by Rachel Caine
“I need to do something,” Annie said, with that same deliberate pace, and an edge of panic in her voice. “Something…It’s important.…”
“Hush, baby, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Bryn said. She wanted to hug her sister, but she couldn’t, not when she was…like this. Fragile and rotten and falling to pieces. Dear God, please help us. Help…“We have to get her out of here, Pat!”
“I know,” he said. “Joe. Truck bed.”
Joe nodded and slammed down the gate, then jumped up on the raised surface. He crouched to present a smaller target, but the truth was the gunfire had died down. Whoever was out there couldn’t see the parking lot well, if at all, and they were more interested in taking their boats (and cargo) out of danger. One by one, the engines were starting up, revving noisily.
Pat took Annie by the waist and lifted her straight up. Joe took her in his arms and crab-walked back, laying her down flat once her legs were in. “Bryn,” Joe said. “Better ride with her. Watch out, she may forget where she is and try to get out.” He swung over the side and into the truck through the open window, a move he’d obviously practiced. “Meet you back at your house,” he said to Pat, who nodded. “Watch your ass, man. I mean it.”
“Pat!” Bryn called, as Joe started the engine. “I need the syringes!”
He unhooked the canvas bag from his belt hook and tossed it to her just as Joe put the truck in reverse.
Bryn braced herself against the wheel well and unzipped the case. There were three preloaded shots. She uncapped the first with her teeth as she ripped Annie’s sleeve open one-handed, and then drove the needle home into the graying, slippery flesh. Don’t think about it, she told herself grimly. Annie was watching her with haunting, clouded eyes. She looked afraid. “It’s okay,” she told her sister. “It’ll make you better again. It’s okay, Annie. You’re safe now. We’ve got you.”
“Have to do something,” Annie said again. She shut her eyes. “Have to.”
Bryn dropped the empty syringe and repeated the process with a second, then after a moment added the third shot. It’d make her very sick, most likely, but there was no telling how long Annie had been missing shots. Days, certainly. Or Mercer was giving her haphazard treatments, just enough to keep her ambulatory, trapped in a living hell. It was hard to tell, and Annie certainly couldn’t make much sense right now.
Bryn smoothed the damp, limp hair back from her sister’s face and held on to her as the truck bounced and swerved around corners. The cool night air masked the smell of decomposition, which was a blessing. Bryn turned her face toward the rushing wind and breathed deeply. Annie didn’t move, didn’t speak, but by the time the truck began to slow down and head toward the McCallister estate, she seemed to be looking better. That might have been wishful thinking, but the alternatives were grim. There were, Bryn knew, limits to what the nanites could do, and there was no real proof of how long the drug could continue to do its work. Everything failed, eventually. What if Annie was just unlucky? Developed a sudden resistance to the therapy? What if she just…wore out?
Don’t think that way, Bryn told herself. Face what’s in front of you.
What was in front of her was that she had her sister back. Maybe Returné-addicted, maybe fragile, maybe not the same person she’d been…but back. Surviving.
Annie whimpered a little. The repair process hurt—Bryn knew that. Annie’s nerves were coming back online. That would get worse; as the nervous system was reconnected properly, she would feel as though she were burning alive, at least for a few moments. She knew all the steps, the stages, the pain.
She wished it were possible to spare Annie, but the only way to get through something like this was to keep going. There weren’t any shortcuts.
“It’s okay,” she kept whispering to Annie, holding her trembling hand. “It’ll be okay.”
And then they were parked in front of the McCallister mansion, and Annie opened her eyes and said, “I know. I’m safe with you.”
And Bryn’s heart broke, just a little bit more, because Annie wasn’t safe anywhere anymore. She knew better than anyone that the drugs would have made Annie susceptible to all kinds of orders, made her capable of terrible things that the regular woman never would have considered. Mercer had invoked Protocols on Annie, and there was no telling how much she’d been compromised.
But just for now, at least, she was too weak to do much damage.
For now.
Annie stayed oddly passive as she healed up.
Bryn stayed with her, helped her shakily undress (those clothes would have to be incinerated), and helped her scrub down in the big claw-foot tub in the guest room next to Bryn’s. This one was called the Harvest Room, and it was decorated in muted autumnal colors, with reds and greens and yellows. Soothing and rich, as all the rooms in this ancestral pile of stone were. Annie didn’t even notice. She ran the shower for nearly an hour, until her skin was once again pink and clear and healthy. Her hair was thinner, but that would take time to regrow. At least she’d had plenty to work with in the first place.
Bryn dressed her in a pale pink robe, gown, and slippers, and tucked her into bed before asking Liam for some clear soup. He had it up to them in minutes, as if he had been waiting for the call. Annie didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, but she obediently spooned up the chicken broth, and her hand trembled only a little.
Her eyes were clear now, but very distant.
“Sweetie?” Bryn said, and took the empty bowl and spoon to put aside. She put a hand on her sister’s forehead. “Hey. Do you feel okay now?”
“Fine,” Annie said. Her voice, like the frozen stare, was dim and far away. “Thanks for coming for me. I was…I was afraid.”
“Of course you were,” Bryn whispered, and smoothed the rich brown curls. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry you got caught up in this. It’s my fault. I should have made you turn around and go home first thing. I should never have let you stay with me, not even for a minute. But I wanted you here. I wanted to feel…alive. You helped me to do that. It was selfish, and I am so sorry.”
Annie’s gaze moved to focus on her, and her sister raised a pale hand to touch Bryn’s face. “Not your fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have fallen for it. But he was so cute.”
She must have meant Fast Freddy. Annalie had been on her way to the airport, headed home, when she’d disappeared; nobody had been able to pinpoint how that had happened, but now Bryn understood. Somewhere along the way, maybe even at the airport, her sister had run into Fast Freddy, and he’d sweet-talked her into a drink before her flight. Or something more intimate; there were hotels you could get to without even leaving the terminal. But instead of getting a free margarita, or a cheerfully sexual good time, Annie had gotten something else entirely.
Because Freddy liked killing women. He was good at it. And Mercer would have allowed that to happen, then administered the shots to bring Annie back, simply because she was someone he could use against Bryn.
Leverage.
I’m not going to cry, Bryn ordered herself fiercely. I can’t. Her sister needed her strength, not her self-pity. She could let that out later, in private, where only the dog could hear and sympathize, but now she had to be the older sister, and hold it together.
“You’re going to be fine now. I promise,” Bryn said. “You’re safe. Freddy’s not coming near you again. Neither of them is.” She swallowed hard. “Annie, I’m sorry to have to do this, but I need you to listen. I’m invoking Condition Sapphire.”
Annie’s gaze snapped to hers, suddenly and intensely unnerving. That wasn’t Annie looking at her. That was the nanites, waiting for a command.
“Cancel all previously invoked Protocols,” Bryn said. “Confirm Condition Sapphire.” These were Pharmadene codes, built for military operations; Mercer had developed them, and he would have used them on Annie. He’d tried to use them on Bryn, before Patrick had helped her find Manny Glickman and develop the blocking agents.
> “Confirmed,” Annie’s voice said, but again, it wasn’t Annie’s at all. There was a cool, mechanical tone to it. “Protocols canceled.”
And then the shine in her sister’s eyes faded, and it was just Annie, shivering. Bryn adjusted the blanket around her. “It’s okay,” she told her. “You’re okay now.”
Annie, for the first time, seemed to take an interest in where she was. “This is—where is it? Not your apartment.” She almost laughed, but it was more of a rasping sound. “I’ve been to your apartment. It’s not this fancy.”
“No. I don’t have that place anymore. I gave it up.”
“Why?”
“Well…” Bryn gestured around vaguely. “This was kind of…available. And it’s safer. And nicer.”
“Huh,” Annie said. She blinked. “It’s his house, isn’t it?”
“Patrick’s. Yes.”
“Rich?”
“His family is. I don’t know that he’s personally dripping with it.”
Annie smiled a little. It was newborn and fragile, that expression, but at least it was an attempt. “Wow. Who knew you’d be the one to snag a billionaire? And I was really trying. I read books about it. I was thinking about going on one of those reality shows.”
“He’s not a billionaire,” Bryn insisted, and felt her cheeks heating up. “And you need to rest. Your body’s exhausted from the repairs. I’d give you something to help you sleep, but it doesn’t really work; the nanites burn it off fast.”
“Nanites,” Annie said. “There are times when I think this is all just a crazy drug trip. You know that, don’t you? We’re talking about tiny little machines. In my blood.” She was definitely much better, but she seemed drowsy. Exhausted. Maybe that was a good thing.
“I know it’s crazy.” Bryn kissed her forehead. She smelled like Annie now—clean, scrubbed, flowery as spring. But there was still something wintry in her expression, as if she’d never really let go of the fear again. “Please, try to sleep. I’ll check on you in the morning. I’ll be right next door.”
“Okay.” Annie kissed her when Bryn leaned down, then turned on her side. “Bryn?”
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“Thank you,” Annie whispered, drugged by exhaustion. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
Bryn pulled the heavy tapestry coverlet up and over her, turned out the lamp, and left her bathed in the dim glow of the night-light. She didn’t want to leave her, but Bryn was exhausted herself, and full of a sharp, cutting tangle of emotions. She needed to talk, and she couldn’t with Annie.
She locked Annie’s door from the outside. Just in case. She changed out of her battle gear into a soft pair of pajamas and a thick robe, and then took Annie’s soup bowl and spoon downstairs to Liam.
He was in the kitchen, tidying up—there was never a spot, a crumb, or a thing out of place in this temple of culinary arts. He took the empties from her and rinsed them, then added them to the dishwasher racks. “You look tired,” he said. “I assume that Annie’s all right?”
“Better,” Bryn said. She wouldn’t go so far as to say all right, not without a full hearing of what Annie had been through. “Thanks. She needed something to eat.”
“Quite all right. If she’s hungry later, there are some premade things in the refrigerator you can heat up, or you can ring me.” Liam finished wiping down the sink and folded the rag before putting it in the laundry basket beneath the counter. “Are you in search of cocoa?”
“I could murder one,” she admitted. “Would you mind…? I know you’re probably off duty.”
“I live here, too,” Liam said, and sent her a sharp, kind smile as he got out four cups, cocoa, sugar, milk, and marshmallows. “And I make myself snacks from time to time. I expect we’ll have company as soon as they smell things heating.”
He was right about that. As he mixed and stirred the cocoa in a copper-bottom pot, Pat and Joe came in and took seats at the round kitchen table. Joe had a neatly applied bandage on the side of his head.
“I forgot to ask,” Bryn said. “Joe, how are you?”
“Flesh wound,” he said. “But Fast Freddy got me with a Taser from behind. My own fault. I should have known that little fucker is sneaky.”
She pointed at the bandage. “That’s from a Taser?”
“Nope, that’s from the gratuitous boot to the head after the Taser. Your friend Freddy’s a real piece of work.” Joe popped his jaw and winced. “Should have sawed his damn head off when we had the chance.”
“There were other problems at the time,” Pat said. “How’s Annie?”
“The shots are working. She seems better. Just tired. I’m letting her sleep.” She cleared her throat. “I canceled the Protocols. And just in case, I locked her door.”
He nodded, gaze lingering on her as if he was trying to tell without asking how she was. For her part, she wondered about him. He’d taken an awful risk, dropping Freddy like that with Joe’s life at stake. Even Joe had been rattled, and he didn’t spook easily.
Ice water in his veins. When Patrick had spotted the grenade, he hadn’t hit the deck; he’d calmly, methodically taken it away.
There were times when Bryn would swear Patrick, rather than she, was part machine. He could just…switch things off. She envied that a little.
As he accepted his hot cup of cocoa, he just seemed like a normal guy. His five-o’clock shadow was pronounced, and he looked tired, but not like the same ice-cold professional who’d done the things he’d done tonight. When that switch was off, it was off.
He looked like a man who badly needed human contact, just now. And when he saw her watching him, he smiled. There was warmth in that, and understanding. If we were alone…But they weren’t. All too often, really, they weren’t.
Liam joined them with his own drink. “So,” he said. “I gather tonight was productive? And, from Mr. Fideli’s bandage, eventful?”
“You could say that. Pat almost shot me in the head,” Joe said, with remarkable cheer. “Mmm, good cocoa.”
“Almost doesn’t count,” Pat said. “I told you, he was going to drop you if I didn’t drop him first.”
“Yeah, and I’m still partially deaf in that ear from the round he popped off on the way down. Next time, just give me a signal first, ’kay? I’d like to get a last prayer sent up.”
“I thought working with me, you’d be fully paid up on that account at all times.”
“Point,” Joe said, and toasted him. “You know what would make this so much better? Alcohol.”
“Irish whiskey, coming up,” Liam said, and rose to get it. He came back and poured a shot into each of their cups, including his own. “To surviving. May it happen every day.”
“Every day,” Joe said, and clinked china with Liam. Pat and Bryn echoed him, although Bryn’s had a strong taste of irony to it. Joe sipped, and winced. “Damn, I think I cracked another rib.” He held out the cocoa. “Medic?”
Liam added a second shot.
“Aren’t you driving home?” Bryn asked, and saw Joe and Pat exchange a lightning-fast glance.
“Nah, thought I’d stick here tonight. No sense in waking up Kylie. I already let her know I’d probably be out.” He sounded casual, and if she hadn’t caught the look that had passed between the two men, she would have thought it was legitimate. “Besides, staying here at the Millionaire Home for Wayward Orphans ain’t exactly stressful.”
Something was up. Bryn drained her cocoa, and the warm flush of the alcohol only stayed in her system for a few minutes before it faded, carried off by those industrious little nightmare machines. “I’m going to check on Annie,” she said. “Good night. Thanks for the cocoa, Liam.”
He nodded to her with another of those warm, gentle smiles. “I’m glad you found her safe.”
As she pushed her chair back, Patrick rose as well. He took both their cups to the sink and rinsed them, then put them in the dishwasher. Liam watched him with, Bryn thought, a certain amount of alarm, as if he hated see
ing anyone else touching things in his kitchen. Which was probably the case. “I’m off, too,” Pat said, and Joe raised a hand in lazy farewell.
“Usual time for breakfast?” Liam asked.
“I’ll be off early tomorrow. I’ll catch some coffee on the way in the morning. Don’t get up.”
“But it’s the most important meal of the day!” Joe called after him, and then, to Liam, “Listen, if you want to make me breakfast, I’m damn sure going to let you.…”
His voice faded behind her as she followed Patrick through the dimly lit rooms. One of the estate’s many dogs—a greyhound—watched them from the comfort of his bed in the corner of the gorgeous sitting room but didn’t get up; they were all more Liam’s pets than Pat’s or Bryn’s.
She wasn’t planning on catching up with Patrick, but she found herself moving faster nevertheless, and by the time he was at the top of the stairs to the second floor, she was beside him, step for step.
Patrick stopped. “You’re checking on Annie?” His voice was neutral, and she couldn’t read his face at all.
“I should,” she said.
“Good night, then.”
“Yes, good night,” Bryn said, and watched him walk away. He didn’t glance back, just opened his bedroom door and closed it with a firm click. She went to Annie’s room and checked her door: still locked. Bryn turned the key in the lock, slid it open a crack, and peeked inside.
Annie was asleep in a tangled mound of covers and a storm of disordered brown hair. She looked so young this way and so thin that it made Bryn’s heart ache.
But she was breathing steadily, and she looked…alive.
And she was safe. Safe, finally.
Bryn shut the door again, turned the key, and leaned her forehead against the heavy wood. It smelled of lemon polish, a comforting, normal thing, and for a few seconds she didn’t move at all.
Then she pushed away and looked down the hall.
Patrick McCallister was standing in the darkened doorway of his room, looking back at her. His black shirt was unbuttoned halfway, as if he’d stopped in the middle of the task, and he looked deliciously, warmly rumpled. Like someone awakened from a vivid, sensual dream.
