Patricia took a sip of her coffee and looked out the window at the parking lot. “I’d like to hear more about the Department from someone on the inside, someone a little more unbiased than Jessica and Leonel.”
“I’ll tell you what I can.” Sally Ann’s face was resolute but open, and Patricia felt she could trust this woman. Sally Ann was a good person to have on your side in a fight. She had led the team that rescued her from Cindy Liu and her father, and along the way, they’d fought a small battalion together. Without scales and armor to protect her, Sally Ann had still beaten a swath through a cadre of trained soldiers and done so handily. Patricia wouldn’t bet against her in a fight. In fact, Sally Ann was part of her change of heart about joining the Department. If working there meant colleagues of this caliber, it was worth looking into more seriously.
There was no sense in pussyfooting around. Patricia got straight to the point. “Can I trust the Director?”
Sally Ann didn’t hesitate. “I do.”
“Why?”
The younger woman took a bite of her just-delivered omelet and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment, twirling her fork in the air like she directed music. “It’s a gut feeling. An instinct as much as anything. He’s yet to steer me wrong, and we’ve worked together for years now, ever since I left the force.”
Patricia arched an eyebrow. “You were a police officer?”
“In another life, yes. A more frustrating one. Sometimes it’s hard to do good work from inside the system. That’s why I took the chance to work outside normal channels.”
Patricia had been frustrated by normal channels all her life, never more so than when she took on a one-woman mission to find Cindy Liu and bring her to justice for the damage she had done and the chaos she had brought into all their lives. It turned out a lot of information was hard to lay your hands on if you were a Joe Schmo average citizen. Patricia definitely hungered for a better set of resources, but she was well aware access would come at a price. Everything worth having always did.
“But you’re not government?”
“The government is our best client, but we are not the government.”
“More like a subcontractor?”
Sally Ann took a swig of her water and gestured at Patricia’s untouched toast with a questioning look. Patricia pushed the plate to Sally Ann’s side of the table. “Exactly. We help with the things they would rather not admit are happening. In return, they pay us and deny we exist.”
“I’m not willing to go into hiding or give up my life.”
“You don’t have to. I won’t deny there is risk. But it’s not like joining the army. Your life is still yours. You decide how deeply inside you’re going to go. Some of us go home every night and have Taco Tuesday with our spouses and children. Others bunk at the facility. It takes all kinds, and we’ll work within your limits.”
“So, I get what’s in it for the Department…”
Patricia gestured at her own face, and Sally Ann laughed. “Right, we get you. But you want to know what you get?”
“Exactly. Besides a paycheck, what’s to entice me to use my new skills to work for you?”
“To make a difference.”
Patricia rolled her eyes and snorted. “You sound like Suzie, the intern I had last spring. You’ll need something stronger to convince me than do-gooder rhetoric. I’m no idealist.”
“Resources.”
“Now you’re talking my language.”
“You’ll never be bored.” She counted off the offerings on her fingers. “Access to the highest-level intel, state-of-the-art gear, transport, training to strengthen your new skillset, regular opportunities to kick some ass, fantastic colleagues like me, teams of scientists helping you understand—”
“I’m no one’s lab rat.”
“It’s not like that. Ask Jessica and Leonel.”
Patricia shook her head slowly. “Those two are true believers. I’m not. The Department wouldn’t put time and energy into studying my condition unless they got something out of it, too.”
Sally Ann chewed a piece of toast, not seeming to notice when crumbs fell from her lips and dusted the tabletop. “So, you want what? Some kind of privacy guarantee? A confidentiality clause? HIPAA for freaks?”
“Hardly. It’s not just about keeping my information private. It’s about what your scientists do with it.”
Sally Ann set the glass down on the table and stretched an arm across to grab Patricia’s wrist. Patricia’s scales rose defensively, and her fingers started to resemble talons. She closed her eyes to help her concentrate and drew them back in then raised her gaze to Sally Ann’s.
Her bold, unflinching gaze met Patricia’s, matching it with a challenge of her own. “Look, Patricia. I like you. You’re a tough old bird, and you can hold your own in a serious fight. But you’re not much of a team player. You don’t take orders well. I don’t know if the Department will be the right place for you or not. But we both know you’re not going to catch up to Cindy on your own and that a woman like you would die of boredom in a life consisting of brunch with other retirees every Tuesday morning. You’ve got our offer. It’s a chance. For my part, I hope you take it.”
Patricia accepted the compliment with a brief nod of the head, then cocked her head to one side. “What’s the deal with the menu? Why didn’t you want to touch it?”
Sally Ann dropped the crust of her toast on the plate and pushed back from the table. “That’s classified,” she said, her face as stony and unyielding as the peaks of Kilimanjaro. “But, once you’ve signed, I’ll show you.” She grinned as she stood, then tossed a twenty on the table, downed the rest of her water, saluted, and left.
Patricia stared after her, then waved the waiter over to get the check. It wasn’t easy, deciding to trust someone, especially not a quasi-military group like the Department. But Sally Ann was her kind of woman, and that was no small recommendation. Patricia had a lot to think about.
Sally Ann’s Suspicions
Sally Ann burst into the Director’s office, ignoring his assistant in her rush to get to the man. She slammed the door closed behind her, a little harder than she meant to. “What do you mean, I’m not going to Indiana?”
The Director was on the phone and held up a hand to ask her to wait, but Sally Ann had already stopped in her tracks. The man behind the desk, just for a second, had looked wrong. It had only lasted a moment. Blinking, she shook her head like her vision had been clouded by pool water and then she saw clearly again. But at that moment, Sally Ann was sure she had seen someone else sitting in the Director’s chair, someone shorter and stockier, with less hair.
When he hung up his call, he had to clear his throat to get her attention. “Yes?” He glared at her with those piercing blue eyes, and she snapped to.
“Sorry. Yes. Liu. She’s in Indiana. We’ve got confirmed sightings. I planned the extraction mission. And I’m not going?”
The Director gestured to indicate that Sally Ann should sit. He pulled a folder to the center of his desk and started flipping through it. He tapped one finger on the table as he did and Sally Ann watched the movement, still considering what she thought she had seen. The Director was some kind of freak himself, though he’d never confided what exactly he could do. She thought it had something to do with persuasion. Over the years, she had teased him about having kissed the Blarney Stone. Wherever it came from, his power to wax eloquent had kept them funded and employed for as long as she’d known him.
“You’re staring at me,” he said.
“Sorry. Just… thinking.”
He held her gaze for a long moment before he turned his attention back to the folder, stacking the papers back in neatly. “No. You’re not going on this one.”
“Transport can get me there by four o’clock if I can be ready in an hour.” Sally Ann jumped back up and leaned into her hands on the desk, putting her face close enough to the Director’s that she could hear him breathe.
“I don’t
think so.”
“What?”
“This is going to be an over-road chase. We should send Agent Driver.” He was already keying something in on his computer.
She couldn’t argue the logic. Gabe Driver was definitely the man to send on any mission that relied on motor vehicle transport, and his wounds had turned out to be superficial. The rib was only bruised, not cracked. But she didn’t understand why that left her out. “Shouldn’t he have some backup?”
“Driver can handle this, and I’m sending backup. You’re needed here. We’ve got something on your jewelry shop heist. We’ve tracked down your freak: Agatha Corman. You’ve got a debriefing in an hour.”
Sally Ann sat back down. “Oh.” That did make a difference. She definitely wanted a piece of that action.
The Director folded his hands and grinned at her with his pleased smug expression—the one Sally Ann privately called his smarmy-face. “I hear Jessica is on board with the UCU.”
Sally Ann nodded. “She’s talking with equipment about ways to obscure her identity. But you knew that already. What are you up to?”
“Come on. Let’s walk. There’s something I need to show you.”
Sally Ann followed the Director through the halls. He was taller than her, but she had no trouble keeping up. She was used to holding her own among agents who were as much as a foot and a half taller than her own five foot nothing. Assuming they’d be heading to equipment to catch up with Jessica, Sally Ann marched that direction, but the Director made a sudden left at the corridor that led to research and she had to skid around the corner and jog a couple of steps to follow him.
After using a thumbprint scanner to release the entry lock on a door Sally Ann had never paid attention to before, the Director started down a set of narrow stairs. Sally Ann lunged forward and grabbed the handle before the door could fall closed and followed him. The staircase was a twisty one, but, upon reaching the bottom, Sally Ann was pretty sure they were east of the hospital wing, also kept far underground. Were they taking a shortcut to visit Leonel?
“You remember Mrs. White, don’t you?”
Sally Ann definitely did. The information-gathering mission on the woman who could purportedly see impossibly long distances had ended in a tank fight in the middle of Tall Oaks, one of the richer neighborhoods in the Springfield area. It had also landed footage of Leonel and Jessica on the evening news and set the publicity department into overdrive creating a plausible cover story. “A Liu-vian,” she said, using the Department insider slang term for freaks who had their origins in the works of Cindy Liu.
“She’s been aiding us in our search for Helen Braeburn.”
Sally Ann felt stung again. It seemed like the Director had been up to a lot of things lately that he hadn’t seen fit to fill her in about—going public, new recruits, the search for their favorite fire-wielding escapee. It wasn’t like him to cut her out of the loop like this. She pushed the personal stuff aside and went for information. “Did she find her?’
“Not exactly. But she did find us something almost as useful.” He unlocked another door, knocked on it three times, opened it, and then stood aside. “His name is Miguel.”
Sally Ann followed the Director into the room. A young man sat quietly on the bed, his back to them. He looked to be young, maybe seventeen, maybe as old as twenty. He was Hispanic, probably only a few inches taller than Sally Ann, and looked wiry and strong even in jeans and a T-shirt. He didn’t move or turn around when they came in, and the Director led Sally Ann around the edge of the room until they stood at the end of the bed.
The boy was focused intently on a feather floating in the air in front of him. As Sally Ann watched, the feather looped in gentle circles, as if it were being blown around in a breeze. There was, of course, no wind inside the room. The boy flicked his gaze to the two of them for a moment, then held up a finger, asking them to wait.
“Watch this,” he said. He moved his finger, writing in the air. The feather mimicked his motions, dipping and whirling. “Hold out your hand,” he said to Sally Ann. She did. “Palm up.” She complied. The boy made the feather wind through the space between them then let it waft slowly down to land in the center of her palm. He flopped back on the bed and let out a noisy exhalation.
The Director pulled a chair up next to the bed. “That was wonderful, Miguel. How do you feel?”
The boy laid his hands across his eyes. “My head hurts like a motherfucker, and I could use a hit, but it’s getting easier. I think you were right about practicing. It’s not happening by accident as much either.”
He sat up and shot a look at Sally Ann, but addressed the Director. “Who’s the chick?”
Sally Ann ignored the boy’s club macho stuff and inclined her head in a slight nod as she held out her hand. “Agent Sally Ann Rogers.”
“Mucho gusto,” he said, giving her another up and down perusal as he held her fingers in his. “I’m Miguel.” His hand was a little sweaty. Sally Ann fought the urge to laugh at his obviousness. Miguel turned back to the Director. “When will my brother be here?”
“It might be a day or two. He went out to the country.”
“Jorge?” The boy laughed, and Sally Ann noticed the gap between his front two teeth and wondered if the boy might be even younger than she had first thought. “He don’t like the country. Too many mosquitos.”
The Director handed the boy a coke from a small refrigerator next to the bed. “There’s a girl involved.”
“Ah, well, in that case. Is it Mary?”
Sally Ann’s eyebrows shot up, and she shot the Director an inquiring look which he answered with a quick shake of his head. He addressed the boy. “I think that was her name. The one who’s been missing, right?”
“Yeah. That’s her. Jorge’s got it kind of bad for her. He’s hardly shut up about her in weeks.”
“That’s got to be her. You doing okay in here? Anything else I can get you?”
“Not unless you can get me a girl,” he said, shooting Sally Ann another look. Sally Ann stared him down until he laughed nervously and looked away. “Naw. It’s quiet, but that’s kind of good for a while. The bandwidth in here is sweet.” He gestured at the corner behind him, which was well stocked with video game and computer paraphernalia. “I’ll be fine until Jorge gets back.”
The Director stood, and Sally Ann moved toward the door. “Hey, Ms. Rogers,” he called as they moved to leave. She stopped and looked back at him. “If you got a little sister, feel free to give her my number.” That time Sally Ann did laugh.
Her laughter died as soon as they were on the other side of the locked door again. “What’s going on here? Who is this boy and what does he have to do with Mary?”
The Director shrugged. “Like I said, he’s a way in.”
“Yeah, I can see that. But what’s he doing here?” Was the Director blackmailing the older brother into helping them recapture Helen and Mary?
She didn’t want to ask it out loud, but her suspicions must have been evident on her face because the Director immediately put on his appeasement voice. “It’s not like that. We approached Jorge based on his past relationship with Mary, and he agreed to help, but he wanted us to help his little brother in return. To keep him safe and help him figure out what’s going on with him.”
“So, we’ll scratch his back—”
“And he’ll scratch ours. Exactly.”
Sally Ann hoped it was true, but inside, prickles rose on the back of her neck. The kind that rise up in the morning when you wake up in a strange bed and start to worry about what you’ve gotten yourself into. The Director put a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me,” he said.
In the back of her mind, Sally Ann heard a voice—it might have been her mother’s—telling her trustworthy people don’t have to tell you to trust them. But she still followed the Director back down the hall. There were plans to enact, and she needed to understand her place in them.
Mary Calls in Reinforcements
> Mary waited alongside the store, feeling like a weirdo for loitering there watching every strange vehicle that entered the lot. Jorge had said he would be there at six o’clock. It was six thirty now, and Mary fought the fear that he wouldn’t show. In the same spot, she wasn’t sure she would have come. It’s not like they were in love or anything. They hadn’t had enough time yet to find out.
Gravel kicked up again, and Mary spotted a large, white, unmarked van slowing down. When it had almost passed the little store, it whipped around, raising a cloud of dust. The van was shady looking—it screamed “predator”—but when Jorge stepped out of the driver’s seat and scanned the parking lot, she wanted to cry with relief.
“Jorge,” she called, running out to meet him.
“Miss Mary.” The affection was palpable in his voice, and she forgave him the ridiculous nickname instantly.
She threw her arms around him. “You came.”
Jorge hugged her back, holding her longer than a simple greeting justified. One of his hands traced the line of her back from her shoulder to the curve of her waist. From the way her body responded, the physical connection was still there. But now wasn’t the time to give in to that. She dug her fingers into his pockets and pulled out his keys. “It’ll be easier if I drive. It’s hard to give directions.”
The van smelled terrible, some kind of mix of fertilizer and marijuana. But it looked perfect for their needs. The back two seats had been removed, leaving plenty of room for whatever cargo they would find at this storage facility. It handled well. Mary had driven worse. As she rounded the curves and switchbacks that led to the family cabin, she could feel Jorge’s gaze on her. When they hit a straight stretch, she reached for his hand. He laced his fingers in hers and caressed her wrist with his thumb.
Face the Change (Menopausal Superheroes Book 3) Page 8
