She could only shake her head. "I still don't understand how you manage, Jett. To go through all you did: Imperials, Cataclysm, stasis—most people wouldn't be able to function, much less flourish."
His gaze dropped. "It was rough at first. Not just rough—it was hell. But having something to focus on, goals to work toward—that makes a huge difference."
"Yeah, I'm glad you took the job too. You've done outstanding work so far."
He looked up, blinking. "The job? Oh yeah, it's been good. No complaints."
"So why not commit full-time? You could have an on-site residence, get out of the Warrens…"
A smile flashed across his face. "What, you don't care for my plush apartment?"
"Seriously, Jett. I know you have the job with Golding Security, but—"
He shrugged. "It's the pay. I'm saving up so I can make some improvements, maybe get a lady I know to come over for dinner without worrying about getting robbed."
She felt her cheeks blush. "If the lady in question is packing heat, she won't have to worry about getting robbed."
"Really? So, is that a yes?"
"To what?"
"A date."
She took a deep breath, trying to keep the smile from her lips. "I … don't go on dates."
"Why? Against police policy to date a civilian?"
"Of course not, goofball."
"Oh, I'm a goofball? You take a sacred vow, then?" He raised one hand in mock seriousness. "I solemnly swear never to date until I cleanse the city of—"
She smacked his arm. "Stop it. I don't date because I don't have time. And…"
"And what?"
"My track record hasn't been so good, okay? Dating complicates things. I like to keep my life simple."
"Keep it simple, then."
"Do you ever stop? Where's all this coming from?"
He ran a hand over his clean-shaven head. "It's like you said—I've been through a lot. And I realized something: you can't take time for granted. People are here today, gone tomorrow. I don't see the point of tap dancing around the subject. I think you're an amazing woman, and I want to get to know you better. What's wrong with that?"
She sighed, feeling a rapid swell of conflicting emotions. "It's just … I like this. Coming here, talking to you, watching the kids. It's like an oasis. A safety zone. But if we take things to the next level and things fall apart … all of this is gone. You can't just dial things back, Jett. That's not how relationships work."
"Says who? We're both adults. I think we can handle it."
"Maybe."
"Maybe? That's a start, then. How about lunch? Far less threatening a concept than dinner."
She smiled. "Lunch I can do. Tomorrow sound good?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
"Good." She picked up one of the basketballs and bounced it. "Seems pretty easy."
"Oh, she's got skills."
"Don't make fun. How good are you, mister Coach of the Year?"
He picked up a ball, expertly dribbling it through his legs. "It's all about form, really. Once you get it down, the game gets pretty easy." Raising up, he shot the ball off his fingertips. It sailed through the air and bounced off the rim. His disappointed expression made her explode with laughter.
He grinned. "Oh, you think that's funny? Let's see what you got, baller."
She caught the ball, dribbled, then jumped and let it fly. It dropped through the net with a swishing sound. Turning around, she winked. "Had a hoop in the parking lot of the Academy. Used to play all the time."
"Show-off."
"Like you said—the girl got skills." She looked down when her holoband buzzed. Look—I gotta run to the office."
"Off to save the world?"
"Something like that. We'll talk later, okay?"
"Tomorrow. Not a date. Lunch."
"Right—lunch."
"Watch your six out here, Captain."
"Will do." She walked back to her aerodyne, feeling his eyes on her. Hiding a grin, she slid into the driver's seat and set the coordinates. As the vehicle lifted into the sky, she glanced down. The kids continued their play, but Jett stood in the middle of the court, looking up. He waved.
It wasn't fair that he made her feel so good without even seeming to try. But it had been too long since anyone saw past the badge and uniform. Too long since anyone made her feel special. The sensation was exhilarating and scary at the same time.
Please don't screw this up, Ronnie. Not like last time.
The aerodyne banked, turning in the direction of RCE headquarters.
Ⓥ
"Jett's got a girlfriend, Jett's got a girlfriend!"
He turned to the chanting children, shaking a finger. "Cute. Time for a break—get hydrated, catch some air conditioning. It's a furnace out here."
Glancing up, he caught the glint of Ronnie's aerodyne before it cut between buildings and disappeared. He scratched his neatly-trimmed goatee, wondering what the hell came over him. He half-expected Ronnie to laugh in his face when he made his blushing schoolboy confession. If she had, it would have made things easier. He couldn't afford to be close to her. He couldn't afford to be close to anyone.
But he knew it was hopeless.
He liked the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, her chocolate-toned skin, her mane of naturally curly hair. He liked the way she smelled and the sound of her laughter. He wanted to put his arms around her. He wanted to do a lot of things…
Careful, Jett. That's the loneliness talking.
He sighed. Naturally, he'd be attracted to a gung-ho police officer, someone who probably had an agenda that included tracking down and arresting Vigil as soon as possible. It didn't change how he felt about her, though. Being around her felt right, and maybe that was enough. He just hoped he didn't make a fool out of himself in the process.
Walking into the building, he spotted Zoe sitting by herself in a corner, absorbed by the holovisor on her head. He gently tapped on the goggles. She pushed them up, staring up as if she'd never seen him before.
"Hi, Zoe."
"Hi, giant."
"Have you been to the East Wing lately?"
She giggled. "There's nothing in the East Wing, silly."
"There is now. Wanna see?"
***
The VR center was brand-new, divided into several sections where children could use the equipment in safety and privacy under the direction of a digital supervisor.
"If you're going to do the Immersion thing, I want you to do it here where it's safe. Not at a Haze parlor. Scheduled time, regular breaks. I even installed the simulation you like. But it's not a replacement for reality, okay?"
She smiled. "Okay, Mr. Wolfe."
"Oh, so now you remember my name?"
"I remember a lot of things."
She looked so focused and lucid that he was surprised. "I know you go to trauma counseling, but I want you to know I'm here if you ever want to talk about what happened. Okay?"
"You mean the Beasts."
He nodded, studying her face. "That's right. The Beasts."
"Vigil took care of them."
He blinked. "You remember that?"
"Sure. He was a giant, too."
Jett recalled the rescue of the children, when he removed his helmet to gain their trust. "Do you remember anything else about Vigil? What he looked like, maybe?"
Her hazel eyes widened. "No. He had a shiny helmet. It was made of starlight."
He slowly exhaled. "Starlight, huh?"
"Yep. And he had laser hands. Maybe he came from the stars."
Jett leaned back against the wall, slowly sliding down until he sat on the floor. "Yeah. He probably came from someplace far, far away." His mind wandered, drifting across the canyon of time where his brother still lived and his team still raised hell.
"Mr. Wolfe?"
His attention refocused. "Yes, Zoe?"
She looked very small sitting in one of the Immersion chairs, staring at him with eyes too old for her face.
Haunted eyes. "I don't want anyone to hurt me again."
"No one ever will, Zoe. Not while I'm around."
She smiled.
Ⓥ
In his ultra-chic Manhaven condo, Joe Blow learned how to dance.
One, two, cha-cha-cha…
Shuffling his enormous feet, he tried to keep time with Honey. She was beautiful and graceful as he was ugly and ungainly. It didn't matter. She loved him anyway, and for that, he gave her everything he had. Anything she wanted. So when she wanted to dance, he got up and danced despite having absolutely no rhythm. Not that he wasn't quick on his feet or didn't know how to move. It was just that his moves were usually fierce and violent, not coordinated to a melodic tune.
One, two, cha-cha-cha…
She laughed delightedly, tossing back her golden-shaded hair. "See—you're getting there."
"Yer just being polite, Honey. These feet ain't exactly made for dancing."
Her petite hand encircled two of his gnarled, knobby fingers as she fluidly led him along. "You can do anything you want, Joe. You can be anything you want to be."
He glanced at his reflection in the heavily-ornated mirror as they waltzed past. "Yeah. Except be a supermodel."
He knew all his life he was ugly. Ogreish was how one of his teachers described him before Joe sent him to the hospital with six broken ribs and a concussion. He couldn't argue with the description, though. He looked every bit like a creature that might lurk under bridges and eat children for fun. His face was a misshapen slab with a jutting forehead, massive brows, beady eyes, lumpy nose, and wide, disproportionate mouth. His blotchy skin resembled the rusty underside of an old car, pitted and hideous. He lurked just over eight feet tall, built like a tank. Nothing pretty to look at, which was fine with him.
Because he surrounded himself with beauty.
One, two, cha-cha-cha…
The condo was on the one-hundred-first floor, high enough to make the lower city a distant memory. Spacious, brightly lit, floor-to-ceiling windows all around with spectacular views, especially of Haven Core, which loomed like a rising moon, glimmering and mysterious. The décor was glam and luxe, with accents of silver and gold, white rugs and throws, royal purple throw pillows and shades. Crystal goblets, marble countertops, metallic backsplash, gleaming dinnerware and cutlery. Silk and linen on the bed, rosewater sprayed on the pillows. His tailored shirt and slacks were of the finest cut, shipped from Italy in bulk because he constantly bust through the seams at work despite the custom fit.
He and Honey were the toast of the town. Despite his monstrous looks, he was still a fixture at star-studded events, rubbing elbows with Neo York's finest. He had Honey to thank for that. She could charm anyone, negotiate anything through a combination of allure, intelligence, and sharp wit. Nobody could resist her, least of all him. He'd do anything for her.
Anything.
She stood on the top of his polished monk-strap shoes to reach up and touch his face. "Baby, you don't need to be a supermodel. You're all I need just the way you are."
"Yer the best, Honey. Now, howzabout we switch things up a bit? This music is killing me."
"You don't like charanga?
"I like it just fine. Just not as agile as you are."
She smiled, performing a graceful spin with her hands above her head. "Well, I suppose we can always—"
Joe Blow turned from lifting a brandy decanter at the bar. "What was that, Honey?"
She shuddered, eyes staring in terror. "Joe, I—" Convulsing, she slumped to the exotic hardwood floor, foam bubbling from her mouth, eyes rolled back in her head.
"Honey!"
Joe Blow's heart nearly exploded. Dropping the decanter, he rushed over and scooped her up. She hung limply in his arms as if her bones had melted. He tapped the emergency button on the massive platinum holoband on his wrist. It flashed with a bad receiver signal.
"Damn it!" Turning, he yelled at the digital assistant panel on the wall. "Braxton, pull the car from the garage and have it ready in front of the building."
The elevator dinged as it stopped in front of his foyer. He stared as the doors opened, and a dark figure stepped out, face hidden by shadows.
Joe Blow's teeth gritted. "How the hell did you get access to my place?"
"Does it matter?" The man's voice was flat and mechanical, unrecognizable. "Your synoid companion just had her system shut down. That's not good. But trust me—it can get a lot worse."
"You did this?" Joe Blow's Egyptian cotton shirt split in the back and shoulders when his muscles clenched. "You're dead."
The man pointed a metallic hand, and Honey gasped in Joe Blow's arms, eyes unnaturally wide, blue blood dripping from the corners like tears. She shuddered so violently that he feared her bones might shatter.
"Okay, stop! Please." He heaved a sigh of relief when the man lowered his hand, and Honey went limp. Joe Blow glowered at the intruder. "Who are you?"
The man stepped into the light. His expensive black-on-black, three-piece suit would have fit in anywhere in the condo complex were it not for the gleaming skull that covered his entire head. Gunmetal-grey and intricately detailed, it made the intruder instantly ominous. The black eye sockets stared back at Joe Blow like endless pits.
"You know who I am."
Joe Blow swallowed. "What … do you want?"
"You allowed Vigil to enter the sanctum and attack the Beasts. Did you think there would be no repercussions?"
"You want to punish me, then do it. Leave Honey out of it. She's innocent."
"Innocent?" The skull tilted slightly. "She's a synthetic humanoid. She doesn't exist. Not in the literal sense of the word, anyway. But that's not how you see it, is it?"
Joe Blow glanced down at Honey. She leaned against his chest, eyes closed, hair plastered against her face. His jaw trembled. "No. That's not how I see it."
"I can wipe her mind right now. Erase all the history you've built, all the moments you shared together."
"No. Please don't. I'll do whatever you want."
The intruder clasped his hands together. "I know you will. Now, set her down and come with me."
Joe Blow gently set Honey down on the leather sofa, nearly sobbing when her eyes blinked open. "Joe—what happened? Did I pass out?"
He smiled, running a finger through her hair. "Just over-exerted yourself, sweetheart. Rest up. I'll be back soon. Have some work I have to do."
She looked up, eyes shining. "Okay, Joe."
He straightened and turned. The skull-faced man's expression was hidden, but Joe Blow felt his amusement anyway. The man gestured to the elevator.
"Shall we?"
Joe Blow fell into place, entering the custom-built lift. He towered over the intruder, could probably tear him apart without breaking a sweat. But he knew there were contingencies in place. Honey would die, and he just wouldn't be able to bear it. He glanced down as the doors hissed shut.
"Where are we going?"
"You failed to stop Vigil last time. We're giving you another shot."
"He's a ghost. How am I supposed to find him?"
The man pressed the button for the garage. "Not to worry. He'll find you."
Ⓥ
Freddy Flava strutted down the street, fresh out of the salon. Hair permed with the ends flipped, looking so clean he almost didn't want to put his Panama back on his head. It was too hot for the full suit and silk shirts, so he had to make do with breathable linen and a thin scarf hanging over his shoulders. But his gators were blue and tipped with chrome, flashing with every exaggerated step. He wiped his brow with a satin handkerchief. It was time to check on his filly around the corner. She had two hours to make some notes, and it was time for a pimp to get paid.
Cutting across the alley, he placed a manicured hand on the gold-plated pistol in his pocket. Always a chance some fizzle wanted to get nuck and go for the bezzle. Freddy Flava was always ready, especially since that crazy bull jumped him in the bar a few months back. It cost a grip t
o fix his pretty face, and he only wished he could catch up to the mofo again so he could get some payback. If he even caught a glimpse of—
The figure appeared from nowhere, leaping from the shadows like an armored phantom. Freddy Flava saw a V-shaped flash of red, realized who it was, started to scream, but his breath caught in his throat when Vigil snatched him by the collar and slammed him into the side of the building so violently that he bit his tongue. He gurgled helplessly, trying to break Vigil's iron grip.
A fist struck him in the stomach so hard that he nearly vomited. He doubled over, gasping before being slammed against the wall again and slapped upside the head. He winced when ears rang, disturbing his balance. The Panama hat tumbled off, crushed by Vigil's boot. Freddy Flava's eyes widened in outrage despite the pain.
"What the hell you 'bout, nucka? Rough me up, but leave the threads alone. That fez ain't cheap, feel me?"
The answer was a bone-crunching punch to the chest. "You feel that?" Vigil thrust his head inches away from Freddy's face, visor pulsing red with every grated word. "You're the one that likes to pimp out little girls."
"What? Not no more, man. Word out you's closing shop on the young fillies. Flava Freddy ain't trying to be a grease stain on the evening news, knawmean? I work strictly in the eighteen-plus range. Got to show a pimp ID if you wants to trick with me, ya dig?"
Vigil reached out and snatched Freddy Flava's silk scarf from his neck.
Freddy Flava sucked in a panicked breath. "Hey now—ain't no need for that, playa. Why don't we—"
Vigil's fist glowed red. The scarf disintegrated in his hand, burned to fluttering ash that drifted away in the hot breeze.
Freddy Flava's eyes bulged. "Da hell is wrong witchoo?"
Vigil snatched him by the collar. "I'm five seconds from doing the same to your perm if you don't start talking."
Freddy Flava ran a nervous hand through his gleaming hair. "'Kay—just chill, bull. We can work dis out. A pimp ain't never been 'fraid to gab if a brotha give him a pass."
"Tell me how the kids were being transported."
"I told you, I ain't into no—"
Vigil: Inferno Season (The Cyber Knight Chronicles Book 2) Page 7
