Bloodshot Part 19

"s.h.i.+t. Well, we still have a few days to get there and kick around before he expects me."

His eyes widened. "You told him to expect you? What kind of-"

"Look, I had my reasons. I needed to know where his office was, so I asked him if he'd tell me-on the grounds that I'd visit him when I'm in town. And he went for it. Sometimes it's exactly that easy, you know? The vast majority of people in this world are not even a fraction fraction as careful and crazy as I am. So this is fine. It's no big deal, and n.o.body knows we're coming. We're free and clear, and we're going," I insisted stubbornly, even though I only half believed myself. as careful and crazy as I am. So this is fine. It's no big deal, and n.o.body knows we're coming. We're free and clear, and we're going," I insisted stubbornly, even though I only half believed myself.

"What makes you think I'll come with you?" Adrian asked.

"I think you'll come with me because Ian might've known your sister. He might even know what happened to her-how she was turned, and what happened to her before the military caught up to her, and kept her. And you want to know about it."

He mulled this over, and then said, "No promises past meeting your client, just for a conversation. But okay. I'm in at least that far."

"Good," I said, as if that settled everything, but I was pretty sure it hadn't. I was pretty sure I had Adrian along until Major Bruner was taken out of the picture in a permanent fas.h.i.+on, but maybe that was an unfair conclusion to draw.

Yet when I looked at this beautiful man with one hand holding up a towel, his jaw set firm, and his eyes staring down at the paper...I knew that this was a man who wanted answers. He wanted the vengeance he'd never had the opportunity to take.

And here I was, offering to draw him a map and give him a ride.

10.

Ian was somewhat less excited about meeting up in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., than I'd expected. I think his impatience was getting to him, but he was too much of a cla.s.s act to scream at me on the phone. Instead, his voice took on that polite tightness that almost disappointed me with its lack of friendliness.

Not that I should ever try to make friends with my clients, because obviously, I shouldn't. But still.

Eventually I conveyed the urgency to him-how I'd reconsidered, and we'd be running extra risks by scanning and copying and emailing the material, opening ourselves up to heaven knew what sort of tracking was tied to my email account, or my computer, or whatever. We knew I'd originally scored the feds' attention via the contact with Bad Hatter, may he rest in peace or live on in infamy wherever he was, but given our nervousness about potential satellite observation, we didn't know if I'd brought the net down on Adrian.

This final point did in Ian's resistance, and his voice turned from icy aggravation to unhappy acquiescence. "You're right," he told me with a sigh. "I know you are. It's only that I've waited so long, and Dr. Keene has been so patient."

"He's the guy who's trying to fix your eyes, in Canada?"

"That's right. And I hate to drag this out any longer than strictly necessary. I've been keeping him loosely informed regarding the situation, and I fear he's becoming tired of hearing that I almost almost have the paperwork in hand. So far, he's been kind enough to keep himself available-nearly on call-for me over the last year, but he's preparing to leave the country next month and I don't know when I'll next have the opportunity to consult with him." have the paperwork in hand. So far, he's been kind enough to keep himself available-nearly on call-for me over the last year, but he's preparing to leave the country next month and I don't know when I'll next have the opportunity to consult with him."

"He's leaving the country?" I echoed.

Ian said, "He's a member of Doctors Without Borders. He'll be going away on a volunteer work sabbatical, to Southeast Asia I believe."

"Sounds like quite a saint. Can't you follow him there for treatment?"

"I could," he told me. "And I almost certainly will, if I have no other choice. But I'd rather engage him at his own facilities in Toronto. He's led me to believe that they're rather superior to where he'll be working gratis. gratis." He laughed nervously. "By now, he's almost as impatient as I am."

To soothe him, I said, "If you just swing down here and meet me, then we can sort all this out and have you on your way back to Toronto in a week or less. No problem."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," I fibbed. But he was hard to fib to, so I amended my certainty to include, "Barring unforeseen catastrophe. And anyway, Adrian wants to meet you." Perhaps I exaggerated.

"He...he does? He's still with you?"

"Yeah, he's still with me. He's coming to D.C. on the off chance I turn up something thrilling about Major Bruner and his connection to the project, and unless I miss my guess"-I didn't bother to lower my voice; Adrian was watching TV in the other room and either he'd hear me, or he wouldn't-"he's plotting a little street vengeance."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. Wait'll you meet him. He's a former Navy SEAL who's on the warpath."

"I thought you said he was a drag queen?"

"That too. He's a man of many mysteries." Again I remembered that silver spangle outfit and the tuck-job. "And maybe I'm wrong, but I bet I'm not. More to the point, however, he wants to talk to you about his sister. She was in the program with you."

"She was?"

"You knew you weren't alone," I said, trying to avoid the roundabout talk that he resorted to every time the subject of his imprisonment came up. "You've already told me that much. Well, she was one of the others."

"One like us?" he asked. It felt like his umpteenth question in a row. I heard fuzz and noise in the background. I a.s.sumed he was outdoors somewhere, and being careful with his language.

"Yes. A vampire. And I have no idea if you knew her or not, or if you ever spoke to her or not, but this guy is grieving for his sister and desperate for any sc.r.a.p of information. If you don't want to talk to him, that's fine. But you can tell him so to his face."

My phone began to beep, and I glanced at the face. "Hey, Ian, I've got to go. Getting another call." We'd already exchanged all our connection information anyway; we'd picked a hotel and a date, and we'd talk again when we both got into D.C.

"Very well. See you soon."

I hung up on him and pressed the b.u.t.ton to accept the other call. The number looked familiar, but I couldn't place it right away. The voice on the other end of the phone brought it all back in an instant.

"Raylene?" Soft. Whispered. I didn't like the whisper. I'd never heard him whisper before.

"Domino. Glad you got the phone. Is everything okay?"

I could hear him breathing softly into the receiver, and I couldn't hear his sister, which didn't necessarily mean anything. But his further silence probably did. He didn't say anything for another five seconds. "No."

I asked, "What's going on?"

The urgency in my voice snared Adrian's attention. He manifested in the doorway wearing a questioning look and a fresh smearing of my best avocado face mask. I waved him away. I wasn't prepared to explain, and I had a feeling I was about to have a full-body freak-out. My waving and dodging did not prevent him from following me, though. All I could do was turn my back on him as I said into the phone, "Domino, you little s.h.i.+t, you tell me what's going on right this second!"

"Shh!" he hissed.

I'm not ordinarily the kind to be shushed by anyone, much less that prep.u.b.escent cretin, but this was different, I could tell. And after a few more moments of silence, I realized he was holding up the phone and trying to let me hear something.

The television was still on in the other room. I snapped at Adrian, "Go turn that off. Now!" And the command was pa.s.sed down to someone else who doesn't ordinarily obey random commands, but Adrian did it, and he did it swiftly.

I turned my back to the living room and jammed my eyes shut, as if that could make it even quieter in my condo. I strained to hear any sc.r.a.p of static and I prayed that Domino wasn't pulling some crazy stunt. Because if he was, I'd have to beat him to death the next time I saw him. And that would be sad for his sister.

Pepper. I said her name aloud and then I breathed into the phone, "Where's your sister, Domino?"

His response made me go cold all the way down to my toes. "I don't know."

"What's going on?" I asked again, confused and alarmed, and conflicted, too. Obviously I was worried about my stuff. I have lots of stuff-easily millions of dollars' worth of stuff in that warehouse. And as I've implied before, I didn't really care if Domino vanished off the face of the earth at any given moment. But G.o.ddammit, that little girl didn't have anybody else looking after her and, okay, she wasn't exactly a ghoul or a pet person or anything like that, except that apparently she was all of those things almost, and very suddenly I felt like I was going to throw up.

It was frankly unexpected.

"Listen," the boy urged in his softest voice yet. He may as well have been shaping the word with his lips but holding his breath. If I hadn't been what I am, I would've never heard it.

But I heard him s.h.i.+ft the phone in his hand, the scrabbling of his fingers almost slipping, almost dropping it, but holding fast and turning it face-out, I imagined-to better catch the sound of whatever he wanted me to hear.

I held out my hand toward Adrian, who'd come back to join me in the "dining area" (if any room in any home of mine can be dubbed such). He wasn't wearing the face mask anymore, though tiny threads of it showed around his hairline where he'd washed it off too quickly. I don't know what I was trying to do with the gesture-hold him at bay, keep him from talking, shoo him out of the condo. Any of those things. All of them. I was only trying to concentrate, and concentrate hard. I directed every ounce of my supernatural hearing to the scene back in Seattle, and I even tried to picture it: my warehouse, my things, my floors full of unsecured merchandise and two children who shouldn't be there, really, but where else could they go? I visualized Domino, doing one brave thing, perhaps-just this once. Because when it came to his sister, I didn't think he'd lie to me, and that vestigial psychic sense was bouncing up and down behind my tightly shut eyes, telling me that he was telling the truth, and trying to tell me more without making a sound.

At first, I didn't detect much. The sc.r.a.ping of dry hands on the phone's plastic sh.e.l.l. A shuffle and the rustle of clothing. An occasional breath that sounded like a ragged gasp, and sounded like Domino.

Then the rest began to come into focus. At least, it did whatever sound does when it phases from white noise to something more specific.

It must've looked to Adrian like I was in pain, hunkered over almost double with my eyes closed and my hand still held out, still keeping him away. I backed up slowly until I hit a wall, and then I sat down against it and listened, and listened, and listened.

And now I could catch static-not miscellaneous noise, but actual electronic static, in tiny fuzzes and blips. Footsteps. Carefully uttered words, spoken low and without any of the rambling stutters of ordinary conversation. I couldn't make them out, no matter how hard I tried.

"Domino," I whispered, trying to match his closeness to silence, yet trying to make sure he heard me, too.

"Raylene," he said back. "They're here."

"Who?" I asked, knowing he couldn't say. Even if it weren't blindingly obvious that the boy was hiding for his life, the odds were great that he wouldn't have any idea who was invading our turf. My turf.

Bless him, he tried anyway. I caught a scrambling of clothes and sneakers that sounded like a herd of elephants in my ear, but surely made nothing more than tiny scuffs and squeaks in the vast labyrinth of the old factory. Even so, I cringed with every rustle of cloth against the microphone. I tensed myself into an even tighter ball as the boy on the other end of the line adjusted himself, and I tried to remember if there was anything...anything at all...incriminating inside that building.

It was a ridiculous thing to wonder.

Everything inside it was incriminating. But try as I might, I couldn't think of any paperwork, or electronics, or anything like that. They'd already found my Seattle condo; I was virtually certain of this. Where else could the storehouse send them, except to Interpol? And baby, I'd rather face off with international crime fighters than mad-scientist military yahoos any d.a.m.n day of the week. inside it was incriminating. But try as I might, I couldn't think of any paperwork, or electronics, or anything like that. They'd already found my Seattle condo; I was virtually certain of this. Where else could the storehouse send them, except to Interpol? And baby, I'd rather face off with international crime fighters than mad-scientist military yahoos any d.a.m.n day of the week.

Everything was unraveling. I could feel it, my whole world being teased open, like a thread of spaghetti pulled twisting onto a fork.

But I listened, and listened, and listened.

Somewhere in the distance of wherever Domino had secreted himself away, I heard a digital pop-the kind you hear when people are using walkie-talkies, or those phones that come with that same function. It was chased by a man's voice, confirming something.

"Affirmative."

The phone s.h.i.+fted again in the boy's grasp; I suppose he was bringing it back up to his face. "I can't find Pepper," he said. "I think maybe they got her." He was whispering as only a kid who's truly half afraid to death can whisper, but apparently he felt secure enough to do so. I thought maybe there was a metallic echo to the soft puffs of words, and I a.s.sumed he'd climbed up into one of Pep's favorite old hiding spots-inside the square aluminum tunnels of the ventilation system. They weren't original to the building, of course, but they'd been added by the man who'd owned it before me.

"Why do you think that?" When I spoke back to him, I was quiet, too. Didn't want to give him away. "Did you see them take her?"

"No. I got here, and she was gone, and they they were here. But they were talking about her." were here. But they were talking about her."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he a.s.serted, but I thought he was only a.s.suming the worst. Like I'd blame him for it. Like I wouldn't do exactly the same thing. "They found a dead guy in the bas.e.m.e.nt."

"Bulls.h.i.+t," I said, too loud.

He replied, "No bulls.h.i.+t," and if there'd been any less peril to go around, I fully expect that he would've sounded smug about it. Awesome. So he knew, or he suspected. But what did that mean, anyway? He'd always known, and always suspected.

When in doubt, change the subject. "Domino, tell me. Who are they?" The answer was more pressing than what they were going to do with Trevor, anyway.

"I don't know."

"What do they look like?"

His hair or his neck, or maybe a scarf went dragging across the microphone. He was looking out, checking to see again if they were close, or if he could see anybody. He said, "They're all wearing black. They look like army guys. But some of them are in suits."

"Great."

"I don't think it's great. I think it f.u.c.king sucks!" His voice got a little too loud, just a squeak.

"I was being sarcastic. Stay cool, kid. Don't get loud or get mad. That's the most important thing, right now."

"No. Finding Pepper is."

Devoted little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You had to give him that. "The two goals are one and the same. You can't find her if you get yourself caught."

"Maybe I can. At least if they catch me, they've caught us both and I'll know where she is. I'll know she's okay."

He was right. He'd also just revealed that he wasn't positive they had her; otherwise, he'd have already joined the fray. I was pretty secure on this point, so I ran with it. "Forget it. Keep your head low and keep watching. Your little sister, she's a d.a.m.n good hider."

"But they were talking about her. talking about her."

"What were they saying?" I asked.

"They said they thought she might still be here. They said they know someone's inside. They've been watching."

"They could've meant anybody." I pointed out, "They could've meant me me. I bet you a dollar she's stashed someplace where they haven't looked yet."

"Make it fifty," he said. Ah, greed and a sense of humor. Or grasping at straws.

"Very funny."

"Raylene?"

"Yeah?"

He said, "They're going to find us."

"Why would you say that?"

"They're looking everywhere. Floor by floor, moving things around. Taking pictures."

If I could've cringed myself into a tighter ball and still remained upright, I would've done so. Pictures. Perfect. It was all cras.h.i.+ng down, wasn't it? All of it. Fifty years of acc.u.mulated wealth and work, right out the window. Was it my life savings? No, not by a long shot. But it was still an awful lot to lose. And Pepper was there, someplace. I knew better than anyone how well that kid could hide. I had to trust her now; I had no choice. It was either a.s.sume the best or have a nervous breakdown right there on the phone...which would only send Domino into a downward spiral.

I could sense it. The kid hated me, but he was clinging to me-or just the sound of me, someplace far away.