Pack of Lies psi-2

by Laura Anne Gilman

  “I don’t like this case. I didn’t like it when you brought it in, and I like it even less now. Someone’s playing us.”

  Ian stretched his legs out and clasped his arms behind his head, willing to be distracted onto this older argument. “God, you’d think you were a cloistered nun before you came here. Someone’s always going to be playing us, Ben. Especially the Council, bless their overcomplicated souls. They think they can use us, for their own ends.” He smiled, a smug little smile that annoyed the hell out of most people. “And we will let them…so long as it allows us to do what we need to do.”

  Ian had always been a cocky bastard. “What happens when their game and our needs don’t coincide—or come into conflict?”

  “Let me handle that, Ben.”

  Cocky bastard. “I hate it when you say that.”

  Ian didn’t laugh—he never did—but that smile grew a little warmer.

  Ben started to pace again, prowling the confines of the small office.

  “Someone tried to Push me, last night.”

  That wiped the smile off Ian’s face, but he looked thoughtful, not surprised. “Was last night the first you felt it?”

  “Yes. Why?” He looked at his partner. “Did someone try you, too?”

  Ian shrugged, a surprisingly graceless move, considering how elegant he could be when he wanted. “You know I can’t tell things like that.” It was a weakness in his skill set, and one that had to rankle, not that he ever let it show. “But now that you mention it…doubt, and annoyance?”

  “Self-doubt, yes. Someone trying to make me feel insecure about my decisions.”

  Ian snorted, knowing how well that had probably gone over. “Then yes, about, mmm, two days ago, for me. Interesting. Good to know that it’s external. Do you think it’s related to this case?”

  “No,” Ben said, then added, “Maybe. Bonnie had a kenning, at the beginning of all this, something related to the case, but not directly, coming down the pike, not right away. If she was sensing this, then it will affect the team, too, so probably case-related.”

  “Kenning isn’t precog, we can’t make assumptions. She might have been sensing the fatae problem you’re chasing, too. That connection would tie it into the case enough for her to feel the tremor.”

  Ben grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, then went to the door, his hand lifting to the knob. “They’re back. I’ll round everyone up.”

  Ian held up a hand to stop him, his expression changing from mild consideration to active interest. “I thought you set the door downstairs to Automatic?”

  He paused. “I did.” Once the team had signed on, he’d set elementals, tiny creatures that lived in the current stream, to watch for each of them, and activate the electric lock when they approached. That way they didn’t have to carry keys, or worry about someone in the office buzzing them in. It also gave them a little extra security, in case their hands were full…or they were being followed. No chance for someone to attack while they were waiting for the door to be opened.

  “Then how did you know they were back?” Ian asked, reasonably enough.

  Ben opened the door, willing himself not to turn and look back at his suddenly intently observant partner. “I don’t know. But I did.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Boss!”

  Anything else Ian might have been planning to say was drowned out by Nifty’s yell down the hallway.

  “Is he talking to you, or to me?” Ian wondered, distracted from his earlier question.

  “I think it’s a singular plural. Come on, let’s see what our girls have come back with.”

  “Better not let them hear you call them that,” Ian murmured, but got up and followed his partner down the hallway.

  The team had already gathered in the main conference room, ranging themselves around the table. Mendelssohn and Lawrence anchored each end, left and right, with Shune and Torres separating them. Ben paused and focused, and saw Cholis sitting next to Shune.

  Pietr noticed Ben looking directly at him, seeing him, and smiled; it was an almost shy grin that caused an involuntary smile in return, before Ben tamped it back down into his normal stoic expression. But Pietr saw it.

  And so had Torres. He knew that even before he turned to look at her.

  He knew she was there. Knew where she was, knew the moment she had come back into the building. The information hadn’t been intrusive, and not at all disturbing, which bothered him more than if it had been disturbing. Awareness of her return had slid into the back of his brain without fanfare, the way you knew a lover lying next to you had woken up even when your eyes were still closed.

  That wasn’t normal; if he had wanted to be aware of someone coming in, he could have set the elementals to alert him. But he hadn’t. And neither of the girls—hell, none of the pups—were good enough to slip under his guard like that. Nothing got into his brain except what he brought in. His control was better than that, even when he was distracted.

  Ben let Ian stride past him to open the meeting, and took a seat at the far end of the table, where he could monitor everyone’s reactions, as usual. Whatever had happened between them, whyever it had happened, it had opened a channel he didn’t control, and he was going to figure out what it was, and shut it down.

  Later. When they had time.

  I felt Venec’s gaze pass over me, and shivered; thankfully, he looked away, and I had time to get my nerve endings back under control. Stosser didn’t waste any time with pleasantries, as usual, grabbing a chair and opening the meeting. “All right, people, it’s been a busy morning, things to discuss.”

  Nick took advantage of everyone’s attention being focused on the boss to lean in and whisper in my ear. “I see your fatae buddy got you home safe.”

  I snapped the pencil I’d been playing with in two in surprise. What the hell?

  “What the hell is your problem, ferret-boy?”

  For once the words didn’t come out of my mouth, but Sharon’s, who had picked up his words, even though they were meant to be quiet.

  “Didn’t you hear? She’s got her own personal fatae bodyguard to keep her safe.”

  Oh, we were not going there. Abso-damn-lutely not, and I didn’t care how bad his hangover was or how annoyed Stosser got at a sideline conversation happening during his meeting. “Are you more pissed off at the fact that you didn’t get to play drunken Sir Galahad last night, or the fact that Bobo isn’t human?”

  “A bodyguard?” Sharon looked at me, and I shrugged, refusing to listen to Nick’s splutters, aware that we now had everyone’s attention. Great.

  “My mentor called in a favor or two. Bobo’s large but sweet—sort of like Nifty with hair, and he’s the one who got us in to see the Gather, so I’d say he’s more than justified his presence, not that I have to justify a damned thing in my life to you, Shune. Or anyone.” I glared around the table, daring anyone to say anything. I might be annoyed at J’s presumption in arranging a bodyguard but I’d be damned if anyone else was going to say a word against him—or Bobo, for that matter, who was becoming a friend.

  “Yeah, but a fatae? With everything that’s going on in the city?” Nick made a face. “You’re trusting yourself with—”

  “With what?” I don’t have a temper, but I was tired and frayed and between the interview with Mercy and the weirdness with Venec, and my general ickiness about this case, things were starting to get hot in my core. “With what, Nicky-boy?”

  He leaned forward to respond, but anything he might have said was cut off before it left his throat.

  “Enough!”

  Stosser, using the Big Dog voice. “Nick, reconsider your words and then deal with your damn issues, whatever they are.”

  Nick winced, the bellow making his hangover come back to haunt him, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  “And you, Torres.” I cringed. “This Bobo. He’s the one who took you to the Gather?”

  “Yessir.”

  “And he�
�s on your mentor’s payroll?”

  “Yessir. Only after-hours, when he doesn’t think it’s safe for me to be out alone.” That was what J had said, anyway. I got the feeling Bobo was reinterpreting the guidelines, since he’d shown up not only during daylight, but also when I was with coworkers, and was taking an indirect but active interest in what we were doing.

  “Useful,” Ian said, and it was clear that we were done with the topic.

  Venec was glaring at me like I’d done something wrong, but his mood swings—and my reaction to them—were the least of my problems right now. I sat back, still fuming over Nicky’s behavior, and let Sharon give the report; she enjoyed getting up in front of everyone more than I did. As per her background, she was concise and precise, right up to where we were magically accosted on the street.

  “You both felt this…malice?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I answered Ian before Sharon could take offense at having her word questioned. “Someone was definitely watching, and wanting us to know that they were watching.”

  “Who?” Venec asked, and I could feel how tense he was, even across the table.

  Sharon looked at me once, as though to confirm her own impressions, then answered. “Talent, obviously. More than that, I don’t think I could say. There wasn’t enough flavor to the sensation to even tell male or female.”

  I raised an eyebrow. She could tell that? Color me humbled.

  “They were pretty high-res, to make us both react so strongly without giving anything away, and definitely not friendly…although I didn’t get a sense that we were in specific danger, just…being warned away.”

  “By whoever threatened the victim,” Venec said.

  Sharon looked at me, and I nodded.

  “I want everyone to be careful,” Venec said, giving everyone the two-second intense glare thing he did so well, each in turn. “If what Torres and Mendelssohn felt was from the same people who threatened the girl, any one of us could be their next target. If this is the same group that has been targeting the fatae, we know they don’t hesitate at physical violence, so just watch yourselves.”

  “None of us have the kind of connection the girl did,” Nifty objected.

  “Mercy.” Sharon glared at him. “Her name is Mercy.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Nifty leaned back in his chair, his body language showing he was raising a point, not picking a fight. “It doesn’t change the fact that none of us have that kind of associations, none of us hang with the fatae—excepting Bonnie—”

  “Don’t you start,” I muttered, but he was right. I was, as Nicky’d already pointed out, the one with the most connection with the fatae, and they didn’t know the half of it. J had some friends who couldn’t pass for human even on their best day.

  “—so why would we be targets?” Nifty finished.

  “Lawrence, you’re asking me to explain the thought processes of bigots, people who generally say that if you’re not one hundred percent in agreement with them, you’re not only wrong but dangerous.”

  Stosser stirred at that, but Venec glared him down, too, and he subsided without saying anything. Interesting. The boot was on the other foot, today.

  Ian took control of the meeting back. “At this point, all we have are unverified reports of attacks being made on fatae in this city, and others. Ben has been following up on this, and he thinks that it’s a real problem. I am…not inclined to disagree at this point, although I will remind everyone that it is not our main point of concern, except as and if it impacts our case.”

  Venec lifted his chin slightly, and his mouth tightened slightly.

  “However,” Ian continued, “it would appear—verified by our own observations and experiences—that those who are targeting fatae have no hesitation threatening fellow Talent as well. As Ben said, watch yourselves.”

  Venec opened one of his folders and pulled out a flyer, sliding it onto the table. “I do believe that the two events are connected, yes. How many of you have seen these around?”

  We all leaned forward to take a look. I shook my head, but Sharon and Nick both nodded.

  “They had them up in the lobby of my building,” Nifty said. “Super trashed ’em all, because we have an agreement with another exterminating company. What’s the big deal?”

  “You ever have a problem with roaches or silverfish in your apartment, Nifty?”

  “Of course not. Current scares ’em away. So what? I think there’s maybe one other Talent in my building, everyone else is supposed to suffer?”

  “They’re not exterminators,” Sharon said. “I checked on their alleged company, which took some doing, since all they offer is a phone number. No license was ever granted, so far as the city’s concerned, this company doesn’t exist. The service they’re selling isn’t pest removal.”

  The side project Venec had asked her to look into? She had seemed disturbed by it, but not really concerned.

  “Not the kind you find in the Yellow Pages, anyway,” Venec said grimly, leaving the flyer on the table and leaning back in his chair

  “Wait a minute….” I was picking up something from him—not satisfaction but a dark resignation, the kind you get when bits come together in the worst possible scenario.

  Sharon beat me to the punch, though. “You think all this is connected. The attack on the girl…the claim that it was all a setup on the part of the ki-rin…you think it’s connected to this antifatae sentiment…and that the extermination advertisement is part of it, all one great big city-wide plot?” She had the best poker voice of all the pups, but even she was drawing close to incredulity.

  Venec met her gaze with his very best Big Dog look: stern, straightforward, and totally intense. “I think it’s all deeply coincidental. And I don’t trust coincidences.”

  “Right now, it’s only a theory,” Ian said, for once the calming voice of the two, and that freaked me out more than anything Venec said. “It’s not a theory I support, particularly—there’s enough nasty in the world without it having to be connected—but it’s worth keeping in mind so long as you don’t let it distract you from the specific job…finding out who did what to whom.” He looked briefly at Venec, and I felt an entire speech pass in that glance, although I wasn’t sure exactly what was being said. “I remind you again, we are neither judge nor jury—just the investigators.”

  Ow. That was pointed, and I could tell that Sharon felt it, too. But it was a good point to remember. The fact that we’d never had enough evidence to do anything about the guy who killed my dad…I could have acted on my own, based on what I did know. But I hadn’t. Zaki wouldn’t have wanted blood on my hands, not like that. Same way, if there was some plot…our job was to find evidence, not pass judgment.

  “If the antifatae fever spreads, if we can link them to this…the Council will have to do something about it, won’t they? If those people are threatening us, threatening members of the Cosa?” I’d walked away from Zaki’s killer, back then, pretty sure that the guy would never hurt anyone again. But this…I couldn’t just look away, once we knew something for certain. Not after hearing Danny’s stories, listening to the fear in Mercy’s voice.

  “I stopped trying to predict what the Council might or might not do years ago,” Stosser said. “You’d be advised to do the same. Not all of them are like your mentor.”

  “So what you’re saying is that the Council, locally, if not as a whole—” and bless the San Diego Council for giving us a tentative thumbs-up last month, so their members could approach us, not that anyone had, yet “—while refusing to authorize us for their own people to hire directly and then hiring us on the side for their own benefit, will not act on information we uncover in the course of an investigation, even if it adversely affects their members, in order to avoid granting us legitimacy.”

  “That about sums it up,” Nifty said.

  “Hypocritical bastards.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud; it just slipped, and Sharon laughed. “Welcome to the lonejack mindset, Torres.
”

  I was not amused. J had raised me to have some respect for the Council as a whole, even when he railed against individual members. But for them to sit quiet about this…

  Maybe they wouldn’t. J said people were already talking about this at his levels. If we brought them evidence, they could go after the bastards before it got out of hand. But we needed evidence, first.

  It always came back to the evidence.

  “Lawrence, lead us through the dance,” Stosser said.

  Nifty got up and walked to the far wall, which had been painted over with chalkboard paint so we could work things out without wasting reams of paper—one of Nick’s occasionally brilliant ideas. He picked up chalk, and started to do his thing—diagramming the problem like it was one of his college games.

  “Day one. Girl and fatae out clubbing, two human Talent out for an early-morning cigarette. Intersection.”

  Neatly swooping chalk lines, one white and one green, joined on the board.

  “Result, one dead Talent, two injured Talent, one male and one female, and one fatae, unharmed but bloody.”

  So far, purely the facts, just the way Stosser liked it.

  Nifty drew a dual-colored line down a few inches, then split them off again. “Day two. Stories diverge. He said, she said.” A third chalk stick appeared in his hand, and he managed to draw a red line without dropping the first two chalks still between his fingers. “Day three. Third story appears—threat against injured female to force her to drop charges.”

  “Alleged threat,” Sharon said. “I believed her, but they’re not verified.”

  Nifty nodded. “Alleged threat. But you both were threatened by a force that appears connected.” A fourth chalk appeared, and a blue line echoed the red one. At this point he had all four chalk sticks clutched in his hand, and I was totally distracted wondering how he managed that. My own hand flexed, and I remembered that Nifty was twice my size—he could probably handle an entire crayon box in one paw.

  “Do we want to put in the antifatae group as a sideline, if we’re going to include a threat that might have come from them, or as a main line, if they’re an instigator?” Nick asked. We all looked at Stosser, who nodded—reluctantly, I thought. “Main line.”