The Drafter

by Kim Harrison

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Peri halted outside Allen’s apartment door, her hand falling when she saw that the fortune cookie slip she’d left between the door and frame was gone. Great. “I’m going to go nucking futs,” she breathed, glancing up and down the empty hallway.

  She could walk away, find Silas, and hope to God that chip was Jack’s list.

  She could pretend she’d drafted and lost her memory of the entire morning, which would result in Opti rehab and ultimately another scrub.

  She could admit that she’d taken out the tracker and be the pissed, angry drafter. She could let her temper go. She could demand some answers. Make a reckoning.

  The choice was obvious, and squaring her shoulders, she tried the knob to find the door was unlocked. Tucking Allen’s key in her purse, she walked into an empty, silent room. There was a small strip of medical tape on the kitchen counter, the tracking bug still stuck to it.

  So it’s going to be like that, then. “A-A-A-Allen!” she exclaimed, eyes narrowing at the small noise from the bedroom. “Get your ass out here. I’ve got some questions for you.” She faced away from the bedroom door as she took off her coat, watching her back through the dim reflection of the closed fireplace doors. But she turned in surprise when it was not Allen but Bill who walked out, dressed in his usual suit and tie, his office shoes gleaming and his hair combed to perfection—a soothing, utterly convincing smile on him.

  Peri, you work with actors, she thought as she finished folding her coat and let it fall on the couch. And not lame ones, either, she added as Allen shuffled out behind Bill in his pajama bottoms and a white shirt, still rumpled and stubbly from sleep but very much awake.

  “Peri,” he said darkly, rubbing his arm where she’d injected him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “My question exactly,” she said with a bold confidence she wasn’t sure she could back up. Maybe the medical office had called Bill, since he was the one who had set up the original appointment. “Should I be pissed at Allen or you about the butt bug?”

  Bill’s smile widened as if it was a big joke. “Me. It was for your safety.”

  “Bullshit.” Arms crossed, she sucked on her teeth, eyes flicking from one to the other as the men exchanged a silent look that screamed volumes. They were both in on it. She hadn’t been sure until just now. “Bill, can I have a private word?”

  “Ah, hey . . .” Allen lurched forward only to be jerked to a halt by Bill’s raised hand.

  “I think that is an excellent idea. Allen, make some coffee.”

  “And keep the drugs out of it,” Peri added as she crossed the living room to the den, standing outside it as she pushed the door open with one arm and waited for Bill.

  Clearing his throat, Bill rocked into motion. Peri’s eye twitched as he passed within inches of her, smelling of cologne and his breakfast. Pulse fast, she followed him, shutting the door and leaning back against it. Bill was standing with his rump resting on the edge of the desk. Reaching a foot out, Peri closed the lid to the laptop to prevent any easy eavesdropping.

  Bill watched until her foot was back on the floor. Then he sighed, playing the part of the concerned boss. “You want to explain why you drugged Allen and took a walk?”

  Peri pushed off the door and sat in the swivel chair across from the desk. Best to keep as much to the truth as she could. “Shopping. I want a new anchor. Today. I’ve tried working with that man and it’s not happening. He’s slow on locks. I’ve never seen him drive. He won’t spar with me, so I only have his word he’s good at unarmed combat. All he’s done is make waffles and plane reservations! His lousy recon put my memory in jeopardy last night. Forgive me if I didn’t want him with me when I picked out some new clothes, because what’s in my closet sucks. I don’t trust him, Bill. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my gut.”

  Bold, demanding, and ticked off. It might work. It might not. A lot depended on how secure they thought their fake memories were.

  Bill’s almost hidden worry began to dissolve and a knot in her began to relax. “Your unease is simply an artifact of your recent memory loss,” he said, pulling a tissue from the nearby box and coming closer.

  “The one that Allen can’t bring back,” she muttered, forcing herself not to move when he leaned over her, his thick thumb wiping off her excessive eye makeup.

  “You’ve always been slow on defragging your memory,” Bill said soothingly, doing first one eye, then the other. “Don’t put this black shit on yourself anymore. You have such a beautiful face. Such a long slender neck.”

  “I can’t work with him, Bill,” she said, taking the tissue and finishing the job herself. “I drugged him with his own pharmaceuticals, for crying out loud. I don’t want him watching my back. He’s dangerous, and not in a good way. Who else do you have coming up in the ranks? Anyone who can make a decent cup of coffee? That’s a good start.”

  Bill settled back into the second chair, the leather creaking. She could practically see him thinking What a bitch, but since that’s what she was going for, she didn’t care. Smiling fondly, he shook his head, his heavy hands laced over his middle. “You were able to bring him down because he trusted you,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. “I think you owe him an apology. But first, I want to know why you took the tracking device out.”

  “Because I’m not a dog?” she said loudly. “If I find one again, I’m done. I’ve managed this long without a proper anchor.” Playing the wounded drafter, she put a hand to her mouth and stared at nothing. “Maybe I don’t need one,” she muttered.

  She froze when Bill leaned forward and took her hand. Her pulse hammered, but she stayed carefully passive as he turned her hand palm up and rolled her fingers back. Her scrawl to return to Allen’s apartment hid Silas’s number. “Mmmm,” he questioned.

  “I wanted to be sure I got home,” she said, sniffing as if embarrassed.

  “Working without an anchor isn’t an option.”

  Her head tilted, and she didn’t need to fake her anger. “Then give me an anchor who knows his job!” she shouted, hoping Allen heard her.

  Bill arched his eyebrows. He was seemingly convinced, but about what she wasn’t sure. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Exhaling, she tried to appear confident. “And no more butt bugs.”

  “No more butt bugs,” he echoed, and her lips parted at his quick compliance.

  “Really?”

  Nodding at her disbelief, he reached behind his jacket to the inner pocket. “The alliance knows to look for them now,” he said as he extended a small baggie holding a capsule. “Welcome to the latest and greatest.”

  Peri looked without reaching. “You want me to drop my pants and bend over?”

  “I want you to swallow it,” he said stiffly. “It’s a low-dose radiation marker. It won’t harm you, but it will stay in your system for a year. We will know where you are and where you’ve been. Even those you’ve been in contact with, to a limited degree. It’s experimental, and only a team’s handler knows the signature.” He smiled. “You’re a ghost, Peri, the first Opti agent to get this. My best deserves the best.”

  Radiation marker? Mistrusting it, she hesitated as Bill encouraged her to take it. It could be anything: drugs to knock her out, poison to kill her. She could wake up in Allen’s bed tomorrow having forgotten everything and she’d never know.

  “You just happened to have one in your pocket?” she questioned.

  He shrugged, not a wisp of guilt. “After your little walkabout this morning, I deemed it was time to take it out of research. You really cut that tracker out yourself?” he asked, laughing, and she hunched in embarrassment.

  “It’s not funny,” she said, and after a last chuckle, his mirth ended.

  “Take it.”

  His tone was flat, demanding. She hesitated, not sure how much he knew or suspected. But realizing it was going to end up in her one way or another, Peri slipped the capsule into her mouth and swallowe
d.

  Immediately Bill’s mood lightened. Smiling, he got to his feet, hand extended to help her rise. Her slim fingers looked tiny as they fitted into his, reminding her of him in the gym breaking boards and bringing down men. My God, his hands are huge.

  “You’re my best drafter, kiddo,” Bill said, and she jumped when his arm landed heavily across her shoulders and turned her to the door. “That comes with responsibility. We’re not letting you out of our theoretical sight for even an instant.”

  Great, she thought, stomach rolling. If she threw up, would he make her take another? “So do I get a new anchor?”

  “No,” he said, and she drew him to a halt before they could leave. “I’ll talk to Allen,” he said in a fatherly tone. “Tell him to step it up. You worked well together before. I know you will again. He needs to find closure, too. He trusts you. Let go and trust him.”

  Like that was going to happen. “Bill . . . ,” she warned, and he put his hands in the air as if in surrender.

  “Okay, okay,” he finally relented. “I’ll talk to Sandy and see what we can do. I’ve got someone in mind, so don’t mention this to Allen—just in case we can swing it. Deal?”

  Eyeing him, she backed up from the door. “Deal,” she echoed him as her heart pounded in her ears.

  “I’m proud of you,” he said softly as he opened the door. “You’ve come a long way.”

  As in a long way in becoming his tool. “I only want to be my best.”

  “You are already that,” Bill said as he ushered her into the living room.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Silas’s friend’s seats at Comerica Park were in the sun, and whereas it was usually too hot, today Silas felt good, the early-spring air still holding the morning’s chill. Two hot dogs and bottled waters sat waiting beside him. He’d asked Peri to meet him here, and the thrum of anticipation running through his background thoughts ebbed and flowed with the noise of the crowd as the Tigers tried to bring the inning to a close.

  The memory of sitting in these exact seats with Peri was an ache, but that wasn’t why he had wanted to meet her here. The crowd itself gave them a measure of protection. The multitude of doors couldn’t be locked. Even the park’s security that Opti itself would have to contend with helped. But if he was honest, he had wanted to meet her here because Peri loved the game, and he was hoping memories she couldn’t recall might help cushion his bad news.

  Silas pulled his cap lower, hunching deeper into the hard seat. The chip she’d brought him wasn’t the list. He was out of options, mistrusted by the alliance and an enemy of Opti. He was here to tell her to run and never stop.

  Brow furrowed, Silas ran a hand over his freshly shaven chin before resettling his sunglasses in a nervous twitch. His eyes roved over the stands thick with orange and blue, the noisy throng excited at the fresh beginning April always brought. Pulled by a familiar silhouette, Silas’s gaze darted to one of the entrances.

  God almighty, she looks good. It was a relief not to see her in those gaudy clothes that Allen must have picked out, more herself in her usual black slacks and a white blouse cut to show off her long neck. The sophistication was a little much for the stands, but the Detroit Tigers hat and sunglasses toned it down, and no one gave her more than a second glance.

  His brow eased at a feeling of pride. No longer was she the deadly but anchor-dependent doll that Opti had made of her. Her fiery independence was reasserting itself through the cracks of Opti conditioning and lies—as long as he could keep them from scrubbing her again.

  The crowd’s noise swelled as she met his eyes. Unmoving on the stairs, she hesitated as if listening to something only she could hear, then scanned the stands for something only she could see. Please don’t run, he thought as he stood, trying to convince her he only wanted to help. He took his glasses off, pleading with his eyes. Breath held, he waited . . . and finally she decided, head down and expression unreadable as she made her way up the final stairs.

  Peri stopped at the head of the row. “Nice seats,” she said, and an anxious need to do something filled Silas.

  “They belong to a friend,” he said as he picked up the box of hot dogs and edged down to give her his chair so she wouldn’t have to slide past him. Behind them, a man complained about not being able to see, his tirade cutting off when Peri took her glasses off to stare at him.

  “You look great,” Silas said, and her expression shifted to one of surprise.

  “I went shopping again. This time on Bill’s tab and with a vengeance.” Peri sat down, and Silas felt a knot ease. “I’m going to give everything in my closet to Goodwill. You look . . .”

  “What?” Silas said, knowing his jacket and jeans were coarse next to her polished sophistication, but where Peri could get away with silk and linen at a ballpark, he couldn’t.

  A faint smile quirked her lips to erase a worry line. “Content.”

  Content? She thinks I look content? Flustered, he watched as her eyes lifted to the stands, and another level of tension was rubbed out by the announcer’s patter and a stanza of music from the organ. It was the sound of summer, and it eased over him like the sun.

  “Hot dog with mustard, no ketchup?” he said as he eagerly proffered the box.

  “How . . . ,” she started, eyes lighting up as she reached for it. “My diary?” she asked drily.

  “Lucky guess this time,” he lied.

  “Sure it is,” she said as she took it, startling Silas when her fingers brushed his.

  It was how she liked them, and he couldn’t help but watch her unwrap it, her eyes closing as she took a bite. Her mmmm of pleasure sent a shiver through him, and he warmed when she noticed, eyeing him askance as she chewed and swallowed.

  “Me eating a hot dog makes you happy?” she questioned as she wiped the corner of her mouth with a pinky, and he felt himself flush deeper. “You’re an easy date.”

  “Beautiful woman, beautiful day. What’s not to like?” he fumbled, turning his attention to his own dog and trying not to look like a dork.

  Peri sighed, but it wasn’t a bad sound. “Silas, I’m not stupid.”

  He took a bite, glancing sideways at her. “I said you were beautiful, not stupid. Despite what popular media would have you believe, they are not mutually inclusive.”

  “I mean, we’ve done this before.”

  Shocked, he turned to face her. “You remember?”

  “No, but you do. I’ve never seen you this relaxed.”

  “Funny how not having a gun pointed at you does that,” he said.

  “So . . .” She eyed him mischievously. “Were we like boyfriend-girlfriend?”

  He choked on his hot dog. “Ask me tomorrow,” he managed, feeling his neck go red.

  “I might not remember you tomorrow.” She crossed her knees. “Yesterday you followed me from Allen’s apartment,” she said as she put her dog down and reached for a water. “Knew exactly where to take me so I’d relax and maybe give you something you wanted.”

  His mouth went dry; he felt as if everything was unraveling. “It’s not like that. I’m not manipulating you.”

  “Yes you are.” She tried to open her water, but it wouldn’t budge. “You’re doing it now. Meeting me at the ballpark. Taking me to Mules. I love Mules. Reminding me of my favorite coffee. I’d be angry except I have the feeling that you’re doing it for you as much as me.”

  “I am not!” he protested, but it sounded lame even to him.

  “I’m willing to overlook it,” she said as she gave up on the water and handed it to him. “But I want to know if you’re doing it because you want to or because you have to?”

  Discomfited, Silas cracked it for her. “What does your gut say?”

  She took the bottle back, looking out over the field in silence. “Ask me tomorrow,” she finally said. Sighing, she took a sip of water and set it down. “Howard has good news, yes?”

  Silas cringed. He couldn’t look at her, angry at himself,
at Fran. Peri couldn’t have known what that chip was. But even he had to admit the likelihood that Opti was using her even now.

  “Not good news,” Peri amended, her eyes empty of recrimination.

  “Can’t you let me enjoy even half an inning?” he grumbled.

  Peri picked her dog back up. “You have until I’m done with this bodacious hot dog. Mmmm, you don’t mess with the dog.”

  Silas settled back but the mood was broken. For a moment, they were both silent as the art of the game stole over them, of science and muscle, of physics and psychology.

  “I remember coming here with my dad,” Peri said, eyes on the field. “He taught me the game from the stands. The original park at the corner. My mom thought the park was filthy, and she didn’t like the new boxes either, so that was kind of the end of it after he died.”

  Silas hunched, straightening when his jacket pulled. “Sorry to hear that.”

  Lips twisted into a smile, she looked at him and adjusted his hat. “But I’m here now, with you, Mr. Tomorrow.”

  Silas’s jaw clenched. Her smile was perfect, the sun making her skin glow and her eyes vivid. He wanted to bring it all back, every little thing. But there was nothing left. Allen had wiped it all away. And he had helped.

  I should have told her that I loved her, he thought, breath shallow. Maybe then she would have had a choice. But he’d hidden his love, giving her no choice but the one that Allen offered. And who wouldn’t have chosen glory over an empty apartment? He was a fool, and all he could do now was try to give her the knowledge to save herself.

  “You okay?” Peri asked, the sun glinting on the tips of her thick black hair.

  “Fine,” he said tightly, eyeing the park’s drones. They were low-Q and harmless, but he didn’t like how easy it would be to slip a high-Q, facial-recognition one among them. “How is Jack doing? Is he here?”

  Peri cast about as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. “No,” she said, sounding surprised. “And that makes you happy because . . . ,” she prompted.