“Statistically, a lot of missing people are dead. It would only follow that most of her missing person cases turn into murder cases. So to speak.”
Al didn’t look so sure of that himself.
“Do you see her?” Harry asked, peering through the window.
“No.” It was getting dark now and Sam started to feel anxious, thinking of Lane spending the night in jail, “But I don’t get cable, so I wouldn’t recognize her if I did.”
“Oh, you’ll recognize her,” Al said with finality.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr. ...?”
Caught red-handed. Or was that red-mouthed, since they’d been gossiping? Sam turned on her heels slowly. Hair dyed dark brown to give her an air of seriousness. Gucci sunglasses covering colored contacts designed to brighten blue eyes for dramatic contrast. Perfect nose job. Al was right; it could only be one woman.
“He doesn’t want to give out his name,” Sam said, interrupting Al before he could tell her.
“Of course not. I’m Barbara Snow. Samantha Gibson, I presume?” Snow extended her hand—her French tip manicure looked totally natural, Sam noticed, so it had to be expensive—and took Sam’s with a polite but firm grip. “You look much better than that yearbook photo. But it’s been quite a struggle to find anything else. You’re one elusive kid, you know.”
“Yes, I do try and keep it that way.”
Snow nodded, like she’d expected this. She arched an eyebrow, “You ready to do this?”
“As long as the contract’s as we specified, yes.”
“Excellent. Here it is. You’ll see my producers and I have signed already.”
Sam looked over the contract. Everything was in order. Snowfall Productions agreed to provide access to a high-end law firm they had on retainer and pay all of Lane’s legal fees, and in exchange got exclusive rights to Sam’s interview and first option rights on any other kind of property rights, including TV movies. Sam had driven a hard bargain, but had been comfortable giving the last one away since she knew her life was much too boring to make into a movie. She’d let Snow find that out for herself. After having Al and Harry read it for good measure, Sam took a deep breath and signed and dated both copies.
“Fabulous,” Snow said, brilliant white teeth flashing, bright in the twilight on the street, “Now I have my camera man waiting. Where should we do the interview? Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
Sam shook her head.
“That’s fine. I’ve reserved a nice suite at a nearby hotel. It’s not the fanciest, but it’s discreet, which I’m sure you’ll prefer. The lawyers are on a jet en route. Once you’ve given us the interview, we’ll have your boyfriend out by morning.”
#
Hi, how are you, it took about three minutes to get the pleasantries out of the way. After that, Snow got down to business, the way a tiger got down to the sacrificial goat. Fast and merciless.
“Samantha, so little is clear about your childhood. Your parents married young. You were born. And only a year later your mother left your father, taking her with you. Why is that?”
“It’s hard to say, I was only two at the time. I hardly remember.”
“Three,” Snow corrected, smiling. She’d done her homework. Sam had already been anxious about this interview, but the accuracy of knowledge Snow had, already, was a dark omen.
“Like you said, they were young. I don’t think my dad realized what he was getting into. He didn’t handle it well.”
“Fatherhood?”
“And marriage. You know how these things are.” Sam smiled. The lady had paid for an interview. Nothing in the contract said it had to be a good one.
“But I think it was more than that, don’t you? Tell me, Samantha,” Snow leaned in, raising her eyebrow in the very picture of concerned curiosity, “How was your relationship with your father?”
The wall went up. Sam sat back, lifted her chin, “How,” she said in a low tone, “is that any of your business?”
Snow snapped her fingers and the red light in the camera turned off. The woman leaned forward, and the angle of her face was razor-sharp — “This is an interview honey.” She hissed, “I’m supposed to ask the hard questions, remember? Now do you wanna get your friend out or not?”
“Oh. Right.” Sam hadn’t exactly forgotten about that part, but it was tough to tell behaviors learned over a lifetime to take a hike.
“Shall we try again?”
Samantha nodded, resolving to play along. So this woman was clearly a pro. That didn’t mean she couldn’t learn the game. Snow snapped her fingers again and the light blinked back on, along with her on-screen persona.
“Let’s fast forward. Your mother’s death was tragic, yet it reunited you with your father. Was it a joyful reunion?”
To her credit, Sam managed to swallow the choked laughter that bubbled up. “It was interesting,” she said, “I didn’t really know him.”
“Well, according to a school teacher, your father was quite sweet, had a good sense of humor; charming, even.”
“And how did she reach this conclusion? Two fifteen minute conversations at the beginning and end of the semester? Compelling.”
“OK, go ahead and repeat yourself, but let’s try and keep the sarcasm down a little bit next time. Kay?”
Swing and a miss. Sam’s attempt to become a media darling was fast slipping away, she thought. All right. Second time’s the charm. Or rather, third time. She repeated her answer, this time trying to keep her tone clear of any nastiness. The interview progressed, Snow asking a few questions about Sam’s home life. Nosy, but hardly hard-hitting. Samantha admitted that her father was funny and could exhibit sweet tendencies. It was easy, sometimes, to see why her mother had fallen for him.
Samantha was beginning to feel comfortable when Snow sat up, placing her hands on her crossed legs:
“So, if he was such a stand up guy, why did your father try to shoot you?”
The question, as intended, caught Samantha completely off-guard. Snow’s expression was soft, sympathetic, and perfectly inquisitive. But her eyes were hard, biting. Answer the question, they said.
Sam straightened. Fine. If she was going to do this, she would do it right. That meant no sarcasm. No obvious evasiveness. She must appear reasonable and, above all, sane and sympathetic.
“My father is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. That’s a disease. His case was particularly severe. However, with medication and treatment, it’s still possible for someone with the illness to live a normal life.” Very nice, Samantha. Hard to find fault with a statement like that.
“Interesting.” If she wasn’t being taped, Snow might have licked her lips. This was the kind of thing that made for excellent sound bytes, “But your father isn’t living a normal life. He’s in a government-run facility for the criminally insane. Does that bother you?”
What kind of stupid question was that? Samantha cocked her head. “Do you mean, does it bother me that he isn’t living a normal life, that he’s criminally insane, or that the government felt the need to imprison him indefinitely?”
“Take your pick.”
“Yes.”
“I mean, do you think your father might ever recover?”
Heaven help her. Samantha suppressed a shudder at the thought of her father being released into an unsuspecting world. “I doubt it. Like I said, his case is particularly severe. It is by no means typical.”
“Do you ever visit your father?”
Barbara already knew the answer. Sam got the feeling this woman had the complete hospital records showing Sam had never made an appearance. A dark part of her wondered if Snow had already scripted this interview out, and now was setting her up, carrot-and-sticking Sam into saying what Snow wanted the audience to hear.
“No,” Sam said, “I thought it prudent to keep my distance.”
“All right, changing subjects. Samantha, how did you get embroiled in this mess?”
The interview progre
ssed along those lines, with Barbara asking direct questions and Samantha giving indirect answers. Snow tried the soft touch, the hard sell, switching topics—anything she could to get an honest reaction. But Samantha, as the boys had learned, was as much a pro at evading answers as Barbara was at wheedling them out of people. Leaving out the part about the Talents, Sam did manage to convey how she had fled because she felt personally at risk.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but these mysterious accidents keep happening around me. All I’m trying to do is find my own answers.” That was as close to the truth as Sam was willing to go, though she did elaborate on some of the “accidents.”
At last, when Sam really started wondering if she really had sold her soul, and hell was an eternity of answering questions, Snow drew the interview to a close with one last question.
“Before we go, Samantha, can you tell me, do you have any plans on ever reuniting with your father?”
Sam looked Barbara/The Camera squarely in the eyes and said, with absolute, one hundred percent sincerity, “Absolutely not.”
#
Sam didn’t get much sleep that night. Snow had promised them total anonymity in the suite she’d lent them. There was no reason not to believe her, because, after all, Snow didn’t want to devalue her own hard-won interview.
Nonetheless, Sam couldn’t make her mind rest. When she wasn’t imagining Lane stuck in a cold, frightening jail cell, she imagined the door banging open and police flooding in to arrest the three of them for conspiracy, or Hal sneaking in and setting the hotel on fire, killing everyone inside. They’d never found his body, and Sam had a feeling that unless you had seen their cold dead corpse, no Talent was ever out for the count. When dawn finally crept over the sill, she was surprised to find that she’d made it through the night without incident.
Apparently, Sam thought, there is honor even among reporters.
But Snow was wrong about one thing. Her fancy lawyers didn’t have Lane out by the morning. It was actually a little after lunch when he was released. Snow’s chauffeur picked Lane up at the station and drove him to a pre-determined, carefully nondescript parking lot where Sam, Al, and Harry waited.
Lane and Sam’s reunion was filmed of course. Unfortunately for Snow, the reuniting of the team consisted of manly handshakes and half-hugs between Al, Harry, and Lane, and a curt nod from Samantha. He approached her, arms out, and she’d given him an equally curt headshake. It took more than a close call with death and imprisonment to change Samantha’s mind. She’d paid her debt, that didn’t mean she was ready to forgive his secret keeping.
Lane, for his part, handled the entire situation with as much goodwill and humor as he could manage. He pretended not to notice Sam’s cold reception.
Once they’d gotten all of the shots needed, Snow came forward to say goodbye. It was characteristically to the point:
“If you get involved in any more crazy stuff—and I’m sure you will—remember I have the first pass rights. Also,” she lowered her voice, “I know you’re leaving something out. If you feel like you want to share the whole story, let me know. Off the record, even. You don’t get this job without a healthy dose of curiosity.”
Sam smiled. Despite herself, she was coming to like Snow. The woman was willing to bend a few rules, blackmail, butter-up, and do whatever it took to get the story—but at least she was honest about it.
Their small group climbed into the car, uncharacteristically silent. No one even bickered about who would drive or take shotgun. Harry climbed in behind the wheel, Lane took the front passenger seat, and the other two seemed content to share the back.
The silence lasted until they were well down the freeway. Finally, it seemed Lane couldn’t contain himself any longer. He turned to Al, voice hard, “So, want to tell me why you two didn’t follow the plan?”
“We couldn’t leave—”
“Leave me? Bullshit. You don’t need me. My power’s about as useful as—as—a toaster.”
Sam stifled her snort of laughter. She’d wanted to see how Lane was angry. It looked like she was getting her wish. Obviously, he didn’t have a lot of practice at the furious speeches. Still, the look in his eyes was pretty good, she decided. Poor Al, he didn’t know how to handle this side of his friend. He squirmed under Lane’s heated look, “You’re our friend—”
“Exactly. I’d think that might command a little loyalty, a little trust. You’d be in Washington by now if you’d stuck to the plan!”
“But the Corp—”
“Do you think I was at risk, surrounded by police, when the Corp doesn’t even care about me? I’m not the one they’re trying to kill!”
Al stiffened, “Look, bud, it’s a little much to ask us to leave you behind. Not even Sam was willing to do it.”
That gave Lane pause. He turned to her, slowly.
“Sam, Sam, Sam. Why am I not surprised? Your plan, was it, Samantha?”
Oh no, he wasn’t going to pull that BS on her. Sam crossed her arms and met his eyes in challenge. That’s right, she thought, I bossed your boys around. I pulled your buns out of the fire. What are you going to do about it?
Apparently, give her a mean look and a stern lecture: “I was doing fine. It wasn’t necessary for you to bring your superior survival skills into the equation.”
Oh, now that hurt.
“Were you being sarcastic with that last bit?” Sam said, pulling her shoulders back and straightening her spine, “I hope not. Or else I just might leave you with Hal next time.”
“Please do. Facing him alone is probably better than burning alive in a hardware store.”
Lane and Samantha were nose to nose now, Lane craning around his seat, Sam leaning forward, “That hardware store was a damn good idea and you know it—”
“Up until the point where we almost died from toxic fumes, you mean? Or the part where we got caught by the police? Y’know, if I hadn’t pulled you out—”
“—I could have finished the job and we’d have one less asshole to worry about right now.”
Lane sat back suddenly. “You don’t mean that.”
I do, Sam almost snapped out. But something held her back. The look on Lane’s face. She settled for rolling her eyes and tossing herself back into her chair. “Bottom line,” she said, “The worm has turned and it’s not always easy to be as grateful as you should, is it?” She wasn’t above rubbing her success in just a teeny bit, either, “It was only a matter of time before the Corp caught up anyways.”
“Now we’re going to be on the national news!”
“We’re already on the national news! I just used the situation to our own advantage! It’s called ingenuity and it got us all out of trouble. Twice.”
“Well you—” Lane stuttered around, grasping for an argument. He couldn’t find one, “Fine. It was a good plan. It worked. I just wish you’d left me behind. I hate the thought of you endangering yourself for me.”
That certainly took the wind out of her sails. Sam turned her head towards the window. “I just wanted to even things out.”
“OK. But next time, leave them uneven. I can take care of myself.”
Sam smiled sweetly back at Lane and nodded, “Sure you can.”
#
For once, Lane didn’t have to drive and he didn’t insist Harry relinquish his seat. He needed time to stew. When he’d first been taken to the police station, he’d known it was only a matter of time before he was charged with something. Lane was a creature of optimism by nature, but even he struggled to think of how in the world he could get out of a locked-down police station with twenty cops on duty. His powers, after all, had a natural limit. The display he’d managed at the hardware store and restaurant was beyond strange, and when they took Sam away, his unnatural power boost left with her. Alone, all he could do was keep the people coming and going as confused as possible. And the only thing they knew, that they would tell him, was that Sam was in the hospital. So he’d sat there, feeling every tick of t
he second hand in his bones, worry slowly suffocating him.
When the lawyers stormed in—three of them—announcing that they were his representation, he’d assumed it was Tess and the N.T.U. who had sent them. He was surprised when they told him they were with a TV network and part of Samantha’s “payment.”
Payment?
“Miss Gibson promised the network exclusive rights to her story in exchange for legal protection for the both of you,” Lawyer Number One said.
What? Lane blinked. They might as well have told him Martians landed on the moon. Sam couldn’t tell him what her favorite cereal was, and here she was selling her life story to the national press? To a world full of strangers? Really?
No. The answer came to him, she was selling them half-truths and tactful omissions, vague statements designed to make you think you were learning something. Just like she’d done with him. But why do it in the first place?
For him. Because putting herself out in the public, making herself an even bigger target, was the only way to get him out of jail. Adrift in a morass of personal responsibility and guilt, Lane consoled himself with the one certainty he could count on: “She is out of the state, right?”
“Safe nearby, and waiting for your return.”
No. Here, still here, for hours and hours as the Corp gathered forces, sent reconnaissance, and got ready to strike. Damnit! If Sam got herself killed because she’d had the decency, idiocy, whatever to stick around and try and get him out, or because she’d accidentally revealed a key piece of information in her interview, he’d never forgive himself.
The next few hours passed in a blur. The lawyers were good at what they did. By the end of the morning, they were signing paperwork for his release and offering to buy him some lunch.
“I should really be the one doing that,” Lane said, thanking them.
“No need, you look like you’ve had a hard week,” Number Three said.
And now he was here. And Samantha was fine, and Al and Harry were fine. But it bothered him. Audrey’s words bothered him. This wasn’t exactly what Lane qualified as a betrayal, but what if she was right? What if it was better if he didn’t come along at all, if they left him behind?
Chasing Power (Hidden Talents) Page 15