He didn’t let that rest for very long. “And what was it?”
I blew air out through my lips in the most exasperated sound possible. “A disaster, probably.”
He grabbed the wheel and held it tensely as he steered us toward International Drive, its strip of countless tourist attractions, and our hotel in silence for a short while. I knew it wouldn’t last, and it broke loose around the time we were passing a disused water park that proclaimed itself “Wet N’ Wild,” in faded letters on a loosely hanging sign. “So if it was a disaster in your opinion—”
I blew my stack. “It wasn’t just my opinion, okay? You told me repeatedly that you wished we could just be done without the pain of separation. That it sucked so bad that we couldn’t get our crap together as a couple, but we couldn’t seem to get away from each other without some sort of lazy gravity dragging us back together. I was working a lot back then, okay? I’d be out of town for six days out of seven, and on the seventh day I’d drive out to Wisconsin or Iowa or South Dakota or something to check out some stupid, unsubstantiated report of a meta incident that had nothing to do with metas, and I’d come back wired from caffeine but utterly exhausted to a voicemail from you, and I’d be lonely, and you’d be lonely, and we’d both be hurting, so …” I shrugged, so tired of this conversation even though I was the only one that remembered how often we’d had it. It didn’t stop it from being genuinely annoying to have to suffer it again, like some kind of hellish reprise of the most dramatically painful relationship I’d ever been in, one that had caused me to not date anyone for years afterward.
He took a turn and pulled us into the parking lot of our hotel, a tower across from the entry to Universal Studios. He was steaming, it was obvious, but he was holding in the choicest of his comments, probably trying to defuse the situation in a way I hadn’t been able to just now. That was progress, because before, when we were dating, he was always standing ready to throw that last bit of gasoline on the fire when I was already enraged.
The car thudded into a parking place and he turned to me as he jerked the shifter into park. “What you did—”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said. “This isn’t the time, this isn’t the place—”
“When is the right time and place?”
“Shortly after I get shot in the head and die, if fate be kind.”
He clenched his fist. “What you did to me—”
“I know what I did to you,” I said, staring sullenly straight ahead and refusing to look at him. “But rooting through the guts of that right now seems counterproductive.”
I doubted that would stop him, and it didn’t. He seethed audibly, an actual sound of air hissing between gritted teeth. “This is the reason that Harmon was able to turn me against you so easily.”
I rate this as true, Harmon said. It’s always nice to have negative emotion to work with when you’re pushing someone. For Scott, it was so easy—he was already a walking mess, sensitive to this because of what happened between him and that thoughtless blond girl that everyone in the country seems so infatuated with.
Scott’s eyes were darting around, and I wondered if he was hearing—“Her name is Kat,” he said, confirming my suspicions that Harmon was looping him into our discussion.
Whatever, Harmon said breezily. Everyone else remembers her name. The least I can do to keep her humble is not do her the favor.
“He brings up a good point,” Scott said, his rage evidently abating slightly. “You had to know that I wouldn’t take this well, given what happened between me and Kat, her losing all memory of our relationship in Iowa that time—”
I opened the door and got out of the car, shutting it behind me before he could so much as exclaim in surprise. He hurriedly killed the engine and caught up to me halfway to the lobby door. “Are you serious right now?” he called, only a few paces behind me.
I would have walked faster, but I didn’t want to cause a disturbance by proving I was a meta in the middle of a crowded lobby as I came inside through the automatically sliding doors. “I’m not serious, no. I’m frivolous. Summery, even, though I’m a few months early.” I flipped my red wig hair back over a shoulder and headed for the elevator, fingering the card key for my room in anticipation of getting the hell away from this fruitless discussion for a little while. “I understand you’re angry—”
“I kinda doubt that, based on your complete and total dismissal of me right now.” His face was blood red with rage, his usually dusky skin tone a few shades darker with the fury he was holding in. He probably needed to use his power to lower his blood pressure, but I wasn’t about to suggest it.
“If I’m dismissing you, it’s because the middle of a manhunt isn’t the time to be having this discussion, and the place isn’t in the lobby of this swank hotel,” I said, crossing to the elevator and clicking the button hurriedly, as though that would speed things up at all. It dinged within a few seconds, which kept me from viciously stabbing the button a few more times.
“When is the time and place, then, Sienna?” he asked once the elevator doors had safely closed and no one could hear him call me by my name. “Because you name it, and I’ll be there. In fact, if we’d had this discussion before Harmon got his hooks in me—”
“Nothing would have changed,” I said. “The kind of pain you’re feeling—the resentment, the legit, ‘This person done me wrong,’ feeling … it doesn’t just go away, Scott.” I looked him right in the eye and opened up my emotions in a way I usually didn’t.
It wasn’t that usual rage I projected, though a little of that was stirred in.
It was a concoction of heartbreak, from the time I’d lost my first love to unspeakable betrayal. The time my mentor—two of them, actually—had completely ruined me for trust. A thousand occasions when my own mother had locked me up in a metal coffin and kept me there until she was satisfied I’d learned some unknown lesson. That time I found out my first boyfriend, now dead, had been spying on me for someone I had come to hate.
I looked at him with all that, spoke what I did from the heart …
And his expression didn’t change a whit. Not one little bit. He was like iron, that anger so clear in his eyes that I couldn’t have explained it away any more than I could have stopped the tides from battering the shore. Only he could do that, not me.
The elevator opened as he started to say something, and I dodged out, him following a few seconds later. “If you really want to have this out, let’s do it later. Not tonight. Not now. I’d prefer not ever, but … hey, I don’t always get what I want.”
“Fine,” he said, and I knew for damned sure it wasn’t, but I’d happily take it for now. “After. But don’t think you’re going to get away with—”
“Of all the things I think I might get away with—murder, arrogance, being a scofflaw—no, this isn’t something I think I’ll ‘get away with,’” I said, having finally, thankfully, reached my door. I waved the card key over the panel and heard the click of it unlocking, the little green light flashing to let me know I’d done it. “I suspect you’ll pursue me to the ends of the earth seeking emotional satisfaction on this.”
“You’re not wrong,” he said darkly, moving to his door, just one down from mine, and opening it. “You’re not wrong at all.” And he disappeared into the darkness within, and I knew that, nope, in spite of what I might wish, this was not the end of this discussion.
Not nearly.
28.
June
“This wasn’t how it was supposed to be,” June said into the running shower nozzle. It rained hot, steaming water down on her, boiling her like a lobster under its blazing onslaught, like a sun-stream of heat and liquid scalding her flesh.
She didn’t care. Her bare ass was on the shower tub floor, her tail bone protesting at the uncomfortable way she was sitting, steam hanging in the air above her and giving everything that pungent, humid smell. She’d been in here for long minutes, maybe half an hour, but she
didn’t care. Ell would be fine without her for a while, and she needed this time.
They’d followed Interstate 75 all the way up to Gainesville, Florida, and gotten off at an exit where they saw hotels. They picked one of the big name, mid-range ones and checked in, saying little. What was there to say?
They both knew what was after them now. Was Sienna Nealon going to just give up now that the cops had come after them all and made her run? Doubtful, if she’d actually gone out of her way to come after her and Ell already.
That was the part June couldn’t figure out. How did Sienna Nealon know to come after them? Thus far they’d only clashed with—
With that FBI agent. She threw her head back, and hot water ran down her neck and chest, her hair dangling and dribbling down her back. Of course. How could she not have seen it immediately?
They’d beaten him, humiliated him. Of course he would have gone for help. And they were exes, weren’t they? So he’d gotten beat, and he’d gone looking for help from her, naturally, because …
Because she was just about the baddest badass he could have picked.
June put her head down again. Of course she would have sided with him. That was one of the things June was having trouble with, and it pissed her off that it bothered her so. Sienna Nealon was like a god—goddess, whatever—and she’d shown up and thrown down against them!
Against her.
It was like a personal insult. A slap to the face, a punch to the gut.
And she’d cost June her dream.
It was probably the single most devastating thing June could ever remember happening to her. Not just the fact that Sienna Nealon had shown up, but that she’d shown up and driven it home, hard, that this wasn’t some happy-go-lucky trip. All those good feelings, the love and light she’d felt, those happy moments when she and Ell weren’t arguing …
That was all over now. Because of Sienna Nealon.
How could June ignore it, now that this had happened? The cops were after her. Before, she might not have believed they had a chance against her and Ell, but now … trading a kick with Sienna Nealon, and knowing she was being treated with kid gloves …
It had driven it all home in a way nothing else could have.
“Our days are numbered,” June muttered under her breath.
Trouble was coming.
A knock at the door sounded and it squeaked as Ell opened it a crack. “Think I’m gonna order a pizza. You want me to get you some?”
She didn’t care. How could she eat at a time like this? “No,” she said, voice small and lost in the roar of the shower head.
He heard her anyway. “Maybe I’ll order extra, just in case.” He closed the door before she could tell him not to bother, and she flashed irritation but ultimately couldn’t muster the energy to get up and go after him to complain.
Sienna Nealon was after them.
The cops were on their tail.
Their days were numbered.
She clutched her legs close to her, drawing her knees up to her chest and huddling there, under the steaming spray. Her tears were lost amid the falling drops of water, but she knew they were there. How did you even keep from losing it at a time like this? She had no idea, because she couldn’t even—
June stopped, cocking her head, remembering something. She drew a breath, and it wasn’t as ragged as it had been a moment earlier.
How did you go on at a time like this?
The same way you went on the rest of the time—you found a new idea and started working on it.
“Sienna Nealon is after us,” June breathed, and gave voice again to the thing that was tearing at her, dragging her down. The cops—they weren’t the problem. They were half-assing this at best, these local donut eaters, acting like they weren’t even really serious about coming after the two of them. Except for maybe that FBI agent, whose ass she and Ell had already kicked.
Sienna Nealon was the problem. She was the one that was gnawing at June’s mind, worrying her, harrying her, making her feel vulnerable, scared, like shit.
Like she was going to get bushwhacked at any time.
But that could be a two-way street, couldn’t it? June wondered. Sienna Nealon was tough, but … she wasn’t invincible.
Was she?
No, she couldn’t be. June remembered that much from her grandma. There was no such thing as an invincible meta. Tough ones. Impossibly tough ones, in fact, called Achilles types, but … nobody else was invincible. Sienna Nealon was a succubus, and she had other powers, but … invincibility wasn’t one of them. June was sure of that.
So what were you supposed to do to stop a meta? Well, June knew the answer to that, too, from her upbringing, and it caused her to stop sobbing and to finally turn off the shower, because now—now that she had an idea—she finally had the energy to come out and start dealing with things again.
Starting with Sienna Nealon.
29.
Scott
Scott was still steaming the next day when he met her for breakfast. He’d had nothing but time to dwell on the situation, like a man with a nervous compulsion and nothing to do but pick an old scab. And pick he had, until that inflamed little piece of tissue was a screaming, open wound, gushing anger and bitter resentment once more.
If she could only see fit to apologize, maybe we could start getting past it. But she’s not sorry.
Not one little bit.
He found her in the hotel dining room already picking at a couple of things on her plate, though she was exhibiting just as little interest in consuming them as she had since they’d started working together. He thought it a little curious—though even with the festering anger that was bubbling beneath the surface, he wouldn’t have, in a million years, actually mentioned it—that she had obviously put on a few pounds (okay, more than a few) since last they’d run across each other. Firstly, he wouldn’t bring it up because politeness ruled it off bounds, and secondly, because in spite of it, and perhaps even more annoying to him …
He still found her very attractive. Also in spite of the somewhat sour look she wore when he walked in, taking tiny flakes of croissant and trying them experimentally, then pushing the plate away as though they were the least satisfactory thing on the planet.
“No good?” he asked as he pulled out his chair. He knew his manner was stiff, his bearing straighter than usual. Last night’s irritations were all too fresh.
“I’m just not that hungry,” she said, a little stiffer than usual as well. She hadn’t reacted noticeably upon his entry, though he was certain she’d noticed his approach. She straightened up in her seat and put both elbows on the table, causing his mother’s voice to sound in his head, reminding him how rude that was. “I came up with an idea last night.”
“Oh?” Scott pulled the napkin off his place setting and draped it across his lap, waiting to see what she had to say.
“It’s about what June and Elliot need.”
“Oh.” He tried to disguise his disappointment; he felt sure she would have been thinking about him, maybe finally come to the conclusion she was sorry, genuinely remorseful for what she’d done, but …
Of course not, Harmon’s voice sounded in his head. She’s a flawless goddess, at least in her own mind, and the rest of you are mere specks of insignificance. Why would she change the way she thinks when it’s clear to her that the rest of you are the problem?
“You know that asshole in your head?” Scott asked, looking down at his empty plate.
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“The one that can talk to others.”
“Oh. Yeah. That asshole.”
“He’s not doing you any favors right now,” Scott said.
Sienna frowned. “Is he talking to you again?”
“Like the devil in my ear,” Scott said. “Of course, I’m somewhat used to his devilry, having gotten the worst of it last year, but still …”
“Pipe down, asshole supremo,” Sienna said, frowni
ng. “Don’t make me lock you up.” There was a conversational pause. “No, I don’t like to do it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Scott wants you to leave him alone, so screw off, or I’ll make you do it.”
So long, Scotty, Harmon said. You’re on your own with her. Good luck with that.
“Because I’ll need it?” Scott asked, fingering the edge of his plate. But there was no answer.
“Anyway, I had an idea,” Sienna said. “So, we know these two have been staying somewhere on their road trip.”
“They could have been sleeping in the car,” Scott said, wishing his plate were full for this conversation as his stomach gave off a dull rumble.
“These two? No way. They’re not roughing it.” Sienna leaned in, pushing aside the Danish pastry that she’d only taken a bite of. “They’re staying in hotels. And a defining feature of hotels these days—”
Scott got it instantly. “They don’t take cash.”
“Most don’t,” Sienna corrected. “Some do, but they typically require a credit card because they want something to bill you with in case you order room service or trash the place like a rock star.”
“How has no one noticed they’ve been staying at hotels and paying with a credit card?” Scott asked, putting his hand on his head. “This is investigation 101.”
“Because you’re in charge of the investigation,” Sienna said.
“I wasn’t until a couple days ago. Why haven’t local investigators tumbled to this?”
“Maybe because June and Elliot aren’t stirring shit where they’re staying,” Sienna said. “They’re probably not even committing their robberies in the same town. And since this case hasn’t gone beyond local until you got on it—”
“No one has done enough backtracing to figure out where they’re staying before the robberies,” Scott nodded. “Because they think it’s instantly been handed off to the feds, but Phillips is just pocketing the damned thing, letting it sit without a soul attending to it.”
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