by TL Schaefer
My heart caught in my throat. “As much as I want that, it’s too dangerous. Pardo took a shot at me, Brian. He’d rather have me dead than on the loose. You can help me much more by getting yourself a pre-paid cell and keeping in contact with me. It’ll keep me sane, if nothing else.”
He sighed, and I could tell his capitulation was forced. Mighty forced. “All right. For now. Stay safe. Sara?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. I’d never been more tired.
“That whole going slow thing we talked about? Fuck it.”
I laughed, and he chuckled along with me. I hoped I could stay alive long enough to take him up on it.
I checked into a crappy motel that didn’t ask questions and only took cash. The bed was lumpy, but the shower worked, and there was a Dollar General store across the parking lot, so by the time I fell into bed, I was clean, disinfected and had fresh underwear and a new set of pants. Things were looking up.
The ring of the cell woke me, and for a brief, disquieting moment I thought I was back in the loft, being called in on a crime scene. Then the foreign tone of the ring and the flat-as-pancakes pillows reminded me of my altered, unpleasant present.
“Brian?” I asked, my voice groggy from sleeping too hard.
“Miss Covington, this is Heath Farrell, the Meece Foundation Administrator. I assume you’ve heard of me.”
I bolted up in bed, wide awake, adrenaline surging through me. Still, I tried to play it cool. “Mr. Farrell. Should I be dressed and expecting visitors?” Somehow he’d discovered my number, and I knew they could pick up my general location on satellite. But not how closely they could pinpoint it. Had Davis forced Monica to use her connections? But in case he hadn’t, I wasn’t bringing up Foudy’s name.
“Not yet,” he answered. His tone was soothing, with no menace. I could imagine him talking down a jumper in that voice. He was good, very, very good.
“Nevertheless, I think I’ll throw some clothes on anyway,” I replied, still attempting to emulate my inner cucumber. You know, cool as... Never mind. It’s hard to be suave at six in the morning. On a Monday no less.
“Honestly, you’re in no danger from me, Miss Covington. May I call you Sara?”
“Nothing’s stopping you.” I pulled on my pants (Dollar General—tres chic).
“Sara, Pardo wasn’t acting on my authority. Hell, he wasn’t acting on anyone’s authority that I can tell. I’ve never heard of the man before today.”
“Really? He sure seemed to think he was NSA.” I tossed the phone onto the bed and pulled a clean T-shirt over my head. “I’m sorry, what did you say? I was getting decent.”
He sighed, and in it, I heard frustration. It was the first hint of anything other than almost-condescension I’d heard so far. “I said he was there on Wes Burke’s behalf.”
I stood stock-still, petrified, tongue frozen in my mouth. It was as if he was echoing my earlier thoughts, when I’d recognized his aura as one present at the crime scenes.
“I thought that might get your attention,” he said dryly. “I got your number from Detective Roney. Even we aren’t that good at tracing free-roaming cell phones. It takes time, and the power to the phone itself has to be on.”
Brian? He’d betrayed me to the enemy? For a sickening moment I believed it, allowed myself to conceive that he’d gone behind my back. Then I remembered the tone of his voice, the quiet desperation. No, he’d let me try my way first before doing something “for my own good”. I was sure of that.
“I don’t believe you. He wouldn’t do that.” I twisted a strand of hair between my fingers, and it took me a moment to even realize I was doing it. Good, my subconscious was telling me something, telling me to try and anticipate him. Though how it would work over the phone, I had no earthly idea.
“He didn’t. I said we couldn’t track your phone. His we had no such problem with.”
Cold, pulsing dread swept over me. “What have you done with him?” I made my voice sound indifferent, as if I didn’t care one way or the other, when inside I was screaming.
“He’s perfectly fine, Sara, though I imagine pacing the floor of his hotel room. We became acquainted earlier this morning, and I explained everything to him. He believes we’re not the monsters you’ve been led to think we are. Now I simply need to convince you.”
“You can try, but first I want to talk to Brian.” If he’d actually met with my crew, Monica’s acquaintance with him had already been outed. I didn’t know if it was because she’d brought her family in on it or if Farrell had made the first move. I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask him.
“Give me your number and I’ll call you back in five minutes.” The silence on his end of the phone was deafening. “Listen, if you convinced Brian, you’re halfway to getting me there, okay? I need to know he’s all right and not sitting in Colorado with a gun to his temple.”
“Very well.” He rattled off a local number. “I can’t wait to meet you, Sara. You’re quite formidable. More so than we’d been led to expect.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I replied sarcastically, then disconnected and dialed the front desk of the hotel. I needed to make sure Brian, Foudy and Davis were all still in Santa Fe, and going through the desk was the only way to do it.
An operator quickly transferred me to Brian’s room. The phone was picked up on the first ring. “Sara?”
“Are you compromised in any way?” I asked, not even bothering with hello. “Answer yes or no.”
“No.” His voice was so relieved I couldn’t doubt the validity of Farrell’s claim.
“So this guy Farrell isn’t blowing smoke up my ass?”
“Hold on, let me put you on speaker. Davis, Foudy and Simpson are all here. We’ve been waiting for your call.”
That would have struck me as strange, if not for his next words, which sounded oddly hollow until I realized it was because of the speaker phone.
“Farrell came to see all of us about two hours ago. There’s more to this than we ever imagined, Sara. I think you need to meet with this guy face-to-face.”
“How’d he get your number? Monica, did you contact him?” While I’d told Farrell that convincing Brian was paramount to convincing me, I still wanted—no, needed—more.
Foudy’s disgusted “Hell no, I didn’t call him” explained a lot. Farrell was here on his own. Brian’s next words simply confirmed it.
“Do you have any idea how many times we’ve said CASI on the open, traceable cell waves? Over the landline phone? The NSA searches for keywords, and after Burke’s killing spree in Dallas, they started looking for it. They know, Sara. They know all about him. They know why.”
That didn’t surprise me overmuch, but Brian’s wholehearted support of them did. So I went for a second opinion.
“Monica. What do you think?” She’d tell it to me straight, no dissembling.
“Farrell’s on the up-and-up, even if he’s still a colossal asshole, just like I remembered. I’m glad we knew about him before he showed because I wouldn’t have believed much of what he said without having that background. Especially since I know him.”
I digested that for a moment. “And none of you think that’s odd? Chief Davis, is your son good enough to get all of the information Monica didn’t give us? Without it being given to him on a silver platter?” Paranoia is a girl’s best friend.
“Dammit,” I heard Foudy mutter. “She’s right. We were played.”
“I’ll ask Arnie, Sara,” Davis said, and I could tell he was perturbed as well.
“I’m getting out of here. He said they couldn’t trace my number, but I’m not taking any chances. I’m going to pick up another cell, and I’ll call you later to let you know what I’ve learned.”
I dropped the cell on the bed, tucked the nine mil in the small of my back and had almost made it to the front door when I froze. In my mind’s-eye I saw a long sleek limousine winding through the parking lot across the street. Bastard. So instead, I walked through the bathroom and sh
immied out the window after carefully looking around to make sure the bad guys hadn’t surrounded me. I hadn’t thought I’d been on the phone long enough for even a traditional trace, but I wasn’t taking any chances, especially with my newfound talent jangling. Maybe I wasn’t so behind on my Forensic Files viewing after all.
I walked for six blocks, then caught the city bus to the other side of town, where I hit the first Internet café I could find and read up on tracing pre-paid cell phones over a venti mochachino and the biggest blueberry muffin I’d ever seen. Hey, it’s not like I was counting calories at this point.
The latest and greatest on the Net said they could trace within the nearest cell tower. Which explained them being across the street. That they hadn’t covered the back showed how very much they were underestimating me. Or maybe a serious deficit in manpower. Whatever it was, I wasn’t staring a gift horse in the mouth.
I still had over seven hundred dollars... Guns on the street don’t cost nearly as much as those in legal weapons stores. Go figure.
Fortified by about a gazillion calories, I knew what I needed to do, and it wasn’t as if I hadn’t done it before.
The first reputable salon I came across actually had an early-morning opening, and the stylist was delighted that I wanted a totally different look, a new color.
“Excellent,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together, “because this Goth crap looks awful.” And here I thought I’d done so well on my own.
Two hours later I emerged from Le Petit Clip not even recognizing myself. My next stop was two doors down to a dress boutique, on the recommendation of Rebecca, my stylist. A hundred and fifty bucks down the tubes and I was really befuddled. I’d never looked like this. My hair, once so long and dark, now framed my face in a stylish bob, and was strawberry blonde. Rebecca declared it to be my “natural” color, even though it had looked nothing like this ten years ago. My face was artfully made up, my eyes deep and mysterious. A flirty sundress draped my body, and my feet were encased in dainty sandals. The salesgirl had tried to talk me into heels, but I figured it’d be hard enough to run in the sandals if need be. A strappy purse hung over my shoulder. I’d taken a moment in the dressing room to transfer the Glock and my blade to it, and it now rested companionably against my hip alongside my glasses. My transformation was complete. Again.
If I was going to do as planned, my glasses would be a dead giveaway. And while the sensory input of passersby was overwhelming at first, it toned down to a dull roar. I’d suspected being exposed to Wes’s aura at the crime scenes had inured me to it a bit, and it seemed I was right.
Or perhaps it had something to do with Brian’s Nullness, with the fact he was pulling something from me. You’d think I’d have been happy about that after a lifetime of bitching about my talent and the things I’d gone through, but if he’d had any other effect on my talent...I don’t know what I’d’ve done. It was a quandary to be sure because none of this would have happened if not for my talent, but without it I wouldn’t be the woman I was now, and dammit, I liked the person I’d become as Sara Covington. I caught sight of myself in the reflection of a window and had to smile.
Heck, I even liked my new look, for more than one reason. I felt pretty like this, feminine. A passerby would think me to be like Xena, all bark and no bite. What a surprise I had in store for them. My appearance went totally against every image ever taken. It was perfect.
I hailed a cab and headed to the city center. I sat in the hotel coffee shop, ordered an iced mocha and asked the cashier to call up to Roney’s room. She simply told him he had a visitor.
When he appeared, he looked over the crowded room twice, never hesitating as his eyes skated over me. I’d passed my first test. Hell, since he’d seen me naked and knew me better than anyone but Davis, it was probably the only validation I needed. I didn’t think Farrell would drag out the big guns like facial recognition. Yet.
I waited until Brian had exited the room with a perplexed look, left a generous tip and walked behind him, admiring his ass as I did. At this point I was taking all the small pleasures I could get.
He walked to the front desk, and I sidled up next to him, as if I were checking in. He looked over and gave me an appreciative glance before his eyes widened.
I winked and shook my head minutely.
A barely-there grin ghosted at the corner of his lips then was gone as the clerk stepped up to help me first.
“Actually, I need to borrow a pen and stationary, if you don’t mind,” I said with a smile. “I want to leave a message for one of your guests.”
“Certainly, ma’am.” The clerk pushed them my way and turned to Brian after trying unsuccessfully to look down my cleavage.
I wrote a quick note that I asked him to have delivered to Detective Roney’s room. I could feel Brian reading it over my shoulder before the clerk whisked it away.
I walked outside and hailed another cab, watching as Brian crossed the street to the parking lot to retrieve his car.
Twenty minutes later he joined me in the entryway of an innocuous Waffle House.
“How do you want to play this?” he whispered as he slid into the seat next to me at the grill.
I turned my head and smiled, forcing my expression into one of polite interest, but not recognition. “Here visiting,” I said, even though I was positive he hadn’t been followed...at least not into the building. I dipped my head and spoke low. “We need to find someplace we can all meet, at least as long as my disguise holds.”
The counter waitress approached us, and we waited as she poured coffee and brought us each a slice of pie. In my humble opinion, it’s never too early for pie.
Brian cast an easy glance at the door as he took a sip of coffee, then turned to me and smirked. “And a very nice disguise it is. Very nice.”
Just like a man. But he seemed to share my impression of being tail-free, so I dove in after taking a good long look at him. He looked like hell. ”How much of what Farrell said do you believe?”
He settled back in his chair. “Most of it. You had to be there to see it, but he was genuinely pissed about Burke snapping. You were right about Dallas not being the first city Burke hit. He’d also been to San Francisco and Kansas City. Different MOs in every city. But Farrell, CASI and the Meece Foundation are what tie it all together. Every one of the vics can be linked to one of the three. If I had to pigeonhole the whole thing, I’d say it’s a coup. Burke wants to be where Farrell is, and he’s willing to kill off his power base to do it.”
Damn, his explanation hit the feelings I’d been getting since this all started right on the head. Wes’s underlying satisfaction at the kills, his avarice. But first...
“Farrell lied to you about not being able to track my phone,” I said as I scanned the area for the umpteenth time. I wasn’t betting my life on our mutual agreement that there wasn’t anyone following us. “They showed up across the street from the hotel where I was staying not two minutes after I hung up with you.”
Brian ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not Farrell I’m worried about, to be honest. While there’s no doubt he wants to talk to you about your gift, instinct tells me he was on the up-and-up about the guy who grabbed you. If Farrell had wanted you, you’d be sitting at CASI right now and everything would be legal. He wants to use you too much to alienate you by making you disappear.”
I mulled over his statement. I trusted Brian’s gut, to a certain extent, but did I want to bet my life on it? As a Null, he shouldn’t be feeling instinct. In my mind, intuition was a too-oft ignored form of talent. So was what he’d posited the other night true? Was he sliding out of his Nullness by being around me? Or had he been talented before his ordeal, perhaps? It didn’t matter. Brian’s gut had been right on more than one occasion, and I’d trust it now, as I trusted him. The rest would work itself out later, after this all played out.
I wanted to physically see Farrell and get my own take on the situation. How to go about it was the sticke
r. When I thought about it, there was only one way.
Chapter Eighteen
Before
Phoenix was warm, almost balmy after Colorado. Especially since I wasn’t sleeping on the street, defending my frost and snow-covered refrigerator crate from the other homeless and runaways.
The trucker who’d carried me south gave me a wave and a tip of his ball cap. I knew how lucky I’d been to climb on board his rig. First I’d stowed away, but he’d heard me back in the sleeper cab and pulled me out. Scott had taken one look at me, turned into the nearest truck stop and proceeded to feed me. As I ate I learned he had two daughters close to my age, and there was no way in hell he was going to let me hitch with all the lowlifes and child predators out there.
When I told him I was heading to Phoenix to live with my aunt, I got a raised eyebrow. He knew I was lying, but didn’t call me on it. I was glad because I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about the dangers of hitching or being on my own at sixteen. I’d lived a lifetime in the last two years and the perils of the streets were child’s play compared to CASI.
Because I hadn’t heard a diatribe, I wasn’t overly surprised by the halfway house he dropped me off at.
Two weeks later I had a different name and the papers that went along with it.
Time to begin my new life.
Now—Sunday, noon
I swapped places with the coffee shop cashier at the hotel for half an hour. She’d been more than willing to help out since we gave her a wad of money. Flashing our badges certainly hadn’t hurt either. The barrista thought it was cool to be helping the cops... Oh, to be that young again.
Brian and I had decided to keep Davis and Foudy in the dark about our plan... It would be too easy for them to give me away with a simple, unintentional glance.
So they gathered, sans Farrell, and I got my first good look at the man in charge of Santa Fe’s finest. Chief Simpson’s aura, just like Foudy’s, screamed “alpha”. Tall, athletically thin and black as the night, he was probably the most strikingly handsome man I’d ever seen.