“Whoa.” I take a step back. “What are you talking about?”
He viciously rubs his face with his sweaty palms. “Okay, l-let me start from the beginning. After they let me out of the Archives, I-I went upstairs to the lounge I usually use for breaks and snacks and what not during my shift. I was going to grab a drink and a candy bar from the vending machine.” He blows out a huge breath. “Oh, Jesus, I can’t believe this.”
“Hey.” I squeeze his arm. “One word at a time, buddy. Keep going.”
He closes his eyes and tries his absolute hardest to relax. And fails. “So, I was in the lounge with the door mostly closed, trying to figure out what to get from the snack machine, and I suddenly heard voices. Echoing voices. Like they were in the stairwell about ten feet farther down the hallway. I thought, Huh, that’s weird. And then I remembered that particular stairwell door is broken and never closes all the way unless you pull it to. So I was about to dismiss these people talking, thinking they were just a few agents from the quarantine crew passing by on their last rounds before they headed back to the infirmary, but then…then I heard your name.”
“My name?”
“Yes.” His face has started to pale, and he looks faint. “Curious, I poked my head out the door of the lounge to see who was in the stairwell. And holy shit, Cal, it was Commissioner Bollinger and Robert Delos.”
I reel back into the metal rack of cleaning supplies, jostling everything on it so hard half the bottles and boxes topple over. “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know.” He rapidly paces, wringing his hands over and over, the charmed watch on his wrist glinting in the dim overhead light. “Bollinger was supposed to be at the mayor’s office, I knew from listening to the com chatter. He was supposed to stay there to work on the plans for handling the spread of the curse and the inevitable public panic that would ensue, along with Mayor Burbank and his staff. So, why, I asked myself, is he having a clandestine meeting with the terrifying fixer wizard who’s been giving us the slip since he flew into Aurora? I didn’t even know they were acquainted.”
“They can’t have been before today,” I mutter, thoughts racing. “Delos has adamantly refused to accept our calls since he took office as the ICM chapter leader. We’ve ambushed him in public twice in the last four months—he rebuffed us both times, refused to open a channel of communication—and Bollinger wasn’t there either time.”
“Yeah, I know. Super bizarre. That’s why I decided to listen in.”
“You eavesdropped on Iron Delos?” I grab him by both arms this time and stop him from pacing. “Cooper, that guy is insanely dangerous.”
“I know, Cal, but remember, your name was spoken. They were talking about you.” He swallows thickly. “I was concerned, because I figured if the damn DSI commissioner and Iron Delos were talking about you in particular, and not Team Riker as a whole, the topic of their discussion couldn’t be anything good. I just knew, in my gut, that there was something wrong. So I snuck out of the lounge and crept closer to the stairwell door.”
A knot forms in my throat, and I feel like I’m about to choke. “And what did you hear?”
Cooper’s bottom lip quivers. “I don’t even know what to make of it. Obviously, someone’s spreading huge lies about you, but…”
“Cooper,” I manage to say firmly, if not faintly, “what did they say?”
“Delos said, ‘The rumors are widespread enough to appear concrete, so I believe it’s best we move now before Kinsey is tipped off.’ And Bollinger replied, ‘I don’t like the idea of arresting one of my agents for criminal conspiracy in front of an uninvolved party like the CDC.’ And Delos said, ‘I can wipe the CDC people, if need be, but it’s vital we grab Kinsey now, before his team has a chance to collect themselves and marshal a defense. You know how close teammates become. They’ll fight for him despite the growing evidence he’s involved in the curse plot. I don’t want a physical altercation here, Tim.’”
My blood runs cold, and I stumble into the wall, my shoulder painfully bumping the rough, unpainted cinderblock. I grab the metal supply rack for support, but it groans like it’s ready to collapse, and I barely suppress a similar sound, my knees about to buckle. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.
Cooper takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and continues. “Next, Bollinger sighed and responded, ‘Then I’ll guess we’ll do it now, despite the risks. But verify for me: it’s Kinsey in exchange for your cooperation with DSI, correct?’ And finally, Delos said, ‘Yes, that’s the plan. We’ll get that show started as soon as Kinsey’s in our custody and safely tucked away.’”
“This is…” My mouth feels like sandpaper, but I force the words out of my scratchy throat before my thoughts completely unravel. “Are you telling me Bollinger agreed to trade me for Delos’ promise of inter-organizational cooperation, on the basis of some unsubstantiated—and frankly insane—rumors that I was involved in the creation of the curse?”
Cooper is white as a sheet now. “I don’t know what’s going on. I really don’t. I haven’t heard any rumors, but apparently Delos has, and he wants to know what you know. The curse must have him spooked, since he’s at risk along with the rest of the ICM practitioners. He’s pulling at straws, following up on even the most ridiculous claims.”
“But…it’s Delos.” I run my hands through my hair, again and again, until it stands on end. “If Delos gets me alone in his freaking black site of an ICM base, he’ll scramble my brains. That’s his goddamn job. I’ll end up a drooling zombie, or worse, an actual spy, brainwashed by Delos into keeping tabs on DSI. Maybe that’s his fucking angle. Maybe he’s that despicable. Using a crisis to make a play at DSI, so he can watch us from the inside. Getting on the same level as the MG mole.”
Cooper pinches the bridge of his nose and composes himself as best he can. “Cal, right now, it doesn’t matter what his motives are. What matters is that he and Bollinger went upstairs a few minutes ago to arrest you, and the only reason you’re not in handcuffs right now, being dragged away by the mind breaker, is because you decided to come down here for lunch. I was still standing in the hallway, next to the stairwell door, when I got your text. As soon as I realized you were out of harm’s way, I ran as fast as I could to get here, so I could warn you and get you out of here.”
“You’re…You’re saying I should run?” Teeth nip my tongue, and I taste blood. “That would make me look guilty. Really, really guilty.”
“But it would also save you from Delos, for the time being.” He moves closer to me, damp hands cupping my cheeks tenderly. “For once in your life, I think you need to accept that you can’t be at the center of the action. This is not the time to play hero, Cal. This is the time to run. Ella and Riker and Desmond and Amy, they’ll never believe those rumors. And neither will I. We’ll clear your name. You need to believe that we will clear your name. And in the meantime, you need to go hide, somewhere no one can find you. Put on a disguise, lose your truck, check into a motel with cash, and don’t expose yourself until it’s safe. Get yourself a burner phone and text me. I’ll tell you when it’s okay to come back.”
A guttural choking sound fills the closet, and I realize it’s coming from me. “I don’t know…I can’t…This is…” All coherent thought crumbles, and I slump to the floor. “This can’t be happening. It just can’t. All the shit I’ve experienced in the last year. Charun. Ammit. McKinney and crew. Feldman and the wraiths. And this is the bitch that sends me packing, a half-assed frame job?”
Cooper follows me to the floor in a crouch and leans in close, giving me a soft kiss. “Listen, Cal, I know this is hard, and I know you’re scared—I mean, hell, I’m terrified right now, and I’m not even the one in trouble—but you need to get up, and you need to leave this closet, and you need to run to the nearest exit, and you need to flee from DSI, and you need to keep a low profile until this all blows over. And you need to do this now.”
“Jeez, Coop.” A mirthless laugh rakes its wa
y up my throat. “Thought I was supposed to be the big hero with the awe-inspiring monologues.”
He kisses me again, lingering this time. “You can’t play the hero if you’re dead, and if Delos gets ahold of you, you’ll end up playing the villain against your will. So I have to step up to the plate, even if it scares me shitless to do so, and be the hero this time around, for you. Because I love you, and that’s what you do when the person you love is in danger. You protect them.”
My breath catches in my throat, and I meet Cooper’s steady gaze. He’s shaking like a leaf, and yet the conviction in his expression, and the passion fueling it, doesn’t waver.
“You love me?”
We haven’t talked about it. Me and Cooper. Us. As a couple. We’re still in the test drive phase, or so I thought.
“I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you, you dense moron.” Cooper presses his forehead to mine. “But don’t feel pressured to love me back. I know you better than to think you can sort through complicated feelings in a year of meditation, to say nothing of a brief moment in a closet under duress.” He takes his hands in mine and urges me to stand. “So dwell on my corny closet confession later and save yourself now. Get up and get out of here.”
I rise, a numbness washing over me as my mind falters under the strain of the situation. Cooper guides me to the door, peeks out to make sure no one’s in the hall, and leads me across to the stairwell on the opposite side. He kisses me one last time and embraces me on the landing—I should return the gestures, but I don’t—then he pushes me toward the top of the steps leading down to the garage.
For almost a minute, I loiter there in a daze, stuck on the threshold of a decision that will change my life forever. Salvation or doom. Those are the two possible outcomes of this situation, regardless of which choice I make. The problem is that I don’t know which choice leads to which outcome, and I have a funny feeling no one else does either. But there is no third option I can use to wiggle myself out of this tight spot like a clever worm. There is only A or B, run or stay, live or die. I have to choose. I have to.
“Goodbye, Cooper,” I whisper.
Then I lift my foot and step down.
Chapter Nine
Three days into the apocalypse, I’m bored out of my mind.
The crummy motel on Rhubarb Street, which costs a whopping forty bucks per night, offers only local channels on its ten-year-old TV and has the most hilarious excuse for a “kitchenette” I’ve ever seen. So for the past seventy-two hours, I’ve been sitting on the bed, eating microwave meals and drinking bottled water, while watching the city of Aurora fall to pieces through the eyes of the local news.
Everything I need to hunker down for a month is scattered around the room. My first stop after fleeing the office was the bank, where I withdrew a suspiciously large sum of money before bolting from the teller like I was a robber who’d just raided the vault. My next stop was a clothing boutique, where I bought weeks’ worth of clothing in tacky styles I would never normally wear, followed by a grocery store, where I stocked up on enough food and water to fill a doomsday bunker, and nabbed a cheap pay-as-you-go phone to keep in contact with Cooper.
It was a good decision too, buying my supplies when I did. The grocery shelves are bare now, thanks to the “infection.”
The CDC is calling it an antibiotic-resistant bacterial strain. One deadly enough to warrant the quarantine of the entire city of Aurora, Michigan. The National Guard now encircles the city, threatening to arrest (or shoot) anyone who tries to leave. A draconian measure, but a necessary one. Because if the “infection” breaches the quarantine and starts spreading across the continent, nothing will be able to stop it before it drains the life from tens of thousands. After all, there’s almost nothing the CDC can do to combat the curse. Only ICM-level practitioners have a chance at cracking the “code.” And even they need time to create a successful counter-curse.
Ah, that’s something I’ve learned through my covert texting with Cooper, you see. Even though I slipped Delos and Bollinger at the office, Delos still made good on his promise to offer his assistance to DSI, at least on the matter of the curse. He and a number of practitioners he’s recruited to the cause are actively working on the counter-curse, and Delos claims they’ll have it finished by the end of the week. On the one hand, that’s much faster than the CDC could conceivably smash a bunch of scientists together until a cure pops out in the event of an actual outbreak, but it’s still not fast enough.
The death toll is climbing.
Not as high as I’d feared—only fifty-four have succumbed so far—because the ICM has better curse countermeasures than Navarro could scrape together on his own. They’ve slowed its effects, drastically improving the outlook for the hundreds now infected. Which I must begrudgingly respect them for. Delos may have been underhanded in his dealings with DSI by withholding his help until Bollinger agreed to turn me over on suspicion of being an enemy agent, but at least he’s not so heartless that he’d let countless innocents die just because I gave him the slip. I honestly expected him to crawl back into his hole after I left the building, expected him to use the sick as hostages until I was in handcuffs.
He’s not a total villain, I think to myself as I turn off the TV, tired of watching recaps of the same looting incidents and minor riots, just a raging asshole.
Finishing my fried chicken TV dinner, I roll off the bed and head to the kitchenette to dump my trash. Halfway there, my burner phone buzzes against the faux wood surface of the small table in the corner, and I divert my path so I can catch the new message. I sit the empty plastic meal tray on the table and snatch up the phone, swipe to unlock the screen, and then click through to my message app, where my ongoing conversation with Cooper is still saved.
The latest message reads, There’s officially a warrant out for your arrest. Make sure you don’t get stopped by cops.
I reply, They’ll never catch me in my raging douchebag disguise.
Cooper sends an unamused emoji, followed by, I refuse to believe those clothes are actually that bad. When this is all over, you better let me see them.
I’m guessing it’s not close to being over? I type it slowly, not sure I want an answer.
His next reply takes much longer than his last. No, no progress. Delos keeps preaching he “has it on good authority” that you’re not only connected to the creators of the curse, but that you were directly involved in the planning for its deployment. Says he’s humoring DSI by pretending none of the rest of us are involved, but if he finds out this is an organization-level conspiracy, he will immediately renounce our partnership and go on the offensive.
I slowly digest that statement. Are you saying he’s threatening an ICM vs. DSI war?
Sounds like it, he says. But for now, he’s operating on the idea you’re an agent of a “common enemy,” though he hasn’t specifically stated he thinks it’s the MG, and he won’t confirm whether he believes our intel from Lucian.
I rub my heavy eyelids, thinking about what I know of the Methuselah Group and their vampire counterparts, the Black Knights. Lucian definitely wasn’t lying when he said the Knights aren’t currently active in Aurora. He had no incentive to lie. So it can only be the MG.
What I don’t get is why Delos is being so cryptic about the whole thing. Cooper’s frustration rolls across the words loud and clear.
It’s part of his playbook, I guess. Keep your enemies, and potential enemies, on their toes. Never let them know everything you know. Make sure they stay unbalanced at all times, so you always have the upper hand. A manual for antagonizing everyone, even the people you’re calling your allies. Guy’s a real tool.
There’s a long pause in the conversation, and for a minute, I think Cooper’s been interrupted by someone, or that some important task popped up. But then the bouncing ellipsis appears, and after several hesitant start-stops, another text: I don’t want to worry you, but I have to tell you this. Bollinger only gave me a rudimentary q
uestioning after you disappeared, where I lied and said I hadn’t seen you since that morning, but the security guys are combing the cam files now. It’ll only be a matter of time before they find a recording of us in the hall outside the cafeteria. When they do, I’ll have to admit I helped you escape, and I’m pretty sure I’ll end up in the dungeon for doing so.
I practically fall into the flimsy chair beside the table. You should run then. Meet up with me.
No, he answers instantly. A long string of messages follow. For two reasons: I’m a liability to you in a fight, and you need as much information as I can gather on everyone’s attempts to find you. Don’t fight me on this. I mean it. The worst they can accuse me of is telling my boyfriend something I overheard in a public stairwell. They can reprimand me. They can fire me. But they can’t do much else. They’ll probably lock me in holding for the duration of…whatever we’re calling this mess, but Ella would never let anyone hurt me. She’d kill Delos if he got within ten feet of me. Remember, I’m still among friends here, and Delos can’t ambush me like he tried to do to you, because I’ll see him coming. I’m insulated. You’re the one out there alone.
A hundred ways to dissuade Cooper from staying put cross my mind, but I know he won’t budge. Over the past three days, he’s expressed so much outrage over the smear campaign against me that I’m surprised he hasn’t already been arrested for defending me. Apparently he threw a (heavy) book at a rookie auxiliary agent who suggested I’m a spy intentionally seeded into DSI by the Methuselah Group. Hit the guy dead center on the forehead and knocked him flat out in the middle of the Archives.
Warmth floods my chest at the thought of how much Cooper cares about me, about my well-being, about my future, but it’s quickly chilled by a cold dread. The longer I sit here in this crummy room doing nothing, the more likely it is that Cooper will end up caught in the crossfire between me and Delos and whoever else that bastard wizard has turned against me. I can’t let that happen, can’t let him get hurt on my account. Not again. Even though he believes he’s moderately safe, I can’t help but feel…
Doom Sayer (City of Crows Book 4) Page 10