Free Renegade by Debra Driza Page A

glowing red query as a middle-aged man whirled into the doorway like a ninja, sun glinting off an object in his right hand.
    Gun? My human mind formed the thought, at the same time my android brain responded:
    No weapons detected.
    With a warrior-like yell and the slip-smack of slippers hitting concrete, the man leaped onto the porch. “Caught you!” And despite the android reassurance, I reared back, my hand shooting out to block Hunter from harm. A split second later, I realized two things: the object in his hand was a water gun, and there was no way he would pass for my biological father. Besides being short and scrawny-thin, and having a receding hairline and a few days’ worth of stubble, this Richard Grady was black.
    As I digested all of this and felt Hunter grab my hand in sympathy, water streamed from the gun and splashed Hunter in the face.
    “H-Hey!” Hunter sputtered, flinging up his hands and ducking.
    The man’s nose wrinkled. “Now, wait a second. You’re not that little fiend from down the street!”
    He had a thick drawl—Southern—and the sound sent ice prickling across my skin. The effect might be soothing and inviting for some people, but I didn’t trust the friendly cadence.
    Holland had taught me that.
    Grady’s gaze shifted from Hunter to me. His gun hand jerked. But if that was a reaction to my appearance, he recovered quickly. No trace of recognition showed on his craggy face. Almost like he was trying to look unfazed.
    Hunter swiped water from his eyes while drops dribbled down his chin. To his credit, he managed a smile—albeit a slightly damp one. “Uh, no.”
    The man’s eyes slid from Hunter to me. “Did the fiend send you? To sneak up and pick more of my flowers? Damned kid, climbing my fence all the time, nabbing my prize roses, all for that hair-flipping girlfriend of his.” He hoisted the water pistol again and took aim.
    I held my hands palms-out in front of my face, in case he got trigger-happy again. “No, I promise! We’re not, uh, flower thieves.”
    Hunter snorted and made a noise deep in his throat, one that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. I shot him an evil look, but in reality, I was groping for a way to make this work, since direct questions were out. It wasn’t like Hunter was ever going to buy that this guy was my biological father.
    I stared at his unfamiliar face, at the water gun he held aloft. His antics weren’t doing anything to keep my wariness at bay. If anything, his unpredictable behavior made him a wild card. I didn’t trust it, or him.
    “We’re not even from around here,” Hunter added.
    “That so? You just happen to stumble across my house? Well, I don’t need any solicitors, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    “No, we’re not selling anything,” Hunter said hastily. “We tracked you down on purpose.”
    I winced, and watched as Grady zeroed in on that notion. Such a tiny bit of information, but still, more than I wanted this man to know. Yet. I’d hoped to feel him out a little more first.
    He crossed his arms and scowled, all pretenses of playfulness falling away. “And why the hell would you do that?”
    I focused on his face to catch even the most minute change in expression. “I was trying to track down a . . . relative of mine.”
    Grady gave an incredulous snort. “What, you need glasses or something? Because if this here is some kind of joke, it sure ain’t funny.”
    Hunter shook his head and shot me an encouraging look, raising a brow as if to say, tell him, already . I sighed. “No, no joke. My mom told me to look for a man with the last name of Grady, so that’s why we’re here.”
    Silence. His left eyelid twitched, almost imperceptibly, but for five long seconds, he scratched his chin. “What’d you say your mom’s name was?”
    I hadn’t, and I had a feeling he knew that as well as I did. I hesitated a beat, then said, “Daily.” No way could I use Laurent in front of Hunter. Anyway, if this were the