by Jaime Rush
She pulled into the space and got out. Music floated from a distance, as did the sounds of hundreds of people talking and laughing. Many wore costumes as outrageous as those in any Mardi Gras she’d seen on television. Man and man held hands as they headed toward her, women walked with their arms around one another. The banner across the park’s entrance read BALTIMORE GAY FESTIVAL.
A bark of laughter erupted. “Oh, Eric, you do have a sense of humor.” Likely, he had looked for an event where there would be lots of people in which to get lost.
She glanced behind her as she made her way into the heart of the festival, seeing no one suspicious. Once again she’d weaved and wound through the city, feeling quite clever. For someone who liked her safe little world, she had to admit she was revved up by the excitement of intrigue. She looked around for Eric and Petra, knowing they must be watching her. And again she was in the frustrating position of waiting for them to approach.
The music grew louder and the crowd thicker. A band jammed and a hundred costume-clad people gyrated in front of the stage. The scent of sausage and peppers and fried dough permeated the air. Amy made her way closer, getting bumped and jostled and even pulled into a quick dance with two other women. She begged out and continued on. Someone else swung her around, and before she could protest, a tall person dressed as Wonder Woman draped an American flag cape over her shoulders. The woman’s icy blue eyes sent her the message to cooperate. She knew those eyes—Petra. As they twirled, Amy felt a wig settle on her head. Petra swung her away toward a silver-clad man who took her hand and pulled her against his hard body.
Eric. Eric with dark red hair.
He smiled, friendly as could be, except in his eyes. He did his best to look like a guy trying to dance and failing miserably. Or maybe that was real. Petra stalked over and grabbed her arm, looking for all the world like a jealous girlfriend. She gave Eric a She’s mine look and dragged Amy off, gesturing in angry ways while she muttered, “Play along.”
“What is—”
“Look, if you want to go back to being with a man, just say so! You don’t need to play games.”
People glanced over at Petra’s tirade, and Amy might have been embarrassed if she hadn’t been so confused. With the chaos, no one paid all that much attention.
“I, uh, don’t want to be with a man,” she said, and then, after a quick breath, “Stop being such a jealous bitch.”
Petra’s eyes sparked with approval. She swiveled around to face Amy. “Then prove it.”
They were standing in front of the restroom door, where, as usual, the women’s line snaked for miles.
“Fine,” Amy muttered, taking Petra’s hand and bypassing all of those women twisting uncomfortably and now protesting their audacity as they entered the restroom.
Petra made no apologies as they snagged the next available stall and crammed inside. “Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,” she moaned as she opened her big purse and pulled out two more costumes. “God, Delilah, I’m so sorry I doubted you.”
Women grumbled, but no one intruded. Amy slipped into a shapeless but shimmering dress and changed wigs. Petra peeled off the Wonder Woman one-piece bathing suit and the red, thigh-high boots, revealing another skintight costume on a body worthy of it. She splashed glitter over her face, tied on a blue cape covered with shells, and pulled on blue, sparkly high heels.
By now all the women who witnessed their assignation had already peed and left the restroom. First Amy stepped out and then Petra, looking calm and detached. They left the restroom separately, and Amy followed her to the back of the bandstand, where the loud music would cover their conversation. Sheets of colored fabric served as a backdrop for the band, blocking them from the view of the crowd in front of the stage.
Amy would have asked if all of this was necessary, but she knew it probably was.
Eric waited, all of his phony good humor gone. “How the hell did you know about Bill Hammond?”
Ready to scream out that Lucas was alive, Eric’s question halted her. “How did you know—did you follow me?” She’d had the feeling she was being watched but had seen no one.
“You could say that. And baby, I’m not the only one. I was watching from the parking lot here. Two guys who weren’t gay—either sexually or moodwise—got out of separate cars right after you did.”
That thought made her sick. “But I was so careful…”
“You weren’t careful enough. You can’t just run a red light and take a few extra turns and think you’ve lost them. That’s what you did, isn’t it?”
“Something like that,” she had to admit.
Eric took up an arrogant pose with his arms crossed on his chest. “How did you know about Bill?”
“Lucas had a piece of paper with Bill’s address on it. He told me to hide it when the men busted in. And no, I didn’t show it to Cyrus. When I couldn’t get answers from you, I decided to talk to Bill.”
“What did he say?”
“He wasn’t exactly open to chatting. His father was in the Army, lived in Fort Meade around the same time my father did, and killed himself. Those are the common links between us, right?”
Petra said, “Our parents weren’t in the Army and there was no suicide.”
“Oh. He’s got the same glow you both have, and Lucas, too.” As soon as the words came out she wanted to take them back.
“Glow?” Eric asked with a cocked eyebrow.
Damn. He wasn’t going to let her get away with not answering. Besides, that would only pique his interest more. “Ever since I was a kid, I see a color around people that indicates their mood or intention. Different colors mean different moods. You three and Bill have the strangest glows I’ve ever seen, a muddle of all the colors.” Would they think she was crazy?
They exchanged a look but it didn’t seem to say, This chick’s nuts. They were giving each other a knowing little smile.
“What?” she asked. “Go ahead, say it.”
He shook his head. “What else did Hammond say?”
“Nothing more than that, but…you were right. About Cyrus. He went to see Bill right after I did.”
Amy wanted to smack the smug expression off Eric’s face. Petra looked worried, and her glow was jagged in a different way than Eric’s.
“How do we know you’re not working with him?” Eric said, checking the area. His gaze snagged on a sexy woman with boobs spilling out of her bustier. He turned back to Amy. “Setting us up?”
“Because I can’t trust Cyrus anymore.” It hurt to say it. “And the reason I wanted to meet you is that Lucas is alive.”
That got their attention. Hope sparked on Petra’s face while Eric looked skeptical.
Petra grabbed Eric’s hand. “He’s not dead!”
“And you know this how?” he asked Amy. “You said they shot him in the neck.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to assemble her thoughts. Now they’d really think she was crazy, and she didn’t want them to think that because she needed them. It didn’t help that she had to scream over the music. “Lucas comes to me in my dreams. The paintings that he does…they’re my dreams.”
Eric said, “Comes to you?”
“Yeah. We…talk. And stuff.”
Now they both looked skeptical.
“Lucas and I don’t know each other as adults. So how did I end up in his paintings? You can’t deny that’s my face.”
They reluctantly nodded. Eric said, “But how?”
“I don’t know. Until I saw the paintings, I thought they were just normal dreams.” Well, sort of normal.
“So how does that prove he’s alive?”
“He came to me earlier today. He said they shot him with a tranquilizer gun. I asked where he was, but he didn’t want me involved.”
Eric narrowed his eyes. “Lucas never mentioned any of this dream stuff to us.”
“Good,” she blurted out. “I mean, they’re rather personal. Look, what matters is that he’s
alive.” A group of people walked by, and she waited until they passed before saying, “We have to save him.”
Eric said, “No.”
“What?” both Petra and Amy said.
Petra’s hopeful expression sagged. “But—”
He pointed at Amy. “This is why we can’t get emotionally involved. It makes people do crazy things. Stupid things. We agreed not to approach Amy or Bill, and Lucas broke the rules. He’s on his own.”
“But he broke the rules to warn me,” Amy said.
“So? He took the risk; why should I put my ass on the line to save him?”
Petra said, “Eric, you can’t—”
“I can. We don’t even know what we’re up against yet.”
“He’s our family,” Petra said. At Amy’s questioning look, she explained, “We grew up together, after Lucas’s mother died. Our dad sort of adopted him.” She turned to Eric. “He’s like a brother to you. We can’t—”
“Drop it. He’s the one who had to go to his precious girlfriend here. He didn’t think of us when he did that.”
Amy saw that Petra was about to say something before she drooped in defeat. Her pain over Lucas was apparent. Eric was obviously a formidable force to go up against. If Petra, who knew and was trusted by him, couldn’t sway him, how could she?
To hell with that, she thought, and got up into his face, or as close as she could get on tiptoes. “Lucas is alive, dammit, and if we don’t do something, he won’t be for much longer. They’re injecting him with something—drugs, he wasn’t sure. He kept flickering in and out.” Emotion rose into her voice. “We’re the only ones who can save him. I don’t care if you don’t trust me or if you don’t like me. There’s no way in hell we can abandon him while they do God-knows-what to him until he dies!” The music had stopped before she screamed the last line.
Through the applause Petra said, “She’s right. We’re family, Eric. We don’t abandon family.”
His expression grew dark. “He abandoned us, remember?”
“He didn’t leave us to die. He left because of you. I know at least that much. If we find Lucas, we can find the truth about what we are. If you want nothing else, you want that.”
He faced them, his body stiff with stubborn anger. Amy didn’t back down. She flicked her gaze to Petra and saw that she didn’t either. However, Petra did give away her anxiety by cracking her knuckles.
Seconds passed. Music pounded the air. Eric’s gaze was as hard as his body as he shifted it to Amy and then Petra. The wind kicked up, flapping the fabric and shaking the metal frames holding it. Their eyes never left each other’s.
Then Eric ducked his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll get him.” He looked at Petra. “I’ll start working on it.” To Amy, he said, “Thanks for the info. Act like you belong here so the spooks or whoever they are think you came for fun.” He seemed to appraise her. “You could pass for a lesbian.”
She wanted to deck him, but he started to turn away. She grabbed his arm. “Wait a minute. You’re not leaving me out of this.”
He looked at her hand on his arm and then at her. After she pulled her hand away, he said, “This is our business.”
“It’s mine, too. According to Lucas, I’m one of you. An Offspring.”
Eric said, “Involving you is problematic.”
“Because of Cyrus? I told you—”
“If what you’re telling us is true, you’re still too closely tied to him. He knows your habits, your weaknesses. That makes you a liability. We’ll take care of this on our own, but thank you for your interest.”
You’ve been excused, a voice whispered. You can go back to your cocoon of a life. Leave saving Lucas to them.
No! Instinctively she knew that together they could save him. That was more important than her safe little world. “You need me. I can communicate with Lucas. And…I need you.” How she hated the plaintive sound of those last words.
Eric seemed to consider while the band on the other side of the stage butchered Janis Joplin’s “Me and Bobby McGee.” Then he said, “You have to prove yourself. Trusting the wrong person can be dangerous for us. Look what happened to Lucas.”
Yeah, that stung, deepening her sense of guilt over causing his capture. “It wasn’t as though I turned him in. Fine, what do I do? Swallow a goldfish? Walk over coals?”
He crinkled his eyes at her sarcasm. “Something useful. Get on Cyrus’s computer and get more Offspring names. At least if he catches you, he won’t kill you. Probably.”
God, the thought of that, that Cyrus would kill anyone…She didn’t know that side of him, because he never talked about his work. “You think the CIA is behind this?” She didn’t want to think that.
“Since Cyrus is involved and he’s CIA, yes.”
“All right. So how do I know when he’s logged on?”
“I’ll let you know. The tricky part will be getting you out of there without your spy coming along.”
“I could take laundry down to the little building that’s at the rear of the complex.”
“That should work. I’ll call you and say, ‘Paul, blah blah whatever, and you’ll play it off like it’s a wrong number. Pay close attention because what I tell you is going to indicate what kind of car I managed to get for you. I’ll park it behind the laundry building and put the key under the visor, but you’ll have to be sneaky about getting to it.”
She wasn’t going to ask how he would be getting the car. “I’ll be sneaky.”
“And fast. You’ve got to get to Cyrus’s place pronto. System security will probably log him off if he’s inactive for long. Or he may log off when he’s done. I’ll come up with a way to distract him.”
Petra said, “If he’s at the main page, it’ll look like a Web site. Click on the link for ‘DARK MATTER.’ At the left of that page there’s a list of names with hyperlinks. Have you ever been to MySpace?”
Amy nodded. She’d checked it out and had even flirted with the idea of putting up a profile.
Petra said, “When you click on the links, the pages will look sort of like that. A picture, basic information like addresses, and then more links.”
Eric said, “Write down as many names and addresses as you can.”
“Is this how you found me? And Bill?”
Instead of answering, Eric said, “I’ll be in touch afterward.”
“You know, I’ve answered every question you’ve asked, but you’ve answered exactly none of mine.”
“Give me your cell number,” he said, not even bothering to respond. He glanced around, something he’d done every few seconds.
With an aggravated sigh, she wrote it down on the paper Petra gave her. As distrustful as she considered herself, it was oddly refreshing—as well as annoying—to meet someone even more so.
Eric leaned down into her face, wearing a pleasant expression. “Don’t screw with us.”
She knew it was more than just a warning.
The song the band had been playing ended, and the crowd exploded in applause. “Time to go,” he said, then he and Petra split up and merged into the flow of people.
Amy slipped out of the wig and robe and stuffed them behind the fabric sheets. She walked around the bandstand and mingled with the crowd. A man on stage talked about the joy of living in the freedom of being who they wanted to be, and everyone cheered. She clapped as she scanned the crowd for anyone who looked out of place. For Cyrus. She thought she’d recognize him anywhere, but remembered the guy who’d been driving that white car. Maybe not.
With a false smile on her face, she wound her way around the edge of the crowd. Her heart tripped when she saw the man wearing dress pants and a white work shirt. He’d unbuttoned the top few buttons and rolled up the sleeves, but he was way out of his element. For one thing, he screamed heterosexual, his distaste at being there etched on his face. For another, he was looking at her when she’d swung her gaze in his direction, then quickly looked away.
Though she wanted to march up and question him, she knew the response she’d get—much like the locksmith. So she meandered to the car, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of being followed. From the corner of her eye she saw him trailing off to the side.
A shot rang out then, and she slapped her hand to her chest. The crowd behind her gasped. He’d shot her! Her knees wobbled. More shots cracked. She was going to die!
But wait. Shouldn’t a bullet hurt? She felt no pain. She jerked around to see the sky lit up with fireworks.
“I’m not cut out for this,” she muttered to herself, regaining her breath. The man surreptitiously watching had paused, too, as though enjoying the display in the sky.
Jerk! Anger at him dogging her engulfed Amy. Without letting herself think about it, she stalked over. He didn’t see her until she was a few feet away. To his credit, he gave her an innocuous smile.
She returned the smile. “How about I follow you for a while?”
“Excuse me?”
He was good, just good enough to make her doubt herself. Still, she said, “It’s only fair.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She kept up her smile. Waited. With a get-me-away-from-this-weirdo look on his face, he walked away. She followed him to his bland car, catching his eye whenever he glanced back at her. He maintained a convincing worried-curious expression.
She waited until he pulled away, and for the first time felt as though she’d gained some of her power back.
Enjoy it, she told herself. It might be the last time you feel this way for a while.
CHAPTER 7
Just as Amy reached the base of the stairs leading to her apartment, she stopped cold. Cyrus sat at the top.
“It’s not a good time,” she said, dragging herself up the steps.
“I can’t wait for a good time.” He looked just as weary as she felt—and resolute.