The door opened, and Mom and Rhonda came in. They didn’t bring Tim or Steve—apparently the ghosts’ magnetic fields played havoc with the electronics. And we all wanted Daniel to keep breathing.
“You look worse today,” Mom said as she did her usual checkup on Daniel. Was she talking to me, or to Daniel? She grabbed his chart, did her own scan, and made some inane comment. I guess I looked bad. I had no makeup, wore sweats and a tee shirt. I’d kept my bothersome hair back in a ponytail most of the time—except for that white shock that kept escaping. I wasn’t even sure I’d washed it this week.
“But the white hair’s growing on me,” she said with a half smile.
I smelled the biscuits, and my stomach growled. Even though I wasn’t supposed to indulge in too many breads, I usually snagged at least one biscuit.
Rhonda looked well rested. Her hair was up in pigtails today, and her nails were a fresh black. Her kohl-rimmed eyes smiled at me as she pulled her skull-adorned book bag up and handed me my iBook. “Here—I figured you should check your client list and e-mail. I’ve been tagging a lot of them and set an autoresponse to tell them you’d been on vacation.”
Yeah. Some vacation. But I took the iBook and stood.
The hospital wasn’t wireless in ICU, so I’d have to hoof it to the visitor’s lounge or the cafeteria. I opted for the cafeteria, so I could snag a cup of that oh-so-good swill they called Java.
I wanted a Starbucks White Mocha soooo bad.
Yay! And watch my blood sugar beat the next shuttle launch as it broke orbit too.
The cafeteria was set up as serve yourself. So I grabbed a cup of coffee, dumped a load of sugar and cream in. The guy behind the checkout line—Charles on his tag—had gotten so used to seeing me he just waved me on through to the dining area.
Blue walls, soft muted upholstery on the bench cushions and booths. A pre-lighted Christmas tree sat in the corner and twinkled colorfully at me as I passed by. Silver and blue garland hung in waves along the walls, over the backs of the wood dividers of seats. There weren’t too many people there. A few men and women in white coats, a single woman in pink scrubs reading a book. Christmas music piped in softly.
Nope, not in the jolly mood.
I walked to the “outside” area. It really wasn’t out in the December cold, but the roof was made of glass, like a large sunroom. I picked a warm spot near the back and popped open the iBook.
Two seconds and it’d found the network.
Holy shit!
Two-thousand and forty-three messages?
And I was sure there were thousands more that had dumped into the other account. Panic disappeared when I realized a good bulk of them were Spam.
I had backtracked to November and started cleaning them out when I ran across one that ran cold shivers down my spine. [email protected].
The subject line read “We Are Watching.” I felt my spine grow cold.
“Dear Miss Martinique—it has come to our attention that you did not fulfill your contract with us on the nature of the meeting between Detective Frasier and Koba Hirokumi. And now Mr. Hirokumi is dead. We are very disappointed and have suspended accounts with you while we evaluate your position. We feel the relationship between us must change. We will be watching you, and your activities, and we will contact you again to collect on your debt, at a later time.”
We? Us? Always I’d thought this was a single person. But this e-mail read as though they were a committee. And a very pissed committee. I’d fully intended to report back to them after the e-mail on my phone that night, but then I’d been kidnapped, and everything had gone to hell since then.
And they were watching me.
Did they know what it was I could do? Did they know I could do even more now? Did they know about Wraiths? And Phantasms? And sexy, spooky Symbionts?
Who the hell were they?
Paranoia had arrived and set up house.
I closed the e-mail then and searched for any others, but there hadn’t been any. I also checked my bank accounts—the money had never been withdrawn either.
Yeah, I’d owe them. By rights.
I gulped down my coffee, letting it burn the roof of my mouth.
First off, there was a Phantasm out there that had my name, a Symbiont that I’d spared but still wanted pieces of me. I had this really oogy feeling I’d totally screwed myself up by taking TC’s offer and somehow I’d damned my own soul, just as they said Rai had damned his. I still didn’t have a clue who this mysterious Joe was. And now there was some secretive group that watched me and would call on my services one day.
Okay—that’s it—I’m putting my life on e-Bay and shopping for a new one.
Too much coffee propelled me out of the cafeteria and into the hallway where the restrooms were. I sat the laptop on the sink counter and pushed open the first door I came to, not bothering to check to see if it were occupied.
Imagine my surprise when I found myself staring face-to-face with Dags the Fado’s bartender and Nancy the nurse. Both were naked. And it appeared they were in a heated race to see who could suck the other one’s lungs up through their throats first.
My heart pounded against my chest as Dags turned and looked at me, his eyes wide with recognition. “You…” he gasped out.
The girl disengaged herself and bounced out of the stall, muttering under her breath.
Dags stood to the left of the toilet with pants at his ankles. I smiled.
There is nothing more defenseless than a naked man.
Wraith Page 37
