by Kim Harrison
Deciding against her coat, she tucked Allen’s borrowed Glock in her waistband. Alone, she tried not to watch as Howard finally let Taf go. “See you in an hour,” he said, his voice soft, arms falling from her reluctantly, and the young woman nodded, head down. See a woman in trouble, look no farther than the man beside her.
Taf’s unhappy smile met Peri’s own, and Howard jiggled on his feet, nervous as he looked at the rifle, then gave it to Taf. God help her, she hated this. They weren’t helpless, but seeing them risking their lives to bring the corrupt fraction of Opti to light was giving her a bad feeling. She was trained for this. They were not.
But she had little choice. Hoping Jack would stay behind, she headed out with Howard tight behind her. He was breathing fast, and she eyed him as she hit the button for the elevator.
“You got a plan for this, right?” Howard said as the little green arrow lit.
The doors slid aside, and Peri grimaced at Jack already in there, waiting for her. “Going up?” he said slyly, and she stepped inside, ignoring him.
“Um, Peri?” Howard said, dark eyes wide as she pushed the button for the sixth floor.
“You keep the first man I down on the floor, and I’ll take what’s beyond him,” she said.
“Sure.” Howard licked his lips. “But we only have one gun.”
Guns. Why was it always about guns? “You can have it,” she said, giving it to him as the doors opened and she padded out into the hall. 602 . . . 604 . . . 606. Her gut tightened, and she motioned for him to stay back from the door. “Tell them you forgot the keys,” she whispered as she stood sideways to it and pounded aggressively on the door. “And don’t touch the man I bring down. He’ll probably know something hinky to turn the tables on you.”
For cripes’ sake. It’s like Self-Defense 101. What else haven’t I told him?
Howard’s eyes widened, and she motioned for him to say something. “Ah, I forgot the keys!” he blurted, then dropped back when Peri waved him off again.
“Are you shitting me?” someone inside said, and Peri found her balance. “Christ almighty, Jason, I swear you’d forget your balls if your girlfriend didn’t have them already.”
The door opened. Peri stepped in front of him, hands free as she grabbed his arm and tucked into him. He knew enough martial arts to go with it, and he flipped over her, his breath whooshing out as he hit the floor in the hall. Still holding his hand, she gave a twist, and he screamed as she snapped his wrist. That would keep Howard safe—at least from one direction.
“Hands where I can see them!” she shouted, taking his pistol from his holster as she jumped over him and ran into the unfurnished living room. A second man was getting up from a folding chair, barbecue wings going everywhere as he lunged to the bank of equipment.
Peri shot the floor, hearing the slug bury itself in the cement and bits of wood splintering out. The man skidded to a stop, hands in the air. From the hall, a pained groan filtered in. “Howard! Get him in here! Kick him if he doesn’t move on his own. Don’t touch him!” She wasn’t going to take for granted that because they’d caught them off-guard they were sloppy. Opti hadn’t expected her to be here, not really. “Howard!”
“You heard the lady. Inside,” Howard said, and Peri motioned for them to stand in the barren kitchen. The man who’d answered the door looked pale enough to pass out, and Peri relaxed a notch—until she saw the restraining equipment on the counter, ugly with its needles and drugs. Preventing a draft was easy. Holding an agent trained in the art of escape was not.
Fine, she thought as she shoved two bottles and a handful of syringes into her pocket. If they were going to use it on her, she had no qualm about using it on them.
“Move,” she snarled as one tested the waters. “Both of you in the bathroom. Now!”
Howard looked peaked, but not as shaky as the man with the broken wrist when they shuffled into the bathroom. Sure, Howard was an agent, but if the alliance was anything like Opti, cleaners and tech guys seldom saw real action.
“Good. Lock yourselves to the piping.” Peri tossed in two pairs of cuffs from the counter.
Howard started to follow, and she pulled him back from a potential turnaround until the cuffs clinked. They’d put them on their ankles. That was fine. They’d be going to sleep shortly.
“Okay.” Peri took Howard’s pistol and handed him two syringes and a bottle. “Now you can sedate them.”
Howard’s eyes flicked to the bottle in his hand. “I’m not sure of the dosage.”
“Every field agent knows how to pick handcuffs given enough time. Our other option is to shoot them,” she said, and Howard winced, rolling the bottle to read what it was.
“I’ll, ah, use the dog dosage,” he said. “You’re, what, about two German shepherds?”
“Don’t get between me and them,” she said as she stood in the tub with her Glock pointed to make sure they stayed polite while Howard put them under. Not a twinge of guilt assailed her. The only reason the drugs were here was to use on her.
They went down slow, the one with the broken wrist fighting it until finally his shoulders eased and his breathing grew steady. “Nicely done,” Peri said as they stood over the fallen Opti agents, Howard a little wide-eyed, as if he still didn’t believe what they’d done. “How long until they wake up?”
“Few hours?” he guessed as he followed her out and shut the door.
It would be enough. Anticipation spiked as she helped herself to another pair of cuffs.
“Here.” Howard came forward with a wire. “Take this. I’ll do what I can.”
“Thanks,” she said. It was one-way, but she appreciated it nevertheless. “If things go wrong, promise me you’ll get Taf and go. I mean it.” His brow pinched, and Peri frowned. “Howard, please,” she said, feeling vulnerable for some reason. “I know you think I’m in over my head, but this is what I do. This is who I am. I need your help, but not at the expense of putting you and Taf where you’re going to find yourself somewhere you’re not prepared to be. I like you here,” she said, gesturing at the bank of equipment and sensing he felt at home there. “I like Taf behind the wheel, even if her driving scares the crap out of me. Promise me you’ll take her and leave if things go wrong. I don’t want you showing up at my apartment. Okay? If it goes bad, let it go bad and get yourself out.”
The door clicked open, and she spun, relaxing when it was only Jack. “We gotta go, babe,” he said, and she put a hand on Howard’s arm to convince him she wasn’t jumping at shadows, even if she was. The door snicked shut, never really having moved at all.
“Please?” she asked again, and Howard nodded, clearly not happy.
“We’ll do it your way,” he said wryly.
“Thanks.” Smiling, Peri felt the wire he’d given her, loosely coiled and tucked in a pocket. “They have Electronic Huts in Canada, don’t they?”
Finally his grim look eased, and he waved her off. She looked back to see Howard settle himself amid the switches and monitors, Allen’s old Glock within his easy reach. After checking to make sure the door would lock, she shut it gently behind her.
Jack paced beside her as she jogged to the stairway. “He looks right there.”
“He does, yes,” she said, trying not to imagine him dead as she wove her way downstairs and out through the back entrance to settle among the recycle bins. She desperately didn’t want to draft, even if it was becoming easier to work without the security of an anchor. What did anyone really need to know, anyway?
But if anything happened to Howard or Taf, she vowed she’d never forget.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
What if I draft? Will the patch job hold?
Quashing her angst, Peri crept to the Opti van at the curb. Howard would handle any electronic fallout, and having the way plowed for her escape would be worth it, especially if it made Taf safer. Besides, she had the power of drugs now.
The clear spark of adrenaline pushed out the linge
ring worry as she paused in the black shadow of the building to fill three syringes, wedging them through the fabric of her shirt like pins to keep them handy and out of the way. Grabbing a rag from the Dumpster, she jogged to the back of the running van and, after wadding the cloth into a ball, jammed it into the tailpipe, holding it there with her foot.
Jack slid to a bright-eyed stop beside her, causing her to almost shriek in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, feeling foolish talking to nothing.
He wrinkled his nose and crouched beside her. “I’ve got your back, Peri. I always will.”
That bothered her, but she wasn’t going to argue with herself. Finally the running engine choked into silence, and she touched the syringes lined up on her sleeve like soldiers. Her tension spiked when the passenger-side door opened. “I don’t know crap about cars, Tony,” the one inside said as his companion got out, and she smiled when the hood popped up. Perfect. “You look.”
Peri dropped facedown on the pavement. “Office shoes,” she whispered, spotting them at the front of the van. This should be easy.
“Okay, try it now!” Tony called, and the engine whirred and chunked, and died.
Motions slow and even, Peri tried the back door, elated to find it unlocked. Idiots. She slipped inside, praying the man behind the wheel wouldn’t notice the flush of air. On cat feet, she crept up to him, Glock in hand. The hood of the van filled the front window, and adrenaline sang as she slipped behind the driver and put the muzzle of the weapon to his neck. Messy. A gunshot to the neck was messy, and you didn’t ever come back from it.
“Ahhh, shit,” the man breathed, his hands coming up from the wheel. He didn’t care if she was caught or not—at least, not enough to risk his life.
Peri smiled. “Good man. Be ready for a poke. I’m going to put you down nice and easy. If you move or open your mouth, it’s going to be a bullet through your neck instead. ’Kay?”
He nodded, grunting when she took one of the syringes and jammed it into his bicep.
“Chuck, try it again!” Tony called, and she reached over him to turn the key. The engine choked to life before failing. “Hell if I know,” Peri heard Tony mutter, and she lowered her pistol. Chuck was out, pulse strong and steady. Heart pounding, she tucked her weapon away, taking Chuck’s hat before grabbing another syringe and boldly getting out the passenger-side door.
“I hate computerized cars,” Tony was saying. “Better call it in and get a new van out—hey!” he managed to yell before she was on him. He lurched backward, avoiding her front kick.
Tony’s eyes went bright in recognition, eager as he came at her. She blocked, pain racing to her spine. She grabbed the next blow, spinning around and getting behind him to yank his footing out from under him with a swift kick to his knee. He went down laughing, which was just insulting, and she forced him to stay there, tugging his arm up behind his back until he stopped.
“Ow! Reed,” he said, his nose bleeding from the fall and Opti pin catching the street light. “You are so caught.”
“Say good night, Tony.”
He yelped when she jammed her second syringe in his ass, but she had his arm twisted, and he gave up fast. She sat on him a little longer to be sure, the van’s bulk and the shadows hiding them. Exhaling, she stood and rolled him under the van and out of sight. Turning, she waved at Taf and Howard before she gentled the hood down and crossed the street. Jack was waiting for her at the entrance, and she scooped up Chuck’s hat in passing, putting an extra sassy sway to her hips as she put it on her head in case Opti had tied into the building’s facial recognition cameras.
“Nice of you to give me room to work,” Peri said, and Jack inclined his head.
“Nice to see you can do something on your own,” he said back, and she strode in, head down as she cleared the front door.
The enormous rock and silk flower arrangement by the entryway hadn’t changed, and Peri shoved the four-foot-high vase over, snatching up her spare apartment card even before the heavy plaster hit the floor. That was easy.
The man behind the concierge’s desk looked up at the crash. This might be harder.
“Reed is in the building,” he said into his two-way, telling Peri no one knew yet that Howard was up in Suite 606. Smiling, she tucked her card down her blouse. “No closer, Reed,” he said, dart gun pointed at her, and she threw Chuck’s hat at him.
His eyes shifted and she dove to get below the angle of the desk. Her air huffed out as she hit the wall of the desk—
And suddenly—she wasn’t pressed against the desk, but standing over him, three feet from where she’d landed and in the middle of the lobby.
Shocked, Peri looked down at the unconscious man, not knowing how he’d gotten that way or how she’d moved across the room. The dart gun was in her hand. An empty syringe was jammed into his leg. Damn it! I’ve drafted!
Scared, she smacked her hand against her boot sheath to find her knife still there. Then she looked at her palm for a note she hadn’t written, her fingers closing into a fist as she listened to the silence and waited for the nightmare to begin. Her heart pounded. Nothing. Slowly her fist opened as she exhaled. She was okay. Silas’s patch job had held through a draft—this time. “Jack?” she breathed, anxious for an answer. Her head hurt as if someone had yanked on her hair. Strands of it were drifting to the floor.
Gasping, she fell into a defensive crouch when Jack stood up from behind the desk. “You drafted,” he said, grim-faced. “Move. It doesn’t matter if you don’t remember.”
“How long?” she whispered, grabbing the heels of the Opti agent and dragging him behind the desk.
Jack looked down at him and shrugged. “Hell, babe. I don’t know. You didn’t lose more than the draft, though. Thirty seconds?”
“How about that,” she said, remembering what Allen had said about Opti being able to artificially scrub time from her when she drafted. Damn it all to hell. It’s true.
A tinny voice calling her name pulled her to the square of black plastic kicked across the floor. It wasn’t her original wire, and figuring it belonged to the man she’d just downed, Peri scooped it up as she went for the stairs. “Peri! Are you there?” It was Howard, and a second wash of relief took her.
“I’m fine.” She put her back to the fire door and leaned into the stairwell, listening to Howard babble as she took a quick look up and down the hall. “Howard. Relax,” she said, interrupting him. “I drafted, but I’m okay.” Peri opened the door wider, and Jack went before her, taking the stairs two at a time until he waited at the fire door. “I’m going up now,” she said. “Get Taf and leave. Don’t wait for me. I’ve really pissed them off. I’ll see you over the border. Tell Silas I’m sorry and that his patch works.”
“Peri, you can’t do this alone. It’s too dangerous—”
She didn’t have time to convince him. Dropping the radio on the stairway, she stomped it into silence. Feeling his eyes on her through the scope, she went up the stairs and fished out her card key. It seemed stupid—needing a key to get into her own apartment—but she’d had the door reinforced and it would be easier to break a hole in the wall than to knock the door from the frame.
She ran down the hall, tapping her card key and turning the knob in a single fluid motion. There was no sound, and a ribbon of light showed from under the door. Images of a matted maroon carpet flashed in her thoughts. Shoving them aside, she went in.
She froze just inside the door. Lips parted, she stared at the brightly lit, demolished apartment as emotions fought to be recognized. Shock, dismay, heartache . . . anger. It didn’t even look like her place. Everything was off the walls, her shelf where she put her talismans empty. Broken furniture and clothes made a pile in the middle of the room. The ceiling had been pulled down to expose the ductwork, and light fixtures dangled from wires to make the glow shine in weird patterns. The blinds had been jerked from the windows and piled in the corner, taking up an astounding amount o
f space. Blackout film had replaced them—blocking the view in, but not the view out—and Detroit glittered past the bare windows. Just as well she’d told Howard to leave. He’d never know if the lights were on or off.
“Change settings. Warm,” she said softly, but there was no cheerful ding. Peri came in a step. Jack stood before the pile, his head bowed over a shattered picture. Even the plants had been uprooted, the dirt scattered and the vegetation abandoned to wilt and die. They’d destroyed her home, her security, the way she found herself after every draft.
“I’m sorry, babe,” Jack said, and her anger at what they’d done grew heady, strong enough to taste it, sour in the pit of her belly. He had no right to tell her he was sorry. He was why her life was screwed up. But the sliding thump of sound from the bedroom brought her attention around.
“No weapons. They don’t know you’re here yet.” Jack dropped the picture and lurched after her. “Watch your control. He didn’t do this. Don’t kill him, Peri.”
“What do you care?” Peri snarled under her breath. Ticked, she shoved the bedroom door open, barely registering the savaged mattress and holes in the walls when she saw the man in a black suit standing before her dresser, holding up one of Jack’s shirts as if measuring it for size.
“Hands off!” she yelled, launching herself at him.
She got one good front kick in that snapped his head back. She followed him as he fell backward, scoring a fist on his solar plexus. In uncaring rage, she punched him again, and he blocked it. Stinging tingles raced up her arm.
His foot came out, and she fell, her legs swept out from under her. She rolled, narrowly escaping his savage kick, and she kept rolling. Still on the floor, she lashed out, scooting backward and to her feet. With an eager smile, he grabbed her arm and swung her into the wall.
She hit it face-first, the breath knocked out of her as she staggered. His foot slammed into her chest and she slid to the floor.
Unable to breathe, she scuttled into the bathroom. She couldn’t see straight, and finally she took in a breath, looking up to see the man leaning against the doorjamb, a hand to his chest and clearly laboring as well. An Opti-issue Glock lay behind him, totally out of reach.