22
“What part of ‘no’ do you not
understand, Hobart?” King said into the phone, staring down at
Zoes inert form on the
infirmary bed. The machines hooked up to her beeped and hummed in
the quiet room.
“But . . . how do you expect . . .”
Hobart’s voice trailed off. He was intelligent enough to hear death
in his creator’s voice, but he continued to whine. “But you saw
what these people can do! It’s just Melanie and me! We need
reinforcements if we’re going to mount an attack on—”
“I don’t have reinforcements to send
you,” King cut in, staring at the data generated by the machines
attached to Zoe. Her body was healing, but she’d indulged in two
more doses of Melimitrex to make it to the rendezvous point. Zoe’s
tendency for self-indulgence should be no surprise to him at this
point, but still. It was a wonder she wasn’t dead from an overdose.
She might be brain damaged. Time would tell.
The trauma had taken its toll. She had
lost a startling amount of weight, and her face was gaunt and
sunken. Broken capillaries marred her eyelids, d veins on her
temples stood out, snakelike and discolored. King shuddered with
distaste. Hobart was still babbling. King forced himself to listen.
He had to close this tedious conversation.
“. . . now, considering their
resources! We’re going to need at least eight to ten operatives to
mount an attack on—”
“Who said anything about mounting an
attack?” King said.
Hobart was lost. Incredible, that this
specimen had escaped the cull. He wondered what criteria he had
been using when he chose not to discard Hobart. Certainly creative
thinking had not been on the forefront of his mind. Some other gift
must make up for the lack, but it was not in evidence today. King
would look into his specs before he eliminated him, to make sure.
Housecleaning was in order.
“So far, we’ve attacked them
frontally,” he explained as if to a child. “The results have not
been good. Alone or together, they’ve bested every direct assault
we’ve leveled at them. What does this suggest?”
“That we have to increase
the—”
“No,” King said sharply. “No more
frontal attacks. They have the McClouds behind them, and Tamara
Steele, and Val Janos, just to start. Have you done any research on
these people? Have you any idea of their backgrounds? What they are
capable of?”
“Ah . . . yes, but Melanie and
I—”
“Perhaps you and Melanie have not been
paying attention. We cannot afford to engage an army. We’re
exposed, overextended. We have to control them. It’s clear that he
has bonded with Parr. He’ll do anything to protect her now. Look at
this.” King tapped the keyboard, selected a portion of the video
the satellite photo had taken.
It showed Bruno Ranieri basically
dragging Lily Parr up a cliff by her wrist. Pulling her up onto a
ledge. He crouched with her there, leaning in to cup her face. They
spoke for a few moments. Then he kissed her, very passionately. She
wrapped her arms around his neck.
“So?” King prompted. “Hobart? Did you
learn anything?”
“But . . . but—”
“You and Melanie take Parr. And we
control Ranieri with her.”
“But Parr is in that Steele woman’s
fortress,” Hobart whined. “The defense system is beyond state of
the art. How can we possibly—”
“You and Melanie will go to Cray’s
Cove and set up base,” King said. “Brute force is not working. Let
us default to intelligence and guile. You two will listen, watch,
and use the creativity and unconventional thought processing
inculcated in you since babyhood. And we will see if any of that
seeding ever took root, hmmm? I, for one, am curious.”
“Um. Yes, sir.” Hobart’s voice was
subdued.
“Watch that place like a cat watches a
mouse hole,” King said, giving in to the urge to micromanage.
“Document every vehicle that comes and goes. Listen and watch. The
device in Rosa Ranieri’s purse needs constant monitoring. Sooner or
later, they’ll get careless, and you two will jump into action.
You’d better hope it’s sooner.”
“We, ah, have a time issue?” Hobart
asked.
King’s jaw ached from clenching. The
man had delivered the transcript of that conversation in Tam
Steele’s house the night before and had not made these connections
himself. “Tony Ranieri’s letter would inconvenience the Ranieri
family,” he explained. “The one that Rosa Ranieri holds. In her
purse, we discovered. Which you held, Hobart. In your hands, in the
baby supplies store. Entertain, hmm?”
“But, sir, I had no
idea—”
“Silence,” he snapped. “Don’t waste my
time. Bruno Ranieri will focus his attack on his Ranieri cousins
now, since he knows no other place to attack. If he leans on
Michael, then I do have a problem. So yes, there is a time issue,
Hobart. As you so euphemistically put it.”
“But . . . then shouldn’t
we—”
“Silence,” he snapped again. “You and
Melanie take Parr. Bring her to me. No bodies, no noise, no police.
And if you manage that small task, then maybe, just maybe, you will
save your skins. We will see.”
Hobart’s shame and despair filled the
silence. King decided to relent, just a little. Fear and shame were
powerful motivators, but he was throwing a tantrum. Demoralizing
the few functioning agents left to him was counterproductive.
“Hobart,” he said. “Wait. Don’t hang up.”
He pulled up Hobart’s command codes
out of his memory and judiciously chose a Level Five motivator
sequence. It was a phrase of ancient epic poetry, written in
medieval Georgian. It was designed to reinforce mood, stimulating
endorphins. A fizzy rush to get a jump-start on the task at hand.
More a lollipop than anything else.
Not that Hobart deserved a treat, but
King was a practical man.
He recited the phrase, gave Hobart a
moment to collect himself. “Now off with you,” he said. “Get to
it.”
“Yes, sir.” Hobart’s voice was almost
tearful.
King broke the connection and stared
down at Zoe’s wasted form, wondering if there was any point at all
in rehabilitating her. He would never have considered such a thing
before, after a failure of such proportions. She was played out. It
might be dangerous to recycle her at this point. But he had just
lost eight operatives, some in their prime, others entering their
prime. It was no simple matter to assemble more, with his stable
out in the world, busily engaged in various profitable enterprises.
He didn’t keep them around idle, kicking their heels.
He had to learn the lesson hidden in
this terrible blow. It was his assumption of natural superiority
that had brought him to this. He’d underestimated Bruno Ranieri. It
was intriguing.
He turned away from Zoe’s humming,
blipping machines and pulled up the recorded satellite image of
yesterday morning’s debacle at the cabin, running the film forward
until he got to the part he wanted.
Bruno Ranieri staring up at the sky.
Giving him the finger.
Neil stared at the image for a long
time, running it back and replaying the short sequence over and
over. He wanted to hear the younger man’s voice to analyze his
speech patterns. Get inside his head. He dug his phone out and
punched in Hobart’s code again.
“Yes, sir?” Hobart sounded
anxious.
“Reggie rigged passive surveillance at
Ranieri’s diner,” King said. “Did you recover the footage of Parr
and Ranieri’s conversation?”
“Of course I did,” Hobart said. “I’ll
send it immediately.”
King hung up, swinging back to look at
Ranieri’s expressive face, his defiance. Admirable, really. Ranieri
was shaping up to be a worthy foe. Not that King had felt any need
for a foe, but there the man was.
He stared at the image for a minute or
so, until a soft, musical ping from the speaker showed that the audio
of the Parr/Ranieri diner conversation of three days ago had
arrived. He was eager to listen to it, but he clng d “replay” once
again, as if compelled.
He watched the younger man thrust his
hand up again, middle finger extended. So small and ineffectual,
yet so vital.
“Fight all you want,” King said to the
screen. “You’re mine.”
Lily shivered in the frigid garage.
The only light was what spilled out of the door to the house. Bruno
and the McCloud men were loading the SUV that Kev McCloud had
rented at Sea-Tac Airport on his return from New Zealand. The men
worked with a hard, grim focus that made her feel like extraneous
fluff. Not strictly their fault, but it still sucked.
“I have a right to be there,” she said
again. “I can take turns with the shovel. I can use the geothermal
thing. I can keep watch. I can pull the trigger of a gun. You saw
me do it. Or, ah, heard me, at least.”
The McCloud guys exchanged looks that
clearly indicated how grateful they all were that dealing with her
was not their problem.
Bruno looked at his watch. Ten
P.M. Full dark. The plan
was to ease out, no headlights, hoping to give the satellite eye
the slip, driving with an infrared scope for a few miles before
turning the headlights on and becoming another anonymous moving
light on the highway. Then, back up to the cabin to Tony’s famous
pissing tree sometime before dawn. Two to dig. Three to guard. The
best plan they had come up with.
Assuming they didn’t drive into an
ambush.
Lily hated it. Or more specifically,
she hated the fact that the plan did not include her.
Bruno let out a savage sigh. “No,” he
said.
Anger boiled up inside her. “Hey. This
is not your problem, Ranieri. It’s our problem. What gives you the authority to
say no to me?”
Kev, Davy, Connor, and Sean McCloud
did the crazy-chick male-sign-language thing. By silent accord,
they slunk away into the shadows.
Bruno’s mouth was tight. “It’s
simple,” he said. “Is it your car? No. Kev rented it. The thing
seats five. The McClouds and me. You think I’m leaving behind one
of them to bring you? Ain’t gonna happen, Lily. You’re not invited
to this party. Tough shit. Get over it.”
She struggled not to cry out of sheer
frustration. “I want to be there when you find that thing,” she
said. “I need
it.”
“We might not find anything at all.”
Bruno hoisted some new, shiny shovels, price tags still attached,
and tossed them into the back. A bag full of leather gloves flew in
after them. “I’ll tell you what you need. Stay safe. Take naps.
Soak in a tub. Drink lots of fluids.”
“Who gives a shit about naps and
fluids? So far, I’ve only participated in the problem! I want to be
in on the solution, too. You can’t tell me no!”
“Can’t I?” He loomed over her, his
lips pressed flat. “I’ve got an extra ten inches and a hundred
pounds on you. It doesn’t give me authority, but it gives me an
edge. I’ll use it. No problem.”
“You’re doing it again,” she said.
“That macho bullshit power tripping. You bastard. How dare
you.”
He shrugged, unrepentant. “The one
thing I’ve managed to do for you so far is get you to a place where
you can rest. So you can goddamn well appreciate this small
accomplishment of mine, OK? We have to dig up those bones, and
those bastards are going to be watching. It will take hours, plenty
of time for them to mbilize. And do you want me to fight like that
again? Looking over my shoulder with my heart in my throat? It’s
dangerous for me, too, you realize that?”
She bit her lip. She was compounding
her uselessness by acting stupid and unhinged. Lovely way to cement
a budding relationship and endear herself to his extended family.
No way a gun-toting, shovel-wielding six foot four behemoth should
stay behind to make room for Lily Parr, who was totally losing her
shit.
She was such a practical person. She
didn’t even know herself like this. Hands ice cold and shaking.
Legs like jelly. So scared that he would drive away and never come
back. She didn’t want to be left in the world as it was. That
enormous dead silence that would be the universe without Bruno in
it. She’d go looking for the bad guys herself. She’d advertise for
them. Put up a Web site. Come get me.
Hurry, please.
Bruno looked pissed, as if she were
trying to manipulate him with her tears. She wasn’t, but the whiny,
soggy bitch effect was the same.
Bruno gestured toward the stuff heaped
on the floor. Geothermal sensors. An armory, packed in black
plastic cases too heavy for her to lift. “Which of this equipment
do you feel comfortable using? You plan on taking turns with the
shovel, with your strained tendons?”
“OK, I get it. Don’t beat a dead
horse.” She mopped her nose. “What happened to your trademark
charm?”
“It was a cheap trick,” he informed
her. “Some evolutionary thing related to primitive mating behavior.
I’m in survival mode now, so kiss the charm good-bye. This is the
real Bruno. Hello, nice to meet you.”
“Oh, great,” she muttered. “That’s
just peachy.”
“Time to go,” Kev McCloud called
out.
The four men materialized and finished
loading the equipment into the cargo space. They slid into their
places in the SUV without looking her in the face. Lily crossed her
arms over her chest. “Those bastards,” she said. “Trying to get you
out of a tight spot.”
“Nice that they care,” Bruno observed.
“I could use the support.”
“Yeah. And speaking of which. If
you’re going to get cozy with the McClouds, make it count. It’s
time you and Kev’s brothers got your ya-yas out with each
other.”
His brows knit. “I told you. I’ve got
no problem with them.”
“That’s a big fat stinking lie,” she
said. “But I wasn’t referring to that, actually. I was talking
about the problem they have with you.”
He looked blank. “Lily, we don’t have
time for cryptic bullshit.”
She shrugged, shivering. “Nothing
cryptic about it. You’re jealous of them. They’re jealous of you.
Isn’t that just a big joke? Hah, hah.”
“Jealous? Of me? Horseshit. Why should
they be?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why.
But it’s obvious. I’m shocked you haven’t noticed it yourself.
Probably you’re just too self-absorbed right now. The new Bruno,
sans charm and all that.”
He shrugged a leather coat on over his
bristling weapons load. “Is this some subtle form of female
mind-fuck torture? To punish me?”
She shook her head. “It’s not a
male-female thing at all,” she said. “It’s a gender-neutral thing.
Ignore it if you like.”
He grunted his disgust. “I like,” he
said. “We’ll save the group therapy for later. There’s no time for
this emotional c right now.”
She swiped tears from her eyes. “I
imagine that refers to me, too?”
“Yeah, it sure does,” he said. “Grow
up, Lily.”
It popped out before she could stop
it. “Fuck you, Ranieri.”
She regretted it like hell, but of
course it was too late.
He’d been turning away, toward the
SUV, but at that he turned back, considering her with narrowed eyes
for a long moment.
Connor McCloud hit the horn, short but
loud. Bruno ignored him and stalked over to Lily, grabbed her, and
bent her over backward in one of those poster-worthy,
soldier-going-off-to-war mega-galactic kisses.
Lily was too startled to resist. All
too soon, he lifted his head, stared into her eyes. “I love you,
too.”
She was speechless. He gave her a
crooked smile, like he didn’t really expect an answer, and turned
to the vehicle.
Blind panic surged. She lunged after
him. “Bruno!”
Bruno caught her headlong rush,
steadying her. “Yeah?”
Her mouth worked. She couldn’t find
words for feelings that were just too big, too wide for them.
Standard phrases were too small, too flat. Feelings backed up
inside her, building pressure in the bottleneck. All that burst out
was, “Thanks for the, uh, translation.”
The flash in his eyes made her heart
thud. “I got it right?”
“Yeah.” The word squeezed out,
strangled by the burning lump in her throat. “Thanks for not going
off, leaving me with that as the last thing I said. It would have
sucked.” If you never came
back.
He rubbed his cheek against hers.
“Took nerve, you know.”
“You’ll need nerve, hanging out with
me.”
And they got sucked into the heart of
that apocalyptic kiss again. Her heart bumped like it wanted to
jump out of her chest, and her soul ached to braid itself together
with his, and the world went away—
Except that the world started honking
the car horn and strobing the brights against the garage wall.
Smart-asses.
Kev popped open his door. “Hey! Save
it for later, Romeo.”
Bruno cupped her face, stared into her
eyes, breathing hard. His color was high. “Goddamnit,” he
muttered.
She pulled his face back down, kissed
him hungrily. “You be careful out there. Or I’ll kill
you.”
His grin flashed as he got in, and the
vehicle was in motion before the door swung shut. Fleeing Bruno’s
hell-bitch girlfriend’s irrational demands. Headlights cut out
abruptly. The doors groaned slowly open. The SUV backed out. The
doors ground shut again. And her, alone, like an idiot. Wondering
if she should have paid more attention to those last moments.
Riveted every precious detail more deeply into her
memory.
Tam stood by the door, closing the
little control panel for the garage door. Edie, Kev’s fiancée, was
in the doorway, too.
“You OK, Lily?” Edie’s voice was low
and gentle.
Lily shook her head, pressed her hand
to her mouth. She heard slippered footsteps padding, and Edie’s arm
slid around her. “Worried?”
Lily nodded.
“If it’s any comfort to you, he’s got
four of the toughest guys you’ll ever meet in that car with him.
I’m talking rawhide. I pity the fool who messes with even one
McCloud, let alone four of them.”
Lily shot her a grateful, if watery
smile. Edie applied gentle pressure with her arm, coaxing Lily
toward the door. “I know it makes you feel useless,” she said. “But
you’re not. You’ll get your chance to have plenty more dangerous
adventures before you’re through, I bet.”
“Hey, hanging out in Zia Rosa’s
clutches is a dangerous adventure in itself,” Tam spoke up, her
voice smoky with amusement. “Gird up your loins, girlfriend. That
woman is going to take you to pieces.”
They squeezed out into the corridor.
Edie gave Tam a teasing look. “Seems like you and she get along
better these days.”
Tam rolled her eyes and indicated her
swollen belly. “Of course. I’m engaged in repopulating the earth.
So I’m now in the club of people who have the right to exist.” She
paused and swept her eyes over Edie’s long, slender body. “You’re
not in that club yet, are you?”
Edie made a noncommittal sound. “Don’t
think so.”
Tam turned her gaze on Lily. “How
about you? Being careful?”
Lily didn’t have a hope in hell of
hiding the blush.
Tam smote her brow. “For God’s sake.
What are you thinking?”
“Leave her alone,” Edie scolded. “It’s
a tough time for her. And it’s not about thinking, Tam, it’s about
feeling.”
“Feel all you want with your legs in
the air and an implant in your arm!” She turned to Lily. “Do you
want a morning-after pill?”
Lily faltered, stammering. “Ah . .
.”
“Let me tell you something, Lily,” Tam
said. “I’ve been on the run for my life alone. I’ve been on the run
for my life with my kid. Alone’s better. Running for your life with
a kid is hell on earth. Think about it.”
Lily nodded, cowed.
Edie frowned at Tam. “Let’s change the
subject, please,” she said. “Come on. Let’s go up to the kitchen,
make some tea. We can try another one of Zia’s cupcakes. She made
some with chocolate frosting.”
Lily froze in her tracks. “I hate it,”
she burst out. “I’m here, sipping tea and nibbling cupcakes while
Bruno’s out there? What, should I maybe crochet a white lace doily
while I’m at it?”
Tam and Edie exchanged
glances.
Tam spoke, her voice dry. “Shot of
bourbon, then?”
That hit her funny bone, hard. Lily
laughed until her eyes filled with hot tears, and let them lead her
inside.