“The Rhinehardt Collaborative,” she reminded them. “It has a name now.”
“Impressive, to say the least.” But it was said hesitantly. With care.
‘Impressive.’ But you know what he really means.
Chapter 37
Claire
“Well?”
“Well, what?” Andre asked as he sat down heavily in the chair beside her.
“Well, how did things go in your session with Dr. Cans today?” Claire specified. “You were going to talk to her about…you know.”
Andre had been very uncomfortable before the session. Since both Amy and Miguel were having luck, he’d decided to ask her some questions about what might be going on with him, but he hadn’t been willing to open up to them just yet.
Andre stared down at his food, picking at the mashed potatoes absently. “Fine,” he finally said. “It went fine.”
“What did you do?” Amy asked, plopping down beside them.
“She took me to the weight room, let me work out for a little while.”
Claire’s eyebrows shot up. “She took you out of the building?” That was against protocol, and she had never known any of the doctors to do something against protocol.
“It was cold,” he said, with the hint of a smile. “We must be somewhere north, because it’s every bit as cold as Chicago in winter.”
“Why the weight room?” Miguel asked. He had joined them silently, as he was prone to do. He dug into his own meal, and Claire found herself relieved to see him eating more often now.
“Something about me being an athlete and needing the outlet.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“No,” Amy argued. “It has something to do with your RNB. She’s been experimenting with me and Miguel both. The weight room has to play into your condition somehow.”
Claire was about to chastise her for prying, but Andre didn’t seem to mind.
“She thinks my physical endurance is enhanced,” he said. “Something about being able to push through pain and injury. She said we might be able to figure out how it works beyond just allowing me to feel pain and keep going.”
Andre seemed lighter, somehow, as he talked. Like admitting it was releasing some of the pent-up anger and tension that he carried around like a lead weight. Claire could feel his relief work its way through her and she relaxed, picking up her plastic fork and knife to cut into her own steak.
She had worried about him the most. Convincing Miguel to work with the doctor in pursuit of an escape had been easy. He had wanted answers, anyway. And once Amy had started cooperating, her desperation had turned to hope, changing her entire mindset. In fact, Amy spent most of her downtime playing around with her own variation of RNB, sneaking through the halls or sitting in the common room with her eyes closed, trying to see how far away she could sense movement. Hypervigilance, she had called it.
With Andre on board, that left only Claire. Accepting that the other three had RNB made it impossible to deny her own symptoms. She didn’t need the doctor to tell her what they were, though. The way the emotions of the others poured through her, she didn’t have any doubt about where her enhancements lay. She didn’t feel any need to work with Dr. Cans to explore her ability, though. Feeling the emotions of the people around her was enough. She didn’t really want to know if she could do anything else.
They continued to eat as Amy and Miguel filled them in on the latest in their own sessions. Claire wasn’t paying much attention, though. Andre’s peace was so palpable that she was simply enjoying sitting beside him. It felt like he had come to a decision, one he’d wrestled with, and the weight of bearing it was gone. Instead, there was simply calm. It was nice.
The door behind them opened and Claire felt a briskness of purpose. Dr. Cans. She smiled to herself. There now, she didn’t need any training. She was already doing just fine on her own.
She turned and watched as the doctor strode to the window of the cafeteria, chatting with Luann and the delivery guy, who was making his daily drop of supplies. She started to turn back to the conversation going on around her when she hesitated. Dr. Cans always felt focused, but today there was something different. As though there was a very specific purpose for coming to the common room today, something beyond being friendly with the staff.
It didn’t look any different. The doctor remained on the patient side of the kitchen today, hip leaned against the window, chatting casually with Luann about something her grandchildren had done. Nothing out of the ordinary there.
The delivery guy came over and offered Luann the clipboard for a signature. There was a shuffle as he seemed to have lost his pen and Luann went off to look for one, leaving him with Dr. Cans.
Claire rolled her eyes. She had realized shortly after the first time that Dr. Cans had glided in on those insanely high heels that she used her wardrobe to make an impression on the men around her. Claire couldn’t blame her. It was hard for a woman to carve a path through a male-dominated society, and she would be lying if she said she’d never done the same herself. But was it really necessary to flirt with every man who walked in?
The delivery guy was leaning on the counter towards the doctor, laughing at something she said. Dr. Cans slid forward conspiratorially to whisper something in his ear, and that’s when Claire saw it. As they both laughed, Dr. Cans slid her hands forward and the delivery driver briefly covered them with his own. When he pulled away, there was a folded piece of paper tucked beneath.
It had been a subtle transfer, to be sure. If Claire hadn’t been watching, she would never have seen it. As soon as the transfer was made, the focus in Dr. Cans’ body eased. She straightened, bade the delivery driver goodbye, and walked back towards the door, nodding at Claire as she walked by, and Claire was left to wonder if she’d really seen what she thought she’d seen. It had been there and gone, both parties as smooth and practiced as could be.
Claire knew what she’d seen, and what she’d felt. The delivery man was anxious now, although he didn’t look it. He was ready to leave. To read the note that Dr. Cans had passed him?
Why would Dr. Cans be passing secret notes with a delivery driver? Were they romantically involved? They had been flirting, but it hadn’t felt real. If it wasn’t real, why would they both risk what would happen if Mr. Anderson found out Dr. Cans was communicating with someone from outside the company?
Claire knew this particular delivery driver was fairly new, but she couldn’t remember when he had first started showing up. Was it before Dr. Cans had arrived, or after? She wondered -
“Claire, did you hear me?” Amy broke in, pulling her from her thoughts.
“What was that, dear?” she asked.
“It’s time to go back to our cages for the afternoon. Aren’t you coming?”
“Of course,” Claire said, mentally shaking herself. “Of course. Just let me empty my tray.”
Claire stood and grabbed her empty tray. Amy must have eaten her dessert while she wasn’t looking. Her fork was lying beside the tray but her knife was gone. She picked up her napkin and shifted the plates around, looking beneath them. Where was it?
“What’s wrong?” Miguel asked.
“I must have dropped my knife.” Claire bent down and peered under the table but didn’t see it there, either.
“I think I grabbed it,” Andre said. “It was beside my tray and I must have picked it up when I went to throw it away.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said. “Thoughtful.”
Andre shrugged. “It was just a plastic knife. Nothing to get too excited about.”
Claire patted Andre on the shoulder as she walked by him to return her own tray. She was glad he was finally feeling some peace. She could get used to this Andre.
Chapter 38
Logan
Logan lay spread-eagle on his mattress on the floor, eyes closed but unable to sleep. He should have seen something like this coming really. He knew she was looking into the lives of the other pat
ients. She’d learned Italian because Claire Montgomery knew it. She’d also apparently become a hacker because of the others. But she was still here. She was safe, with them.
He snorted. That was a joke. She would never be able to sustain a pattern of stillness. Logan suspected it was part of her condition. Unable to sleep, unable to rest, Quincy did whatever she could to provide some relief from the relentless pounding in her mind. In Sheraton, it was running and reading. Here, it was a single-minded pursuit of a ruthless company that wanted to exploit her condition for profit. Logan preferred the first option.
He rubbed his hands over his face, knowing he would regret the lack of sleep when he was on watch tonight but unable to do anything about it. He knew sleep wouldn’t come. Not when his mind kept drifting back to the information Quincy had dug up on the company. Examining it, pulling it apart, looking for strengths and weaknesses. He couldn’t help it. It was his training.
Quincy wanted to go after the patients already at the clinic. She hadn’t said as much, but wasn’t that the entire reason she’d agreed to come with him?
Well, that and his sparkling charm and good looks. He grinned to himself. Maybe not so much that last one. But still, she needed purpose. That’s what she used to fight the voice in her head. The one telling her the struggle wasn’t worth the cost. The one that had driven Jones over the edge. If this was what Quincy needed to keep going, Logan would give it to her. And once it was done? Well, then he would find something else to keep her going.
There was a knock on the door of the basement - one knock, a pause, and then two in quick succession. Dave walked in and dropped his briefcase onto his desk.
Logan raised his head. “Finished already?”
Dave laughed. “It’s after six,” he said. “I was finished awhile ago but I had some paperwork and grading to clean up.”
“Oh.” Time really flies when you’re having fun.
“Have you been laying here and obsessing all day?”
“I’m not obsessing,” Logan argued. “I’m…strategizing.”
“Ah, well, were you able to sneak in any sleep amongst your strategizing?”
Logan didn’t bother to respond. After all these years, Dave already knew the answer.
“Tell me what you think, really.”
Logan shoved himself into a sitting position and leaned his back against the wall. “Where’s Quincy?” he asked, looking around.
“At the library. Probably.” Dave slipped his shoes off and pulled the tie from around his neck. “I can never be too sure she’s actually where she says she is. She said she’d bring home some burgers for dinner, though.”
Logan rolled his eyes. Dave was right. Quincy could be at the library or she could be saving a child from a burning building on live television. Each was as likely as the other.
“Her intel seems solid,” Logan began. “I’ve gone back over it, looking for holes, and I’m not really seeing any.”
“The Rhinehart Collaborative,” Dave mused, sinking down onto the couch across from where Logan lay propped against the wall. “Nice to finally have something to call them.”
“Sure sounds like a corrupt corporate giant, neck-deep in illicit military contracts and Uncle Sam’s pockets,” Logan agreed helpfully, which Dave ignored, moving on with his thought.
“So the problem now isn’t that we don’t know where the company is, it’s -”
“It’s that we don’t know how to get in.” Logan tipped his head back against the wall and let his eyes slide shut. “I’m guessing they don’t actually take corporate rental reservations, and even if they did, we don’t have the money or the manpower to pull off that kind of scheme.”
“We need to find out as much about the compound as possible,” Dave mused. “Since they’re a public company, they’ll have blueprints and building plans available through the city archives. Hopefully, once we know more, an idea will present itself.”
Knowing Quincy, Logan thought that was likely. Whether he would like the idea, though - that was another matter.
“How does she seem to you?” he asked Dave.
Dave pulled the refrigerator open and peeked inside, grabbing a couple of a water bottles and tossing one to Logan. “Obviously I’m not going to tell you anything that might be privileged-”
Logan snorted and Dave sank onto the couch, aiming a stern glance his way.
“I’m still a doctor and privacy is still a factor. But,” and here he shook his head, “there’s really nothing to tell. We’ve had a couple of sessions. I set up some tests, much like we did with Lt. Jones, and was able to watch as her condition was activated. You’ve seen it, too,” Dave pointed out.
Logan had seen it a couple of times when he’d been posing as a fellow student back in Arkansas. “That slightly unfocused, almost-sleepy look she gets before doing something awe-inspiring?”
He thought back to the fall festival and how she’d picked up that fiddle and played like she’d been doing it forever. He remembered the look on her face, that dream-like quality that came over her before she snapped back into focus. “Yeah, I’ve seen it.”
“I tried to recreate what you did in Sheraton with the music and it was incredible. She’s very gifted.”
“I’m not sure she sees it that way.”
“No,” Dave agreed, frowning. “She doesn’t really seem interested in learning more. She’s not pushing back, exactly, but she’s not digging in either.”
“Like she did with the company?”
“The Rhinehardt Collaborative,” Dave reminded him. “Exactly. She’s focusing her energy on finding the others, which is a wonderful thing. But I think she’s doing it to distract from her own issues.”
Logan leaned forward. “You’re worried,” he said, suddenly seeing it all over Dave’s face. “What is it that has you so concerned?”
Dave was quiet for a minute, and Logan wondered if this qualified as a ‘privacy issue.’
“I can’t really say,” he finally said. “She seems perfectly healthy - admiringly so. She appears well-adjusted and happy to be with us. But there is the question of her memory loss.”
“Jones didn’t have any memory loss.”
“No. Which makes me think Quincy’s isn’t the result of the brain trauma itself so much as a side effect of all the information she takes in. Something particular to her form of RNB, perhaps.”
Logan stared at Dave, not quite sure what he was getting at. “What does that mean exactly?”
Dave opened his mouth to reply but shut it as the door opened and Quincy bounced in.
“Hiya, fellas,” she said.
She tossed her backpack onto the floor in her corner of the room, spilling books from the top where she hadn’t bothered to zip it up, and dumped a couple of carry out bags on the table. The smell of grease and fries - and coffee - pulled him off the couch and he wandered around to where Quincy was rummaging for plates and napkins.
“Here,” she said, handing him a tall cup. “Black and boring, just like you like it.” She turned to Dave. “And for you, a decaf with milk.”
“And for you?” Logan asked.
Quincy picked up the last cup and took a drink, thought it over, and then shrugged her shoulders. “Not bad,” she said. “They had something new. Almond milk and honey, with some vanilla swirled in.”
“It’s no snickerdoodle coffee, but it will do,” Logan said, grinning at the memory of the sickeningly sweet drink they’d both tried, months ago, on a little college campus. It had been one of their first meetings. Back to the beginning. The coffee had been atrocious, Logan’s mission even more so, but despite the odds, they’d managed to eek out a pretty solid friendship.
Quincy didn’t grin back. In fact, she looked confused. “Okay,” she said, a little hesitant. Like she didn’t quite get the joke. Which was odd, because Quincy was usually faster than he was on inside quips. Logan sighed. Something else she’d lost.
Quincy didn’t mention their time in Sheraton ve
ry often. Logan knew she’d gotten attached, against her better judgment, and she missed the people she’d gotten to know there, even if she didn’t remember exactly who they were. Logan himself wondered how people like the Boatrights had taken Quincy’s absence. They really didn’t know her outside of their coffee shop and small circle of friends, but he’d observed them together enough to know they genuinely cared about her. With Sheraton being such a small town, the shooting would have been big news. He was sure they had worried. Probably still did.
But there was nothing to be done about that now. Reaching out to the Boatrights would only put them in danger and Quincy would never do that. Still, he thought, it was a shame. It would be nice for her to have a connection outside of him and Dave. It might help ground her, give her a sense of community.
Quincy started handing out burgers. “One barbecue burger, extra pickles,” she said, handing a sack over to Dave, “one double with everything,” this one came flying towards him, “and one bacon cheeseburger, just for me.”
Dave divvied out the fries and they settled around the table, quiet for a moment as they dug in. But Logan could only allow the silence to go so far.
“What’s with the mobile library?” he asked. At Quincy’s confused look, he nodded in the direction of her corner. “Approximately 700 books spilled out when you tossed your backpack down in there and it sounded like it weighed a ton. How many books do you need at one time?”
“Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “you go on watch duty at the same time Dave goes to bed, not to mention hours at the clinic, so I have a lot of free time to fill.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve found other ways to fill your time at the clinic,” Logan pointed out wryly. Where else would she have been on her own long enough to piece the company location together.
“Valid point,” she offered, taking another bite of her burger, closing her eyes when she did. “These are so good.”
Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2) Page 23
