“Getting up,” Jet replied.
“I don’t think so. You sit right back down, there’s a good girl. You’re on bed rest, dear. And that means you’re not walking anywhere, for a full week.”
Jet smiled, gritting her teeth together so that she wouldn’t scream. “Surely, in my own home, I can move about.”
“Absolutely not,” the nurse said, wagging a finger. “Doctor’s orders, both the Faith Healer’s and Dr. George’s.”
“Don’t worry,” Bruce said. “If she tries to get up, I’ll lace her food with sedatives.”
Jessica blinked, then must have decided he’d been joking, because she laughed politely. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Will it, dear?”
“Of course not,” Jet agreed—because she was willing to bet that Bruce hadn’t been joking.
“Wonderful. Let’s get you set up in your bed, shall we?”
A brief, if humiliating, time later, Jet was safely tucked into her bed, pillows fluffed, comforter tucked. Her white-noise machine was set to NIGHTTIME SERENADE, and the crickets were chirping in the hopes of finding their mates. After a dire warning from the nurse that Jet was to stay in bed until Dr. George paid her a visit in five days’ time, Jessica pulled Bruce aside, probably to give him additional instructions.
Jet sighed as she turned off her earpiece and tossed it to her nightstand; she’d ask Bruce to charge it for her. She couldn’t do it herself, oh no, not with the charger in the kitchen, and her trapped in bed.
She clenched her fist. She felt ridiculous in her nightgown and bathrobe. And in bed. She wasn’t sick. She wasn’t hurt anymore. Sure, she was tired, but she’d patrolled when she was tired before. Light, she’d fought battles when she’d been running on empty. She wanted to get in her skinsuit and summon a floater and hum across the rooftops. She wanted to get far away from her apartment, from her bed.
From her thoughts about what had really happened to Lynda Kidder.
She’d tried to get Frostbite to put out a Code 1 bulletin about the treacherous Martin Moore, but she couldn’t get ahold of him … and it wasn’t like she could request Frostbite by name, not without raising flags.
Frowning, she closed her eyes, her mind whirling as if to make up for her body being confined to bed. Frostbite had said Moore was strictly the tech end. But why did his face look so familiar to her? She wanted to say that she’d seen him at the Academy, lurking in the Mental wing, a white lab coat hanging from his shoulders.
Insanity. Moore wasn’t a Therapist. But then how did she know him? It was an itch between her shoulder blades, a nagging sensation that she’d seen the man before.
Of course she had. She’d been at Corp HQ enough times for her to have noticed him in the background, working on the computers. That had to be it.
A computer man, who’d leaked information to Kidder to embarrass Corp and the Squadron.
An Everyman, who’d known about Kidder’s containment, who might have even been in on the reporter’s actual capture and … transformation.
“How many extrahumans would it take to rule the world?” he’d asked her as he led her to Kidder. “To crush humanity under its feet?”
A driven man, with computer expertise … and if he had anything to do with the creation of the serum, a scientific background. Biometrics.
“We won’t be easy meat for you,” Moore said. “We’ll fight back with everything we’ve got. With everyone we can get our hands on.”
A dangerous man.
Jet had to find Moore, learn more about the serum he’d bragged about. But Frostbite was off-line for the time being, and she couldn’t risk Bruce on something that could put him into danger.
And when she’d spoken to Night about it two days ago, at the hospital, and had told him the truth about her rescue attempt, his reply had been less than encouraging: “I’m not surprised, not in the least. But you have to keep this quiet, Jet. Corp is making the Undergoths the scapegoat. And you have to let them do it.”
And he’d said no more about it. She almost felt bad that she hadn’t mentioned the memory stick with Kidder’s real conclusion to the Origins piece, but she was positive Night would have told her to hold on to it, to keep it safe.
She hadn’t filed an accurate report to Corp about the Kidder mission. Bluntly, she’d lied. Same as Bruce, who Night had at least admitted was his man. So her Runner was taking orders from her old mentor, who was also telling her to roll over, for reasons unknown.
A headache bloomed behind her eyes as she wondered why Night didn’t want her to tell the truth about Moore and Kidder’s connection to the Everyman Society.
And what about Kidder’s examination of Icarus? Did that have anything to do with her winding up in the sewer, turned into a monster?
And what was Iridium’s connection?
“I’m not down here for you,” Iri said. “You … why are you down here, anyway?”
Acting like she had no clue, like she’d just happened to come across Jet and Kidder.
And the thing was, after mulling it over for the past few days and reviewing what she could remember of the actual fight … Jet believed her. She didn’t want to, but in her gut, she knew she was right. Iridium had been honestly surprised that Jet was in the tunnels.
So if Iri really had no idea that Jet was going to be there, battling for her life against Kidder … what had she and her lackey been up to?
Once Iridium was grounded in Blackbird, maybe in a cell right next to her dear old dad, Jet would have to ask her.
“Hey.”
Jet opened her eyes to see Bruce standing over her. She managed a smile. “Hi. Where’s Jessica?”
“Who, Nurse Ratched? Got rid of her.”
“Didn’t peg you for a classic literature fan.”
He grinned, part arrogance, part amusement. All charisma. “There’s lots about me I bet you have wrong.”
Laughing softly, Jet said, “I’m sure you’re right.”
“You have about a zillion fan letters waiting downstairs, as well as your personal correspondence.” He tossed a bundle of parcels onto her lap.
She stared at the pile of mail as if it would rise up and strike her dead. “Maybe later.”
“All righty,” he said cheerfully, gathering up the letters. As he moved over her, Jet felt a tingle run through her, especially in her lap, where Bruce’s hand was slowly picking up the mail. She took a deep breath and blew it out, telling her body to calm down.
But Light, the man’s very presence hit her like an aphrodisiac.
He finished picking up the letters, his fingers dragging over her thighs—safely hidden by her blanket, but oh, the feel of his fingers on her thighs … like a hum of electricity working through her, working up to her …
She cleared her throat, and he removed his hand, then tucked the mail under his arm as if nothing had happened. He was smiling at her, and his eyes were so devilish they should have been red instead of blue.
“Want me to turn on the vid for you? You’re all over the news, but I’m pretty sure you’re not in the mood for that.”
“You know me well.” At least she didn’t sound too breathy; that had to count for something.
“Hey, I told you I studied your file. Want me to put on a movie? Or a sit-com? Maybe something spicier?” He grinned, splitting his face from ear to ear. “Is it too soon to get you addicted to daytime soap operas?”
“Bruce,” she said, looking at him hard, “when you came to help me in the sewers, why did you tell Corp what you did?”
He measured her with his gaze, and what she saw in his eyes was both exciting and frightening, and that was when she realized that the casual flirting on his part wasn’t casual at all. “It was pretty clear you were going out on your own, at Night’s suggestion. I wasn’t about to blow that for you.”
“But you’re an Academy Runner.”
“No, Jet.” He met her gaze, locked onto her dark eyes with his bright blue eyes. The smile on his lips softened
into something sensual, and his voice deepened, as if weighted with passion. “I’m your Runner.”
She didn’t know what to make of that, so all she said was, “I see.”
They looked at each other as he stood over her bed, radiating something that she was afraid to place. Her breathing had quickened along with her heartbeat, and suddenly she was far too warm and wanted to kick off the covers, shed her robe.
She wanted to kiss him. And do much more than that.
Still gazing at her like he was thinking the same thing, he said, “I’ll be here until six, when Terry will come with your dinner and will stay through the night shift. Then I’ll be back in the morning. It’ll go that way for the whole time you’re on bed rest.”
And that was the cold shower she’d needed. Forcing herself to smile instead of scream, she nodded. Bed freaking rest. “So you’re my keeper?”
He grinned so wolfishly that even Were would have been impressed. “Honey, you know you’re a keeper.”
Honey? “Do you always flirt with your clients?”
“Only the sexy ones.”
She couldn’t hide her blush, but between her thick bathrobe and the comforter, he couldn’t see what his words had done to her body. “You sound like you’ve been Running for Lady Killer.”
“Maybe I have been. What can I get for you? Something to eat? Drink?”
“See if you can get through to Frostbite, at Ops. I need to speak with him. Quietly.”
“Gotcha. Anything else while waiting?”
“One of my books would be nice. They’re in the living room—”
“On the small bookshelf by the rocker. The romances. I know. Any particular one?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Thrill me.”
He blinked, then grinned, bemused. “Excuse me?”
“Thrill me,” she said, blushing again. “Pick one and surprise me.”
“‘Thrill me.’ I like that.” He chuckled, and turned to walk out of her room. “When I tell the other Runners that I got to thrill you, the rumors are going to fly.”
Let them, Jet thought, her body still tingling in places she could never show in public. Let them.
CHAPTER 48
IRIDIUM
I have no doubt that the ones responsible for my little girl’s death will be brought to justice. That’s why we have the Squadron. And I know they’ll do right by my Lynda.
Harold Kidder, father of Lynda Kidder, to the press at his daughter’s funeral
Iridium tapped the stolen Academy plans with her finger, and the holo fizzed, the pixels skating away from the digit. “The only way to insert is through the Runner entrance. It’s the most heavily trafficked and lightly guarded.”
“Right, because who cares about a bunch of wannabe grunts?” Taser said. “I never got the whole Runner shtick.”
“Me, either. Half of them are fanboys or -girls, and the other half are some creepy version of Jeeves.”
“I’m guessing you’ll get the uniforms and IDs we need?”
“Boxer is out collecting gear right now,” said Iridium. “The techhacks in Wreck City are pretty friendly with me since I gave them that load of digichips, so our clearances should check out, at least cursorily. Once you’re inside the Academy complex, nobody looks twice at you unless you’re flying or setting something on fire.” She shook her head. “Self-absorbed little bastards.”
“Didn’t you use to be one of those little bastards?” Taser’s goggles flickered with amusement.
“Indeed. Precisely why I’m doing this.”
“Oh really?” Taser said mildly, scanning through the layout section of the plans. “I thought you were doing this because Daddy ordered you to.”
Iridium slammed her fist down on the table. The projector jumped and skipped, the plans blacking out for a moment. “Are you trying to start something, Electric Eel Boy?”
“There was an Electric Eel,” said Taser with ill-disguised laughter. “Back at the end of the twenty-first century. I’ve always wondered if I was related to him. Genetic passing of powers and all that.”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she seethed. “You just accused me of being some sort of sycophant. Is there a reason, other than your wish for a speedy and premature death?”
“I just want to make sure you’re committed to this,” he said, jabbing a finger at the projector. “If this goes south, Corp will make us disappear. We’ll be one of those stories that gets passed around by cops and vigilantes about what creeps the extrahumans are.”
She shrugged. “Blah, blah.”
“They’ve made it happen before, Iridium. You’re deluding yourself if you think a cell at Blackbird is the worst thing that can happen to us when this goes wrong.”
She glared at him. “After spending five years at the Academy, I’m a hell of a lot more committed than you are.” Iridium rubbed her arms, felt the old fears creeping up her spine. “It’s not just the surface stuff, the brainwashing and the everything’s-fine-citizen mentality the heroes have. It’s the things you don’t see. The homogenization. Being a hero is being without a mind of your own. It’s selling your soul to Corp … trusting them. And they don’t deserve it,” she spat. “Not one iota of anyone’s devotion.”
“All right, all right,” he said, his hands up in a placating gesture. “I was just testing you.”
“Yeah, well, I was a straight-A student,” she huffed. “So stop wasting my time.”
Taser’s mask pulled into a grin. “Bet you cheated. Anyway, here’s what the whispers on the street have to tell me: your girl Jet, the nutty one? She thinks you had something to do with that reporter getting killed. You and the Undergoths, together. She’s doing a pretty good job of selling it to the EC. They’re talking about going into the Rat Network after you.”
Iridium smiled—not what Taser was expecting, judging by his frown. “Good.” She pulled a plain coat over her unikilt. “Stay here and keep reviewing the plans. There’s something I have to do before we go after Ops.”
“And what would that be? Pedicure? Hair appointment you can’t miss?”
“You’re a real smart-ass for someone I could fry with a stray thought.”
“Sorry,” he said, and she thought he sounded sincere. “I always get keyed up before a job.” He gestured around him, the movement taking in the entire warehouse. “You leaving me all alone in your place?”
“Yeah,” said Iridium, shrugging. “Don’t go through my underwear drawer.”
“I’m just flattered you trust me.”
“Well, I can always kill you later,” said Iridium with a wink, and ducked out the access door before she could overthink it. She did trust him, and while she knew that should bother her … she sort of liked having an ally who wasn’t bending over backward to please her. Boxer was a good man to have behind the scenes—but Taser was the sort of man she preferred to have by her side.
Once she was in the dampening zone offered by old-style overstrung power cables, she placed a call from a hardwired telephone.
“Yo.”
“Derek, it’s Callie.”
Frostbite stopped chewing on whatever he was eating and inhaled sharply.
“Your call could really not come at a worse time. Do you have any idea what a shitstorm you’ve stirred?”
“Is Li’l Bitty Jettikins blaming her fresh bruises on me still?” She sighed in exasperation. “Would that I could slap the bitch as hard as that.”
“I assume you’ve heard that Night and the EC are panting on your heels. Talking about a full-scale raid on your Grid and the Rat Network.” Derek sighed. “Why do you have to be … you? They’re going to kill you, Iridium. Really, the best you can hope for when they come for you is a full lobotomy.”
Iridium ground her palm heel into her forehead and forced herself to keep her tone light. “Good thing I’m going to be having an iced mocha, then,” she said. “Safely above-ground.”
“Not following,” said Derek. In the background, Iridium co
uld hear a flattie television, a man’s voice ringing out: “Pop quiz, hotshot. There’s a bomb on the bus …”
“Derek the Dork,” she said with a smile, “are you watching Keanu Whatshisface again?”
Frostbite snorted. “So what? The man was brilliant. A true artist.”
“He’s a dead flattie actor whose most famous role consisted entirely of the word ‘Dude.’”
“Not true. Have you seen Point Break? Pure artistry!”
“Derek. I need to see you.”
“No way,” Frostbite said. “I can’t leave the complex. Ever since Shadow Princess got her knees scraped, we’re on lockdown except for the Squadron and their Runners.”
“So fake a stomachache or something.” She paused, then said, “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life or death, Derek.”
He sighed. “Where?”
“Looptown Mall, one hour,” said Iridium. “In the food courts. I’ll be the one with the iced mocha.”
“This better be important, Iri.”
“Trust me,” she said. “It is.”
Frostbite was annoyingly punctual, his usual habit, and he dropped into the wire chair across from Iridium. “What? What is so Christo-damned important that I practically had to sneak away from my post?”
His hair was still blue, but Frostbite had grown lines around his eyes and mouth that made him look years older than twenty-three. His premature aging, plus the fact that he was royally pissed, didn’t make for a friendly combination.
Therefore, Iridium decided to make it short. “I’m going to hack Ops in three days’ time. I suggest you not be there when I do.”
Frostbite blinked at her. “Excuse me? You’re going to what now?”
“Ops. I’m cutting the umbilical, Derek. No more voices in your head.” She set her lips. “Without it, the heroes will have to fend for themselves. Oughta be a pretty bunch of chaos.”
He whistled. “I’d say so.”
She smiled, the thin one that she knew didn’t reach her eyes. “That bitch Jet won’t have the power of the mighty Corp to fall back on anymore.”
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