Shades of Memory

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

“Sucks,” Tiny said unhelpfully.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got a tinker handy?” I asked.

  I was surprised when he gave another of his grins. “Could be.”

  “What do you want?” I demanded, tired of the game. Every second we dawdled gave Ocho a chance to hurt Cristina. Seeing Price in pain wasn’t helping me one bit.

  “For what?” Tiny had a slow way about him, almost Southern, as if he could wait. He had the patience of a sniper.

  I decided not to lose my temper and kick him in the balls. “What do you want to heal him? To let us go?”

  “What do you have to offer?”

  “Name it. I’ll get it.” And I would, too. No matter what I had to do.

  That seemed to catch him up. His expression sharpened, and sudden urgency thrummed through him. As fast as it appeared, it evaporated and he shook his head. “Nothing you’ve got to give.”

  “Try us,” I said.

  “I want Calvera. I want to run it. I want Ocho and the rest of the bloodsucking horde out of here. I want money to rebuild, to give the people here real lives. I want to keep the shit like what happened out in the city last night out of here.”

  I stared at him, then looked at Price. “Holy shit, he’s your brother from another mother.”

  Despite himself, Price smiled. “Heaven help us.”

  “You think I’m funny?” Tiny’s expression had gone steely, and despite his youth and easy manner, a mass of rage, protectiveness, frustration, and ambition seethed. A warrior ready to protect his home and his people with whatever means necessary. He really was just like Touray.

  “No, not funny,” I said. I looked at Price. “Do you want to call or do you want me to?”

  He grimaced. “Better you. He can chew my ass later in person.”

  “As long as he leaves something for me to grope. I like your ass.”

  “I’m sure he’ll take it under advisement.”

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Tiny interrupted, frowning as he looked back and forth between us.

  “Give me a minute,” I said, digging in my pocket for my phone. It was gone. I looked at Tiny. “I need my phone.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The guy who can get you what you want.”

  That caught him up short. “Right,” he said, sucking his teeth in disgust. “For people who want my services, you sure are playing it stupid. I don’t mind dropping you down a mineshaft. After the rats got done with you, there wouldn’t be anything left to find.”

  I held out my hand. “Just give me my fucking phone.”

  We played the who-would-blink-first game, and he went down. I’m nothing if not stubborn. I was the champion in the family, and Mel, Jamie, Leo, and Taylor were no slouches. Tiny dug in his back pocket and produced my burner phone.

  I punched in Taylor’s number. She answered on the first ring.

  “What?”

  “I need to talk to Touray.”

  Silence met my announcement. But where Jamie and Leo would have badgered me for information, Taylor stuck to business. “I’ll text you his number. Give me a second.”

  The phone went dead. A few seconds later, the blue message light began blinking. I dialed the number. My mouth was oddly dry. For some reason, I was nervous.

  He picked up just as fast as Taylor had. “Touray,” he growled.

  “Riley.”

  His shock lasted about a split second. “What’s wrong? Where the hell are you? Is Clay all right? What’s going on?”

  It annoyed me that he immediately assumed something was wrong. Not that I could do anything about it. He was right. “We’re with a potential . . . partner,” I said, looking at Tiny.

  I could feel his attention sharpening, drilling through the phone. I resisted the urge to take a step back. Like that would help. “Partner?”

  “He wants to take control of Calvera,” I said. “Clean it up, get rid of the bad eggs, and restore the community.”

  “What the fuck is going on, Riley? Because I don’t have time for this shit. The city is wrecked and your father—”

  “Vernon? Taylor said he showed up. What did he want?”

  “To make a deal, which is why I don’t have time for games. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “We’re working a trace. Got captured. Price has a broken leg. We’re negotiating for a tinker and freedom.”

  Touray’s voice went molten and quiet. I’ll admit I cringed a little and was very glad he was not in the same room. I glanced around the dingy walls, half expecting to see him appear out of nowhere. He was a traveller, after all.

  “Explain.”

  “You know about the trace job?”

  “I am aware that you took one. I do not know the details.” His words were carefully clipped and formal, and I could hear the taut wire of his patience stretching thinner with every second.

  “Story short: missing girl lured by her boyfriend who’s a known rapist and killer. They’ve holed up in Calvera. We got here, got jumped, captured, and Price’s leg broke. We need a tinker and some man power. Tiny here is willing to help if the trade is worth it. Maybe you should hear his terms,” I added and passed the phone over to Tiny before Touray could ask anything else.

  “Hello?” Tiny said warily into the phone.

  The room pulsed and crackled with sudden magic. Neither Price nor Tiny would be able feel it. “Shit,” I said, and then a furious Gregg stepped out of nowhere and trained his gun on Tiny.

  Tiny’s face paled. I didn’t know if it was the gun or if he recognized Touray from the papers, or if it was just that a super scary man had appeared out of nowhere. Touray’s gaze swept over Tiny, who’d lifted his hands, then around the room, over me, and landed on Price.

  “You look like shit.”

  “Looks like Savannah took good care of you,” Price answered. “Maybe she could give the FBI a few lessons.”

  I hadn’t really thought about the changes in Price over the last few weeks. I studied him. He was leaner than before, like every bit of fat had burned away, leaving only carved ripples of muscle. His hair had grown out a little and flopped in his eyes. Those were haunted and so much older than before. He still moved like a panther, graceful and dangerous, but much of the veneer of civilization had flaked away.

  On the other hand, Touray looked about the same as always, though his normally short hair looked a bit shaggy. His eyes were as black and turbulent as ever, giving me the heebie-jeebies. They reminded me of cold and unforgiving shark eyes, and they promised hell unleashed if you crossed him. Savannah Morrell might be lucky she was dead. The rest of him was as usual: broad shoulders and thick slabs of muscle and he radiated a violent, barely contained energy.

  In a word, the man was terrifying, and I won’t lie: even though I was his brother’s girlfriend and supposedly we were family now, I was still scared shitless of him. Not that I was going to let him in on that secret.

  “I don’t bargain with men who are holding my brother prisoner,” he snarled at Tiny.

  Oh goody, I didn’t rate a mention.

  “Now, if you want to live, you walk us out of here.”

  “I’m not walking anywhere,” Price said. “Not with this leg. Anyway, I think you might be interested in working with Tiny to clean up Calvera.”

  Touray glared at Tiny, his gun trained on the younger man’s chest. By this time, Tiny had collected himself. He still held his hands up, but his expression had gone back to that wary carelessness. I’d be willing to bet that look worked in his favor a lot. Nobody would take him very seriously, and then he’d strike.

  “You want to clean up the neighborhood?” Touray asked with a hefty dose of skepticism.

  “I’m going to,” Tiny retorted.

&nbs
p; “How?”

  “That depends on whether you’re going to give me what I need, Mr. Touray.”

  Ha! Tiny had recognized him. If Touray was surprised, he didn’t show it.

  “What’s in it for you? Or do you just want a clear field to run your own operation?”

  “Gonna have to raise money somehow.”

  “So extortion?”

  Tiny shook his head. “I’m not going to see this place eat itself alive again. My crew will take jobs from the outside, do some smuggling, money laundering, credit card scams, steal identities—the usual. Most of it can be done in virtual space. Might set up a porn site. I won’t outright refuse anything. It’s going to take a lot of money to rebuild the neighborhood and keep the peace. I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”

  A thought poked my brain. I was watching the birth of a Tyet lord.

  The two men had their own little staring contest, or maybe it was one of those movie love moments. Either way, at the end of it, Touray lowered his gun, though not so far he couldn’t have a bead on Tiny in a nanosecond.

  “All right,” he said. “Show of faith. Bring in your tinker and fix up my brother.”

  “And if I do?”

  “Then you get the resources you need.”

  Tiny looked skeptical. “Just like that? No rules or conditions?”

  “Of course there will be rules. You’ll have to make sure you look after the neighborhood and protect the people. You’ll be the law here. You’ll have to keep a tight rein on your soldiers so they don’t get it into their heads that they can shake people down just because they work for you. You’re going to report to me and if I need you, you’re going to show up and fight for me.”

  Tiny shook his head. “No deal. I’m not wasting Calvera blood on your causes.”

  “My cause is Diamond City,” Touray said, striding forward to stand in front of Tiny, who actually looked like his name for once. Touray prodded the other man in the chest with a blunt finger. “What you want to do for Calvera, I’m going to do for the whole fucking city. If I need your help, you’re going to give it, no questions asked.” He stood back. “Take it or leave it.”

  “If I say no?” Tiny’s voice rasped, but he’d managed not to pee himself. Touray often had that effect on people.

  “Then we’re back to you walking us out of here.” Touray twisted his head to glare at Price. “I’ll carry you if I have to,” he snarled before Price could object again.

  On the positive side, he didn’t say he’d travel Price out without me. ’Course, he needed me for the Kensington artifacts. If not—I wouldn’t want to bet on my chances.

  Tiny rubbed a thoughtful hand over his mouth and jaw. Finally, he stood up and held his hand out. “Deal.”

  Touray clasped his hand. “Now call your tinker to fix my brother’s leg.”

  “I’m the tinker,” Tiny said with a sly grin. “I specialize in fixing and breaking bodies.”

  He crouched beside Price, circling his hands around Price’s left calf. I could feel the surge of magic as the healing began. Price’s hand tightened on mine. It wasn’t pain. Healing always felt gross—like worms wriggling around in your flesh. I watched Tiny like a hawk, but the truth was, if he wanted to rip open an artery or explode Price’s heart, we wouldn’t know until it was too late. Touray would put a bullet between Tiny’s eyes, but Price would still be dead.

  There was no reason for Tiny to back out of the deal and a whole lot of good reasons for him to stick with it. Still, I was holding my breath when he dropped his hands.

  “That should do it.”

  I let out my breath, and Price stretched his leg out and stood. He nodded. “Feels good. Thank you.”

  “Not that it would have needed healing if your people hadn’t attacked us,” I said to Tiny.

  “Down, girl,” Price murmured, tugging me against him.

  Touray watched our exchange with a hooded look. “We need to talk,” he said, his gaze gathering both of us up.

  “After we get Cristina,” I said.

  Touray’s brows winged down. “One girl isn’t worth the whole city.”

  “I’ll remember to tell her parents that when we find her body and I have to explain why we didn’t get to her in time. You want to save the city? Then maybe we start by caring about the people,” I said acidly, pushing out of Price’s hold. I looked at Tiny. “Where’s the rest of our stuff?”

  He went out the door and came back with a battered cardboard box. On top lay our coats, and inside contained the rest of our possessions, including our guns. I shoved my arms into my coat, ignoring Touray. Price came up behind me and took his coat in silent support. Partners. He knew I wasn’t going to back off from rescuing the girl, and I didn’t think he was willing either.

  “The city’s on fire and the two of you are out to rescue a stupid girl who ran off with a shitty boyfriend,” Touray said scathingly. He grabbed Price’s arm, pulling him around. “Clay, you know this is stupid. Our organization has been without leadership for weeks. We’ve likely got traitors in our midst, and this Vernon Brussard is making threats that I’m afraid he can keep. There is no time.”

  Price didn’t bat an eyelash. “I know you want to protect the people of Diamond City. That’s your calling. Always has been. Cristina is one of those people. Just because she’s just one single naïve girl doesn’t make her any less valuable than anybody else in the city. I know the big picture is bad, but you’ve got to remember the small picture. Every life matters, even idiot teen girls.”

  My chest swelled at his words. He’d said what I felt but hadn’t been able to put in words. That mentality is what had driven his career as a cop. He looked after the small picture—the individuals.

  Touray blew out a breath and dragged his hand through his hair. A familiar habit he shared with Price.

  “Fine. We’ll get her. Fast. Then we get out of here and figure out how we’re going to handle this mess.”

  That’s when I realized that Touray wasn’t angry that we were helping Cristina. He was angry about his own sense of vulnerability and confusion. He didn’t have a plan for his next steps, and that was driving him nuts. He was a man used to being in control, but he’d been imprisoned for weeks. He got free, only to find his beloved city bombed and my father apparently making threats. He didn’t know what changes had happened to the uneasy Tyet truces in the last weeks or who was in charge of what. He didn’t know who to trust except Price.

  I hid a smirk. I could almost feel sorry for him. Price came with a boatload of baggage. Touray wasn’t going to get just Price; he was going to get me, Taylor, my brothers, plus maybe Dalton and even Arnow. He couldn’t scare us into obeying him.

  This could get very interesting.

  Chapter 12

  Gregg

  URGENCY CHEWED AT Gregg’s stomach as he watched Riley and Clay gather their things. He didn’t have Savannah’s deadline hanging over his head anymore, but Brussard’s threat continued to haunt him. After travelling home from the safe house, he’d caught up on events and started getting the word out to his people that he was back in the driver’s seat. More than a few of his “faithful” hadn’t seemed very pleased at the news. He was going to have to seriously evaluate his organization for spies and traitors.

  He’d called in the people he was almost certain he could trust and gotten an update of events during his absence. The report wasn’t good. Several allies had turned on him and taken control of some key businesses. Luckily, he had plenty of cash, gold, and diamonds stashed away in case of civil war.

  Savannah had actively started prying apart his hold on a diamond consortium, as well as undercutting his relationship with some of the more powerful players in town. Without someone to tell his people what to do, they’d acted independently, some looking out for his interests, others
stealing from the candy jar. That was the problem with criminal organizations—they were full of criminals looking out for themselves.

  The complexities had taken hours to sort out before he’d felt he had enough of a handle on events to start shooting orders designed to grab back control and reassert his dominance. Disappearing again to traipse after Riley and Clay would not generate a lot of confidence.

  He snorted inwardly. So much for no one person taking precedence over the city. As soon as Riley had said they were captured and Clay was hurt, he’d launched himself into dreamspace. Total reflex and instinct. Clay was his only family, and Gregg couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. He’d lived in agony the last weeks trying to believe that Riley had done as she’d promised and rescued Clay from the FBI’s torturers.

  It turned out she’d done a hell of a lot more than that by stopping Clay’s power cascade. He owed her more than he could ever repay. If he’d lost Clay, he would have lost himself, lost that touchstone that reminded him why he gave a damn about cleaning up Diamond City. He’d have been an empty shell of a man.

  Clay had changed since being in the FBI’s clutches and finding his power. It wasn’t just that he’d lost weight, or that his eyes now held a dark, bitter knowledge. When he looked at Riley, that bitterness softened and the love there burned like the fires of creation. She was clearly his anchor in the storm.

  She’d changed as well. Riley had been tough before. More than he’d ever expected. She might look like a gypsy vagabond, but she had a backbone of titanium and a will of steel. She didn’t back down, and she didn’t give up. Thank God, because from what Taylor and her brothers had told him, it was Riley and Riley alone who’d pulled Clay out of the cascade and saved his life. He couldn’t begin to imagine how. If anybody had asked him yesterday, he’d have said it was impossible.

  Riley wore a new air of maturity. Everything tentative or uncertain about her had burned away. She carried herself with a confidence she’d lacked before, and she wasn’t afraid to make demands and give orders. She’d become a leader rather than a lone wolf.