Puo doesn’t answer, but starts working on the drives.
“Puo?” I prompt.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he snaps, continuing to avoid looking at me.
I watch him work. His movements are stiff, almost mechanical, as if he’s aware that I’m watching him. I’ve known Puo for a long time—I want to press the issue, but I know from experience that all it’ll do will cause a fight.
“All right,” I say carefully, “let me know what you find?”
“Will do,” Puo bites off his words while ignoring me.
* * *
“What is going on with Puo?” I ask Winn in the sitting area on the first floor at the front of the house.
We sit catty-corner to each other on the matching slate-gray fabric couch and armchair, overlooking the bottom deck, and watch water lapping up against the side of the house from the passing boat traffic. It’s peaceful. The midafternoon sun warms the room, and the undulating water is hypnotizing in a relaxing way. Puo is still up in his gloomy room.
Winn is turned in his chair to face toward me and the English Bay, carefully resting his bruised, one-day-old scruffy cheek on his fist as he stares over the water. “I don’t know for sure. But a lot of patients rethink their life after almost dying—”
Oh, no, the thought hits me, please don’t let Puo be getting Winn’s existentialist crap too.
“—They can form new habits, new resolutions. They almost all pledge to make a change.”
“You’d have thought,” I say, “that might have happened when the bullet missed him by four inches.”
“Maybe it did,” Winn says. “Was he acting any differently after that?”
“No,” I say quickly. But then, I think, I had my own set of issues going on. Did I miss something?
Winn shrugs. “Maybe it’s cumulative, maybe this time he really believed he was going to die. I don’t know. But sometimes near-death survivors form weird connections with the objects by which they almost died. They become almost like a token or good luck charm.”
“And you think that’s what that was?” I ask. That stink had been building for days now. Why didn’t we connect it earlier?
“Yeah,” Winn says, but then doesn’t say anything else as he stares out at the water.
“Will he be okay?” I ask. I watch a white ferryboat with tinted windows and a zigzagging blue stripe down the side crossing the bay, running its regular route.
Winn inhales through his nose. “Yeah. Just give him space to work through it, and the space to talk about it if he wants.”
I nod like I understand perfectly what to do, but I don’t. Is that what I should’ve done with you? Was that advice for Puo, or for you?
The ferry loses its forward momentum in the water. The wake behind it dies off. It’s far enough away that I can’t make out any more details than that.
Winn has spotted it too. He gets up from his couch and grabs a pair of auto-binoculars and comes and sits next to me to get a closer look. “What is going on?” he asks himself softly as he looks through the auto-binoculars.
He’s close enough I can feel his warmth, smell his familiar cologne, the woody scent that lingered for so long in my bedroom.
He lowers the auto-binoculars and blushes when realizes how close he is to me. But rather than flee he stays put and hands me the auto-binoculars.
I take them and ask him, “How’d you find me this afternoon?”
Winn twists to face me better, his knee coming to rest lightly against mine. “Puo,” he says softly.
“He was hooked into the camera system?” I ask. I don’t move my leg away.
“No—” Winn shakes his head. The sun backlights his curly black hair, giving him a golden sheen. There are rings of green around each of his bruises; his cuts have scabbed over. “—when he saw they suddenly reserved the interrogation room, he put two and two together.”
To get three? I nearly quip, but refrain from saying it out loud. Instead, I say, “Oh.”
Winn and I stare at each other awkwardly. His knee against mine is hot, comforting.
Winn shifts, and I raise the auto-binoculars to my face to look out at the ferry, my heart thumping in my chest. The ferry’s stopped all right. The windows are tinted, and no one is foolish enough to be out on the deck in the cold so I can’t see how the people are reacting. Are they nervous after the tour boat explosion? Is the boat stopping intentionally or is there a problem?
That last question is answered quickly enough as a Canadian Coast Guard boat half the size of the ferry cuts its way over: the ferry is having some kind of problem.
I lower the auto-binoculars to tell Winn.
But before I can speak, Winn leans over, putting his hand on my thigh for support and kisses me.
His lips are soft like I remember them. His stubble tickles my upper lip, scratches deliciously against my chin.
We kiss softly at first, getting reacquainted. His scent is so strong, so familiar. He tries to pull back, but I don’t let him, toying with his lower lip between my teeth.
His hands are hot on my back. He mmms in pleasure as the kiss deepens. Heat rises up within me. Desire.
My hands slide up his shirt and over his muscled back of their own accord. I pull him down on top of me, sliding down to be supine on the couch, the low ache in my back more than worth it. My fingers dig into his hard shoulders.
His left hand tantalizingly slides up my body, caresses my neck to cup my face.
I’ve missed this. His weight on me. The smell of him so close. Before I register it, I’m sliding his shirt off.
My heart pulses with excitement, my breath quickens. I don’t care if this is the right thing to do. I don’t care if I still don’t know what to do about Winn long term.
I want this. I need this. My father always said we Schmidts think with our genitals. So be it.
Let Puo and all our current problems brood upstairs. In this moment, right now, Winn is mine.
Winn brushes his hand across my chest, causing excitement and the barest register of pain from where the meddling Mountie goob punched me. But I don’t care. I fumble for the clasp on his jeans.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Puo says, announcing himself.
I snatch my hands back and jerk upward, smacking my forehead and side of my nose into Winn’s already beat-up face.
“Ow!” Winn pushes himself off of me to cup his face, scrambling backward to sit on the couch without his shirt on.
“Ow,” I echo less loudly and sit up rubbing at my face from where I smacked into Winn.
Puo stands at the edge of the room, eying me with surprise and an obvious question on his face.
“No,” I say in frustration, “we were just testing the limits of near-field vision and it was warm in here so Winn took his shirt off.” I straighten my shirt, while Winn slips his back on.
Puo mmms while looking between us.
“Is there a reason you came down here?” I ask testily.
“Yup,” Puo says, and continues to stare at us, studying and weighing us.
“Care to share that with us?” Winn asks, rubbing his hand through his hair.
Puo mmms again.
“Puo!” I yell at him.
“We’ve got what we need on the drives,” Puo says.
“Do you know who the mole is?” I ask him, still feeling annoyed at being interrupted. Now that there’s a crack in the conjugal seal between Winn and I, I’m eager to rip it off entirely.
“No,” Puo answers.
I shrug at Winn’s questioning look at me. Whew. If we don’t know who the mole is, that makes it easy to appease Winn’s angst about turning over yet another person for slaughter. Besides, it’s not like Nix has been completely forthcoming with us—we still don’t know the exact reason the Cleaners are moving against us.
“But near as I can tell,” Puo continues, “the EMP successfully went off.”
“Near as you can tell?” I ask.
&nbs
p; “Yeah, well,” Puo says, “the EMP knocks out electronics. It’s not like I can log in and verify things have been knocked out. But the internal system had errors consistent with that, and there’s been some favorable email traffic indicating it was successful.”
“So all that’s left—” I start to say.
“Is to tie off the loose end with Nix,” Puo finishes for me.
“And then we’re done here,” I say. Thank God. I’m looking forward to getting home to the Seattle Isles. Sleeping in my own bed. And I owe Kathy some explanations. Then we need to start scouting a new job to pay for the new CitIDs and still have to figure out why the Cleaners—
Son of a bitch. We can’t go home. Not until we know what’s going on. They found us here. They’ll be waiting for us back in the Seattle Isles.
The revelation makes me feel drained. Devoid of energy. I don’t have the heart to tell Puo and Winn that this still isn’t close to being over.
And then as if a trap had been sprung, I’m suddenly aware of Winn on the couch next to me and I’m fully aware of what we were about to do, of the still unanswered question of his future with us.
The air multiplies in awkwardness. Puo continues to stare at us. Winn avoids looking at me.
“So ... is he coming with us?” Puo gracelessly asks.
Damn it, Puo. “I—” Winn left us, left me with no warning. I don’t know if I can trust him again. I just— I want— Ugh! “I need to go call Colvin to update him.”
I bounce off the couch and run out of the room.
“Isa!” Puo calls after me, but I ignore him.
Is Winn coming with us?
How the fuck am I supposed to know? I don’t even know what the fuck is going on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I SEEK THE refuge of my bedroom on the third floor, my hands shaking as I try to catch my breath. I pace back and forth in front of the dresser drawer that holds Winn’s necklace, exhaling through pursed lips.
What did I almost do? Does this mean I want him back?
There’s a cautious knock on my door.
I freeze. Based on the shadow through the fogged glass, it’s Puo.
Continuing his oblivious streak, Puo cracks the door open. “Isa?” he asks tentatively.
I’m in his line of sight from the crack, and we stare at each other.
Puo takes this as an invitation to come in, easing the door shut behind him. “What happened back there?”
“What happened in your bedroom?” I snap back.
Puo’s eyes widen at me, and he looks like he’s about to get angry but then schools himself. “I’m sorry. It was just— you two looked like .... I thought you had finally worked things out.”
“Well we haven’t,” I say.
“Then that was ... ?”
“Lust, Puo,” I say, my cheeks heating up. That’s what it was. That’s all it was. “There were no frill-laced, pink invitations back into my heart,” I mock. “Just pure, I-want-to-fuck lust.”
Puo watches me for a few seconds and then proclaims, “If that’s true, that’s the first really, truly dumbass thing I’ve seen you do.”
“What?” I exclaim, “I do dumbass things all the time! You never shut up about them. Like strolling into the Mounties for one.” Wait ... how am I defending myself here?
A huge grin splits across Puo’s face. “That’s true.” He accentuates the next words with little head nods, while continuing to grin. “Dumbass things, all the time. But those are calculated risks with objectives in mind, and I’m always there to bail your butt out.”
“You are not!” Gah, I sound like a petulant thirteen-year-old arguing with her father about being ready to date.
“Yeah, I am. Who do you think sent Winn to the interrogation room?”
I stick my tongue at him. Winn already told me about that.
“Anyway,” Puo says, “All I’m saying is—” He softens his tone. “—there’s no objective here. Being intimate with him—”
“Intimate?” I ask mockingly.
“Yeah,” Puo defends himself. “That’s what the problem here is, Isa. It’s not just lust between you two. Neither of you can just have sex and walk away. It’s more than that.”
My chest rises and falls under my crossed arms as I consider Puo’s words. They may be true, they may not be. There would’ve been only one way to find out. “It was my mistake to make,” I say.
“Yes, Isa,” Puo agrees with me, exasperation creeping into his voice. “Winn is your mistake to make. But these past few months have scared the bejeezus of out me with how you reacted. I’m not sure I can go through that again. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got my own things going on.”
“Of course, I noticed,” I say. “What is going on with you?”
Before Puo answers, there’s another shadow and knock at the door. Neither Puo nor I say anything, but Winn cracks the door open in nearly the same maneuver as Puo.
Winn’s face looks resolute through the crack, like he steeled up his courage and is now ready for a fight. He pushes the door open more, stepping into the room between me and Puo.
Puo and I stare silently at him.
Winn clears his throat, and says, “I should be here for this.”
Puo quirks an eyebrow at Winn.
I’m pretty sure I know what this is about.
“If this concerns me,” Winn rushes through his practiced speech, “then I should be here.”
“This doesn’t concern you,” I say with heat. His barging in, our near miss downstairs, is starting to piss me off. It would’ve been a dumbass thing to do.
“I don’t believe you,” Winn says. “Look, I want to come back—”
I say over top of him, “Puo was concerned what Liáng would think ....” I trail off when I realize what Winn was saying.
Puo looks at me in disbelief behind Winn’s back, and shakes his head no like I’m an idiot.
Winn arrests himself. “Is this what it’s going to be like if I come back?” he asks quietly. When I don’t answer, he says more strongly, “I don’t care. I hurt you and I’m sorry—”
Puo makes an aww face and nods his head yes behind Winn’s back.
“—I want to come back. And I’m not going to leave this time.”
Puo stills his smartass pantomimes.
I study Winn. His blue eyes are earnest, caring. The black stubble gives him a groomed, ruffled look—I can still feel the small scratches on my face from it. His soft, red lips look delicious.
Damn it, no! I’m not thinking clearly. What do I want?
“We’ll deal with this later,” I say a bit shakily.
“No,” Winn says. “Let’s deal with it now. Will you have me back—?”
“Nope,” Puo interrupts.
Winn turns to Puo in surprise.
“Party foul,” Puo explains. “She said later, so we’ll deal with it later.” Winn looks like he’s about to argue when Puo says more severely, “You left. You don’t get to dictate the terms or timing of your return.”
Thank God for Puo. I’m not sure I would’ve been strong enough to push Winn away right now. The feel of him is so strong on my memory from downstairs.
Is that why Winn wants to come back suddenly? All the blood’s rushed south?
Winn looks between us, and nods. “Okay.” He exhales heavily and looks back at me. “Okay.” After a few more seconds of us all staring and not staring at each other, Winn asks, “Now what?”
Puo says, “Now we tie off the loose end with Nix.”
“And I really do need to call Colvin and fill him in,” I add. Maybe he knows what’s going on with the Cleaners.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
COLVIN DIDN’T have any insight he was willing to share into why the Cleaners were moving against us, but at least getting hold of him and filling him in didn’t take long.
Tracking down Nix to set up a meeting, on the other hand, took the better part of two hours. Apparently, things have been a little hot
for her since someone broke into the Mounties and set off an EMP in the room dedicated to tracking her.
It’s now later that evening, several hours after sunset, and Winn is driving me in a hovercar seventy miles north of Vancouver over the Whistler/Blackcomb Mountains. Low hugging clouds blanket the mountains. Only a pregnant glow at the base of the valley gives any clue to the village tucked in below. The multicolored lights twinkle through the low clouds and look inviting from ten thousand feet up. A roaring fire, a nice drink in hand, snow falling outside. It’s a nice thought.
A thought that, against my will, includes Winn. He’s now just there in my daydreams again. And it’s so close to becoming real, I can taste it. I can say a few words and make it happen.
Except the memory of that morning. That profound emptiness of the silence that surrounded me. The realization that he was gone. And even more, that he destroyed something good, something that may never be repairable. There will always be a scar there.
“The ferret has entered the cage,” Puo says over the comm-link. “Patch me through, and I’ll mark it for you.”
I exhale and flip the anti-gravity helmet around in my lap. “Roger, that,” I say to Puo. “Preparing to engage now.” I have an urge to lean over and kiss Winn for good luck, but I refrain, instead slipping the tight helmet on over my ears and latching it in place. The heads-up displays spread out in front of me.
I look around; we’re alone up here. Most of the traffic is down below in the village for the night. I roll down the window, my internal heater already kicking up the temperature to compensate. I stick my head out and look down on the peak-to-peak gondola still running between the two mountains. “All right,” I say to Puo, “mark the cage for me.”
Menus open and close of their own accord in front of me. A blue bulls-eye glows on one of the gondolas that just left from Whistler.
“Got it,” I say. To Winn, who’s also on the comm-link, I say, “Bring us around from the east. Climb if you can.”
Winn does as he’s told and climbs an extra five hundred feet.
I shift the bottoms of my feet onto the seat. “Here we go,” I say.
Leverage (Sunken City Capers Book 3) Page 19
