“What’s wrong with them?” Zoe asked. “Are they hungry? Make them shut up. Do you have food? Bottles?”
“That’s the pod leader’s job.” Melanie sounded defensive. “Not ours. And they’ve got bottles in their strollers if they want them.”
Hobart glanced at his watch. “She was supposed to have been here by now to pick them up. She’s forty minutes late.”
“Call her,” Zoe said. “In the meantime, do something about that noise. Drug them or something. I can’t stand the sound.”
Melanie looked uncertain. “That’s forbidden in the protocols. They’ve had less than optimal results in the past using sedatives.”
“So?” Zoe said impatiently. “Do something else, then. I don’t care what you do, just solve the problem.”
“I can put the stroller into the bathroom,” Nadia suggested. “If we shut the connecting door, we’ll have two doors to block the sound.”
“The tandem won’t fit through the bathroom door,” Hobart said.
“The supply closet, then,” Nadia said. “The door’s wider. It’ll go if we wiggle it in sideways. Come on, Hobart. Help me lift it.”
Zoe watched as Nadia and Hobart wrestled the double stroller with its shrieking cargo into the dark maw of the supply closet. The door swung shut. The volume cut by two-thirds. When the suite door closed, the sound was blocked almost completely. Ah. Much better.
“Good,” Zoe said. “Jeremy, Hal, and Manfred will make up my team tomorrow when we follow Sean McCloud. I’ll hook up with them in Portland, after I take care of Petrie.” She looked at Melanie, then Hobart. “You two stay here. To monitor us.” She glanced at Nadia. “You concentrate on Aaro. Get going.”
Nadia scampered away, eager to get to work as the superslut. Melanie’s mouth tightened, face red. Zoe observed this with satisfaction. It was the stupid bitch’s punishment for not even thinking of including Petrie in the surveillance net. Hers and Hobart’s. They would stay at headquarters, in disgrace. That would teach them. She’d chosen every available agent in the area for her team, except those two. Idiots.
Hobart turned to face the computer screen without comment. Probably relieved to be spared combat duty. Gutless egghead geek.
“I’ve sent a list of supplies to your comms. Add anything else you think would be useful, have it assembled and packed by early this evening. I will brief the team here, at nine P.M.”
“Ah, one small problem.” Hobart was looking at his list.
Zoe spun on him. “I don’t want to hear about problems,” she said.
Hobart looked up, apologetically. “I can’t get an armored SUV for you in that amount of time. I had no idea . . . these things need just a little lead time. Maybe I could get one by tomorrow afternoon—”
“I can’t believe you didn’t anticipate this. We can’t wait. Our window of opportunity will close. Are you too stupid to see that?”
“Um, maybe by midmorning, if I offered them an extra—”
“Just give me a normal SUV,” Zoe snarled. “We’ll have to manage without the armor. Is everything clear? Good. Get to work.”
They got to it.
Finally alone, Zoe placed her long golden legs up on the desk, admiring how graceful they were, right down to her slender feet in the white wedged sandals. She clicked the mouse until she set the recording to run from the beginning. Rosa Ranieri’s triumphal return from the baby supplies store, followed by the phone call from Petrie, which had involved much wailing and carrying on in Italian.
She tried not to let herself get distracted by the thrills of anticipation, thinking about that phone call tonight in the privacy of her room. Lying on her bed, telling King about her excellent progress.
Too bad about the armored SUV. She would have preferred to play it safe, but truly, it was probably overkill.
Tomorrow, she would complete the task he had assigned her. She would undo all the damage Reginald had done. She would be brilliant.
King would be so very pleased. And when he showed her what a full Level Ten reward sequence felt like, all thirty verses . . . oh, my.
She would be pleased, too. Oh, so very pleased.
Lily shifted on the chair by the stove. The tender moment up on the mountainside hadn’t lasted. Since his cell conversations on the bluff, which he’d taken great pains not to let her hear, Bruno had been stonily silent. She’d been appalled, on the mountain, to find out that the descent was even more excruciating than the ascent. A contradiction of natural laws. Physics reversed, just to insult her. Water flowing uphill. What was up with that? Her knees and ankles still shook like jelly.
But her life lately had been nothing but a series of contradictions of natural law. By the laws of emotional physics, it made no sense that a mild-mannered—well, maybe not so mild, but certainly relatively harmless—chick who wrote essays for a living should end up being the target of brutal assassins. If Bruno was right, and there really was no connection to Magda, then what the hell did they want with her? Like water, flowing uphill for no good reason. Why would water bother? Why expend the effort? It wasn’t like there was any money to be made in killing her. And yeah, she did tend to speak her mind, true, but she’d never been quite that bitchy to anybody. She was almost certain of it.
And Bruno, being silent. Wow, that felt like another contradiction of natural laws. At the cabin, he was a blur of activity, but scarily quiet the whole time. He built up the fire, cleaned and loaded three different handguns, made up the bed, restoked the fire. He cooked a delicious meal, which they ate in strangled silence. He washed dishes. He would not let her help with these activities. Evidently, her mental instability would be dangerously exacerbated by the stress of rinsing lettuce or tucking a sheet over a mattress. She’d tried to insist, but he’d turned her down so hard she’d ended up huddled in the chair, wishing she was small enough to slide under the door. The silence was deafening.
She tried to lose herself in the twisting, dancing flames while Bruno sloshed and clanked at the sink. Then, quiet.
Her neck prickled. She twisted around. He was holding a six-pack. He looked at the beer, he looked at her, and he put it back into the refrigerator. “Feel free,” she said. “It’s my own personal choice not to drink. I’d never judge anyone else for having a beer. It’s OK.”
“It’s not that,” he said. “Kev would kick my ass if he caught me drinking alcohol while stuff like this is happening. He’d say, ‘Lack of vigilance will get you killed.’ ” He shrugged. “He doesn’t say it so much now that he’s in love. Guess the world seems less dangerous now.”
“The bad guys aren’t here tonight. Go ahead,” she urged.
He sank down onto a stool near the fire. “Nah. I don’t know where they are, how many, what their resources are. Makes me fucking tense.”
“I noticed,” she murmured.
“That bad, huh?”
“Terrible,” she informed him. “Like toxic waste.”
He laughed, but the sound petered out fast. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s OK,” she said. “I’m being a little more bitchy than usual, too.”
He slanted her an eyebrow-tilted glance. “Just a little?”
“Just a little,” she said resolutely. “Cannot tell a lie. I’m snarky and difficult even under normal circumstnces. Just so you know.”
His dimples flashed. “Good of you to warn me.”
She blew out a sharp breath. “I try to be good.”
They listened to the fire crackling for a while.
“Normal circumstances,” he echoed. “What are those, for you?”
“Huh?” His keen gaze scrambled her thoughts into mush. “What?”
“Your ‘normal.’ I have no idea what that is,” he said. “I met you in a really weird time in your life. So clue me in. What’s normal, for you?”
She hesitated for so long he started to look worried. Like she was going to confess to being an escort, or cooking meth in her basement.
Oh, hell.
Out with it. “I write term papers,” she said.
His brows knitted together. “Yeah? For what? About what?”
“About anything. On any topic. For whoever can pay my fees.”
The puzzlement on his face was replaced by surprise. “Huh? Oh. You mean . . . for people who are cheating? In school?”
“Yeah.” She braced herself for the judgment that was coming.
But he just looked fascinated. He tilted his head to the side, studying her intently. “Who hires you? College kids?”
“Lots of different types,” she said. “Foreign students who can’t manage the English. Non-foreign students who can’t manage it, either. Rich kids who are too busy partying. They all keep me busy.”
“No shit,” he murmured. “So what’s your own degree in?”
She shook her head. “Don’t have one. Never made it all the way.”
He frowned. “But how . . . but if you’re so good at writing—”
“I was going to Columbia,” she began. “Full scholarship. I was going to get my BA and my masters both in four years. I had one year to go, my thesis to write. Then I discovered that Howard hadn’t paid the property taxes on his house. He’d spaced it, for years. I had to come up with eighteen thousand dollars, or he’d have lost the house.”
“Whoa,” he murmured. “Ouch.”
“Bad enough, him being a junkie,” she said. “But him being a junkie under a bridge, or in the subway, well. That I could not face.”
“I hear you,” he said.
“So there was this Greek guy I knew who was struggling with his doctoral thesis in history of medicine. He offered me three thousand bucks to write it for him.” She shrugged. “I couldn’t turn it down.”
“Of course you couldn’t,” he said. “I wouldn’t have, either.”
She blinked. Wow. Nice of him to be so understanding. “So, word got around,” she continued. “I started getting referrals.”
“Did you pay the property taxes?”
“Yes. But I never managed to finish my own degree. There was no time. I was at it twelve hours a day. Then Howard had another episode.”
“Episode?” Bruno repeated gently.
“Overdose. Suicide attempt. I decided to put him in a clinic, since I’d finally found a way to pay for it. And if someone was watching him, I figured, I might even be able to sleep at night. When I wasn’t working.”
“Sounds tough,” he murmured. “I’m sorry that you—”
“I’m trolling for sympathy,” she said, abruptly.
He held up his hands. “God, no. Never that.”
The fire crackled in the heavy silence. Lily decided it was time to conclude the touchy subject and move on. “I was stuck, once Howard was committed,” she said. “It was the only work I could do that earned me enough to live, plus fork out eleven thousand bucks a month.”
He winced. “A month? Good God.”
“And that was one of the more reasonable places. So, that’s normal, for me. Writing for cheaters. Go ahead. I’m braced for it.”
“You are?” He actually looked like he was trying not to smile, the smart-ass bastard. “Braced for what? What am I supposed to say?”
“You don’t have to say it. I’ve heard it all,” she said. “Wasted potential. Pearls before swine. Prostituting my gifts. Bad karma. It broke my friend Nina’s heart. She thought I should have just pulled the plug on Howard and let whatever happened to him happen. But I just . . . couldn’t.” She looked down. “The joke was on me, though. The worst happened anyway. He’s dead. All that effort. Down the drain.”
“No.” Bruno’s voice was resolute. “Your friend was right in that it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. But I still admire you for trying.”
She was taken aback. “Ah. Um, thanks. I guess.”
“I read somewhere, if you do something for love, the effort is never wasted.”
The memory flashed through her mind. Those long-ago Sundays in Riverside Park, playing cards, joking around, laughing and people-watching with Howard. She looked away from Bruno, eyes stinging.
“Sappy greeting-card platitudes like that bite my ass,” she said.
He choked off muffled laughter. “Tough bitch.”
“Yep, that’s me.” She didn’t want to go any deeper, but she couldn’t bear the silence. “And you? What’s normal for you?”
“Why ask? You know everything there is to know about me.”
She felt absurdly hurt. “That’s not true! I know you have a part ownership in the diner. I know you own a business selling kites and educational toys. And that’s all. It’s a very superficial level of knowing.”
“What else is there?”
“You’re being deliberately stupid and annoying,” she snapped.
“Yeah, about that. Just to be fair. I’m stupid and annoying even under normal circumstances. So what do you want to know, anyhow?”
“How you feel about it,” she said, crabbily. “If you like it. If you’re satisfied. If it’s what you dreamed about when you were a kid.”
He stared into the fire. “I don’t know.” He sounded reluctant. “It’s a good business. I like that I call the shots, that I own the outfit. But it’s not something I set out to do with a clear plan. It just grew. I saw profit potential in Kev’s designs, and I went for it. I just wanted to make money. I thought it would make me feel . . .”
“What?” she urged, after he petered out. “Make you feel what?”
He flapped his hand. “I don’t know. Safe, maybe.”
“From what?” she prodded.
He frowned. “I don’t know. I’m just talking out my ass, Lily. Safe from feeling like shit, I guess. Safe from feeling scared.”
It took her a minute to work uptheerve to ask. “Does it work?”
His face was like a stone mask. “No,” he said.
It took a while to breathe down the tears. “What pathetic schlubs we both are,” she said. “Going after the moon with a butterfly net.”
His dimples flashed. “That’s a poetic way of describing pathetic schlub behavior.”
“Hey, you know us crazy poet types.”
The c-word wiped the smile right off his face. He shot up to his feet, his face a stone mask again. “It’s late. Tomorrow’s a big day. You should get some sleep. Dealing with McClouds takes a lot of energy.”
Aw, crap. She’d accidentally killed the tender moment. But no way was she going to be dismissed like this. “You look like you’re chewing Excedrin tablets whenever you mention the McClouds,” she said. “What’s your deal with those guys? Do you dislike them so much?”
Bruno looked uncomfortable. “No. They’re OK.”
“You’re lying,” she said baldly. “Out with it.”
“No. Really. They’re fine,” he insisted. “I’m the problem, not them. You know that thing that happened, with the Parrishes, last year? Kev’s amnesia, and all that? Him finding his biological brothers?”
“I read everything that was in the papers,” she said.
“Well, there they are. Kev’s brothers. They look like him. They’re smart, like him. They know all this crazy shit that nobody else knows, like him. He’s got this wacky childhood in common with them, and he remembers it all. How do you expect me to feel about them?”
“Um . . . you could try being happy for him?” she ventured.
“Awww.” He held up his hand, rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Here’s the world’s smallest violin, playing a sappy tune.”
“Ouch,” she murmured. “That bad?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “It’s that bad. He’s the only brother I have. Then, one day, he gets three new, improved brothers. Guns drawn, muscles flexed, saving his ass when the shit came down. More than I could. And afterward, there’s the tender family reunion, right? And the lovely wives are covering him with kisses, and babies are tumbling, and kids are swarming, all the nephews and nieces jumping all over long-lost Uncle Kevvie. And I’m, like, great, dude. Yay for y
ou. Good on you.”
“So you feel like chopped liver?” she asked. “Is that the problem?”
“Fuck, Lily. I never claimed to be Mr. Mature. Could we change the subject? Because the further you go with this one, the more badly it’s going to reflect on me. I’m a selfish dickhead. End of story.”
“No you are not,” she said. “Anyone would feel that way, whether they admitted it or not. You just say how you feel, that’s all.”
“Well, that’s the definition of a dickhead,” he said sourly. “A guy who isn’t smart enough to shut his big mouth in time.”
“No. That’s not the definition of a dickhead,” she said quietly.
“No? In any case, I’m using the McClouds in spite of feeling like chopped liver. They can’t say no to me, for Kev’s sake, so I’ll exploit them for my own selfish purposes. Sounds dick-headed to me.”
“Exploit them how?”
“Making them help you. Kev’s twin is coming to get us. They’ll find a place for you to hide. Help me find who’s gunning for you. Ty may bug me, but they might as well make themselves useful in the process.”
She stared at him. “Bruno,” she said. “These people don’t know me. They don’t owe me favors. I have no money to pay them for their time and resources. How long will they realistically put up with this?”
He looked obdurate. “Until I say it’s enough.”
“You have that kind of clout with them?”
“I’ll use up what clout I have. Might as well be good for something, right? When they’re sick of helping, I’ll think of something else.”
He stared back at her, belligerent. Daring her to argue.
“Another thing,” she said quietly. “You just met me. You don’t know me, either. Not really. How long can you put up with this?”
He shrugged, dismissively. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”
She shook her head. “No. Waiting to find out would destroy me. I appreciate your willingness to help, but I have a way better idea. Drive me to a bus station, lend me enough cash for a sandwich and a bus ticket to Anywhere, USA, and wish me luck.”
Blood and Fire Page 19