by Heskett, Jim
A blip of discomfort passed over the man’s face. “Uhh… sorry?”
“Isn’t there a guy named Shane who works here?”
“Not that I know of. My name is Roland, not Shane.”
"Maybe you and he work different shifts."
Roland shook his head. “I doubt it. There are only four of us who work here, and none of them are named Shane. Maybe you’re thinking of a different dry cleaner? There’s one about one block over with a green sign out front. It’s probably that one.”
Ember pretended to consider this for a few seconds. Eventually, she nodded. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Do you like working here?”
“Um, sure, I guess.”
“Ever do home deliveries of laundered clothes?”
He fidgeted, his hands drumming on the counter. Ember wasn’t sure exactly where she was going with this, but she wanted to see him sweat a little more. It wasn’t hard to draw the nervous energy out of this guy, so maybe he might break and let something slip.
“No home deliveries. Maybe the other guys do, but not me.”
“Maybe that’s a new business angle you could consider. Like those companies that pick up your fast food for you and take it to your home. That same thing, but for clean clothes.”
His eyes darted left and right, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that.
Ember patted the counter. “Okay, you have a nice day.”
She backed out of the room, nudging the door open with her butt. With a pivot, she headed over to the side of the building. She retrieved a small mirror from her back pocket and pointed it at an angle to the inside. He stood there for a moment with his phone in his hand. Then, he slid it into his pocket. He seemed conflicted. This was exactly the sort of person Ember would expect might hang the cook and then change his mind and go back and move the body again.
Roland shut his eyes tight, balled his fists, then turned and disappeared into the back room. He didn’t bother to lock the front door or switch the sign from open to closed.
Next, he would go somewhere private where he could make that phone call. That phone call would lead Ember to all sorts of answers.
She hustled down the alley toward the back of the building. A small paved area consisted of a dumpster, one parked car, and the back door. She would need to open that back door and eavesdrop on whoever Roland was calling in there. All she needed was the phone.
If Ember had brought Gabe with her, she would have asked her recruit to do techy stuff to listen in. Maybe he could triangulate the area satellites or do some other keyboard magic to locate the person on the other end of the call. Maybe not. He always seemed to take longer than she needed — true, she didn't understand that crap, but in the movies, it always seemed like the nerds could get it done just in time. Either way, it wasn't possible with the poor kid currently laid up in the hospital.
She didn’t want to think about Gabe right now, actually. Eyes full of tears wouldn’t do her any good.
She approached the door with one pistol out. Ear against the surface to listen, but all she could hear was the vibration of the machines inside. Roland had to be back there, checking in to report the strange incident of the pale woman who came to ask about Shane.
She pulled back and examined the lock. A standard deadbolt. She should be able to pick it without too much effort.
She retrieved a bobby pin from her hair, which she kept for just such an occasion. They were also handy for shorting out electrical outlets and taming flyaways on windy days — she’d used them more for assassin-related business than actual hair business, actually. Fagan had told her about them once, way back when she was training. Funny, the FBI had never bothered to give her a crash-course in ‘over-the-counter assassin paraphernalia.’
She broke it into two pieces and bent the edge of one to form a hook. But, as soon as she leaned over to insert them into the lock to pick it, the door swung open. It smacked her in the face, knocking her back a step.
Ember tried to shake her head and get her bearings, but a fist blasted into her temple. Her eyes shut. Then, something harder smacked on the other side of the head, and she felt herself falling to the hard pavement. Her forehead scraped, and the air whooshed out of her lungs.
Then, darkness.
Chapter Ten
ZACH
An hour to the north in Fort Collins, Zach Bennett bent over and squinted into the microscope, trying to keep both eyes open. He then leaned to make notes on his composition pad. Switching from close up to a medium-range view required him to blink several times to adjust his vision, as always. He wished he'd never gotten the stupid LASIK surgery. Wearing contacts was less of a hassle than this. But, it's not as if he could go back in time and not have the surgery, so he would make do.
He arched his back to stretch before leaning over to examine the next slide. The lab room was dark, as usual. He didn’t know why. A dark lab didn’t seem like something common, but Zach didn’t know for sure. He’d never had a dark lab for a class at CSU. Only when he did this side work for Firedrake did they insist on low lights.
Maybe that was part of the reason why no one seemed to socialize after clocking in.
Not that it mattered too much. Zach tried to keep his head down and do his work. He was in the same room with half a dozen other people in lab coats on most days, but he never talked to them. Or, he almost never talked to them. Zach had experienced a breakthrough the other day when he’d made small talk with an older lab rat named Wanda. She was here today, working on her own projects. But, they hadn’t spoken. Just a smile when they’d met at the workstation a few minutes ago.
Zach didn’t mind. He mostly liked that the boss, Thomas Milligan, wasn’t here today. Thomas had been trying to court Zach to come work for him full-time for weeks. It began with stops at Zach’s workstation with wide eyes and probing-but-smiley questions about Zach’s research. Then, it had morphed into quick meetings in Thomas’ office at the end of his shifts. First with the door open, then recently, with the door closed. Tales of how great it was to live in Northern California, vague stories about the revolutionary work they were doing there, then talk about Zach’s potential and leading questions about what he wanted to do with his life.
Just a couple of days ago, he asked Zach to move to Sacramento and take a job at Firedrake headquarters. That was the first outright ask with an explicit goal, although Zach had seen it coming for a while. The sales pitch had mentioned something about "saving the world."
Zach wasn’t so sure. The fact that Thomas’ driver—or, bodyguard, most likely—carried a pistol hidden in his suit coat made Zach nervous. Thomas made Zach nervous, too. Saving the world didn’t mean much to him if he wouldn’t like the people he worked for.
Primarily on Zach’s mind this morning wasn’t the bodyguard’s pistol or Thomas’ attempts to court him, however. Two things kept running in his thoughts: first, Ember. It had been a few days since their sushi date in Boulder. He’d felt good about it that evening. And, he’d forced himself not to call her since. Texting, yes, but no actual phone call. He wanted to. He really wanted to call her and ask for a second date.
He would do it, but maybe it needed one more day. One more day of textual flirting and waiting for the perfect juicy moment to move in and snatch her attention.
With his phone out, he looked back over their conversation from a few minutes ago. She could be rapid-fire in her responses. Half the fun was trying to keep up with her.
He wondered if that was how she saw their conversations, or if he was only one of a half-dozen guys she was talking to at the moment.
Zach didn't want her to see how much he liked her. Dating was a silly ritual, of course. Both parties on their best behavior, showing just the right amount of interest. Come on too strong, and you scare someone off. Not strong enough, and the other person assumes you're not interested, and they turn their attention to someone else. He wished he could skip ahead to date nu
mber four or five right away.
And one other thing plagued his thoughts this morning: Draconis. Such an odd name. Zach had seen it on a piece of paper during Thomas’ sales pitch last week. And, Thomas had seen Zach seeing it, which prompted him to shuffle to conceal the piece of paper. If Thomas had left it in plain view, Zach probably wouldn’t have thought about it again.
But the covert act of hiding it had made Zach curious.
If Draconis was a parent company to Firedrake, or a partner, or a vendor, then why hide that information? Zach could probably find out about it on the internet in two clicks or less.
He checked the time on his phone and decided he needed a break. Usually, a break meant a couple of laps across the lab, rolling his head around on his shoulders and ignoring his coworkers, since they ignored him, too. Occasionally, slowing as he passed people to spy on their research, which wasn’t any less pedestrian than the stuff he worked on.
But, this morning, in mid-lap, he stopped in front of Wanda’s workstation as she pressed a button to start up a centrifuge to mix things. What she was mixing, he had no idea.
“Hey,” he said.
Wanda looked up and blinked a few times. She smiled, spreading the dark freckles across her face. “Hi, Zachary. How are you?”
“Oh, you know.”
“Yes I do, young man. Yes, I do.”
He offered a polite laugh, then checked left and right. The nearest other lab worker was fifteen feet away. He was waiting for someone to toss them a snide look for being loud, but no one else paid them any mind. Too busy with their own stuff.
“You all stocked up with saline this morning?” she asked.
“Sure am.”
“So, you were late coming in yesterday.”
His head cocked. “How did you know that? You weren’t here yesterday.”
“Oh, child, people talk.”
“They do? That’s news to me. You guys have a secret break room in the basement I don’t know about?”
“Me and some of the others go out for drinks sometimes.”
“You’re joking.”
Wanda gave him a slow shake of the head. “Not at all. We’re all-business during work hours, but some of these people like to cut loose. You might think you’re ready for off-the-clock-Wanda, but you ain’t seen nothing.”
“Wow, I had no idea. And, you’re right. I probably couldn’t handle off-the-clock-Wanda. My mom used to tell me if I ever met a Wanda, to be prepared for anything.”
She chuckled. “I like having you around, Zach. You keep me on my toes.”
He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Can I ask you something? It’s not a big deal, but you might know.”
“Are you sure asking questions is a good idea?” she said.
A pulse of anxiety hit his spine. Wanda had been cryptic like this during their last conversation, too. And no, he didn’t know if it was a good idea, but he had to talk to someone. He had to put to rest one of the items troubling him.
“It’s not anything scandalous,” he said. “I just wanted to ask you about something I heard. Or, something I saw, I mean. In Thomas’ office.”
She pursed her lips as her eyes darted back and forth. But, she nodded. “Okay, go ahead.”
“Do you know the name Draconis?”
Her eyes flashed, and she leaned in close to whisper. "Where did you hear that?"
“I, uh, I don’t know. I just wondered if you knew that name.”
“No, never heard about it. And you haven’t, either. You should go back to your workstation before you fall behind again.”
“I don’t understand. You obviously—”
Wanda’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm. Her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his wrist. “I need to get back to work. They’re not paying us to chit chat, so you should go back to your workstation.”
“But—”
“Get back to work, Zach.”
She released his wrist and readjusted her lab coat as she bent over her pad of paper and picked up a pencil. Eyes averted. Conversation over. Her chest pumped up and down, her breaths labored. But she didn't look at him again.
Zach stared for a second and then backed away, leaving Wanda alone. She didn’t acknowledge him or talk to him again for the rest of the day.
Chapter Eleven
EMBER
Ember blinked a few times before she could open her eyes. Sunlight filtered in, and she first realized she was prone. Then, her head throbbed. A trickle of something leaped from her eyebrow onto her cheek. Her hand instinctively reached up for it, and she squinted to see blood on her fingertip. Everything in her vision and hearing was like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
“Damn it, Roland,” she muttered. The last few minutes faded back into memory, and she realized she’d been knocked out behind the dry cleaners.
She checked around and noted one glaring omission from her surroundings: her purse.
"Oh, crap." Her guns were in there. Her Microtech Halo knife was in there. Not to mention her car keys. Everything she needed at the moment seemed to be trapped inside that little bag, and the bag was nowhere to be found.
She staggered to her feet, head thumping. Right away, she noticed the same car was parked behind the building, so if Roland had left, he’d taken a different vehicle. When she tried to scan around to find him, her vision was jerky and unfocused. She wouldn’t be much of a detective right now until she could clear her head of the cobwebs.
Her wobbly legs took her back to the front of the store, where she checked her injury in the reflection in the window. A thin slice across her forehead, no longer than an inch. She didn't know what Roland had smacked her with, but it had been forceful enough to open her flesh. The blood had slowed to a trickle, but now the pulsing sting of the wound had cut through her fogginess.
“You okay?”
Ember turned to see an older black guy, maybe sixty, wearing a stained trench coat and a ratty rust-colored knitted cap, standing across the street. He also wore wool fingerless gloves, and he kept his hands out in front of him—fingers twiddling the air as if playing an invisible harp.
“I’m fine.”
He took a few steps in her direction, out into the street. His eyes were bright and alert, bloodshot and intense. On this quiet side street, there was no traffic to interrupt his slow march toward her. Maybe Ember should have been scared, but with her head buzzing, she didn’t get any sense of danger from him.
“You need a hospital?”
Ember shook her head. “Just bumped my head on a car door. I’ll be okay.”
“Bullshit, lady.”
“Say what?”
He stopped, five feet away from her, his fingers still fidgeting in midair. “My sister fell down a lot of stairs and got bumped by a lot of car doors, too. My brother-in-law used to beat on her.”
“Used to?”
“Yeah, until she took off his face with a shotgun one day.”
“Good for her. Thanks for your concern, but really, I’m okay. You didn’t happen to see a thick little white guy run past here, carrying a purse? Probably freaking out, in a great big hurry?”
His face screwed up in thought. “I’ve seen a lot of shit in this neighborhood, but I don’t think I’ve seen that.”
“Yeah, that makes sense. No way it could be that easy. A girl can dream though, can’t she?”
He pointed to the west, toward the next intersection. "There's a soup kitchen one block up and to the right. I'm headed there now if you want to come. They probably have bandages. You leave that open, and you're going to get an infection. Plus, the food is pretty good, too."
“No thanks, I’m good.”
He tipped an imaginary cap and shuffled off toward the soup kitchen. She waited for him to round the corner, then she lumbered over toward the dry cleaners. Ember tried the front door and found it unlocked. That told her several things. One, Roland had left in a hurry. Taking her purse had been an impulsive move, likely driven by panic
. As she’d suspected, he wasn’t the mastermind here, but a worker bee who didn’t have all the answers.
Ember wandered inside and had a seat at one of the chairs up against the wall. She wanted to kick herself in her own ass when she realized how careless she had been. She’d assumed she could walk right in, command the situation, and walk right out with no consequences.
“That’s what you get for trying to bend the world to your will, November,” she muttered.
Then, like a flash of hope, an idea spawned. She remembered she still had her phone and took it out to call Fagan. Ember needed guidance, and she couldn’t think straight.
She stared at her reflection in the darkened screen for a few seconds. Blinking, trying to push through her confusion. Each breath made her head thump harder.
But then, as soon as she unlocked the phone, she saw the app for the tracker. That was even better.
“Got you, you idiot.”
Ember had a little Bluetooth gadget she kept in her purse, solely in case it ever got stolen. The thing was about the size of a credit card, and it connected to an app on her phone, so it could 'call home' when missing. She'd had it for over a year, but only recently, Gabe had offered to help her set it up. Turned out to be pretty simple — just charge it, then pair it with a phone. But Gabe had asked her about it and made her download the app.
Ember had a habit of buying things after drinking wine at night and then forgetting about them. Had Gabe not seen it on her countertop, the gadget would still be sitting in its package, unopened, right now. Smart kid.
Ember opened the app and waited as it searched for the device. A blue circle appeared over Denver until it grew smaller. It honed it around downtown, and then it turned into a dot. Solid, blue, moving.
Ember watched the dot travel along Speer Boulevard for about a mile until it stopped in front of an apartment complex. For a full minute, she waited for it to move, but it seemed Roland had decided to stay.
