Unstrung

by Kendra C. Highley

  Soon we’re pressed together so tightly, I doubt you could see daylight between us. Our kisses are hungry, like we have only this morning to make up for all missed opportunities. His tongue darts into my mouth, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, still closer.

  A moment later, he pulls away to whisper, “I’ve missed you so much.”

  Then he’s kissing me again. I run my hand up under his shirt, stopping to press my palm over his heart. It’s beating as fast and hard as mine. His skin his warm, and I trail my fingers down his chest, across his abs, relishing the feel of him. He’s wonderfully made, and I can only hope he thinks the same of me.

  Quinn’s muscles quiver under my touch as I draw teasing circles across his torso. He growls softly and reaches for the zipper to my dress. I pull my hand out of his shirt and start unbuttoning it, my fingers flying to get this fabric out of our way.

  He’s got the zipper halfway down and I’ve undone all but two of his buttons when the bedroom door on Jole’s side creaks open. “What the hell is this?”

  Quinn and I freeze, giving each other a look like two guilty kids caught stealing Dad’s data pad. I pull my hand out of Quinn’s shirt, wishing I could drop through the floor. He zips my dress, then sits up. He takes one look at the rage twisting Jole’s face and says, “None of your business.”

  “You bastard,” Jole growls, limping toward us. We barely scramble away before he swings his cane at Quinn’s head.

  “Jole, stop. This has nothing to do with you,” I say, grabbing the end of his cane as it whistles through the air. “You made me a promise last night, about holding it together until we find Turpin. You going to renege on that?”

  He glares at me, like he can’t believe I’d roll around on a mattress with his mortal enemy. “I said I’d work with him, not let him feel up my best friend. You’d be better off if you didn’t let him get close. He’s nothing but trouble. I speak from experience. Maybe you should listen for once.”

  Quinn starts for Jole and I put a hand on his chest. “Get this straight. Neither one of you can tell me how to feel or what to do.” I look Quinn in the eye. “Maybe I was programmed to feel something for you, but I can’t tell the difference between my programming and reality. You also lied to me, so you’ve got some work to do to make me trust you completely.” Then I turn to Jole. “You kicked me out a few days ago, called me a faker who wormed my way into your life. It broke my heart. I still love you, but after that, you lost any right you had to lecture me about my choices.”

  All three of us glare at each other. I can hear my pulse roaring in my ears. Part of it’s residual from the kissing, but a lot of it’s anger. I’m this close to knocking them both out.

  Quinn looks away first. “You can trust me. I’ll prove it to you, no matter what it takes.”

  I stare at Jole with my arms crossed. It takes a few minutes of stony silence, but finally he caves. “Fine, whatever. I’m going to start some coffee. If you want to leave the warehouse, we need to go as soon as it gets dark and there’s a lot of stuff I need to bring with me. I also need to figure out the best way to hack Maren’s mainframe, and that’s going to take some thought, so you’re in charge of packing while I work.”

  As soon as he leaves, I squeeze Quinn’s arm. “I believe what you said, about proving yourself. Still, maybe it’s a good idea if we keep things less intense for a while. Some distance between us might do us some good.”

  I don’t wait for his answer and head for the storage closet. If I’m going to survive the tension of keeping the two of them from killing each other, I need shoes.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bring in the Cat

  I stretch on the couch in the rec room, arching my back. It’s gone stiff while I studied the surveillance feeds over and over. I now know for sure that Turpin’s alive, which is a relief, but the rest of the feed has me confused. The men who invaded our space didn’t hide their faces at all. No, they’d beaten the shast out of my home—and my boss—without fear of discovery, then had dragged Turpin away like a bag of trash.

  That leaves me with a puzzle. These are Drummond’s men; why did our client’s men hit us? Was it just coincidence that they attacked the warehouse on the same night Quinn and I crashed Maren’s ball? Or were they just tired of waiting on the chip?

  It could be either, except I don’t believe in coincidences.

  “It makes no sense,” I say, rubbing my tired eyes.

  “What doesn’t make sense?” Quinn says. He’s standing in the door, wearing a pair of Jole’s jeans and one of his T-shirts. On Quinn, the jeans are too long, but the T-shirt is a little tight, which I kind of like. It’s definitely an improvement over the party clothes.

  All I found to wear was old climbing gear—black tights, close-cut shirt and a vest—but now I have comfy shoes and that’s an improvement, too. “These pictures. I’m having a hard time understanding what it all means. For example, the men searched the whole warehouse, but they skipped a bunch of cubbyholes and drawers. If I was searching for something as small as the chip, I would’ve searched those places first. I don’t get it.”

  He sits next to me on the couch and takes my data pad so he can see the surveillance feed. I permit myself thirty seconds to close my eyes, leaning against Quinn with all my muscles relaxed. Between packing up the lab and trying to figure out who’s on our tail while keeping the boys in separate corners, this has been a long afternoon.

  “Well, look who’s here,” Quinn says after a moment.

  I sit up with a groan and squint at the feed. “You know one of these guys?”

  “Of course—you do, too, but you never saw him because you were under the bed.” He points at the grainy video still-shot. “It’s Port, the guard at Maren’s lake house. Remember? He’s the one I reported to that night.”

  “So one of Maren’s men was here,” I say, mulling it over.

  “Not one,” Quinn says. “They’re all Maren’s men.”

  I point to Drummond’s bodyguards. “Those two aren’t. They work for a man called Drummond.”

  “Tod Drummond?”

  “I don’t know his first name,” I say, getting a sense I won’t like what I hear next.

  “Tall guy, blond, a little scary?” Quinn asks. When I nod, he says, “Yeah, Tod Drummond. Hey, are you okay?”

  It feels like all the blood has drained into my feet. “You know a man named Stewart?”

  “Cold toad of a man?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Bakson Stewart.” Quinn gives me a hard look. “Are you mixed up with them somehow?”

  “They’re the ones who paid our contract to steal the chip. They came to us.”

  He gets up to pace. “They’re part of Maren’s team. Stewart carries out black market operations for Maren’s team, quasi-legal tech stuff. Drummond,” Quinn grimaces, “gave me my pain chip.”

  “He’s her security engineer?” Is it possible he knew who I was the whole time?

  “Yes. Not as mean as Piers, but close. He likes hurting things.”

  “I could tell.” I put my face in my hands. “Turpin was right all along. This whole thing was a set up.”

  “Sounds like it,” Quinn says.

  Slowly, I realize it’s worse than that. Sure, Turpin’s stolen from the Quad before, but what if this was about me? The bodyguards took the picture out of my locker. They asked Turpin, “Where is it?” The men who wrecked my house aren’t likely to refer to a Bolt as “she” because we’re not human to them. What if “it” is me? That would explain why they didn’t check the cubbyholes; I wouldn’t have fit inside them.

  And what about Quick Tony? He told Turpin Maren’s people were looking for something, but they never told him what.

  “Turpin said the Quad was asking around about me. Do you think they were looking for me instead of the chip?”

  “It’s possible,” he says.

  But why take all this time to set us up? There’s an answer
somewhere, but I can’t seem to catch it. Then, I bite hard on my lip, scared to voice a new fear. “That would mean it’s my fault they took Turpin.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Quinn pulls me to my feet and squeezes my hand. “And we’re going to get him back, no matter what it takes.”

  * * *

  The fourteen-block walk to Russet Place from the monorail station is painful. I’m loaded down with a backpack full of server components and a bag with every bit of climbing equipment I could scrounge together. Quinn’s carrying even more. We sent Jole ahead in a taxi with the data pads and encrypted coms because his leg couldn’t take the hike, but I thought it would be better for Quinn and me to walk. Split up, we’re safer, and with a bounty on my head, a cabbie might be looking for some quick cash, much like Candle and Jax.

  I shudder; I’d rather not maim anyone else if I can help it.

  Pantsuit Lady is wearing flame-orange tonight, giving Jole the evil-eye as he loiters in the lobby. Quinn waves and smiles and suddenly we’re invisible.

  “Now do you blame me for giving her four hundred?” he asks.

  “Worth every credit.”

  Jole doesn’t comment on the shabbiness of our apartment. He’s in the zone at this point, and all he sees are bits and bytes. “We’ll need to find a trunk line so I can’t be tracked. If I’m reading the feed supplier’s specs right, there’s one at the edge of the district. It’s in a utility company’s facility.”

  “I can get us in.” I’d brought a few of our spare utility uniforms. One was still whole; the other two had rips and tears, but nothing anyone would notice in the dark.

  “That’s the easy part,” Jole says, squinting at his data pad’s screen. “According to the card Quinn gave me, there’s no way to retrieve the data over wireless. We’ll need a manual connection to the mainframe itself to gain access. I could hack in over time, but since we’re in a hurry, plugging straight in is the fastest way.”

  “You mean we’ll have to break into the data storage building?” Quinn asks, frowning. “That’s a whole new level of risk. You should’ve mentioned this before. I can’t plot outcomes without knowing the whole plan.”

  “I was talking about having Lexa do it,” Jole says. “Just because you’re scared doesn’t mean she is.”

  Quinn stands over Jole, arms crossed. “I’m not scared, you shast-head. I’m trying to figure out scenarios that get us out of this alive, and with Turpin. Just because you can’t think in anything but code doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.”

  Jole reaches for his cane. Quinn clenches his fists.

  “Enough already! Stop the posturing,” I bark. “If there isn’t another way to get the data, I’ll break into the storage facility. Maybe we don’t have all the details, but I’m willing to take the risk to get Turpin back. You two just have to promise to spring me loose if I get caught.”

  “I will,” Jole says, not looking up from his data pad.

  “Me too,” Quinn says.

  Jole snorts. “That’d be nice if we could actually trust you.”

  I throw up my hands before Quinn can retort. “Seriously, I’ve had enough. The next guy who says something stupid gets the business end of my boot up his ass.”

  “Fine, okay,” Quinn says. He gives me a little smile that says, “I’ll do what you want, but only because you said so.”

  Jole’s less gracious. “I’ll bail you out. No matter what he does, I’ll be there.”

  “What if bailing me out means you have to work with Quinn, doing things you won’t like?” I ask, thinking about the plan to free the artificials in the city.

  “I promise. Quit worrying,” Jole says firmly. Quinn nods.

  I check the time—it’s ten-thirty. “We’ll go in two hours. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my Exeprin and wash this stupid dye out of my hair.”

  If nothing else, I’ll do this job as myself. I owe the boss that much.

  * * *

  Quinn fidgets next to me, and the flashlight beam jiggles. I grab his hand to steady it. “Hold still. I need to see to hack the lock.”

  The data pad runs code in bright columns, trying combinations to open the door. We’re behind the utility building, so there’s no fear that the screen’s glow will be seen from the street. When the numbers freeze, flashing a code, the lock beeps and the indicator light turns green. “We’re in.”

  I make the boys stay outside while I check the facility for security measures. The building smells musty, like it isn’t used very often. Good sign. With Exeprin in my system, the Cat’s Eyes allow me to see the outline of shapes in the room, but I’m all for making things easy when I can. I flip on my wrist light and shine it around. It’s a typical utility site—equipment in locked cabinets, bare concrete floors and walls, a low-grade motion detector in the corner of the ceiling. I duck low to avoid its sweep, and my old climbing shoes give me the flexibility to climb over the metal machinery cabinets rather than risking pressure plates or laser tripwires on the floor. I doubt there’s anything like that, though. Sometimes it’s more prudent to hide important equipment in bland surroundings, so you won’t attract unwanted guests.

  On the other hand, I’ve made a career out of that kind of laxity.

  Once I disable the motion detectors and the alarms, I call, “All clear.”

  Jole limps inside, a coil of old-fashioned network cable wrapped around his shoulder. While he looks at each case, trying to figure out where to connect, I help Quinn bring in the mini-server to store the data.

  “This one,” Jole says, pointing at a small cabinet in the back corner. I pick the lock and open the doors. A mass of black cables tied together with binding straps leads in and out of hundreds of ports.

  “How do you know where to plug in?” I ask.

  Jole unwinds the cable from his shoulder and leans into the cabinet. “You have your skills, I have mine.” He plugs the cable into one of the ports, connects it to his data pad and nods. “Up and running. And you wondered if I could even plug it in. Skies.”

  “He’s always this cocky when he’s working,” I tell Quinn.

  Quinn raises an eyebrow. “I know, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m an arrogant bastard. I earned that reputation by being good, though, and I’ll earn it again tonight,” Jole says. He holds his stunner out to me. “Take this with you. Just in case.”

  I wave him off, but he presses it into my hand. “Look, I know how you feel about arming up for jobs, but I’d rather you have protection for this one. Don’t be so hardheaded.”

  He’s right. Trying not to think about Candle’s body sprawled out on the floor, I strip off my utility coveralls so I’m only wearing my jumpsuit. Quinn hands me my backpack and I put on my descent vest, equipment pouch, and climbing harness. The stunner goes in an empty loop on the back of my belt. Over it all, I put on a floppy purple bag of a dress, a ratty felt hat, too-large boots with holes in the toes and a stole with dirty white faux-fur. I wiggle my toes; the climbing shoes are snug inside the boots, but not so tight I can’t pull them off to run if I need to.

  “The police round up vagrants,” Quinn says, starting this argument for the third time. “Are you sure about that disguise?”

  “I can avoid cops, and this way I won’t stand out while creeping around dumpsters downtown.” I smooth the stole. “Plus, if a regular person happens to be out past curfew, they’ll stay away.”

  I don’t mention that I’m more worried about running into other Night People than cops; Quinn looks jittery enough as it is. It seems a life of crime doesn’t entirely agree with him.

  Jole, on the other hand, barely glances up from his data pad, blasé about the whole thing. “You’ll be fine. When you get back, bring in the cat and turn out the lights.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, chuckling. I turn to Quinn. “It’ll be okay. Really.”

  He gives me a quick kiss on the temple, eliciting an annoyed groan from Jole. “Be careful.”

  “Trust
me, I will.” With that, I slip outside and begin my four-block trek to the data storage facility.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hacking Through

  My jumpsuit feels like armor under the baggy dress, and in a way, it is. The Exeprin trips through my system like a current. This is how I do battle: lit and spoiling for a fight. I stick to the shadows, the alleyways and back doors of the skyscrapers as I travel through downtown. Nothing stirs; not even a piece of trash blows in the wind, because good citizens don’t litter. At one point, a couple of nightshift workers from the monorail office pass by. The woman gives me a look of distaste and hurries her companion to the other side of the street.

  A patrol car floats by when I reach the next block and I duck behind a dumpster. The police cruiser moves slow and easy, like the officer inside knows it’ll be a quiet night. And it will be, as long as I’m careful.

  I creep down the alley, glancing over my shoulder. The police cruiser disappears behind the building. Relieved, I dart into the shadows to avoid a pool of light from the backdoor of a restaurant.

  Something grabs my ankle, sending me sprawling. I push myself up onto my forearms to fight free, and come face to face with a filthy, wrinkled old lady wearing an outfit a lot like mine. She smiles at me—sans teeth—sending slobber down her chin.

  The thing that caught my ankle turns out to be a young woman a few years older than me. Her hair’s matted, and she has a black eye. She’s also holding a knife. “We wants your cash. We know you has some. We’s seen you before.”

  Word of Turpin’s bribes to Night People must’ve gotten around. I didn’t tell Jole, but I figured something like this might happen and came prepared.

  “Let me go, and I’ll give you twenty,” I say. “Forty if you never saw me.”

  The old woman licks her lips and babbles something to the girl, who nods. “Forty.”

  I dig the chips out of my vest. As soon as she has them in hand, the young woman and her granny melt into the shadows. Poof, gone like magic. Maybe I should recruit some of them to steal for me; the cops sure aren’t able to catch them. There’s just one problem. Most of them are so stimmed out they don’t know what year it is. I shudder—if Turpin hadn’t cleaned me up, I very well could’ve ended up out here.