“Two days. He was recently moved to a government facility and was boosted in transit.”
“Bill?” she said, but her mind was on Jack, not their handler. The bear of a man had vanished cleanly when Opti fell apart. Damn it. Damn it all to hell. She’d said no. Why did she have to keep saying it?
“That’s my guess.” Allen’s hands were in his coat pockets. He was waiting, just waiting. “I could use some help cleaning this up.”
“Not my problem.” Emotion pushed her to her feet, panic not because Jack was free, but because a tiny glowing spot of want had fanned to life, faint from having been denied, but growing stronger.
“You’ve been marked,” he said, stopping her again. “You aren’t safe anymore. The alliance is gone, but I’ve been working with the government to try to bring Bill in. If we can—”
She put a gentle hand on his shoulder that was all threat. “I don’t do that anymore.”
Unwilling to be bullied, he pushed her hand off. “You have skills no one else does.”
“Go find another one. The psych wards are full of us,” she said bitterly. The few remaining patrons were leaving fast, girding themselves against the snow and finding the door as traffic thickened. “I’m not going to work for the government, not even to tuck the bad back into hiding.” She was flushed, hating it.
“Bill wants you,” he said. “That’s why he boosted Jack. He wants you, and he’s not afraid to send a drafter to bring you in.”
Fear slid through her, and her focus sharpened on Allen’s worry. You never sent a drafter after another drafter. The risk was too great that one of them would end up dead, and they were too rare to waste like that.
“You ever hear of Michael? Michael Kord,” Allen asked. “He was a rising drafter when you were in Opti. Here, I’ve got a picture of him.”
The name was familiar, and curiosity drew her eyes down. “I remember this guy,” Allen said as she scanned the grainy surveillance photo of a tall, clean-shaven man with short black hair. It had been taken in Detroit; she could see the elevated rail in the background. “Bill was grooming him to take your place. Encouraging all sorts of interesting behavior.”
Peri’s brow furrowed, a slim finger hovering over the photo as a memory tickled the top of her head. Something about birds . . .
“Bill is a manipulative bastard,” Allen said, still looking at the photo. “But he doesn’t discard someone who might make him money someday.”
Like me, she thought, shaken. “I remember him,” she whispered, the photo bringing her thoughts into focus. He was a dark man, thin but not gaunt. Attractive. Hispanic? He liked his sunglasses and his car. Birds. The single memory she had of him was of him drafting to kill the pigeons who’d spotted his ride.
“You remember Michael?” It was a shocked utterance. “That was in the year I erased. Do you remember . . .”
Her gaze lifted from the photo. “Anything about you?” she asked dryly. “No. I didn’t make any memory knots of you.” She backed up, not knowing what to do with her hands. Michael must have really pissed her off for her to have made a memory knot that would survive a wipe. “You want anything else? I like to mop before the lunch crowd comes in.”
“Memory knots?” he questioned. “Jeez, Peri, you know better than to play with those.”
He needed to leave. She could be out of here in forty-five seconds if she had to, but a more gracious exit—one with the money to move fast—required some privacy. “That will be fifteen-eighty for the coffee,” she said, hip cocked.
Allen’s lips parted. “Are you kidding?” he said loudly, and the last patron gathering his things snorted. It was Cam—Scottish descent but all American, ruggedly beautiful and with a sharp mind and enough personal charisma to draw her. He was heading for the register, unusual for the tech-loving man. For some reason, he didn’t like using his p-cash app to pay at the tables anymore, but maybe that was her fault.
Hand on her hip, Peri pointed to the very obvious sign over the register. Everything was fifteen-eighty: every size, every variety, every day. No refills unless she felt like it. She was a lousy bookkeeper, and this made it easy as well as keeping the place smelling of money. “You’re not buying a cup of coffee, sir,” she said mockingly. “You’re buying a secure place to check your email in a pleasant setting.” And it was secure. She made sure of it every day.
“I bet you still take cash, don’t you?” he said as he reached for his wallet. “Good God, I’m in the wrong business.”
“Then why do you keep trying to get me to come back to yours?” she said pointedly. “I’ll get you your change.” Taking the proffered bill, she strode to the register.
Flustered, she barely acknowledged Cam when he slid his own twenty across the stainless steel counter and she absently made change. “Thank you,” she said when he dumped it all in the tip jar. “Do you want one to go?”
“Peri, is everything okay?”
She looked up, truly shocked at the concern in his melodious voice. Following his nod to Allen, she slumped. “Oh. Yes. He’s an old business associate trying to lure me back. He gets under my skin is all.”
Cam’s eyebrows rose. “Oh!”
Oh? Head tilted, Peri eyed him. “Oh, what?”
The young stock market analyst smiled faintly, too confident to be embarrassed, but close. “I thought he was an old boyfriend you might need help encouraging to leave. I still could help—if you want.”
A smile, real and grateful, spread across her face. The kindness felt anything but small. “Thank you,” she said, touching his hand so he’d believe her. “I’ll be fine. It’s just business.”
He frowned, clearly not convinced. “I’ll call you later.”
She shut the register, Allen’s change in her grip. “You don’t have my number.”
Cam’s expression became crafty. “I would if you’d give it to me.”
At that she laughed, the clear, unusual sound bringing Allen’s head up in surprise. “Out. Go make money. But thank you. You totally just made my day.”
He sighed in playful regret, giving Allen a sharp look as he headed into the snow. Slowly Peri’s smile faded. Change in hand, she crossed to Allen and dropped it on the table. “Have a nice day. Bye-bye now.”
“Bill?” she said, but her mind was on Jack, not their handler. The bear of a man had vanished cleanly when Opti fell apart. Damn it. Damn it all to hell. She’d said no. Why did she have to keep saying it?
“That’s my guess.” Allen’s hands were in his coat pockets. He was waiting, just waiting. “I could use some help cleaning this up.”
“Not my problem.” Emotion pushed her to her feet, panic not because Jack was free, but because a tiny glowing spot of want had fanned to life, faint from having been denied, but growing stronger.
“You’ve been marked,” he said, stopping her again. “You aren’t safe anymore. The alliance is gone, but I’ve been working with the government to try to bring Bill in. If we can—”
She put a gentle hand on his shoulder that was all threat. “I don’t do that anymore.”
Unwilling to be bullied, he pushed her hand off. “You have skills no one else does.”
“Go find another one. The psych wards are full of us,” she said bitterly. The few remaining patrons were leaving fast, girding themselves against the snow and finding the door as traffic thickened. “I’m not going to work for the government, not even to tuck the bad back into hiding.” She was flushed, hating it.
“Bill wants you,” he said. “That’s why he boosted Jack. He wants you, and he’s not afraid to send a drafter to bring you in.”
Fear slid through her, and her focus sharpened on Allen’s worry. You never sent a drafter after another drafter. The risk was too great that one of them would end up dead, and they were too rare to waste like that.
“You ever hear of Michael? Michael Kord,” Allen asked. “He was a rising drafter when you were in Opti. Here, I’ve got a picture of him.”
The name was familiar, and curiosity drew her eyes down. “I remember this guy,” Allen said as she scanned the grainy surveillance photo of a tall, clean-shaven man with short black hair. It had been taken in Detroit; she could see the elevated rail in the background. “Bill was grooming him to take your place. Encouraging all sorts of interesting behavior.”
Peri’s brow furrowed, a slim finger hovering over the photo as a memory tickled the top of her head. Something about birds . . .
“Bill is a manipulative bastard,” Allen said, still looking at the photo. “But he doesn’t discard someone who might make him money someday.”
Like me, she thought, shaken. “I remember him,” she whispered, the photo bringing her thoughts into focus. He was a dark man, thin but not gaunt. Attractive. Hispanic? He liked his sunglasses and his car. Birds. The single memory she had of him was of him drafting to kill the pigeons who’d spotted his ride.
“You remember Michael?” It was a shocked utterance. “That was in the year I erased. Do you remember . . .”
Her gaze lifted from the photo. “Anything about you?” she asked dryly. “No. I didn’t make any memory knots of you.” She backed up, not knowing what to do with her hands. Michael must have really pissed her off for her to have made a memory knot that would survive a wipe. “You want anything else? I like to mop before the lunch crowd comes in.”
“Memory knots?” he questioned. “Jeez, Peri, you know better than to play with those.”
He needed to leave. She could be out of here in forty-five seconds if she had to, but a more gracious exit—one with the money to move fast—required some privacy. “That will be fifteen-eighty for the coffee,” she said, hip cocked.
Allen’s lips parted. “Are you kidding?” he said loudly, and the last patron gathering his things snorted. It was Cam—Scottish descent but all American, ruggedly beautiful and with a sharp mind and enough personal charisma to draw her. He was heading for the register, unusual for the tech-loving man. For some reason, he didn’t like using his p-cash app to pay at the tables anymore, but maybe that was her fault.
Hand on her hip, Peri pointed to the very obvious sign over the register. Everything was fifteen-eighty: every size, every variety, every day. No refills unless she felt like it. She was a lousy bookkeeper, and this made it easy as well as keeping the place smelling of money. “You’re not buying a cup of coffee, sir,” she said mockingly. “You’re buying a secure place to check your email in a pleasant setting.” And it was secure. She made sure of it every day.
“I bet you still take cash, don’t you?” he said as he reached for his wallet. “Good God, I’m in the wrong business.”
“Then why do you keep trying to get me to come back to yours?” she said pointedly. “I’ll get you your change.” Taking the proffered bill, she strode to the register.
Flustered, she barely acknowledged Cam when he slid his own twenty across the stainless steel counter and she absently made change. “Thank you,” she said when he dumped it all in the tip jar. “Do you want one to go?”
“Peri, is everything okay?”
She looked up, truly shocked at the concern in his melodious voice. Following his nod to Allen, she slumped. “Oh. Yes. He’s an old business associate trying to lure me back. He gets under my skin is all.”
Cam’s eyebrows rose. “Oh!”
Oh? Head tilted, Peri eyed him. “Oh, what?”
The young stock market analyst smiled faintly, too confident to be embarrassed, but close. “I thought he was an old boyfriend you might need help encouraging to leave. I still could help—if you want.”
A smile, real and grateful, spread across her face. The kindness felt anything but small. “Thank you,” she said, touching his hand so he’d believe her. “I’ll be fine. It’s just business.”
He frowned, clearly not convinced. “I’ll call you later.”
She shut the register, Allen’s change in her grip. “You don’t have my number.”
Cam’s expression became crafty. “I would if you’d give it to me.”
At that she laughed, the clear, unusual sound bringing Allen’s head up in surprise. “Out. Go make money. But thank you. You totally just made my day.”
He sighed in playful regret, giving Allen a sharp look as he headed into the snow. Slowly Peri’s smile faded. Change in hand, she crossed to Allen and dropped it on the table. “Have a nice day. Bye-bye now.”
