Kyle wanted her.
His phone rang.
“Tanner.”
“Sir! We’ve acquired the targets. Both of them. They’re together and we’re beginning triangulation.”
“Fantastic.” It took work to keep his voice neutral. “I want the live stuff patched through. Once you have a fix on them, send in the plain-clothes. Keep the trucks out of sight. No one moves until I give the word.”
“Yes sir.”
It took several minutes for the live patch to be up and running. Kyle waited impatiently until he heard loud music and lots of people talking. A party. Good. Easy to infiltrate.
All the hubbub made it difficult to pick out any single voice, but then he heard Rook.
“Tanner,” she said. And again, louder, “Tanner. Rook Tanner.”
More noise. Rook said, “The wedding was yesterday.”
Kyle’s blood roared in his ears, drowning out everything else. Sweat beaded on his temples. He looked down at his phone, now a mass of ruined electronics in his hand. Sounds of fevered revelry poured from the laptop’s speaker.
*** *** ***
Mercury vapor street lights lit the park with an eerie blue glow, modulated somewhat by the oranges and yellows of a bonfire. All the kegs had been kicked, but more were on the way.
This wedding reception was shaping up to be fodder for legends.
Nicotine’s equipment was set up in the back of someone’s old green pickup. The first set went over well, and the guys were taking a break to drink and mingle. Fin and Rook were making the rounds, meeting each other’s friends, getting congratulated. They took frequent kiss breaks, one of which escalated into a quick sex break inside the cold green plastic tunnel of the park’s twisty slide.
The arrival of the replacement kegs brought cheers. The small parking lot overflowed and people were parking on the street, now drawn by the crowd more than any desire to wish the newlyweds well.
Bishop tracked Fin and Rook down and said, “The crowd’s gonna draw the wrong kind of attention.”
Fin agreed.
Rook said, “If you want to play another set, why don’t you do it now so we can split.”
Fin gathered the rest of Nicotine and they climbed onto the truck. Rook and Bishop stood near the bonfire, away from the majority of the so-called dancers. Fin’s new song thundered out and made small talk impossible.
Rook closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. The heat from the fire felt good at first, but became too much and she drifted forward a few steps. She noted with pleasure the slight changes this made in the connection she felt with Fin. As their proximity to each other increased or decreased, it caused swirls and eddies in the vibrations, or whatever they were. With time she’d probably learn to tell a lot from them, but for now it was an unknown language: pleasing and melodic, but relatively meaningless.
A hand on her shoulder brought her back to herself. She knew Marcus by the rough familiarity, even before she opened her eyes. His face looked spooky in the flickering light, full of shadows, but she knew him well enough to recognize his state of mind. He felt wronged, cheated. They had gone through this before. Rook realized Marcus still considered this an infidelity on her part.
Transferring his grip to her elbow, he tried to lead her away. She refused. They stared at each other. Rook watched, fascinated then frightened by the emotions storming on Marcus’s face. His carefully constructed beliefs were cracking and falling away. Rook saw pain and anger, growing into fury, fleetingly supplanted by awe, finally resolving into hate. She refused to drop her gaze, to give him an opening. Her heartbeat accelerated and she struggled to keep her breathing smooth, not wanting to show fear. She let it sink in that she had, in his parlance, out-tricked him. That he had performed the act that bound her, his ultimate prize, to Fin, his ultimate foe.
Good thing there were a lot of other people around, especially Bishop. Fin still had the fading bruises from his last run-in with Marcus.
With a shriek and a boom the amplifiers blew out.
Rook became aware of people all around her screaming, of colored lights flashing. Her first thought was of police cars, but the lights came from overhead. Wave after wave of subsonics made it impossible to form any other thoughts. Marcus let go of her and grabbed his head with both hands.
Rook sidestepped and looked around for Fin or Bishop. On the truck, Fin flung his bass to the side and scanned the audience. She yelled to him, but of course he couldn’t hear her. Everyone was screaming, the subsonics were ungodly. Feedback whines, loud popping sounds, and a buzzing hum drilled her ears. As Rook watched, the truck lurched and started drifting backward through the crowd, toward herself and the bonfire. People scrambled out of the way. The lights flashed faster.
A hand grabbed Rook’s elbow and she turned to see Marcus. He pulled her through the panicking crowd, picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t think. Marcus skirted the fire and broke through to open ground, hurrying toward the parking lot. Rook knew she couldn’t let him get her into his van.
She struggled and twisted free, landing hard on her back. Winded, she scrambled to her feet and watched in horror as the pickup rolled into the bonfire amid sounds like gunshots. The gas tank ignited in a concussive fireball, throwing her to the ground again.
An insinuating blackness invaded the perimeter of her vision. For all the noise of the crowd, Rook noticed a profound silence. An emptiness where Fin should have been. Fighting the blackness back, she scanned the crush of people. The light was all wrong, illuminating nothing. Her eyes watered with the strain and she closed them.
Where was he?
Throbbing vibrations pummeled her. So much confusion. Rook frantically reached out for Fin with her mind. She knew, felt, just where to look for him. His frequency remained blank. Her fright mounted as she scanned.
Dead. Fin was dead.
The blackness swarmed her barriers and Rook collapsed into it.
*** *** ***
Marcus’s vision swam in a poisonous green haze. He had to get Rook again, but couldn’t find her. The world around him melted in acid flashbacks, she made it better. Stumbling, he fell hard to all fours. Crawling, away from the fire he hoped, his hand brushed something hard and smooth. Black leather boot. Marcus’s gaze traveled up and discovered Rook attached to the boot, sprawled in the grass. Marcus pushed unsteadily to his feet, wanting to carry her to the van and get the hell out of here. He bent to lift her, but she was gone.
The light show ended, as did the hallucinatory effects. Pandemonium reigned in the aftermath of the explosion. Marcus took this all in as his head cleared. The side of his face felt wet. He touched it. Blood. His jacket was sticky with it.
Turning full circle, Marcus caught sight of Rook. A man in a black jacket carried her in both arms like a child. Marcus staggered after. The man placed Rook in the back of a waiting limousine and climbed in with her. Marcus steadied himself on a car, leaving a bloody smear on the roof. He read the license plate as the limo sped off. SHAWMIN. Shaman.
Marcus got to his van and put a rag over his wound to slow the bleeding. The possibility of another Shaman being involved changed everything. He had a hard time imagining a real shaman riding in a limo with vanity plates, but he’d seen it himself.
This was his real calling. Fin was nothing. Marcus needed to claim his woman from an equal, a shaman.
*** *** ***
Kyle said, “Lock the doors. Give me your phone. Close the privacy panel.”
Once alone with Rook, he relaxed and checked her pulse. Steady. Her breathing, slow and shallow. He straightened her clothes and smoothed her hair back from her face, then plucked the blue stone from her nose. Haltingly, almost reverentially, he lifted her black tank top, revealing her taut, pale belly. Her skin was silky and incredibly sexy, and he kept finding more tattoos, like these birds all over the side of her torso. A tiny empty piercing hole capped her navel. After tracing his finger around it for
a few moments, wondering what her jewelry looked like, and where it went, Kyle slid her shirt up to expose her glorious tits and enticingly erect nipples. He removed her silver nipple ring and placed it and the nose stud in a small steel box.
He ran his hands over her naked flesh.
Her skin felt smooth and warm, the paleness a vivid contrast to the hunter green leather of the limousine’s upholstery. She smelled of plums and exotic spices. Her neck looked so delicate and inviting, Kyle had the urge to kiss her throat and feel her pulse with his mouth. Her eyelids were almost translucent in their paleness, rimmed with smudged black. Kyle could do anything he wanted. She couldn’t stop him, wouldn’t even know. Her slate-green miniskirt rode low on her hips. It flared invitingly, and Kyle ran his left hand up her thigh. She wasn’t wearing stockings, but she was wearing panties. Cotton. Damp.
He stopped because he wanted her to want him. When he’d rescued her at the factory, she almost gave in to him. Would have, if that lumbering oaf Marcus hadn’t barged in. Given time, he would have anything he wanted from her.
Bending, Kyle licked the pale skin between Rook’s tits, and took each nipple between his teeth for a second, swirling his tongue. With a force of will he sat up and replaced her shirt. He rearranged her so her head rested in his lap and he could study her face. Lovely. No wonder Fin and Marcus had their undies in a bunch over her. Once he got her hair fixed and bought her some real clothes, she would be worthy of his plans for her. Using a tissue he wiped off her lipstick and kissed her. Nice, but he wanted her to react, to wake up. He considered going into her mind, but not knowing what in particular made her special, the last thing he wanted was to screw himself by breaking her.
The drive to Shaw Ministries headquarters in Donner would take an hour. Kyle fixed himself a drink and called Dr Clark, the late Reverend Shaw’s personal physician, now Kyle’s own. He got the old fart out of bed so he would be ready to examine Rook as soon as they arrived. Make sure the ill-timed explosion hadn’t damaged his prize.
Better remove her wedding band, so she would have one less reminder of his wayward brother. He could always blame the theft on Marcus. The only thing on her left ring-finger, though, was a tattoo, and he wasn’t equipped to remove that.
Rook twitched and mumbled something, on the verge of consciousness. Kyle poured them each a drink. When her eyelids fluttered, he bent and kissed her. She responded reflexively, kissing him back. A volcanic surge ran from the base of Kyle’s skull to his balls, but then Rook realized she wasn’t kissing the man she thought. She struggled against him, but Kyle refused to stop until she bit his lip. He sat up, grinning, and took a sip of his vodka tonic.
Rook sat up too quickly and made herself dizzy. She leaned on Kyle for support. He chuckled and helped her, handed her a drink.
She stared at it uncomprehending, then looked up at him.
“Kyle?”
His smile broadened. “I’ve missed you, Rook.”
“Me?” Rook sounded muddled.
“Take a drink. It will help.”
Mechanically she obeyed. She looked at him wearily. “Are you kidnapping me again?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Well, you did it once before.”
“A misunderstanding. You’re perfectly safe now. You weren’t when I found you, you know.”
“The truck exploded,” she said dispassionately.
Kyle gave a grim nod.
“Oh, Fin!” Rook started to shake. Kyle took the glass from her to hold her hands in his.
“He’s gone isn’t he?” she asked.
Kyle put on an air of regret. “I’m afraid so.”
She sobbed. Kyle held her and relished the feel of her, her scent. He acted consoling. Many minutes later she calmed somewhat and wiped her eyes and nose. Her blue eyes were bright, her cheeks damp and flushed. She finished her drink.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said.
“You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of everything.”
She searched his face. “But you didn’t like him.”
“We may not have gotten along, but we were brothers. That means something, doesn’t it?”
Kyle could tell she didn’t know whether to believe him. He poured her another drink, stronger this time.
“You’ll be safe. I saved you from the fire and the stampeding crowd. I even got you away from that old boyfriend of yours.”
“Marcus.”
“Yes. I’ll protect you.”
She wanted to believe him, he could tell. The depth of her attachment to Fin surprised him. Her grief helped him though; she wanted to not think. He wanted to make it easy for her to let go.
“You’re part of the family now. I’ll keep you safe.”
She downed several more drinks in quick succession and looked drowsy. She wept sporadically and eventually allowed him to comfort her. As he held her, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss her again.
Kyle eagerly moved things along and found Rook pliant enough. His urgency grew as he undressed her and he didn’t bother stripping completely before he took her, there, in the back of his big black limousine.
Chapter Eighteen
BONES
Female voice: I don’t feel well.
Male voice: That’s good, Little Raven. Breathe deep. Go past it.
(gulping breaths)
Male: Good, Raven, good. Do you see?
(pause)
Female: Oh! (panting) Swirling. All pulsing. Help me. Oh, fuck, Marcus!
Male: I am Coyote. You are Raven. Say it.
(vague sounds of discomfort)
Male: Say my name so I can help you.
Female: Coyote.
Male: Drink this.
(gagging sounds)
Male: Good. Now, look. See. You see the energy.
(pause)
Female: Yes.
Male: You’re doing well, Little Raven. Very well. Let me guide you.
Female: Yes.
Male: We must join our flesh. The energy demands it.
excerpt from SSA Surveillance recording W22.4-083199-X
Kyle was finally sleeping.
Rook stared at him and tried to feel something. Hate. Revulsion. Pity. Love. Passion. Interest. There was nothing. She’d hoped she left the emotionless sex behind when she left Marcus.
“Old habits,” she murmured.
Kyle had moved up in the world since she’d seen him last. He’d said something bizarre about going to the top of the food chain, and he seemed to have done it. Limousine, armed guards, private elevator, spacious, austere apartment: all spoke of wealth and power. What the hell did he want with her? Besides sex. And how did he come so far so fast? Two weeks ago Kyle lived in the same crappy house as Fin.
Fin.
Rook shuddered with suppressed grief. She needed to wail, but couldn’t risk waking Kyle. He would want to rut some more. She shuddered again.
The pain was too fresh to assimilate. Fin couldn’t be gone. She scanned for him again. And again.
In the limo, it became like a mantra. She’d barely been aware of anything outside her own head. That overwhelming emptiness in her heart, and the alcohol Kyle was so generous with, made it easy for him to take advantage of her and manipulate his way into her pants. And the whole time he was fucking her, once in the limo and again and again here on the bed, she searched the aether.
Now she must stop, must lock Fin away until she got out of here. In the bomb shelter she would feel closer to him, and she and Vesuvius would cope together. She wouldn’t leave it until... Until what?
If only she and Fin had stayed there.
Maybe she would never leave.
Keeping an eye on Kyle, Rook crept out of his bed and scooped up her clothes. He was breathing heavily, drooling on his crisp white pillowcase. The digital clock on the nightstand read 5:48 am in fierce green digits. She hurried into the hall, her bare feet silent on the muted sage Berber carpet. One entire wall of t
he cavernous, sparsely furnished living room was glass. Earlier, when Kyle’s sycophantic doctor examined her, the lights had rendered the whole thing a minimalist, bland hall of mirrors, but now the dimness afforded her a view. While dressing and pulling on her boots, Rook tried to figure out where the hell she was.
She was about seven or eight floors up, the top floor. Beyond all the glass a wide, plant-strewn balcony overlooked an atrium. It reminded Rook of a hotel. Maybe it was. That could be the rather mundane explanation of Kyle’s apparent meteoric rise. The area around the building, lit by several streetlights, reminded her of a campus. There were lots of trees and green space, also an empty parking lot and a long, snaking driveway. No people in evidence. She’d have a long hike if she couldn’t get a cab or bus.
The front door let her out into the elevator vestibule and she pushed the down button. After only a few nervous seconds a ‘bing’ signaled the arrival of her escape pod. The doors hissed open. Empty. Rook breathed a sigh of relief. Inside she looked at the buttons. Parking, Office, Private, Roof. The express, apparently.
Rook reached for the button labeled Parking, but stopped. Office? Was this not a hotel after all?
Kyle’s office.
The doors began to shut.
Fin wouldn’t want her to live out her life in fear, in the bomb shelter. He was the one to first go outside. He knew they couldn’t hide forever. Rook would let her reporter instincts guide her. She would find something in Kyle’s office to protect herself. She would destroy her enemies. She would smash this Hydra with a boulder before it sprouted any more heads. She would do it to honor Fin.
After a short ride the elevator let her out in another anteroom. A sleek, dark wood door opened into the promised office. About an acre in size, it held only a single desk and a long conference table. The lights were off, but a little illumination came from the large window. Rook blinked several times as she took in the new vista.
A short distance away across a manicured lawn stood a huge church with a soaring spire of glass, spotlighted against the night in greenish white, a laser-like beam shooting from its tip up into the cloudless sky. It was by far the tackiest thing Rook had seen in a long time, and she recognized it from the news. The Shaw Ministries Cathedral.
Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1) Page 22