Living with the Dead
Page 85

"No, it's proof that you're working for them. They let you go so you could get me out and pretend to have rescued me."
He rocked back on his heels. "What are my vibes telling you? Anything negative there, besides frustration?
Anything to suggest I'm lying?"
"As a mercenary – hired gun, hired spy, hired con artist, whatever – you're a professional liar." She met his gaze.
"Right?"
He tugged his cap brim, as if adjusting it, a subconscious attempt to pull back under its shadows. A man who preferred the security of anonymity.
"A professional liar can outwit an Expisco," Hope said.
"Not if you were properly trained."
How much did he know about Expiscos? This was the second time his words suggested she wasn't the first one he'd met. The demon jumped to attention, straining forward with questions. Hope hauled it in and muzzled it.
"What possible reason would I have to fake-rescue you?" Rhys said. "To lead me to Adele? You have no idea where she is."
"Okay, then. I'm useless. So let me go."
"You aren't useless to me. I brought one operative on this mission, and your boyfriend killed him. I need help, and I have a feeling you're going to be a lot more useful on this mission than Grant."
"What mission?"
"You haven't asked why the Cabal let me escape that hotel room. What does Irving want?"
This wasn't the time for a pop quiz. But as Hope squirmed, she could tell she wasn't getting out of these strap cuffs until he let her. "You know where Adele is. Irving has figured out you're not handing her over. He thinks if he swoops down on us and you escape, you'll run off to warn her. Lead him to her. That's why he had one of his men suggest they know where she is."
"Suggest?" Rhys laughed. "That was one of the most obvious tricks I've seen. There's a reason Irving hasn't shot through the Cabal ranks."
He took a penknife from his pocket and flicked it open.
"Your hands," he said.
"I'd like to keep them."
"And you aren't going to if you keep yanking at that strap, digging it in deeper." He flipped Hope around and sliced off the cuffs. "Now we need to get that cleaned up. I have a first-aid kit in my car. Then we're going to the kumpania."
Seeing her expression, he shook his head. "You don't even know what that is, do you? Remember what I said about being in over your head? The kumpania is where we'll find Adele."
"But that's exactly – "
" – what Irving wants me to do? Yes."
"I'm not helping the girl who – "
"I'm not warning Adele. I'm warning Neala." Again, he saw her confusion. "Colm's mother."
"Your wife."
He shook his head, gazed down as he returned the knife to his pocket. "Not for a very long time. But she saved my life once. I owe her."
"So you're going to warn her about the Cabal."
"And, more immediately, about Adele. Which she already suspected. I just didn't listen. She tried – "
He broke off, shaking his head and prodding her along the fence line.
Hope dug in. "Whatever problem you have, it's your problem. Mine is Karl and Robyn. I don't even know where Robyn is – "
"Picked up by the Cabal, I'm sure. You want them back from the Cabal SWAT team, and I want to get to the kumpania without that SWAT team on my tail. The two goals, I think you'll agree, are not mutually exclusive." He took her elbow. "Come on."
 
FINN
 
That sprint along the motel had burned off Finn's anger, and when he saw Robyn clutching the gun, the first thing he noticed was not the black hole of a barrel, but those slender hands trembling. Robyn struggled to hold her expression immobile, eyes narrowed, in a desperate attempt to hide her terror. It was a look Finn knew well. He'd seen it on too many people at the other end of a gun, fighting to show that they weren't scared, that they would pull that trigger, and that made them ten times more dangerous than the most hardened gangbanger. Because at the smallest move, the slightest sound, they fire before their brain could interfere.
"You don't want to do this," he said.
Robyn's laugh wobbled as much as her hands. "Are you going to remind me of the penalty for shooting an officer of the law, Detective? I bet that comes in handy, doesn't it? Your boss sends you after someone like me, and if I stand up to you, you just play the cop card, make me think twice about defending myself."
"My boss?"
"The people you work for."
"I work for the city of – "
"Cut the crap, Detective Findlay. Hope already figured out your game."
"Hope?"
"Ah, so now you're going to pretend you never met her."
"If you mean your friend, Hope Adams – "
"That's the only Hope both of us know. Only you didn't know her as well as you thought. You overlooked that magic power detector of hers."
"Magic power?" He remembered interviewing Adams, remembered being afraid she'd somehow pick up on his secret.
"Are you going to parrot everything I say? I bet that's what they teach you at double-agent school, huh? In case of exposure, whatever your interrogator says, repeat it back?"
"Double-agent – " He stopped himself. "I don't know what – "
" – I'm talking about. Lesson two: deny everything. Now you'll tell me that Hope's wrong, you don't have
supernatural powers."
He felt his jaws part. He wouldn't go so far as to say it dropped, but it definitely opened.
"Better yet, gape at me like I've lost my mind."
He shut his mouth.
"Over the last few days," she continued, "I have had very good cause to question my sanity, but if I know one thing right now, it's that I'm not crazy and nothing you can say is going to convince me otherwise. Now, are you going to tell me you don't have supernatural powers?"
He should deny it. He'd been raised to do that until he was married, and then only to tell his wife, warning her the same way he would if his genes carried a disorder.
But Robyn Peltier would see his lie. She'd condemn him for it worse than she'd ever condemn him for the truth.