by Julie Hyzy
Kenna’s hand reached involuntarily to the back of her leg. “The safeties were off,” she said. “Sometimes your body can sustain a shock effect that mimics an actual injury, but my brain wasn’t immersed, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Dr. Baxter’s patient silence was starting to drive her crazy. Exactly what she didn’t need right now.
Kenna sighed. “VR scenarios aren’t real. I haven’t forgotten that. Unfortunately, Charlie”—she hated that her voice cracked—“suffered mortal absorption. I know that now. What I’m trying to convey is that this scenario was wrong in a way I can’t fully pinpoint yet. Charlie was the best.” She looked away to stare at the walnut paneling again. “Something had been changed. Technically, I mean. Why were the safety protocols shut down?” She shrugged and looked down at her lap, measuring her words. “VR is safe. It isn’t real. Unless someone is immersed, there’s no chance of danger. Nothing goes wrong in ninety-nine percent of the adventures. For that other one percent, they have us, the envoys. We rescue those who’ve become mortally absorbed.”
“Like Charlie?”
Kenna bit her lip. “Like Charlie.” She watched her thumbs rub against each other. “I could have saved him, too, if I’d gotten to him sooner. He should never have gone in unsanctioned.”
“Or without the safeties.”
Kenna nodded.
“Do you think that Charlie was responsible for turning off the safeties?”
Kenna knew that Charlie would never do anything like that. She knew it deep in her core. But to sit here and insist that the blond man, the werewolf, and the system were all in some sort of conspiracy to kill Charlie sounded ridiculous. “No one else there had the codes,” she said. “Not that I know of, at least.”
“So, you’re saying now that it was Charlie’s fault?”
Damn it all to hell. Kenna steeled herself, took a deep breath, and decided to give the good doctor what she wanted. “He wasn’t authorized to be there, he hadn’t taken the necessary precautions, and he let himself become mortally absorbed. Yes. It was his fault.”
“What about the rest of it? What about it being ‘personal’?”
“That was just my emotion talking a minute ago,” Kenna said, injecting a little hitch into her words. “I always knew I was safe. I could have pulled myself out at any time. Nothing went wrong other than human error.”
Dr. Baxter waited a beat. “Nice speech.”
Kenna’s head shot up. “Excuse me?”
“Now that you’ve gotten the party line out so convincingly, why don’t we start from the beginning, and this time, instead of werewolves and attacking Huns, let’s talk about how angry you are with Charlie.”
FOURTEEN
I don’t like this one bit,” one of Patrick Danaher’s men said during their brisk and efficient examination of Charlie Russell’s apartment. “Doesn’t seem right to be nosing through other people’s business when they aren’t home. You sure this is legal?”
It wasn’t, of course. “Take a look.” Patrick pulled an official-looking document out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Our subject’s signature, right here.” He pointed. “She gave us authority to poke through her apartment if we think it could help. Said she didn’t want to be here while it was going on.”
“I wouldn’t let strangers into my place without me being there.”
Patrick refolded the paper and tucked it away. “She wants to get to the bottom of this as much as Trutenko does,” he lied. “And she’s okay with our being here as long as I oversee the process.”
“Still feels like a violation.”
Because it is.
As soon as the two-man team completed their search, Patrick Danaher dismissed them, telling them he’d take it from there.
“We didn’t find anything incriminating,” one of the men said. “Not that I could tell, at least. You sure you got the right apartment?”
“Give me what you have, and I’ll figure it out,” Patrick said.
The man complied and said, “Good luck with that.”
When the door shut behind them, Patrick scratched at the scant hairs spanning his freckled pate and breathed a long sigh of relief to finally have time alone.
Seated on the couple’s worn leather sofa, he began the Herculean task of sorting through the amassed detritus. All the journals, notes, and other personal items the team had collected during the seizure sat before him. Patrick closed his eyes to concentrate on his next moves.
Werner wanted everything of interest in his hands as soon as possible. “Don’t bother me until you have proof,” he’d said. “I want to know everything Charles Russell suspected. I want to know everything the girlfriend knows, too.”
Now, as Patrick stared down at the two overflowing bins and the sprawl of paperwork that blanketed the small coffee table—all that was left of Charlie’s bold, brave, and inquisitive nature—he heaved a resigned sigh. This was a job for one set of eyes, and his were the only ones he trusted.
He ambled into the kitchen and opened the right-hand cabinet next to the stove to grab a tall pilsner drinking glass. Turning back, he opened the refrigerator and swung his hand to the shelves inside the door for one of the bottles of beer he knew would be there. Twisting it open, he poured the amber brew into his glass, shook the bottle empty, and then bent to toss it away in the recycle bin next to the sink.
Grimacing, Patrick lifted the glass upward, in salute. After a quick sip, he headed back to the living room. With his knees bumping the low sofa table, he scratched at his head again, then reached for the notes.
FIFTEEN
Jason looked up when she walked in. “Hey, Kenna. How’s it going?”
Having come in to work at AdventureSome directly from her appointment with Dr. Baxter, Kenna sucked in a breath at the sight of Jason sitting in the cubicle next to hers. Charlie’s station. Of course he’d be there, she reminded herself. Where else would Stewart have placed him?
“All good.” She fought the prickles of pain his presence triggered as she busied herself settling in. “Have we gotten the all clear on our system yet?”
“Not yet. I figured I’d get a jump on things, though. You know, kind of check the place out.” Gesturing toward the monitor, he nodded. “You’ve got some sweet equipment here.”
“Where did you work before?” she asked.
“A franchise in Muskogee. Small shop.”
“Oklahoma?”
“You know of any other Muskogees?”
“Touché,” she said. “What brought you here?”
Reaching upward, he leaned back, making Charlie’s chair squeak. “Bigger city, more opportunities. A life. Back there, VR is all there is. That, and gambling. When I wasn’t working, I was bored out of my mind.” He smirked. “Pun intended.”
“Chicago has plenty of options, that’s for sure,” she said. “But VR is a giant presence here, too.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that impression. All the shops we passed yesterday. Big ones, small ones. Hundreds, it seems.” He dropped his elbows onto Charlie’s desk and pointed with his chin. “And Virtu-Tech headquarters practically right next door. How do you guys compete?”
“We don’t,” she said as she sat. “The location down the block is an office building for Virtu-Tech regulators, marketing people, research and development teams—stuff like that. Couple of bigwigs, too. Virtu-Tech itself doesn’t open its doors to the public. VR services are provided by franchisees. Of which we’re the closest one.”
“Must give this place an edge over other spots.”
“What gives us our edge is all this sweet equipment you mentioned.” Thanks to Charlie’s connections. She pulled in a tight breath. Charlie’s friend Lib, a hotshot at Virtu-Tech, kept AdventureSome supplied with state-of-the-art upgrades. She hadn’t talked with Lib since Charlie’s death. She’d have to reach out to him s
oon.
Stewart walked in from one of the adjacent rooms. “Kenna,” he said with what sounded like relief. “How did it go?”
“Fine, just fine,” she said, hoping to quash the conversation before he could press further. She didn’t want to share any details in front of Jason. “How soon before we get back in?”
“That’s what I was coming to tell you: we’re back online. Our techs have given me the go-ahead but I won’t open for business until you two are ready. Feel free to start your team exercises whenever you like.”
Finally, something going her way. Kenna fisted both hands. “Yes.”
“I’m ready right now,” Jason said. He turned to her. “How soon do you want to jump in?”
“Give me a few,” she answered. “I need a word with the boss. Stewart, you have a minute?”
He held out his hand toward his office. “Always. Come on in.”
Kenna shut the door behind them.
“What’s up?” Stewart asked. “Any problems with Dr. Baxter?”
“No, everything’s fine.” She didn’t want to get into particulars of their discussion. How Dr. Baxter had managed to coax information from Kenna about her parents, her early losses, her pride in learning to fend for herself. Stewart already knew Kenna’s history; she saw no need to revisit any of it with him now.
“Will there be follow-up?”
“Not sure,” she lied. Sadie Baxter had already scheduled the next two sessions. “That’s not what I want to talk about, though. It’s about me borrowing a capsule later tonight.”
“After hours, you mean?” He took a seat behind his desk.
“Yeah,” she sat across from him. “I haven’t had a chance to revisit the program—Charlie’s program—since he…since we lost him. I need to get back in there and find out what went wrong.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. “It hasn’t even been a week yet. Don’t push yourself.”
“It’s something I need to do.”
“Does Dr. Baxter support this?”
Kenna knew with absolute certainty that Dr. Baxter would not approve. “She’s urging me to face the truth about Charlie’s death.” That much was true. “Facing reality involves understanding what drew him into that jungle in the first place and then caused him to be immersed.”
“He’d been logged in more than six hours before you got there,” Stewart said gently. “That’s way over the limit. Even for an envoy.”
She pulled in a breath. “I know. But I also know that I won’t be able to find closure without revisiting the scene.”
He nodded. “It’s important to find closure.”
“It is.” And that means finding his killer.
“Keep in mind that we’re going offline late tonight for a software update,” Stewart said.
“We couldn’t have gotten it done during all our diagnostics?”
“This is a scheduled update.” He shrugged. “You know how those go. They’re always scheduled for off-hours. We don’t get to choose what time, though.”
“Got it.” Kenna nodded. “But you’re okay with my staying late?”
Stewart frowned. “I’m out this evening, but maybe one of the other techs can hang back and run the system for you.” He adopted a stern look. “You promise not to go in cold?”
“I won’t,” she said. “I’ll talk with Vanessa. See if she can do it.”
“If she’s willing, it’s all right with me.”
◊
“Fifteen,” Kenna said.
Hands on hips, Jason stared at the climbing wall before them, his gaze traveling up and down the fake rock with the multicolored footholds. “No way.” He frowned as he ran a hand over his shiny scalp. “Twenty,” he said, “minimum.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “Fifteen. Easy.”
“What are you trying to say? That you Chicago envoys are tougher than little Muskogee brats like me?”
Kenna grinned in spite of herself. Side wagers often brought out the best in envoys, and she relished a challenge. “Aww, is little Okie afraid to be shown up when I complete it in fifteen?”
He gave the fake rock another long look. “Eighteen, at least.”
“You want to bet?”
“Bet?” His mouth twitched. “Yeah,” he said, “sure.”
Kenna nodded and began double-checking all the clips and connectors of her climbing harness. This was the third VR station she and Jason had encountered so far, and although training was taking place entirely at AdventureSome, she enjoyed no home-field advantage. Sophisticated algorithms kept challenges fair and even. Stewart had insisted that they run through the complete set of team-building exercises before assigning them to a case. That would take a few days. Kenna had argued for an abbreviated version, but Stewart had been adamant, insisting that she and Jason find their comfort zones with each other before working together in scenarios with real consequences.
Jason’s eyes, the color of shiny mud, reflected the ceiling’s hanging light fixtures in tiny white circles. The sight reminded her of Charlie’s eyes turning red. She looked away.
“What are the stakes?”
Kenna affected a careless once-over of the rock. “Name it.”
He strolled past the structure, his hands clasped behind his back, his lips pursed.
The climbing wall sat like a stark monolith in the center of this otherwise empty, white-walled room. With each “pass,” in this training scenario, the VR controls would conjure up a new and slightly more difficult test of teamwork. They were required to achieve a minimum 70 percent score over the ten exercises. But Kenna wasn’t interested in achieving minimums.
Jason got to the far end of the edifice and affected a military spin. “I got it,” he said. “Loser buys dinner.”
She glared at him. “Not a chance.”
“Okay, then,” he said, as though he’d expected her response, “Loser buys the Flaxibars.”
“Flaxibars?”
“Yeah. A case of them.”
“Ick,” she said. “Flaxibars are disgusting.”
He shrugged. “I think they’re pretty tasty.” Keeping his hands behind his back, he maintained a neutral expression. “Buying me a case shouldn’t be too much of a burden for a well-paid envoy like you.”
“I don’t plan on losing,” she said.
“Then the loser buys dinner.”
“I don’t want to have dinner with you.”
“Geez, I’m not talking dinner-dinner,” he said. “I mean we grab something to eat. You know, kind of get to know each other because we’ll be working together. But, I hear you.” He pursed his lips again, looking deep in thought. “Okay, how’s this? You win, I pay for dinner. You go eat all by your lonesome if that’s what you want. But if I win, you pay, and we go together.” He raised a dark eyebrow and added, “And I pick the place.”
She wanted to slap the smirk off his face right then, but realized it’d be so much better to enjoy his reaction when she made it to the top with time to spare. “You’re on.”
Jason donned the ground harness. He maintained control of the belay ropes as Kenna got herself situated. They argued for a while as to whether the timer would start with Kenna flat-footed on the ground, or with her hands and feet snugged into the first holds. Kenna now stood, ready to leap into action, her back to Jason, waiting for his signal to go.
“Fifteen seconds, right?” he asked.
“Fifteen,” she said, without turning.
“And you think you’re going to make it?” He made a clucking sound. “No cheating, now.”
“Start the damn clock,” she said.
“Tsk. You’re a talented envoy, but such a potty mouth,” he said. “You ready?”
Kenna nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “On my go.” The room fell sil
ent for three long beats. “Ready…Go!”
Kenna sprang into action, finding the first foothold, boosting upward. She counted to herself: one.
Her right hand grasped at another hold—two. Bearing most of her weight as her left foot sought purchase, her arm muscles shuddered.
She moved like lightning, scrambling up the mottled wall like a spider advancing on prey. Three. As she stretched up her left arm to grab a handful of blue plastic, hot slices of pain shot from her shoulder, radiating across her back. Heaving herself upward, she bent the left knee, jamming her foot against a cup-shaped toehold of brown. Four.
She reached upward with her right arm, aiming for a red plastic grip a good six inches out of her range. Sweat broke out at her hairline, but she refused to take the time to wipe her face on her sleeve. Five.
With a determined look upward, she spied the bell at the top. She could feel it waiting for her, just as she could feel Jason’s mocking grin at her back. Six.
Down to nine seconds now.
Damn.
Kenna made the split-second decision not to dry her sweaty left hand on the side of her leggings before lunging for a handful of bright orange. Not much farther now. She could do it in three seconds if she pushed.
She managed to hook two fingers over the rounded edge of the hold, but as she started to clamber upward, they slipped.
Bracing herself with her right arm and both legs, Kenna didn’t fall away from the wall, but it took a beat and a half for her to grab the orange hold again, and to regain her momentum.
She lost count.
Just as she started to reach upward again, she was overcome with a sudden weightlessness.
“What the hell?”
The bell’s ringer cord was in reach.
“Ring it,” Jason yelled from the ground.
He’d boosted her up with the belay cords—pulling her to the top.
“Ring it,” he shouted again.
The stopwatch buzzer went off.
“Damn you!” She stared down at him. “Why the hell did you do that?”
Jason grinned. “Looked like you needed help.”
