by Kim Harrison
“I can explain!” she exclaimed, her aim never shifting from Silas.
Distracted, she was too slow when Silas lunged for her. The flexi-glass hit her chest, and he had her, twisting her wrist until the Glock went off to blow a hole in the wall. Silas slammed her up against the marble wall. Crap. It had been a test. And she had failed it.
“Taf!” someone shouted, but Peri was seeing stars, her ears numb from the gun’s shot.
“I’m sorry, Peri,” Silas said, his fingers trying to pry the gun away as he pinned her to the wall. “I don’t want to hurt you. If you would just listen.”
“Get . . . off . . . ,” she wheezed, twisting a foot behind Silas’s and giving a yank.
They both went down. Silas yelped as they crashed into the hard wood, her on top of him.
“Will you hold still!” Silas said, and then suddenly she was facedown on the stage, her arms yanked behind her. “I’m trying to tell you something! Why do you never. Listen. To. Me!”
“You stole my life!” she shouted, hand still gripping the Glock but pinned to the floor. “Everything!” He was sitting on her. Allen wasn’t here, and she desperately didn’t want to draft. Teeth clenched, she struggled, never letting go of the gun even when her grip went numb.
“Remember your rule,” Silas said, sounding more irate than afraid. “You never kill anyone unless they kill you first. I didn’t kill you. I’m trying to help!”
How does he know my rule? “You tried to kill my anchor, you bastard!”
“Jack?” he said, and she gasped when the image of a smiling face, white from the light of a monitor, flashed through her. “I didn’t kill Jack. You did.”
Who the hell is Jack? Cheek pressed to the gritty wood, she puffed the hair from her eyes. “Not Jack. Allen.”
“Allen wasn’t your anchor.” Silas’s voice was full of doubt. “Jack was.”
Again, she saw a smiling face in her thoughts, and the blond man from Overdraft inched into her peripheral vision, bending at the waist to wiggle his fingers at her as if to say hi.
The feeling was coming back into her hand, and her grip on the gun tightened. All she needed was an inch and it would be over. “You pushed Allen through a window,” she seethed. “You threw him over the balcony. I saw you do it. I would’ve drafted but we were already in one, since you shot him!” She couldn’t breathe, and she’d had it. “You over there by the table. Stop playing cute with me and get him off me! It’s over. You won, you bastards.”
“Oh-h-h-h-h. . . . Shit,” Silas breathed.
Peri grunted in pain when Silas lifted her wrist and slammed it into the stage. Her grip opened and the gun spun away. Silas lunged for it, and she scrambled to her feet, skidding to a halt when he aimed the Glock at her. She could make a run for it, but at this range, he wouldn’t miss. She’d probably end up drafting, and she backed up, rubbing her bruised wrist.
“Allen?” she called, and the silence was thick with the unknown. Lifting her chin, she glared at the blond man. “You guys are all dicks. Just let me kill him, and I’ll be fine.”
Breathing hard, Silas felt behind him and put the gun on the ladder. She watched, hungry for the feel of it in her grip. “Jack is here?” Silas said, his voice thick with wonder.
“You mean the Opti psych guy? Are you blind!” Peri exclaimed, pointing at the man.
“Oh, babe, this is so bad for your asthma. I don’t think you should kill Silas anymore,” the man said, and Peri’s breath came in a heave. She knew his voice. She knew it!
“I’m so sorry, Peri,” Silas said as if he’d never tried to kill her, never laid a hand on her. “Opti messed with your mind. That’s not a real person. It’s a hallucination I stabilized to keep you from going insane when you overdrafted while remembering Jack’s death.”
“Excuse me?”
Jack looked down, his fingers splayed over his Armani shirt. “Seriously? I’m not real?”
This is not happening. “Allen?” she called, and the woman who had dropped Silas off rushed into the auditorium.
“Is everyone okay?” the blond young woman called as she ran forward, ponytail swinging. A thin man with dreadlocks bolted after her, clearly trying to catch her before she made it to the stage. “Thank God you’re here!” she called, a faint southern accent coming through.
“Stay back!” Silas warned, and the woman slid to a frightened halt. “She doesn’t remember you, Taf. You’re scaring her.”
Scaring me? Peri thought, but the woman’s expression had gone sad, and Silas’s hand slowly dropped when the man chasing her pulled Taf back a few steps.
“Where’s Allen?” Silas asked, looking nervous.
Immediately Taf brightened. “Out cold,” she said, sounding as if she liked the fact. “The car is running. Are we taking her with us?”
Jack swung his head up, alarmed. “You touch me, and it will be the last thing you do,” Peri threatened, and the thin man pushed Taf behind him. Allen’s gun was tucked dangerously in his front pocket, and Peri eyed it, wanting it badly.
Silas glanced at his watch. “No. Opti tagged her.”
“Opti doesn’t chip their personnel like dogs,” Peri said indignantly, and the guy in dreadlocks chuckled. “What’s so funny, Sherlock?”
“That’s exactly what you said the first time.”
“Peri, just listen,” Silas said, his broad shoulders hunched. “Opti used my research to give you false memories, but if you can see Jack, then that means they’re starting to break apart.”
Jack slowly sat back against the table. “That’s me,” he said, but no one looked at him. “At least, I’m pretty sure that’s me.”
Peri held her breath, trying not to hyperventilate. “I’m going crazy.”
“No, you’re becoming sane,” Silas said. “We’re going to leave in a minute, and you can tell Allen whatever you want.”
“Oh, there’s a good idea,” the blonde said bitterly, and Peri couldn’t help but admire her. “Give her right back to the people who brainwashed her.”
“I never said she had to tell him the truth,” Silas said. “It’s up to Peri. And Jack, I guess.”
Uneasy, Peri looked at the man in the suit, deciding she’d known him before she’d lost three years. “You’re not an Opti psychologist? How come you were at the bar this morning?”
But Silas was moving, and she fell back to keep space between them. “Howard, will you and Taf wait in the car?” Silas said. “I need to talk to Peri alone.”
“Sure,” Howard said reluctantly, and the woman waved her fingers at her as they left.
Peri could hear their voices discussing her even before they got out the door. “You’ve got them well trained,” Peri said, and Silas looked startled.
“I’m trying to help you,” he said, sounding peeved, and she cocked her head when Jack cleared his throat in rebuke. “Okay, I’m trying to find out how far the corruption goes in Opti,” Silas amended, neck reddening. “But I’m trying to help you, too.”
“Opti isn’t corrupt,” she protested hotly, but doubt took her when Jack flicked his suit jacket aside and resettled himself on the card table. He was dressed better than Allen ever was, attractive with just the right amount of stubble and charm. The perfect mistake . . .
“Jack was your anchor until almost two months ago,” he said. “You found out he’d been taking you on non-Opti tasks, then traded your memory of it for the chance to kill him.”
Peri’s eyes slid to Jack—who grinned at her like an idiot—then back to Silas. It sounded like something she might do.
“This Jack, the one here, is a hallucination. One I designed to keep you from going into overdraft when you tried to remember it.”
“Liar!” she exclaimed. “I wouldn’t kill my own anchor.” But she had only Bill’s and Allen’s word that Allen had been her anchor the last three years, and doubt began to gnaw at her. Shit. Who the hell am I?
“You might if you found out he was working for Bill, not Opti,�
� Silas said, looking toward the dented doors when a car horn blew. “They’re both corrupt, and I’m not so sure about Allen anymore, either.”
“So Allen is corrupt. I bet you didn’t push him over my balcony, either?” She had meant it to be flip, but the man’s entire expression became relieved.
“Exactly,” he breathed, and her eyes flicked to the ladder and her gun still on it. “I was never in your apartment. At least, not that night.”
“I’m not corrupt,” Peri said hotly. “And neither is Allen.”
“And yet you’re both here killing a man for your own revenge,” Silas said, and Peri’s teeth clenched, the doubt becoming more sure. “I know your rules,” Silas continued. “I know this isn’t you. They implanted the suggestion for you to get rid of me. If you do it, it will reinforce their lies. Stay here when we leave. Opti will show up. I promise it. They want you to kill me.”
“You can’t give a drafter a false memory,” she said, eyes going to the exit when Howard pushed the auditorium door open.
“Silas?” Howard looked worried. “We’ve got three cars with lights on the expressway.”
“You can,” Silas said, and Howard ducked back out. “That’s why I quit Opti. But Jack is my idea, too. He’s your intuition. Listen to him.”
A hallucination? Peri looked at Jack, and he stared back, her uncertainty growing.
Grimacing, Silas pulled a creased photo from his pocket and set it on the ladder beside the gun. “Last February, you and I brought back a memory of Jack that I wasn’t privy to. I lifted this from Allen before they torched your apartment at Lloyd Park, and I think this is what you remembered. I shouldn’t have left you that night. I’m sorry. I thought the alliance would help if I could just talk to them. It was a mistake.”
Peri blinked. He should have been there with me? But then her focus blurred. Opti torched my apartment? She hadn’t moved because of a fire; she’d moved to get away from the memory of Allen being thrown off the balcony after going through the . . . bulletproof . . . window. How can he go through a window that can’t break?
“Peri,” Silas said, jerking her back to reality. “I need you to find a chip Jack hid. It’s a list of Bill’s corrupt drafters, and if you can get it to me, I can get you out. You’ll be safe. The alliance needs a reason to trust you.”
Breathless, Peri glanced at the picture, inching forward when Silas took the Glock and backed up. It was a photo of her and . . . “That’s you,” she said, looking at Jack, and he winced, nodding. “That’s you and me—”
“In the outback, last New Year’s,” Jack finished, and her face went cold.
“My God. Who are you?” she said, staring at him, and he shrugged, bewildered.
“I don’t know. But this guy trusts you, and Allen doesn’t.”
Vertigo took her as she realized it was true. “Hold still,” she said, cautiously reaching out to Jack, then staggering when her hand passed through him. Heat flashed through her, and she felt unreal. “Shit, shit, shit . . . ,” she mumbled, backing up with her hand gripping her pendant pen. “You’re not real, and I’m going crazy.”
“No. I told you, you’re becoming sane,” Silas said, and she stood there, shocked when he tossed the Glock to her and it hit her palm with a soft and certain thump.
“Oh, man . . . I’m a hallucination?” Jack put a dramatic hand to his chest. “This is very bad for my asthma.”
Peri’s heart pounded. She’d said that herself a hundred times. It meant she’d forgotten something, something important.
“Here’s my number.” Silas grabbed her hand and wrote it scrawling on her palm, ignoring the weapon in her other hand. “Find that list and I can get you out. If we can prove Opti is corrupt, it’s all over. Isn’t that what you want? For it to be over?”
He jumped from the stage, turning to look up at her. “Jack is your intuition, Peri. Trust him as you would trust yourself. He only knows what you do or suspect. He’s not real.”
Peri looked at Jack, and the man winced. “He’s right. But that’s okay, isn’t it?”
“Oh, and in case you’re wondering, you didn’t draft.” Silas turned and ran, his steps loud in the echoing space until the door squeaked shut. Peri took a shaky breath. Jack was looking at the picture, and she inched forward, not sure how to talk to a hallucination, especially one of a man she’d killed. “How did he know I was worried about drafting?” Peri wondered out loud.
“My guess is he’s an anchor,” Jack said.
She closed her hand to hide the number. Confused, Peri picked up the picture. She and Jack were standing before a fire gone to coals. She didn’t remember it, but she felt centered as she looked at their tired, dirty, smiling faces. “This is not right,” she whispered.
“You’re telling me, babe.”
They both looked to the exit at the unmistakable sound of cars screeching to a halt outside. She jumped, stuffing the photo down her shirt when the thunderous boom of the outer doors being flung open echoed.
“Peri?” came Bill’s bellow over the calls of Opti forces.
“Back here,” she whispered, wide eyes looking at the ink on her hand as if it were blood. “Here!” she called out louder, arms going up and dangling her Glock from a finger when a dozen Opti agents boiled into the auditorium through all three doors, screaming at her not to move. “It’s just me,” she griped as they swarmed over the space and then moved to the unseen back. The three remaining with her took the pistol and screamed at her some more. She ignored them, relieved when Bill strode in and told them in a very loud voice to back off.
“Peri!” the large man called as he strode onto the stage. “I knew it. I knew it! I never should have okayed you. Was this Allen’s idea? Was it?”
Peri thought the real question was how Opti had known they were at Eastown. She took a breath to tell him what had happened, that the alliance had been here and claimed that he was corrupt and that he had filled her head with lies.
But then she fisted her hand, hiding the number. If Silas was lying, keeping silent would hurt no one. She thought it telling that she’d come here to kill Silas, but now . . . the feeling was utterly gone.
“Go ahead and put me in the hole, but yes!” she shouted. “Allen and I were going to off him, since no one at Opti cares! You got a problem with that, fat boy?”
Bill scowled when someone snickered and walked quickly away. “Did you get him?”
“No.” Arms over her chest to hide the picture, Peri cocked her hip to keep her legs from trembling. “Allen’s recon sucked. Denier’s ride came back and surprised us. Has Allen always been this inept, or did Silas fracture his thinking bone, too?”
Bill laughed, and Peri stiffened when he put an arm around her shoulders and led her down the stage’s stairs. “You are grounded, young lady,” he said as they trekked up the incline and out to the lobby, bright with flashlights. “No California coastline for you. I want you back in Opti tonight. Bring your toothbrush.”
“Bill,” she protested, grimacing as Allen was toted out between two Opti agents. “I don’t need a full workup. I’ll go in tomorrow morning. Promise.”
Bill drew her to a stop just outside. Black Opti cars lined the street, their flashing lights and headlamps making an unreal glare. Agents rushed about to justify their presence, and Bill bodily shifted her so the light fell on her face. “You’ll stay at Allen’s?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll stay the night at Allen’s,” she said, temper bad as she stomped to the nearest car and got in the front seat, waiting for someone else to drive her. She didn’t know what to believe, but there was one thing that was irrefutable. Jack had been dogging her steps the last five minutes, and Bill hadn’t commented on him even once. Either she was crazy, or Silas was telling her the truth. That the truth meant she was crazy didn’t make her feel any better.
The proof that Opti is corrupt is in my old apartment, she thought. She didn’t want it to be true, but she had to find out.
“You ca
n trust me, Peri,” Jack said, and she jumped, swearing when she realized he was sitting in the backseat. “You loved me, once—before you killed me.”
Frowning, she wiped at the ink on her palm to make it less obvious. Fingers curled to hide what was left, she put her fist to her mouth and stared out the window at Detroit’s distant lights. Oh yeah. That helps a lot.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Rain made the nearly empty streets shine under the streetlights as Silas waited in the dry shadows behind the massive pylons making up the grocery store’s front façade. It was a questionable place to be this late at night amid the gum wrappers and empty nicotine caps, but Allen’s car was parked in the nearly empty lot. This was the only place that carried Peri’s cat’s food that was open after midnight. Silas knew she’d sent Allen out for it twenty minutes ago. It was likely she’d wanted some time alone in the apartment to poke around, and a quest for cat food was an excellent excuse.
He had to talk to Allen, and though jimmying the door of Allen’s Lexus and waiting there for him would have been less obtrusive, there was a perverse pleasure in lurking in the shadows. They’d have a quiet chat amid the dirt and cold brick. It would get his attention—make him listen. Peri’s mental state was ready to crack, but his terse, one-sided conversation with Fran today had made one thing very clear. Until Allen vouched for her alliance loyalty, she’d be treated as a traitor—and Allen had flatly refused to give it.
Silas fidgeted in a slow anger, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Peri was vulnerable—because of her strength and abilities, not in spite of them. Some of this was his fault, but the Jack hallucination shouldn’t have survived Allen’s latest mental butchery. After seeing her shout at empty air and her expression change to horror as she realized her life was a lie, he knew the risk wasn’t worth anything they could gain anymore. The task was over. They’d get their intel another way.
Leaning, Silas glanced inside to see Allen flirting with the old woman at the register. Slowly he dropped back, fingering the pistol in his coat pocket. He was having serious doubts about his old friend. Plausible deniability was a sword without a grip, and Silas had never liked the idea of sending her into Opti with no memory of her past, a double sleeper agent. He’d liked it even less when Allen had remained with her at Opti, dedicated to keeping her safe while she found what they needed. It didn’t surprise him that Allen had somehow twisted things so that he would be the one to break the truth. Allen was all about the glory of the job, not caring much whom he hurt getting there. It was what had attracted Peri to him in the first place.