by Jody Wallace
“Sure.” I glanced at Clint, watching Samantha instead of me. “See you soon.”
Finally Samantha let me go. Clint didn’t. I leaned sideways, forcing him to release me. I didn’t like the undercurrents here, and I didn’t like the lies flashing through Clint’s mask. I had to get the rest of his story and I couldn’t do it here.
Samantha hadn’t seen the lies, and without privacy, I couldn’t warn her. I could only hope she let Al know I had a live one.
I didn’t need Sam to give me the scoop on Clint anyway. It would disrupt my patented strategy—the Cleopatra Giancarlo Total Wing-it Technique. No experience required.
Chapter 21
What You Can’t See Can Hurt You
Clint tried to slip a hand onto my shoulder when we left Samantha. I dodged. I was pretty slick at pusher avoidance after months of Sam. I would say it was another of my patented moves, but since a lot of supras did it, I doubted I could receive credit.
His grabbiness did, however, rouse more suspicions. Unless all pushers were as overly familiar as Samantha, he was definitely attempting to influence me. Why would he need to manipulate me if all we were going to do was talk baseball? Unless, of course, he’d been a minor league disaster and hoped I’d believe him when he puffed himself up.
However, I didn’t feel as nervous as when I’d had reason to suspect Samantha, Al and John. Samantha had seemed confident there was no need to test Clint, and she knew what I had to accomplish today. Her antsy behavior about my being alone with him was related to their dating history.
Outside the building, we encountered the lunch rush. Down the hill, the dunking booth appeared to be deserted—so much for Beau making dollars for dogs. People clustered around the buffet and tables like ants on a banana. The hum of conversation was intense enough that I saw several supras insert ear plugs. Sometimes that’s how sensitives dealt with noise.
“No empty tables,” Clint observed. “Any ideas?”
Not really, but when had that ever stopped me? “It’s so loud here. We could—”
“Wait, I know a place.” He led me behind the outbuildings and away from the picnic area.
By the looks of it, we were headed toward the back forty, where the corn grew and the cows grazed. We walked down an old road beside a barbed wire fence. Weeds had infiltrated the road and swished my ankles and calves. Tire tracks marked the shallow, beaten ruts. A light haze of dust clouded the ground, as if a vehicle had recently passed. Probably the hayride.
I had no idea how much distance one must travel to avoid being overheard by casual supra listeners. How far did Al’s reach extend if I happened to get myself in a jam and happened to scream bloody murder? He’d still have to truck his butt all the way down the road to save me.
I stared behind us. “Where are we going? I didn’t get to eat lunch, and if Lou catches me near the maze, I’ll be stuck there all day.” The maze should mark another congregation of picnickers. Between the maze and the main house would be best for privacy, worst for safety.
I could see the top of the house over the rise, through the large trees that surrounded it. There were no signs of people except for tire tracks in the dust, one set of footprints, and a discarded plastic cup.
On the other hand, the lovely odor of cow patty emanated from the field in a cloud of moo, and it was hot enough that I’d broken a sweat.
“We’re going to the other barn.”
“We hardly need to hike across Tennessee. I wasn’t planning on that intense of an interview. We could go ahead and start.” I swiped my forehead on the sleeve of my T-shirt and took out my notebook. “Did you play for the Sounds?”
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
“Eight years.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yeah.”
He was giving me nothing. My notebook would be more useful as a fan at this point. “Could you support yourself doing that? I have no idea what minor league baseball players make.”
“I had a second job with the Registry.”
So had Beau. The Registry must be bigger than everyone made it out to be. “Two jobs, huh? I’m too lazy for that. You just have one job now?”
He glanced at me sharply. “That doesn’t have anything to do with baseball.”
“Samantha,” I said hastily, distracting him, “told me you don’t like your current job.”
“She did, did she?”
“Uh-huh.” I’m sure she would have if I’d asked her.
Clint halted, so I did, too. It didn’t help the heat to be stationary. “What else did she say about me?”
“She said you didn’t appreciate being forced to do things you disapprove of.” I shifted my grip on my pen. “Sneaking. Prying. Stuff like that. I assume that’s why you don’t like working for the agency?”
Clint and I stood in the deserted lane for a long moment. He stared at me and I clenched my pen like a tiny dagger. A breeze ruffled the blond tips of his hair and the tops of the weeds but did nothing to cool me off.
“PIs pry. End of story.” He turned away, not quickly enough. His mask said, I never signed on to hurt people.
Did he mean hurting physically or...mentally? He did have a sort of Unibomber chic. Being a PI could hurt cheating spouses or fraudulent debtors, but being the saboteur had killed at least one man so far.
When he started walking again, I jogged ahead, feeling ridiculous, but I had to be able to see his face.
“If you don’t like it, why don’t you quit?”
“I signed a contract,” he said.
His mask corrected him. If I quit, they’ll burn me next. And then Sam.
Burn him next. He knew about the burnouts. He knew who was doing it. He knew. And that meant...
My heart plummeted into my gut and then pounded back up into my throat. My natural reaction, tinted cheery shade of coward yellow, was to dash off as fast as my short legs would carry me, screaming for Al.
I’d found one of the bad guys. I’d done it, I’d done it!
Good lord, I’d actually done it.
Overwhelmed by my discovery, not to mention dehydrated and scuttling backwards, I stumbled against Clint. He righted me with a brief touch.
After several deep breaths, my cowardice lost out to my sense of self preservation. These things might sound identical, but they’re not. Coward said flee, big chicken. Self-preservation reminded me there was no way I could outrun Clint, much less a bullet, and he had excellent aim.
I didn’t feel good. Oh, I really didn’t feel good. But before this went any further, I had to be sure.
In a fit of daring that nearly made me vomit, I slipped my hand around his bicep much the same way he’d done to me. His skin was as hot as the sun’s rays. “Do you have your gun with you?”
That’s me—gun bunny.
“At a picnic with kids?” He raised an eyebrow. “No.”
I hoped my wide-eyed pretense fooled him. “Do you ever have to shoot anybody?”
“Not so far.” He placed his palm on my fingers.
Satisfied I wasn’t getting myself into a situation involving bullets, my panic ebbed. If Clint feared burnout, he himself wasn’t the arsonist. His cooperation with the mysterious blackmailers was to protect himself and Samantha.
Who could the bad guys be? Were they the ones blackmailing John? Was Rachel Lampey part of it or was she being blackmailed? As soon as I could, I had to escape and find Al. There should be people near the corn maze, and the hay truck could come along any moment. I’d hitch a ride with them and Clint would be none the wiser.
Clint regarded me with something akin to sympathy. “You look like you’re about to fall over, honey. There’s a table and chairs in the milk house. Fridge, bathroom, AC. Cold drinks, too.”
I slipped away from his hand and started toward the barn at a faster clip. He followed.
“Why are you so familiar with Lou’s farm?” I asked.
“Rachel and I come out here sometimes.”
I bent to check the damage.
“Are you all right?”
He was too close for supra comfort and he’d put his hand on my arm again, but I didn’t feel any vibes. Maybe he wasn’t as pushy as Sam. Maybe he was just handsy. He didn’t seem to know I was onto him.
“It’s only a scratch.” I plucked a sticker out of my skin. The cut stung and beaded with tiny dots of red. “This road needs to be resurfaced.”
“We can wash it at the barn.” Clint slid an arm around my shoulders, as if I’d lost the use of my leg and couldn’t walk without assistance.
“Okay.” I didn’t want his arm around me. He was a sub-villain, and there were no signs of the hay tractor and no signs of...wait, there was a peaked barn roof over the next hill.
I pointed. “Is that the cow barn?”
“Think you can make it?”
“I’ll manage.”
His hand rested on the skin of my shoulder like a lump of sweaty meat. Bees buzzed, birds sang, and cow poop rankled in the heat. I sped up, hoping to loosen his grip, but he paced me easily.
“No offense, but I prefer not to be touched by people I don’t know,” I said.
He slid his hand around me until he gripped my opposite arm, giving me a fatherly jostle. “I’m just making things easier, Cleo.”
He was telling the truth, but not enough of the truth. “What things?”
“Our meeting.”
Still not enough of an answer. Anxious to reach the safety of the barn, I goose-stepped down the hill, dragging him along. The building was long and low, painted red with a weathered tin roof. An extension with a couple cars out front must be the fabled milk house. The road continued past the barn and I could see the corn maze but no hay truck in front of it.
No picnickers and their kids around it.
I didn’t even see any cows.
Were there people in the milk house? I was going to assume so because otherwise I was a gullible idiot.
But I wasn’t. Really. I’d been the one to beg for the interview. I’d been the one to suggest we find a quiet location, for my own nefarious purposes, might I add. Clint had merely complied. He didn’t know I knew, and he’d never tried to hurt me before. None of the bad guys had...that I knew of.
We reached the trampled grass in front of the cow barn. I listened, but I didn’t hear any mooing. Didn’t hear voices, although I could detect the faint bleep of machinery. The tick-tick-tick of a cooling car engine confirmed there must be somebody around.
A flash of pink caught my attention. A person disappeared into the cow barn.
When Clint, instead of leading me to the milk house, ushered me into the barn, I didn’t resist. That’s where the pink person had gone. Empty stalls with milking equipment lined one side of the interior, and silver garbage cans, milk crates, farm tools, and odds and ends lined the other. The smell of poop and oats predominated.
“Hello?” I said.
No answer. Clint shot me a little frown.
It was cool and relaxing inside, the earthy odors almost pleasant and the roof shielding us from the sun. I realized I was thirsty. “Aren’t there cold drinks in the milk house?”
“I have something else in mind.” Clint directed me to a ladder that disappeared into the black hole of the loft. The scent of fresh hay poured in hot waves from the darkness, and whatever machine I’d been hearing was above us. Must be a dehumidifier for the hay or something, because I hardly thought the Lampeys were running a clandestine gambling den in their cow barn.
I sneezed. “That’s a hay loft.”
“Good call,” he said. “And I heard you were a city girl.”
“Why have you heard anything about me?”
“Lou talks about you all the time,” he said with a completely clear countenance. “In fact, she suggested the loft as a good place for us to go.”
And still, his countenance was clear.
If Lou knew we were here, there was no way Clint could attack me and get away with it. Lou was more severe about punishing supra wrongdoers than anyone I’d ever met, and she’d make sure he got his. She’d use the situation as the rallying cry for her police petition.
“Up you go.”
“Up there?”
“Yep.” Clint patted my arm in a gesture that felt familiar from the many times Samantha had done it.
I grabbed the ladder but removed a hand to cover my nose and mouth when I sneezed again. “Excuse me. I think I’m allergic to hay.”
“It won’t last long.”
I wanted to ask what he was pushing on me and tell him to stop, but the third sneeze woke an uncomfortable twinge in my sinuses that spread to the back of my skull. It was hard to concentrate. Pushers weren’t harmless, but Clint’s touch was nonthreatening. He was obeying General Lou’s orders to use the hay loft. As such I was perfectly safe, unless she’d conned him into manipulating me to stay after the picnic and clean up.
My best course of action would be to fake the baseball interview, slip in a few innocuous sabotage questions, and get the hay out of here. Now that we had Clint, Yuri and Al could take care of the rest.
Clint helped me ascend the ladder, practically scaling it with me. I had reason to be grateful for his crowding, because the sixth and seventh sneezes nearly detached me from the rungs. My eyes teared up from the force of them.
“Careful.” A pair of slender hands that weren’t Clint’s guided me into the loft.
It was too dark to see, plus my eyes were watering. “Who’s there?”
“Rachel Lampey,” said a friendly female voice.
“It’s all right, Cleo.” Clint pressed against me from behind in a way that didn’t feel sexual, so I didn’t break out my self-defense skill of writhing like a wet cat. His hands clasped my arms. I swiped my eyes, sneezed again, and squinted.
The drone of machinery in the heated darkness was distinct now and it resembled the racket from Uncle Herman’s apartment. A high-pitched whine that seemed very familiar deafened me for a minute before it clicked off.
A light flicked on.
My vision cleared.
Chapter 22
Finales Aren’t Always Grand
Rachel wasn’t the only unexpected addition to the interview. Lou sprawled in a lawn chair in front of me, and Uncle Herman twiddled the dials of a computerized contraption perched on a stack of hay bales. It was approximately the size of whatever had been in the duffle bag I’d lugged to the picnic for him today. A long, orange cord trailed from the back of the machine into the depths of the loft. A massive tower of bales mounded against the back wall, and straw littered the plank floor. Otherwise the loft was empty.
“It is hot as Hades up here.” Lou fanned her perspiring face with a biodegradable paper plate. The flowers in her pinned-up hairdo had wilted.
“You think this is bad? Try sprinting from the house to the barn,” Rachel said. Dust powdered her white tennis shoes, and moisture darkened several area on her pink shirt. She must have been the person I’d glimpsed earlier.
“Did anybody see you leave with her?” Lou asked Clint.
“Sammie did, so you need to handle her as soon as possible, but Rachel shielded us until we got to the road. Nobody noticed us go.”
What was he talking about? Lou obviously understood, because she said, “Good. The lookouts are in position. Let’s get this over with.”
“My newsletter interview?” I asked, my brain unable to process the situation.
“Oh, Cleo.” Lou hoisted herself out of the chair. “I hate to do this to you, but you’re a tri-sensor. The equipment has got to be tested. Besides, I know what Al and Yuri have planned next week, and I can’t let that happen.”
This time, my brain processed the situation instantly, and I yelled, “Alllllfonsooooo!”
Only I didn’t. My mou
th failed to open. My limbs remained inert. All I could do was stare in growing horror at Lou as she patted my cheek like she really did feel bad for me.
“Al!” I managed to croak, but it came out more like, “Ow.”
“You’re not hurt, Cleo, don’t freak out. It’s Clint.” Rachel, a cheerful blonde nowhere near as dippy as her mom, unfolded a chair beside Herman’s contraption. She and Clint settled me into it, with Clint careful to keep a hand on my skin. Despite ordering my fists to punch and my feet to kick like the cows who were not in this barn, I couldn’t rouse myself to struggle.
Samantha pushed moods, but apparently Clint could push torpor. Luckily, my brain remained active enough to gibber with fear.
Once I was settled in the chair, Clint stood behind me and wrapped his fingers around my head, which intensified the whole gibbering with fear part.
“Did somebody turn the blanket on?” Clint asked. “We don’t want any ears noticing the noise and coming to investigate.”
“It’s been on.” Herman, also in a lawn chair, inserted a compact disk into a slot in his machine. “Do you think I’ve never done this before, boy?”
Clint grunted. “No need to be touchy, old man, you don’t usually work in the field.”
“Or a frigging barn loft, but here I am. If I pop my new hip out of joint, Lou, you’re paying to fix it.”
“Herman, I keep telling you, there are people everywhere, and I don’t want any children harmed. The tri-sensor frequency might affect others. Not even I could erase how suspicious that would be.” Lou scooched her chair through the straw until she could hold my hand. “This may hurt, cookie, but I’ll erase the pain when I erase your memories of how this happened.”
“Whuh?” I said, since, “Lou, I can’t believe you’re the saboteur when you’ve been ranting about supras who sneak around and do bad things!” was too long a sentence for me to spit out. So was, “Why the hell are you doing this when you’re such a nice, nosey, obsessive about the supra police kind of lady and I thought we were friends.”
My friend—my friend!—placed her other hand atop mine. Her large fingers were soft and gentle, at odds with whatever was about to happen to me. Her fingernails had been daubed with little daisies. “I know you have questions, Cleo, but why bother answering them when I’m going to erase it? Suffice to say you’re a vital part of revolutionizing how supra criminals are going to be handled. If those old bastards want to wear twentieth century blinders, if they don’t have the balls to establish a police force, it’s up to concerned citizens to protect the world from evil.”
