Liane stared at him for nearly thirty seconds, gaping until she whispered, “What are you doing here?”
“Ok, don’t be angry, but I followed you the other day and found out that this is where you live—”
“Are you insane?” Liane said in a hoarse whisper. “If I hadn’t rigged the cameras last night, you’d be on your way to an Agency cell right now!”
His eyes lit up. “So I can come in, then?”
“I—no! No, you can’t! You can turn around and get away from here!”
“I can’t, Liane,” Seth said, holding out a hand to stop her from closing the door on him. “They’ve found another, and I need your help.”
She paused, asking, “Another victim?”
Seth nodded. “Just a hand, this time. Male, not yet identified.” She looked away, and Seth said with urgency, “It’s not going to stop, not unless we find out who’s doing this. Help me.”
Her brow furrowed, she looked to the bag and asked, “What is that, anyway?”
“Um, you know . . .” Seth looked down at the bag, finally admitted, “I’ve got no idea, actually. I just went back to Chinatown and got what they seemed to be serving for breakfast. I thought you might like it.”
He shoved the bag towards her and Liane took it, feeling faintly astonished. Seth took advantage of her shock to walk in, looking around and saying admiringly, “Wow, nice. So this is where the government’s reconstruction funds went. Can I see the rest?”
Without waiting for her reply, he walked off into the flat, glancing into the kitchen, the bathroom, and then disappearing through to the bedroom. Liane followed him, bewildered by the entire scenario and still holding onto the bag of food.
Seth was standing in the middle of her white bedroom, his eyes wide as he took in the space and the spectacular view. “Maybe I should reconsider my profession. Is the Agency hiring?”
Liane let out a burst of laughter. She clamped a hand over her mouth, but her shoulders still shook as she gasped, “How on earth can you make jokes after what I told you last time?”
“It’s laugh or cry at times,” grinned Seth. “I’d rather laugh, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t seem to do much of either,” she admitted.
“Well, then, invite me to stay for breakfast and I’ll see what I can do to change that.” He looked at her hopefully, adding, “Please?”
Liane looked down at the bag, then turned and carried it back to the kitchen, mechanically getting out two plates and dividing the food between them. Seth followed, and she handed him a plate and said, “You’ll have to; you bought enough for an entire family and I need you to help me finish it. Now hurry up and eat before I come to my senses.”
Seth gave a laugh, accepting the plate. “Was that you trying to be funny? That was awful.”
Liane glanced back at him, affording a small smile. “Maybe I’ll get better with practice.”
They carried their plates into the living room and sat down on the floor beside the glass coffee table. Only when there were two empty plates did they turn their attention to the files. Seth ended up setting the tablet on the table and projecting the screen as he spoke.
“Since we don’t have any additional information from the latest vic, I thought we could focus on the mod you wanted me to follow.” Seth drew up a surveillance photo of a suited man walking to an expensive car. “Crispin Hughes; solicitor, trust-funder, prat.”
Liane raised her eyebrows, commenting, “That’s your official report, then?”
“I don’t know what else you would call him. He works for a firm that specializes in corporate law, and was the one who got off those industrialists caught dumping waste into the slums last year.” Seth scrolled through several more photos, narrating as he went. “He lives in one of those mansions outside of the city. Has a wife, no kids. A driver brings him to the city every morning, and after hours he likes to patronize a mod nightclub in the West End called The Beast Within. Stays in the city frequently, rarely alone.”
Liane looked at the rotating photograph, asking with a frown, “His wife comes here with him?”
Seth smiled, “Nope. So in the time I’ve been following him, I haven’t seen anything illegal other than the modding. He must be using weekly or even more frequently.”
“We need to question him,” Liane said decisively. “Where would be best for a confrontation?”
“Honestly, I think the nightclub is our best option,” Seth said, pulling up a projection of a modern black and glass building. “Noisy, crowded, and lots of exits. We’ll be able to get in and get out with few people noticing.” Seth ended the projection, looking at her as he said, “So that brings us to you.”
“What about me?”
“Well, if you want to get in the front door, you’re going to have to play the part, you know.”
Liane gave him a blank look. “And . . . ?”
“And you can’t walk in there looking like that.”
She looked down at her simple black and white clothes, perplexed. “That . . . ?”
“Like you always do, like you’re going to put a hit on someone,” Seth said, somewhat exasperated. “Please tell me you’ve at least been to a nightclub before.” When Liane shook her head, Seth laughed ruefully, “Perfect; we’re screwed.”
“Just tell me what the women there wear.” She hesitated, and then asked, “What do you like to see?”
“On women? God, I don’t know. Tight, short, and black always seems to work. Do you have anything like that?”
“No, but I’ll find something.”
Seth prepared to leave soon after. As he pulled on his jacket, he smiled at her and noted, “Well, it seems like this went reasonably well. So is it safe to assume that I can come back?”
“Call me next time,” Liane ordered with mock sternness. “Just because I fixed the cameras doesn’t mean this place is safe.”
“But I have you to protect me,” Seth said brightly, heading for the door. “Let me know when you’re ready to question the prat.”
“I will.” She walked him to the door, watching as he made his way to the elevators. Liane stayed there even after he had gone, a bundle of shock, nerves and, to her amazement, happiness.
|| | || | | || |
The next day, Liane ended up heading out to the expensive, designer shops near her flat. She looked through the window at one for several minutes before she mustered the courage to go inside. There were guards at the door, and the saleswomen looked askance at her when she walked in. Liane didn’t look at any of the racks of clothes, instead going to the nearest saleswoman and saying, “I need something for a night out in the city.”
The woman looked slightly nervous, asking, “Of course. What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Tight, short, and black,” Liane recited, hesitating before adding, “Something that might get someone’s attention.”
The saleswoman smiled, on familiar ground. “Any particular someone in mind?” When Liane looked away in embarrassment, the saleswoman went on kindly, “We have a few things that will look lovely. Let’s get you into the dressing room and see what suits you.”
Liane emerged an hour later carrying a black garment bag and a box of shoes. The sun was already setting, the light fading behind grey storm clouds. She went directly home, going into her bedroom and laying out her purchases. The dress was black, the front and back panels made of opaque lace. The sides were sheer, and when Liane pulled it on she felt intensely uncomfortable. In the store she had liked it, probably due to all the saleswoman’s chatter about how good it made her look. Now, however, Liane stood frowning at her reflection. It fit well, drawing attention to her long, defined legs and flat stomach, but something was missing.
She pulled up her computer, browsing through the celebrity gossip sites to see what the
women there looked like. She tried to stand like the socialites and actresses, fluffing her hair so that it fell around her face. In the end, however, she gave up and simply began to see how many weapons she could hide while wearing it. Not many, as it turned out.
Liane had just discarded another holster in frustration when the doorbell rang. Frantic knocks followed, and Liane moved to the door with a gun in her hand. A glance through the peephole and she let out an aggravated sigh, jerking open the door and demanding, “What part of ‘call me next time’ did you not understand?”
“Sorry, sorry, I know,” Seth said, striding in with his hands raised. “But I thought you’d want to see this.”
He handed her a thin stack of papers, and she flipped through them, reading quickly. Her eyes widened as she did, and when she was done she looked up and said, “Surgical incisions?”
Seth grinned, unable to contain his excitement. He stowed the papers back in his jacket as he said, “They found several on the latest vic. Our killer wasn’t as careful with covering it up this time.”
“So whoever did this is not only taking organs,” Liane said softly, her eyes lighting up. “They’re also trained to do so. A surgeon, maybe. Certainly a medical doctor.”
Seth nodded. “This is the first tangible clue we’ve found regarding our murderer. Finally, we have something to go on . . .” He trailed off, and Liane realized that he was staring at her. She flushed, crossing her arms over her stomach. Seth tried several times to speak, finally stammering, “That’s . . . you look . . . very nice.”
Her cheeks florid, Liane looked away and explained, “I told the saleswoman I wanted something distracting.”
Seth laughed softly, admitting, “Mission accomplished, I’d say.”
“For Crispin,” Liane said emphatically. “We need him to talk. People talk when they’re distracted. And this seems to be in line with what people are wearing to nightclubs.”
“Well I certainly appreciate your efforts,” Seth said, trying to suppress a smile. “Go on and change—we can go pound the pavement, start looking into the surgeons in the city.”
Liane had only taken a few steps towards the bedroom when the doorbell rang again. She froze, as did Seth. She raised a cautionary finger to her lips, walking to the door and calling out, “Who is it?”
“Damian,” came the voice from the other side.
Liane had fallen from a third-story window once. She’d been overpowered by her targets and had been forced to tumble head-first out. The sensation of falling uncontrollably was similar to what she felt standing in her flat with Seth knowing that Damian was coming in.
“Just a minute,” she called out, using every bit of her control to keep her voice level. “I was changing. Hold on and I’ll be right back.”
She walked back towards the bedroom, motioning for Seth to follow her. Thankfully, he kept his steps nearly inaudible. She led him to the closet and had the cover to the crawl space off in seconds. She pulled him towards it, noticing that the officer had gone pale.
“You stay in here,” she whispered, shoving him through the opening. “Don’t make a sound, or we’re both dead. Understand?”
Seth nodded, and then squeezed his body all the way into the crawlspace. Liane replaced the cover, and then hurried back to the door.
She opened it without thinking, her hair wild around her face and the black dress riding up on her legs. She didn’t realize what she looked like until Damian stood staring at her, his dark eyes drifting up and down her body before he asked, “New dress?”
Liane flushed. “I went out earlier.”
Damian looked past her into the flat, asking pointedly, “Bring anyone home with you?”
She glared at him, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment. “And provide you and the Administrators with a free show? Not likely.”
He smiled, bowing his head as he asked, “May I come in, then?”
She stepped aside, and he walked into her living room, discarding his overcoat. He looked around with curiosity, admitting, “It’s strange to actually be here in person. It’s nice.”
“I like it; the view, especially,” Liane said, gesturing to the windows and moving as naturally as possible to stand between him and the hallway that led to the bedroom. “Why are you here, Damian?”
He glanced back at her. “I wanted to see you. Our last meeting didn’t end well; I wanted to put things right.”
Liane nodded, looking thoughtful as she drifted towards the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?”
“Please. Whatever you have will be fine.”
She chose scotch over ice, carrying the glasses and bottle back to the couch. He was already sitting and took the glass from her. Liane sat beside him, tucking her feet under her. They drank for a moment, Damian finishing his entire glass and pouring another. It was unusual for him, but she was glad of it; let him get drunk, if he wanted. It would help to have him less observant than usual.
Looking moodily down at his drink, Damian said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About it not being normal for us to be the way we are.”
“It’s not,” Liane said simply. “And I don’t need to fraternize with civilians to know that.”
“I know.” He took another sip, asking, “When you look at me, Liane, what do you see?”
“My Handler,” she said immediately.
But Damian shook his head, dark eyes pensive. “Beyond that.”
Liane looked consideringly at him before saying, “The person who made me into the Agent I am, and the only constant in my life.”
Something like regret filled his face. “Is that all?”
It took a moment for Liane to muster the courage to finally ask, “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I want more as well,” he said, eyes on the world beyond the window.
“Of what?”
Damian shook his head, smiling grimly. “Everything.”
Liane didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
“Have you ever read Plato’s Symposium?” Damian asked, his eyes still gazing towards the windows. Beyond them the neon lights of the skyscrapers were just beginning to illuminate, drowning out the glow of the sunset.
Liane shook her head.
“There’s a story in it about soulmates. In this story, mortals began as one man and one woman forming a single creature. Two genders, two souls sharing a single body. But they grew so strong that the gods felt threatened, so they cleaved all mortals in two.” Damian shook his head, nursing his drink as he went on, “Can you imagine the misery of that? To have to live while missing half of yourself?”
Liane said nothing, but Damian just continued, “And then one of the gods took pity on the mortals and said, ‘I am ready to melt and fuse you together, so that being two you shall become one.’” Damian’s eyes drifted over her face, searching and seeking . . . something. Liane felt herself frown as he reached out, letting a lock of her blonde hair slip through the crook of his finger as he finished, “‘And after your death in the world below, there will be one departed soul, instead of two.’” Damian’s hand fell away, and he sighed as he asked, “Do you think such a thing can be true?”
“I don’t know,” Liane admitted, trying not to show how much her nerves were on edge.
He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Even if it is, it goes against every rule of the Agency. Non-attachment towards everything; that’s what they want from us.”
“Except between Agents and their Handlers,” Liane noted.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Except for that.”
Damian moved closer to her, setting aside his drink and turning to look her fully in the face. Liane wondered why she’d never noticed before that his eyes weren’t just dark but had flecks of green surrounding the pupils. One of his hands slid alo
ng the nape of her neck; Liane stiffened, the muscles in her back going rigid. But he just stayed there, fingertips drifting against the roots of her hair. Very softly, Damian said, “I’m not going to hurt you, Liane. Relax.”
Slowly she did, partly because it was an order and partly because the sensation was so disarming. It felt as if he was stealing the strength from her bones, weakening her far worse than bullets ever had. When he leaned in, brushing his mouth over hers, Liane’s eyes widened in shock. Yet she didn’t pull away.
Damian drew back, his hand trailing out of her hair as he murmured, “That was your first, wasn’t it?”
Not trusting her voice, Liane nodded.
“I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to.”
“And . . .” Her lips were tingling, and her pulse was racing just as fast as it did during missions. She was alive and terrified and full of want for something she didn’t even fully understand . . . Finally she went on, “And if I do want you to do it again?”
He gave a small smile, leaning in and kissing her again. This time Liane closed her eyes, tentatively kissing him back. Her hand rose, smoothing through his dark hair and resting against the side of his face. Damian moved closer, his arms coming around her and pulling her against him. Liane felt a hunger deep within her, one that wasn’t the least bit diminished by fear. But when Damian shifted his weight more heavily onto her, she felt a tremor of panic; partially because she feared her own response to him and partially because she hadn’t entirely forgotten Seth.
Liane pushed Damian back, saying firmly, “Not yet.”
Damian’s cheeks were slightly flushed, and his arms remained tight around her as he said, “But not ‘never.’”
Liane pulled away, her voice soft, “No. Not ‘never.’”
Damian studied her face for a moment, asking, “What if I were to stay for the night? Not to do anything, but to just . . . be with you.”
She went still, her thoughts on the crawl space as she shook her head. “I need to think. About everything.”
The Titan Strain Page 14
