by Rachel Caine
Maybe that was just what she needed. She crouched down to give him a loving scratch on the head and neck, and said, “Stupid dog.” He slurped her hand, and she felt the pressure inside subside just a little. There was something about his furry, unquestioning, adoring love that made her feel less…alien.
She looked up and found that Patrick was watching her. He looked concerned, but there was something unguarded about his smile. “Do you want dinner?” he asked.
“Why, are you cooking?” That was a joke. Patrick, for all his many talents, was definitely not a chef.
“If you want to take a risk on my ability to heat up an MRE…”
“Not that hungry. But you want to talk about my friends in the ski masks, anyway.”
“I think it’s a conversation that can’t wait,” he agreed. “I’m going to lock up these thumb drives. You said you had one with unencrypted data?”
Bryn had put her purse down to pet Mr. French, and now she reached in left-handed, rooted around, and pulled out the drive. She handed it to him. “It’s video surveillance. You should know what’s on it before you watch.”
“Did you know?” he asked, and searched her face for the answer. “Then I’ll watch it cold. Maybe I’ll see something new. Fresh eyes.”
She almost warned him not to watch it before eating, but then the idea of watching it after dinner probably wasn’t so great, either, so she held her tongue. Patrick was a big boy. He’d seen worse, almost certainly, and he didn’t have her…emotional resonance to contend with.
He hesitated, though, and finally said, “See you after I take a look. Will you be upstairs?”
“I need to change,” she said. “And check on Annie. Patrick—thanks. Thanks for coming to get me. I needed—I needed you.” She stood up, and suddenly the space between them seemed to contract without either of them moving. It was the look in his eyes, and the sudden boil of emotion inside her.
And then Patrick took a step forward, touching-close, and murmured, “Did you? Really?”
She only had to lean forward a little to touch her lips to his and say, “Still do.” It wasn’t a kiss; it was friction, her mouth moving against his. She expected him to lean in, press them close, but he didn’t; it was on the trembling edge of happening, but he just held her there, suspended, not making a move. Her nerves woke up on fire, and she wondered if he knew just how incredibly sensual this felt.
She felt his mouth move. A smile. A wicked one.
“It’s like braille,” he said, “but with lips. I think I like it.”
Mr. French interrupted them with a bark, and if dogs could frown, he did. Clearly, he was concerned with losing her attention, and Bryn stepped back. “I need to change,” she said. “I’ll…see you soon.”
Patrick nodded and watched her go.
Mr. French bounded up the steps before her; her dog, Bryn thought, had learned the house faster than she had. It was a little disconcerting, actually. He ran straight to her room and inside, then back out. He dashed instead into Annie’s room, next door, and as Bryn walked in, she found him sitting comfortably next to Liam’s feet. Liam was still sitting in the armchair, still reading…but he wasn’t the one Bryn focused on.
Because her sister was awake.
Bryn stopped dead in her tracks, feeling a rush of exalted relief that was quickly stopped by a more logical dread…until Annie turned her head and looked her way with a tired, faint smile. “Hey,” she said. Her voice sounded rusty and rough. “Thought I’d never see you again, sis.”
Bryn rushed forward and stopped a foot short of the bed as Liam cleared his throat. “Carefully,” he said. “She’s better, but I felt it necessary to keep her restrained for now until we verify her Protocols are turned off.”
“He means,” Annie said, “until he’s sure I’m not going to go after you and your man with a butcher knife.” Her eyes filled up with sudden tears, and she pulled in a gasp. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, Bryn. I would never have done that—never—but I just couldn’t stop it.”
“I know,” Bryn said, and put a hand on her sister’s cheek. She felt warm, soft, alive. “It wasn’t your fault, none of it. It never was. And we’re fine. The important thing is to make sure you’re fine.”
“I think I am,” Annie said, but she looked deeply uncertain. “Maybe you should keep these things on for a while longer. I mean, I didn’t know. I didn’t feel that I was going to do anything, but I heard your friend leave the hall and it was like I couldn’t stop myself. I got up, got the knife, and just—I was a passenger, Bryn. I couldn’t stop.” She started breathing harder, and Bryn took her hand and held it. Annie squeezed hard. “I hate this—I hate it. I just want it to go away. You know? All of it. I want to go home and I want to go back to my stupid bar job and…I want to see Mom!” That last came out as a wail, and Bryn felt her heart break, again. Annie’s tears were overflowing now, running down into her tangled hair. She yanked against the restraints a little, but more in frustration than any desire to get free, Bryn thought. “Can I see her? Can you ask her to come, at least? To take care of me?”
No, Bryn thought, appalled. The last thing she wanted was more of her family involved in this…horror that had taken her sister. And her. “Maybe,” she lied. “Calm down, Annie. What Liam’s been giving you is making it better. You’re in control now. You’re back to being you.”
“Yeah?” Her sister’s mouth set in a bitter little line, very not the Annie Bryn remembered. “The loser sib who couldn’t figure out how to balance a checkbook? Not much of an upgrade from crazy woman with a knife, is it?”
“Annie!”
“I know, self-pity isn’t my most attractive look, right? But Jesus Christ, Bryn, I was murdered! And they…they…” Annie’s gaze wandered, and Bryn saw the horror of the last few months come rushing back. “…did things to me.”
Liam was still in his chair, and Bryn sent him a quick look. He said, very quietly, “Shall I go downstairs? Perhaps fix a small meal for us all?”
“Thank you,” she said. “I think she needs something in her stomach, and I’m—” Starving, she realized with a jolt of surprise. “—ready for dinner, too. Liam—thanks for staying with her. Keeping her safe.”
He favored them both with a warm smile as he stood. “She’s a lovely girl. And you, Annalie, were very wise in your choice of sisters, I think.”
After Liam was gone, Annie was quiet. Bryn stroked her hair gently, and finally said, “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
“No,” Annie said, with unexpected force. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to remember. So let’s just…drop that, okay? Cut, print, move on. Damn it. Can you—uh—wipe my eyes or something? Damn, I think I need to pee, too. Man.”
For an answer, Bryn yanked the Velcro off her left wrist and put a tissue in her hand. Annie raised her arm and stared at it, as if not quite sure what it was (or, more likely, what it would do), then dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, blew her nose, and sighed. “Oh God, it’s ridiculous how good that feels. I didn’t realize how tiring it was to be in the same position all the time.”
“Feel any impulse to throttle me with your free hand?” Bryn asked.
“Only a little,” Annie said, “which, considering we’re sisters, is probably normal.”
Probably. Bryn studied her for a few seconds longer, then undid the rest of the restraints. “Hey!” Annie said, and sat up. “Are you supposed to do that? I mean, now? Ow, I’m still wearing IVs. Can I take these out?”
“No,” Bryn said. “But you can roll them with you to the bathroom, unless you have a real liking for bedpans.”
“Do you have to empty it when I’m done?”
“Not a chance, sweetie. I don’t love you that much.”
Annie’s smile was almost like her old one. “You were in the running for best sister ever, but now you’re back to, you know, just best in the room.”
“Except you?”
“So far, you haven’t tried
to stab me, so I think you’re one up on me right now.” Annie swung her legs over the side of the bed and groaned. “Ow. Sore. A little help?”
Bryn supported her and eased her to a standing position, and rolled the IV stand over so Annie could hold on to it. “Better?”
“In one way. In another, now I really have to pee, now that it’s actually possible to do it.”
“In there.” Bryn walked her to the bathroom door and shut it behind her. As she waited, she looked down at her suit—grimy now with her twisting and wriggling around on the pavement underneath the limo—and remembered that she’d been on her way to change, again. How many outfits had she ruined today?
Well, she couldn’t change now until Liam came back to supervise Annie; she might trust her sister again, a little, but not enough to let her roam around the house without oversight. If her Protocols weren’t completely deactivated, she might choose the moment Bryn was cleaning up to reenact the shower scene from Psycho, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Least of all the shower curtain.
Annie came out a few minutes later, looking almost herself again. She’d even taken a moment to brush her hair, which fell in bouncy, ridiculously shiny curls halfway to her waist. It still looked thinner than before, but it’d fill out. “Okay, warden, I’m done.”
“Good. Back in bed.”
“Seriously?”
“Just for a few minutes,” Bryn said. “I’ll come back to get you.”
She fastened the Velcro around Annie’s wrists, ankles, chest, waist, and thighs, feeling stupid as she did so. Annie took it without any snarky commentary, which was nice, if unusual. “I’m sorry,” Bryn said, smoothing the last fastener in place. “I’ll be back for you soon. Tomorrow you won’t need these at all.”
“No hurry,” Annie said. “I’m not going anywhere.” She sighed, wriggled a bit, and closed her eyes. Mr. French, who’d been following the two of them around with anxious concentration, trotted after Bryn as she went next door. After a moment of consideration, she locked the door, then started stripping off the old, stained clothes. At this rate, she thought, I’ll have to buy a whole new wardrobe every month. Well, at least it wasn’t a depressing idea for a change. New clothes were always cheerful.
A fast, hot shower made her feel brand-new, and Bryn toweled off and dressed from the skin up again.…After consideration, she went for the best underwear she had, lacy and flirty, and over that, in compensation, a plain pair of jeans and matte jersey shirt. Comfortable. Not seductive. Overtly, anyway. Mr. French decided not to follow her after that; he curled up in his dog bed and put his head down, evidently worn-out by the day’s trials. She shook her head and left him there as she checked on Annie.
She wasn’t there.
Bryn did a fast, alarmed check of the room: no sign of Annie hiding in the closet with a butcher knife or lurking in the bathroom or under the bed.
Pat.
Bryn dashed back in her room, grabbed the handgun she kept in the nightstand, and raced out again. That got Mr. French up and running at her heels; he seemed to think it was a fun chase game meant just for him, and he almost tripped her up as she took the steps at a terrifying pace…
And almost ran straight into Patrick as he rounded the corner at the bottom. He took a step back, and she did, too, almost knocking herself over as her heels encountered the stair riser. Pat’s gaze fell to the gun in her hand. “What’s wrong?”
“I thought you—” Bryn took a deep breath and didn’t try to holster the gun. “Annie’s not in her bed.”
“I let her loose,” Patrick said. “And before you tell me I’m taking a risk, I tested her before I released her completely. She’s doing fine, and Liam’s keeping a sharp eye on her. I don’t think she’s liable to come after me at the table with a butter knife, but if she does, I assume you’ll…shoot.”
Relief made her weak at the knees for an instant, and then she felt her cheeks burn a little. Maddening, because she hadn’t overreacted…not considering the circumstances.
“I watched the videos,” he said. That surprised her, and she realized with a shock that in the heat of dealing with Annie she hadn’t even thought about the videos. “Two theories come to mind. First, someone is conducting a cleanup, officially sanctioned or not.”
“Which would explain why Graydon was on the list of vendors for Pharmadene after the turnover in management.”
“Or someone is abducting the Revived to find out exactly how they’re still alive. Testing them.”
Bryn hadn’t actually considered that. She’d been so focused on the method of their death that it hadn’t dawned on her to think about what might have happened before…but it was possible. More than possible. Someone could have gotten wind of the existence, or possibility, of a drug-based immortality; someone could have taken the logical step to find a person who was living proof and start experiments.
Which meant that when she’d seen Jason on the gurney being shot in the head and loaded into the furnace…that hadn’t been the beginning of his suffering.
That might have been a merciful end.
Her brain raced ahead of her, imagining all the horrifying things that could be done to a body that wouldn’t, and couldn’t, die.…It made vivisection look sane and humane, and she tried to close the door on her imagination, shut it off.
She’d go crazy if she spent much time in that dark, dark place.
“It could be something else,” Patrick said. He’d read her expression; she could tell from the sudden softness of his voice. “Something we haven’t considered yet. Let’s keep from rushing to judgment, Bryn. This is going to take a little time.”
“Time to what?” she said. “Track down two anonymous men in ski masks who are trying to abduct me?”
“No,” he replied very calmly. “Trap two anonymous men in ski masks.”
Oh.
Chapter 11
Dinner seemed fine, although Bryn couldn’t have said what it was exactly that she ate.…Chicken, she thought, with vegetables, all perfectly normal. Annalie, although pale and still nervous, was making an effort; she was all tinsel-bright smiles and eyes that were just a bit too wide, gestures too fast. Bryn watched her, waiting for any strange lapses, but she saw nothing but her sister, amped up a little too high. Liam didn’t seem to be paying attention, but she knew he was; he was well within striking distance of Annie’s fork, should she choose to go completely wrong, but her sister’s Protocol order hadn’t included the butler, just Patrick. And, of course, Bryn.
They were just finishing the dessert—a silky butterscotch pudding that was the first thing that actually made an impact on Bryn’s senses—when a tone sounded from the kitchen. That, she recognized, was the security alert. Liam excused himself, then came back and said, “Patrick, I believe you have guests. Again.”
“Wasn’t expecting any.”
“These seem to be in a large vehicle, and they’re wearing police-issue bulletproof vests. I’d guess that your FBI friends may be a bit unhappy.”
Bryn got up and went to the kitchen, where the surveillance monitors showed—just as described—a large tactical van, black and nondescript, with four men in helmets and flak vests standing around it.
Liam had forgotten to mention the semiauto rifles they carried. Bryn tried the little joystick on the keyboard, and zoomed in.
FBI. It said so very clearly on their vests. And walking up in the center of them, also wearing a vest but no helmet, was Special Agent Riley Block.
She didn’t look at all happy. That was extremely clear in the high-definition look she shot directly at the camera.
“Open the gates,” she said through the speaker, “or I’m driving in over them. That would be awkward for you to explain to the neighbors.”
Not that explaining the presence of an armed tactical team was going to be any piece of cake, if said neighbors were taking a jog around the block, but Bryn shot a look at Patrick, who was standing behind her. He shrugged.
“Might
as well,” he said. “Knowing her, she’ll start using the bullhorn in the next minute.”
What he didn’t say was that this was an extremely vulnerable moment for them; if either or both of them disappeared into FBI custody, it might well be the last time they saw daylight, depending on what Riley knew, and how angry she was about it. But the alternatives were worse—shooting it out with the feds had never been much of an option.
Bryn pressed the gate release and disarmed the security system.
“What’s going on?” Annalie asked from the doorway. She sounded scared. “Is it—is it them?” She meant Jonathan Mercer and Fast Freddy, her captors.
“No, it’s not,” Patrick said without turning. “Mercer’s not stupid enough to come here. It takes a federal employee for that.”
“Hey, play nice,” Bryn said. Patrick smiled grimly. “Riley’s probably angry over the fact I lied to her about Graydon. She’ll have heard something else by now. What are we going to tell her?”
“The truth.”
“And the video?”
“We’ll play it for her,” he said. “Because I want to see her face when she gets a good look at what’s going on. If she knows anything about those disappearances, it’s going to be hard for her to hide it. If she doesn’t know…that’s instructive, too.”
The tactical van was rolling up the drive now, with the five agents riding the running boards. It was, Bryn thought, effective theater straight out of the Prohibition-era playbook. Riley knew perfectly well they weren’t going to walk into a guns-blazing firefight, but she was making a point.
Loudly.
Liam headed for the front door, but Bryn cut him off. “No,” she said. “It’s for me.”
“You want backup?” Patrick asked. She shook her head.
