That was her father. This CyrusHorton was only a memory of the man her father had once been.

"You know who I am." She narrowed her gaze.

"Of course. Your father told me you would be arriving soon. Iam here to help you in any way I can."

"My father told you." This doesn't make any sense!

"Yes. He is a great man. It is an immense honor to bear hisimage."

"Wait a minute." Her stomach sank with the suddenrealization. "He made you?"

"Of course." He chuckled. "Was I not clear? Forgiveme if I led you to believe something different. That was not my intention. Itis not in my nature to be deceptive."

"You're a SYN."

He nodded. "Yes, cloned by Dr. Horton himself to carry thefull extent of his knowledge and years of experience, so he would be able toperform twice the amount of work and research an average human is capable of.When he is out of the office, I continue his projects here at the lab, evenwhen the other staff have gone home for the night. I have no need for sleep,you see. It has worked out quite well for us. Lately, we have been able to makeextraordinary progress in the realm of temporal mechanics, a territory mostphysicists have left uncharted for decades."

"Good for you.Both of you." Her tone was flat. It would bejust like her father to clone himself. The epitome of narcissism.

"All very illegal, of course, which is why no one knows of myexistence. Other than you, that is." He smiled warmly, hands open."So here I am, with all of your father's expertise, and I am at yourdisposal. How may I be of service?"

"What makes you think I need your...service?"

He paused, collecting his thoughts before he spoke. A very humanand fatherly mannerism. "You have traveled back through time twenty yearsto save your husband's life. Yet you do not understand how to use the devicesitting right now in your purse. You have come here for assistance withoutknowing whether or not you would face theestranged father from