Agent Zero

by Lilith Saintcrow

  “Forget it,” she finally said to her feet, arranging the bag carefully between the pair of blue trainers he’d produced from somewhere, in her size. New shoes, their bottoms barely touched with grime. “I’m just glad to be alive, I guess. This is...pretty weird.” And that’s the understatement of the year. What would Dad think about this? It hurt to think of her father, an old familiar pain.

  He said nothing. Holly settled back in the seat and stared out the window while the miles rolled away.

  * * *

  She drifted into sleep a little later, her breathing evening out and her pulse nice and strong. He kept his eyes on the road.

  Why didn’t you? Was she serious?

  The freeway dipped slightly, then rose. Once they were out of the orbiting belt of suburban sprawl, the road would be arrow straight, heading for the horizon. Lots of time to think while following that line.

  Lots of time for her to get accustomed to him. And lots of goddamn time for things to go wrong.

  That smell of hers was too distracting. He shouldn’t have told her she was emotional noise. Things just fell out of his mouth the wrong way whenever he thought he was finally doing okay with her. Still, she’d end up falling his way eventually. She’d have no choice, now that it was survival.

  He glanced over, just to make sure. Still there, still in the seat next to him. Breathing deeply, a real sleeping beauty. He checked the rearview, frowned slightly.

  It wasn’t time to worry just yet. The cop car three units back was simply pacing traffic, looking for a wrong note. He tasted a little adrenaline, exhaled softly. Control of autonomic functions wasn’t perfect, but it was a damn sight better than a civilian’s.

  If he could get close enough to Holly, if he didn’t wilt when the time came...well. The thought raised a pleasant sweat at the small of his back, a tightening all through him. Stand down, soldier. You’re not out of the zone yet.

  Now that he was bathing in it, the smell was intensely...comforting. Soothing, even as it revved his hormones up. He checked his speed again, checked the rearview. Something about the cop car was off.

  Sun broke through low-hanging clouds, misty spots on the windshield. Just when he was beginning to get a little concerned, the cop three cars behind him lit up like a Christmas tree. A cold wave passed down Reese’s entire body.

  I haven’t even prepped her for casual interrogation yet. Dammit. Too busy being careful, trying not to upset her even more.

  The cruiser leaped forward, a shark in the shoal of suburban traffic...and passed by as Reese hit the turn signal and slowed. It whooshed past, and he was suddenly aware of a slight groaning sound as his tension communicated itself through the steering wheel.

  Don’t ruin the car, idiot.

  Still, it was a comfort. Dodged a bullet and found out he was still enhanced. The longer he went without losing function, the better he felt about the whole damn thing.

  Of course, would he be able to tell if he was losing cognitive enhancement? Now there was a riddle.

  Traffic decreased, and another set of city limits were left in the dust. The road went through a couple long, shallow curves, then straightened. By the time Holly made a small murmuring sound, dreaming about something—hope it’s pleasant, honey—he had taken the peel-off to the other south-going interstate he wanted, and even turned the radio on, very low. Just enough to keep him alert as the scenery changed to rural and the miles slipped away under the tires.

  * * *

  She woke up, alert and curious, in a motel over the state line, and immediately the questions started afresh.

  Reese set another plastic bag down carefully on the bed. More apples, more bagels and more cheese. He’d have to get her something more substantial in a bit.

  Holly, rumpled and just awakened, accepted the latte in its white paper cup with a sigh of gratitude. “Oh, God, you’re an angel. So, who are we running from? I might as well know.”

  “Bad people.” He tried not to look at her bare shoulder, pale and fascinating. Those baby blues were wide and impossibly pretty—it wasn’t goddamn fair for her to look so good first thing in the morning, for God’s sake. Or to be so cheerful and uncomplaining.

  The tired smudges under her eyes were gone. Of course, she’d gotten some solid rest, even if she was too thin. Her collarbones stood out, starkly. She settled in the bed, her back propped on the pillows, and if her expression hadn’t been so plainly unsatisfied it might have been one of his little dreams come true.

  As it was, he’d slept on the floor and could tell there was something brewing in her head.

  “Government. The...the files, they were stamped by the Army. Right? And classified—I was a military brat. I know what that really means.”

  Anything from “above your pay grade” to “they’ll chop your fingers off if they find you peeking.” Reese strangled the urge to sigh. “I’m property of the US Army, yes. I’m technically on loan to the program, codename Division. At least, that’s what they call it. The medical stuff, the poking and prodding, the experiments.” He exhaled, sharply, and dug in the bag for an apple. He’d want a protein load later, but he didn’t want to take her to a restaurant yet. It was probably good her father had been in the service—she’d take to him a little easier. “You should have some breakfast. Checkout time’s coming up.”

  “Is that another euphemism?”

  What? “No.” Although if you want me to, I can come up with a few. Starting with that pretty little mouth of yours.

  Said mouth pursed a little. “Are we going to keep living in hotels, or...?”

  “There’s a destination. Until then, yeah.” Trying not to think of how delicious she looked wasn’t working.

  “Ooh, a destination.” Maybe she didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but he didn’t think so. “And that would be?”

  Not yet, cutie. “You want to settle down and decide what you want to know first?”

  “How about who’s trying to kill me?”

  “Who’s trying to kill us.” The sooner he could get her thinking with an “us,” the better. “There’s a list.”

  “Just like Christmas.”

  He decided that particular kind of sarcasm wasn’t good for either of them. “Where the present is a bullet in your brain, sure. The Army probably doesn’t want us dead, because I’m a significant investment of resources, but orders are orders. The program? Same thing, probably, unless there was something in my bloodwork or my psych evals that changed the ground. Which leaves the hush-hush, the intelligence agencies that don’t have initials in public. They’ve got the clout to give the other two orders, and they could have decided to close up shop. Because agents like me, well. You train us to go dig and nose around, and then you find out maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. Because we do what we’re trained to.” He took a deep breath, watching her as thoughts moved across that transparent, heartbreakingly naive face. She still smelled mouthwatering, probably because she hadn’t showered yet. Reese was soaking her up like summer hills during the first good rain.

  It’s interesting how the smell changes. Food when I’m hungry, and other things when I’m—

  “What did you do? Are you...” She gulped, and paled a little. “Are you a double agent? Or—”

  “I’m a good old red-blooded American, honey. I did what they ordered me to do. The only thing I did without their say-so was asking you to coffee.”

  Now there was a flare of anger. “Do you think I somehow—”

  “Of course not. If I thought that you’d be dead.”

  Silence. She stared at him; he straightened. The apple, carefully cupped in his hand, was cold and hard. Well. That was the wrong way to put things.

  “Nice to know where I stand,” she said, finally. “Why are you even bothering, Reese? I mean, what did I ever do to you?”


  Nothing. It’s all about how you smell. How you’re too patient and kind for your own goddamn good. And how even now, she wasn’t screaming or deconstructing.

  Does she have to be so goddamn perfect?

  His temper rose, just a little. “I guess I just... I don’t know.” I followed you home. I wanted to knock on your door. “Look, I could have just vanished. I didn’t. I came back to your apartment because I thought whoever was sent to toss it might know where you were.”

  “Very chivalrous.” She took another sip of latte. “So, if I called the police...”

  “You won’t.”

  “Why not?” A challenge, now, lifting her chin, and he wondered how anyone could have divorced her. She could burn a man down with that look, and he’d thank her through the flames.

  “Because that would be stupid, and you’re a lot smarter than you want anyone to know, Holly.”

  For some reason that was the wrong thing to say. Or at least, she frowned, and it was time to admit he was in trouble.

  Because he wanted to make her smile, and this wasn’t doing it. How stupid was that urge? She didn’t have to be happy; she just had to stay near him, right?

  Was he going downhill? Would she have to do the thinking for both of them? A degrade was possible, though he didn’t feel it physically. Without a battery of tests, he couldn’t be sure. There was a margin either way, a really uncomfortable one.

  “Then can you tell me where we’re going?”

  “South.”

  The frown deepened. “Our destination, Reese.”

  “No.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Because if I get taken, I don’t want to know where you’ll head for.”

  “And if I get...taken...you don’t want me to know. Okay.”

  Well, he called her smart—he had to realize she’d figure that out. “You’re not going to get taken.”

  “Oh? I’m the weak link here, right? The civilian. The emotional noise.”

  I shouldn’t have said that. “So I’m not going to let them take you. If it comes down to you or me, Holly, you’ll run and I’ll hold them.”

  That managed to ease the frown, but it was replaced by puzzlement. She stared at him like he was speaking Esperanto.

  Reese’s back prickled with sudden awareness.

  I don’t like how that feels.

  Time to move.

  * * *

  He stiffened, and Holly braced herself. Whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t his quick turn, crossing the room and peering out between the curtains glowing with morning sunlight. They were open just a little, and she realized it was so he could look out without moving them.

  “Get dressed,” he said, quietly. “Now.”

  She sat there and gawped, the latte in her hands.

  “Did you hear me? Get up and get dressed, Holly.”

  “What is it?” I sound like I’ve been punched. Breathless, and her hand began to tremble.

  “Get moving.” His face changed, just a little.

  If she asked any more stupid questions, he might decide to leave her behind. Holly scrambled off the bed, almost dropping the latte.

  He was still there when she tore the bathroom door open, buttoning up her jeans. Sunlight striped half his face; he glanced at her and she couldn’t decipher his expression. Was he irritated? Was this a game?

  “Brush your teeth and use the restroom, Holly.” His left hand had turned into a fist. He shook it out, relaxing slightly. “We have a few minutes. I just don’t like the way it looks out there.”

  You don’t like... She shook her head. He was probably crazy. She was probably crazy, too.

  Collateral. As in damage.

  Seven minutes later he pressed the latte back into her hands. “You need the caffeine. Let’s go.”

  “Will you even tell me what’s going on?”

  “We might be blown, I don’t know.”

  “Blown? What is blown?” She realized what a dumb-ass question it was about two seconds too late.

  He paused for just a second, opened the door. “The only thing you need to worry about is doing what I tell you.”

  “Great.” Given the alternative, though...

  That was just it. She didn’t have any alternative. Right? At least, not one she could arrive at without a whole lot of heavy-duty thinking.

  “I’m going to take care of you.”

  There’s a lot of things that could mean. She looked at the carpet—cheap nylon, again, but a slightly higher grade. Blue, with little flecks of gold and brown. “Okay.”

  “You have no idea what that means, I guess.” He wasn’t looking at her; he was giving the hall a good once-over.

  I guess not. She set the coffee down on the little table by the door. Hitched her backpack, with its small assortment of hurriedly packed stuff, higher on her shoulder. Followed him out and tried not to let the logical extension of that line of thought loose inside her head.

  Do what I tell you, it’ll all be fine. She’d heard that before. From Dad, sometimes, when he didn’t want her to worry, even when he started losing weight and the sickness crept over him in inches, his body consuming itself and the stack of medical bills growing higher and higher. At least Holly was avoiding that. She wouldn’t leave a single debt behind.

  No, what bothered her was that she’d heard it most recently from Phillip. After we get me through med school, it’ll all come together. I’ll take care of you.

  * * *

  They took the stairs, and it wasn’t until they were in the car and driving away that Reese seemed to relax a little, checking the rearview every few seconds. Holly’s hands clenched together in her lap, tighter and tighter, especially when the cop cars, their lights on but sirens silent, zoomed past them going the opposite direction.

  “Sloppy,” Reese muttered. “No grid, I’ll bet.”

  She could barely get the air in to talk. “Is that...is that good?”

  “Could mean they’re grasping at straws. Could be a convenience store robbery in the area. They go silent for those. Maybe I’m just paranoid, but better safe than sorry, right?”

  “Right.” How would anyone know where we are? She tried to make her fingers unclench.

  They wouldn’t, unless they have ways of finding out, and that...

  “Calm down, Holly. We’ll stop in a couple towns to get you more coffee. Caffeine withdrawal headaches aren’t fun.” He checked the rearview again, following signs for the freeway. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “That’s awfully nice.” What was she supposed to say, to that? “But, you know, it already has. Happened, I mean.” More than you know.

  “True.” He sighed. It seemed to catch him by surprise, too. His right hand reached over, and he threaded his warm fingers into the knot her hands had become. “I’m...sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry you’re with me. I... I would have kept working, and coming to see you, as long as I could.”

  The silence between them was a balloon again, this time full of crowding, jostling, whirling. Her stomach flipped once, and again. Was she going to start another round of dry heaving?

  “Holly. Breathe.”

  I’m trying to. It wasn’t happening, though. Was this it? All the stress finally swooping down to finish her off?

  Ironic. Really ironic.

  He hit the turn signal, plunging off the main road, and a residential section full of autumn-painted trees in long rows swallowed them. The houses were small; this wasn’t quite a city, and the hotel was only there because the interstate ran right nearby—

  Her brain refused to work. There wasn’t enough air, she kept making a funny little whistling sound when she tried to inhale.

  “Crap.” The car swerved up to the c
urb; he popped it into park and hit his seat belt. “Holly. Breathe.”

  His hand slid free of hers. She shut her eyes, trying to figure out where all the air had gone. A burst of cold from her left side—he’d opened the car door.

  When he opened hers, she almost had her lungs back under control. His fingers pressed against her forehead, and the smell of autumn and cold dampness swirled around her.

  “Shh, sweetheart.” He had her seat belt off, too, and Holly was glad, because she leaned over and retched.

  There was nothing in her stomach but a swallow of coffee. Bile scorched the back of her throat. She gasped, tears welling between her eyelids, and Reese was talking to her. Low and urgent.

  “It’s all right, baby. I’m right here, nothing’s going to hurt you. Try to breathe. I’m right here, Holly. I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

  No, it’s not. She hadn’t had one of these since the divorce papers arrived, the blank-faced process server mumbling and shoving them into her hands—

  She grabbed onto the thought. Panic attack. You know what to do. She brought her hand up to her mouth, got a good grip on the skin on the back of her wrist, and bit down, hard.

  “Christ!” Now he sounded worried. “Holly? Don’t, Jesus, don’t hurt yourself!”

  The pain jolted her, interrupted the spiraling panic. It broke in a gush of sweat, her heart thundering in her ears so hard she could barely hear him. At least she could breathe, even though the world had narrowed to a single fuzzy point of light.

  We’re worried about your tests, the doctor had said. We want to run a few more. The walls were paper thin in that medical suite; she’d already heard him and the tall, queenly female doctor passing back and forth terms that weren’t cryptic when you’d helped your husband prep for med school tests. Or when you’d heard the same thing from the doctors as your father died by inches in front of you.

  Things like elevated counts and swollen lymph nodes and prejaundice and insulinomas, too, look at this. Holly listening, alternately hot and cold, the knowledge burning inside her. Pancreas. Virtually asymptomatic in the beginning. The nausea, the back pain, the digestive problems when she could eat—she was lucky to have escaped jaundice, really, you couldn’t hide turning yellow.