Music: Out of the Box 26 (The Girl in the Box Book 36)

by Robert J. Crane

  “But you’ll dig all that out; you always do,” Brandt said. She started to reach across the table to pat me on the hand, but apparently thought the better of it. I caught her pausing the motion, and she grinned, very disarmingly. “I guess I shouldn’t do that, since politicians already have to fight against the belief that we’re soulless.”

  That got Governor Boggs roaring again, and it was hard for me to avoid smiling, because to my surprise...none of these people seemed to be faking that they were enjoying each other’s company. Even Foreman, who was watching me quite cannily while the others talked.

  “Now, Sienna,” the governor said, once he’d finished his round of guffaws, “lest you think we’re just whistling Dixie here, I feel like we should tell you—Agent Chandrasekhar has informed us that the FBI hasn’t been real kind to you lately.”

  I blinked. “When? In the ten seconds it took me to leave him in the car and walk into the lobby?”

  “He did send me a rather interesting text message as you were walking in, yes,” Mayor Brandt said, lifting her reading glasses, which were on a chain around her neck, up to eye level as she lifted her phone. “Here—they’re moving you to DC immediately. Entered your apartment without even asking in order to pack up your belongings.” She made a mildly offended clucking noise. “I’m no lawyer, but that sounds like an invasion of privacy to me. What do you think, Senator Foreman?”

  “It is indeed,” Foreman said quietly.

  “I’d have to check with the TBI, but I don’t think I have ever heard of a state agency doing such a thing to one of its employees without a warrant, or without them even being under investigation.” Governor Boggs shook his head sadly. This seemed to me just a hint less sincere than the laughter; I had no doubt that they were right, that the FBI under Director Chalke was doing some shady shit and treating me like chattel. But these folks were also playing it up somewhat.

  And I couldn’t say it wasn’t working, but only because I’d already been pissed about it before I’d even walked in.

  “A forced move to DC,” Mayor Brandt went on, shaking her head sadly.

  “A den of iniquity.” Governor Boggs just shook his head like I’d been sentenced to the seventh circle of hell.

  “And they won’t let you interface with local law enforcement,” Mayor Brandt finished, looking up. “Well, let me tell you something, Ms. Nealon—you can hang out with the Metro PD anytime. You can do it all day tomorrow if you want.”

  “You might want to check with your insurance carrier first,” I said with a tight smile. “They might not appreciate having to cash the check you write with that offer.”

  “I think we’re all familiar with your handiwork in the property destruction realm,” Governor Boggs said, keeping a careful smile on his face, but shooting a sideways look at Mayor Brandt, then Foreman. “And we also have a general consensus that absent your intervention, the world would be in a much worse place if not for your efforts, including those that occasionally cause a mess.”

  I cringed, because clearly he had not seen my work firsthand. “You might be looking at this through slightly rose-colored glasses.”

  “I think we’re looking at this in a very realistic way,” Mayor Brandt said. “The world is always changing, but the revelation about metahumans has moved things in a very different direction. So many communities are approaching their policing situation in exactly the same way, as though nothing is different.” She leaned forward. “We don’t want to be caught in that trap.”

  “I know a lot of people think of Tennessee in the old way: backward rednecks,” Governor Boggs said, and now he was leaning forward. “But Tennessee is always changing, too. We’re trying to make things as good as we can without losing the things that made us distinct. For example, we have a program here which pays for the first two years of college if qualified students go to a community college or a tech school. We’re trying to educate our population to meet the challenges of the twenty-first century job market. That philosophy to drive things forward—it extends to policing, too.”

  “Which is why you made that lovely offer,” I said, sitting back. It was so strange to have someone pitch a job offer at me that was actually good and didn’t involve threats. It was also the first time, in my memory, that it had happened since I’d joined the Directorate after leaving my house. Subsequent job offers had included Senator Foreman coercing me to re-form the Directorate under the government’s aegis for purposes of stopping Sovereign, and Director Chalke threatening me to get me to join the FBI. Between the two, I suppose, I’d taken my job under the independent agency Reed now ran, but I didn’t count that since it was really me offering myself a job through a lawyer so I could hide the source of the funds behind said agency. I wanted to take a sip of my water but I didn’t want to uncross my arms and let them think they were getting through to me. “I appreciate that you want to get ahead of the curve here on metahuman policing or whatever—”

  “Tennessee is one of the top states in terms of budget stability and financial solvency,” Governor Boggs said, making me wonder if I’d walked into a campaign commercial. “We view this as a critical responsibility right up there with education. Protecting our citizens is job one.”

  “A very responsible view,” I said. “But I’m employed with the FBI, and I’m afraid my agreement with them precludes the possibility of me leaving them right now.”

  “I understand completely,” Mayor Brandt said, nodding again. “Personally, I like to work where I’m wanted and with people who appreciate me—”

  I laughed under my breath. “I think Senator Foreman could tell you that I’m no peach to work with once we get past the polite introductory phase.”

  “I thought you were fine to work with,” Foreman chimed in. “Very straightforward. You kept the carnage to a relative minimum given what you were up against.”

  “You need to spend more time on the internet,” I said. “There are videos. Sienna brutality and all that.”

  “I like to think you’ve learned a thing or two since you did some of those things,” Foreman said.

  “Maybe it’s just me, but I didn’t see anything wrong with burning that mad bomber alive given just what he did and what he was planning to do,” Governor Boggs said. “I think smacking that handcuffed fella around in New York might have been a bit beyond the pale, legally, but once the video came out showing what he said to the waitress, most of us with an ounce of gentlemanly disposition came around to your side on it. At least around here.” He settled back, crossing his legs. “Plus, as I recall, he was the one who destroyed the U.S.S. Enterprise in its dock, wasn’t he?”

  “He was,” I said.

  “That was a damned tragedy,” Boggs said.

  “Well, you’ve heard what we had to say,” Mayor Brandt said, taking hold of the governor’s arm and tugging gently to suggest they wrap it up. “You’ve had a long day between travel and everything else. Why don’t we leave you to it?” She looked right at Senator Foreman. “Maybe let you catch up with your old buddy here.”

  I looked at Foreman blankly. He looked right back at me. I wondered if he was messing with my emotions given his empathic abilities, but since I didn’t really feel anything other than burning rage toward Heather Chalke, which I’d had before I even walked in the door, I didn’t think he was.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Nealon,” Governor Boggs said, finishing his old fashioned in one good gulp.

  “Likewise,” I said with a tight smile, and waved at Mayor Brandt as the two of them wended their way out of the hotel. I caught a glimpse of them getting into Chandler’s SUV, which was still waiting there, before it pulled off into the night.

  As soon as they were gone, I turned back to look at (former) Senator Foreman to find him staring at me, eyes narrowed, almost inscrutable in his concentration. I let him stare for a moment before I let out a deep sigh. “What? You getting the lay of the land in my brain?”

  “Just wondering what’s going on in there,
” Foreman said, eyes still narrowed in concentration, “because it’s been a while...and things are mighty different.”

  “Life has a way of changing you,” I said, a little guardedly.

  “I should say so,” Foreman said, finally easing up on his concentrating look. He settled back in his seat, let out a sigh of his own. “You have definitely changed.” He shook his head in a way that reminded me of a disappointed father, slowly, patiently, and asked, “What have you let them do to you, Sienna?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Brance

  “That’s good, that’s solid,” Jules said as Brance brought another song to an end. This time it was “Outbound Plane,” originally by Suzy Bogguss. He’d nailed it.

  Or he thought he had. Jules wore a slightly pained expression, hands hovering, cupped, over his ears. Leo and Gil each had their fingers plugged into their ears and were across the warehouse, against the farthest wall.

  “Did I...again?” Brance asked, heart falling in his chest.

  “Just a little bit,” Jules said, forcing a smile.

  Brance felt like he was going to melt right there. He’d tried, really he had—

  “Hey,” Jules said, “it’s fine. We’ll get there, okay?” He sauntered over and planted a hand on Brance’s shoulder, massaging Brance’s trapezius muscle under the web of his meaty hand. There was a real tautness there, and Brance almost flinched away. “You’re tense, kid.” Jules gave it another couple squeezes. “We’ll get you booked for a massage. I think part of your problem is you’re expecting things to go bad at this point.”

  “Maybe,” Brance said. He wasn’t convinced. He didn’t know enough about this—any of this, really—to know whether it had to do with tension, with bad luck. Hell, it could be an ancient curse for all he knew. It sure felt like a curse. He bowed his head. “I just...I can’t believe this happened now. Of all times. I felt like I was so close.”

  “That’s tough,” Jules said. “Taking a hit to the dream like that.” He brought his hand back up to Brance’s shoulder. “Men live in their dreams, you know. We scrape along, work, but our head’s in our dreams. At least, that’s the way it is with those of us who have a vision for our lives.” He wagged a finger in Brance’s face. “And you, Brance—I can tell you’re a man with a dream, with a vision.”

  Brance nodded. “Yeah. I had one.”

  “Tell me about it.” Jules had the look of sincerity.

  “I just wanted to sing,” Brance said, letting it all fall out. “To be up on that stage, have people hear me. Like, really hear me.” He looked back at his feet. “It’s hard to explain, I guess. My parents were just kinda...I was the middle kid, so they didn’t have time to listen to me. My brother and sister were rodeo riders since they were kids. Family business, because we had a ranch.” He felt a little smile play over his face. “I wasn’t into any of that. My brother is deep in the business at this point. My sister’s heading toward a professional riding career. My parents were into all of that, running them everywhere, too busy for me.” He let out a low breath. “But when I’d sing...they would hear me.”

  “You can make the world hear you, Brance,” Jules said. “We’re going to make the world hear you.”

  Brance looked up. That same sincerity was in Jules’s eyes. It was weird, but he felt like Jules understood more than anyone else, maybe. Like he had a dream of his own. That was something Brance felt on a deep level. Sure, his brother had dreamed—if you could call it that—about running the ranch, taking it over. His sister had focused on her riding, on trophies, awards, all that.

  But those weren’t dreams, really. Not big ones, anyway. Not like...

  “I want to sing on the stage of the Opry,” Brance said. “Have a concert at the Ryman.”

  Jules nodded. “The Mother Church of Country Music? That’s a fine dream.”

  “I’ve wanted it since I first listened to the Opry when I was a kid,” Brance said, staring off into the distance. “My brother and sister were off somewhere, and I was at my grandparents’ house and they were watching it...I just wanted to be on that stage.”

  “Maybe we can do a little something about that,” Jules said, and the older man seemed deep in the middle of his own thought. Brance would have asked what it was, but he didn’t want to push his new benefactor.

  Besides, he was back in his own vision, thanks to Jules. For a moment, singing in this empty, decrepit warehouse, he felt like he was already on the Opry stage. If the real thing felt only a little better...

  Well, maybe he would see his dream after all—with Jules’s help.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Sienna

  “I didn’t let anyone do anything to me,” I said, hackles raised, my anger at Director Chalke for invading my privacy by breaking into my apartment now pointed at the nearest convenient target.

  “You did,” Foreman said, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it until now. You let them get you—”

  “I didn’t let anyone get anything,” I whispered, warring against the desire to let my voice rise in anger.

  “How’d they do it?” Foreman asked, unflinching as he stared into my eyes. “You walked through the fire to get pardoned twice. You were free and clear after Revelen.” He leaned in a little closer. “What could they possibly have on you that would make you work for these people?”

  “Maybe I just like the job.”

  Foreman shook his head. “There’s a limit to how much shit you’ll put up with, and in my experience, it’s really low. If anyone without leverage on you pulled half the crap I’ve heard Director Chalke has, you’d have killed them by now.”

  I broke into a thin smile. “See, the thing about getting pardoned twice? You’re probably not going to get a third bite at the apple. Which means I have to learn to play nice, at least with people on the right side of the law.”

  “Humph.” Foreman sat back, letting out that low grunt as he continued to stare into my eyes, trying to read the secrets written in my feelings. There wasn’t much there, I thought, other than exhaustion, discontentment and a flaring rage I was trying really hard to tamp down. “I’m not quite sure I believe that, but let’s say for the sake of the argument that I did. Why stick with these people when they keep jerking you around?”

  Looking into Robb Foreman’s eyes, I saw a glimmer of warmth that had been absent from most of my interactions these last few months. It was disarming in a way that Willis Shaw, my now-former boss, couldn’t be, and that Heather Chalke, my new boss, never was. “I just...the work is important,” I said lamely.

  “Your brother does similar work,” Foreman said. “He’s down in Murfreesboro right now. Less than an hour from here. He doesn’t have a boss like Chalke.” He leaned in again, and I realized his voice was so low no one in the bar could hope to hear it without a listening device. “I know what she is. The type of person. I dealt with her for years when I was in the Senate. The mayor here, the governor—they’re decent in a way she’s not. Politicians, sure. But fair.”

  “Life’s not fair,” I said.

  Foreman stared smokily into my eyes. “That’s for sure.”

  “I can’t,” I said, pulling an unsteady hand back to rest on my chin. “I just...I can’t take the job here.”

  Foreman nodded. “Mayor Brandt is determined to show you a good time anyway.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card. “They’re going to drop off a Metro PD radio for you later tonight that will be delivered to your room first thing tomorrow. You’ve got your own designator here—” he waved the card “—and you’re welcome to join them on any call you’d like to. Or you can just keep it on hand in case you need to call in next time you cross paths with your perp. Your choice.”

  I took the outstretched card, not entirely out of politeness. There might have been a slight hunger on my part to do something worthwhile with my time. “This...isn’t going to convince me.”

  “No, I can see now you won’t be convinced,” Foreman
said. “I also see that you’ve lost some of the travelers in your mind. You’ve got a harder edge now. A...colder disposition, shall we say.” He smiled.

  “Everyone knows I lost my souls,” I said, looking down at my hands folded in my lap. “It was on the internet, so it must be true.”

  “It must be.” Foreman nodded slowly. “I realized I haven’t seen you since that business in Atlanta a few years back. It would have been interesting for me to...communicate with the passenger you picked up after that.”

  That made me raise an eyebrow. It was a clear reference to President Harmon. “I’m sure I don’t know what—”

  “He was a telepath, wasn’t he?” Foreman asked, peering at me, weighing my words. “I thought he might be. The evidence fit, especially after I whipped him at the first debate like a lame mule.”

  I nodded slowly. “Those serums that unlock meta powers? He was working with Edward Cavanagh and others to create one to boost his powers.” I licked my lips. “So he could go ‘omnipath,’ in his words. Be everywhere at once, put us all in alignment as a species. Create a hive mind.”

  Foreman’s eyes went wide. “With him as the queen. I’d heard the rumors. Back channel stuff.” He sat back, and he looked as close to shaken as I’d seen him since the war against Sovereign. Not that I’d seen him much since then. “But you and your friends stopped him.”

  I shrugged. “Not before he exacted a hell of a toll. One I’m still working my way out of.”

  Foreman nodded slowly, then lowered his voice to depths where only a meta could hear him. “There are some long knives out for you, Sienna. Even after Harmon. I hear the whispers. People talk, even to a has-been like me. Powerful people have you in their crosshairs for all sorts of reasons.”

  “They’ve got me in more than that,” I replied, matching him at meta-low.