Triage
It’s not every day a girl’s is given a business card with contact information for an über secret world shadow government. I did what anyone would do: I threw the motherfucking thing in the trash.
I kept Lachlan’s twenty bucks, though, and went to get some food.
In a small coffee shop bathroom, I locked the door and stripped off my shirts to check the bullet wound in my chest. It twinged a little but didn’t hurt and was completely closed over. I washed my face in the sink, scrubbed my arms and hands, and felt a little more like myself. It would be nice to shower but someone would probably come to check on me if I didn’t leave soon.
The day wore on. I stretched that twenty far, mostly because I didn’t want to go back to the apartment yet. Defeating Sean and not killing myself would mean I had Things to Face, not the least of which was dealing with whoever was trying to jumpstart the end of the world. Lachlan didn’t think it would come to pass but I suspected they weren’t too on the ball—they also apparently didn’t know I was still alive.
And then there was Bravo. Fraser said he wasn’t coming after me but that didn’t mean shit—I did, after all, kill several employees, destroy tons of expensive equipment, along with a chunk of their base. Fraser was a supervisor, not the boss. If they found out I was still alive and kicking, they could pose a problem.
Also, Nicolette. And that didn’t even need contemplating—it was A Large Issue.
So. Immediate threat: apocalypse. End is nigh and all that shit. Bravo was a distant threat, something I didn’t have to plan for yet. And Nic...
Yeah. I needed more coffee.
I downed two more cups and picked at a bagel, staring out the window as the rain hit harder, louder. I wasn’t a total bitch—sent another text. Didn’t get an answer. Night approached and I wondered if Zara got the two kids to safety. And if I’d have to add Ryann to my list of people who might be planning to kill me.
It was a long list.
I couldn’t put off the inevitable—we had an apocalypse to avert, after all—so I headed back to Zara’s apartment in the rain. I was soaked through by the time I took the door to the garage and shook myself off like a dog in the elevator as it rumbled upward.
Woof.
The moment the door opened, Zara had me slammed against the wall and pinned by my throat.
Off the ground, by about a foot.
I dangled, kicking and gasping, clawing at her arm on instinct. Hard eyes were on mine, glittering dangerously—even more so than they had when she’d shot me a few nights ago.
“Where.” She pronounced the words slow and evenly. “Is. Nicolette?”
What the fuck? “I dunno. She was here when I left.”
Her grip tightened and I choked, my face heating and eyes watering. “And when was that?”
“L-late...” I choked again, gasped for breath. “Morning.” I glanced past her, gaze scanning the apartment. The couch was skewed on an angle, cushions tossed about; a lamp was over turned and a shattered bulb glittered across the hardwood.
Worry crept up and Zara must’ve seen it on my face because she eased me down and released my throat.
I rubbed at my neck, still staring at the room. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Ryann drove me back here this afternoon. I found the place like this, Nic gone, you gone, and I’m trapped until dusk in an hour. What the fuck went on?”
I swallowed painfully and my face certainly didn’t get less red. “Um, nothing. I woke up, went for a walk. Nic was on the couch asleep.” And I should’ve woken her. I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve...fuck.
“You took a six hour walk?”
I glanced at Zara, probably guiltily. “Yeah. I texted her twice to say I’d be back.”
“Her phone’s not here—I tried calling.”
Fingers still massaging my neck, I walked around her slowly, studying the huge room. Nic wouldn’t just take off—couldn’t take off during the day, right? Someone would have to pick her up or something?
Signs of a struggle. No blood, that I could see— I turned to Zara. “Can you smell—”
“Who was here? No.”
I swallowed again and it wasn’t the feel of her fingers any longer that pained me. “No. Not who, but...”
She swept past me, long hair swinging and lustrous in the low light. “No. No blood.”
I thought again of the clouds outside. “It’s not really sunny—”
“We can’t be in even indirect light like that. Last time I was in a room with an open door and broken window, I got quite the tan when the sun hit. Even overcast, it would hurt. She wouldn’t risk it—doesn’t much care for pain.”
Doesn’t much care for pain. Or violence. Or fighting. But, like she said, she wasn’t weak—she had strength. Nic would fight back, so someone must’ve taken her.
“They caught her unaware, I assume,” Zara said, still pacing, her boots thumping on the floor like a ticking bomb. “No sign she took a passage out—not the one in my room or hers.”
Of course there were additional ways out—I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “Positive. And, again, they all lead outside, and she wouldn’t go out there.”
“Not even running? Not to escape? Would you...even know?”
“We don’t combust and turn into a pile of dust, dumbass—light burns, like an allergy. She’d have to hole up somewhere and someone would report a woman with burns all over her body—no such luck. I even checked the garage, but she’s not hiding anywhere. Someone took her.”
“Security cameras?”
“Disabled.”
Son of a bitch. Bravo could’ve done it—but would they? To get to me? They might’ve had something on file, still—something about when she’d been brought in shot. And they had Zara’s address.
And the way Zara was looking at me, I suspected she had the same thought. And if I was in any way responsible, even accidentally, the next time she had me pinned to a wall, I wouldn’t be leaving with my head still attached. Maybe I wasn’t a total idiot after all ’cause this time I didn’t question the possibility of her beating my ass into tomorrow.
I fished out my phone. “Let me call. Hey, what about cameras across the street? Anyone have anything?”
She pondered this as I dialled, and then nodded. “I’ll see.”
Hey, score one for Peri the Town Idiot—
Fraser picked up. “Lake here.”
Oh goodie. “It’s Peri.”
“What the fuc—”
“Just a question. Did you send a team after me again?”
“No.”
Okay then. “Did someone else send a team after me? Anyone at all?”
“No. We’re still cleaning up your fucking mess—”
I hung up. The nice part about him not being my supervisor anymore was that I could do so without penalty.
Zara popped her cell back in her pocket. “Across the street is a vintage clothing store. Still daylight, so you’ll have to go.”
That, at least I could do. I started for the door.
“They’re getting the recordings ready, so get cleaned up first and for fuck’s sake arm yourself in case you run into something out there.”
“Uh...” I glanced around. My SIGs were probably in Nic’s room and—
Drew’s Glock. The night before it had been...I glanced at my hands, went back through my memory. For a moment I felt a flash of a touch on my fingers, turning the gun away from my face, tracing my jaw, a soft whisper promising it would be okay—
Mental shake. Focus, you stupid bitch. Where is the gun?
“My gun is gone.” Another sweep of the floor and, yep, gone. “I had a Glock I stole from Drew.” Drew’s corpse. “And magazines in the lab coat I took...” Speaking of, the fucking lab coat was gone too.
“I’ll look for that stuff—get cleaned up and I’ll leave a gun out for you. Fuck, I’m an assassin—you don’t think I might have some weaponry lying about?”
I started for Nic’s room. “A little more concerned it’ll be another monster gun that feels like a fucking bazooka to shoot.”
She chuckled. It was a little odd, getting along with Vamp Slut like that.
I kept my gaze averted as I stripped out of my two tops and into a sports bra and long sleeved black Henley. The sunny yellow room stared back, somehow a little darker without its owner in the house. I couldn’t figure out where Nic had stowed my supplies so I didn’t bother continuing to look. Zara had a Jericho waiting for me—smaller than a Desert Eagle, thankfully, loaded with 9mm—along with a holster and a black jacket. The coat was high quality pleather, enough that I initially thought it was the real thing except it didn’t smell like a dead cow. I raised a brow in question as I slipped it on.
“Environmentalist, remember. VETA would revoke my membership for wearing leather.”
VETA. I totally didn’t even want to know.
****
Rain pattered down hard, beating against the pleather jacket and soaking my hair after it had finally started to dry. The hip-length coat swung open ’cause I’d been too lazy to close it, belt jangling at my sides. I felt like a dork anyway, wearing something probably fashionable or whatever.
I also was really enjoying thinking about Zara’s wardrobe and not the innocent blonde who had been taken for god knows what reason.
The clothing store across the street was another old factory and they accentuated the industrial vibe, playing rough ambient music from rusted speakers and boasting a scuffed up wood floor and brushed steel beams. A skinny black girl approached me immediately, silver piercings glittering in the light. It looked like...The Gap gone punk. Very weird, but whatever.
“Zara Lain sent me,” I said and she nodded immediately, gesturing for me to follow. I’d caught a name tag on her red blouse, saying her name was Michelle and she was the manager.
“We’ve got cameras on the street,” she said. “Or not so much on the street as catching anyone outside this building. You might be able to get something, but I’m not sure.”
At least it gave me something to do. We walked past the aisles of fashionable clothes and mannequins wearing stupid hats, past the cash register where a couple of tweens stood with armfuls of clothes, and through a single door with EMPLOYEES ONLY at the back of the shop, between the change rooms and bathrooms. The office was small and messy, but furnished like one from a department store—no high end, modern stuff here, just white walls and a water cooler. Posers. I shouldn’t laugh, though—when I was a teen, I was into the same sorts of things. Like white on Anime, I’d’ve been all over their clothes. My brief girly days where I liked clothes were not something I was proud of.
Michelle swung out a swivel chair at the back in front of three LCD monitors mounted on the wall, a desk below them with a mouse and keyboard. She sat and I hung over her shoulder as she moved around the controls. “What time?”
Shit. I had no fucking clue. “Um...sometime after eleven a.m. or so and...” Shit, what time had Zara been back? “Let’s say four p.m. You can fast forward, right?”
“Right. This is the only camera pointing there.” She gestured to the left one. I leaned close to watch as she went to the correct time stamp and hit play.
There was me, slipping out the wide open garage doorway and turning the corner. I had my cell phone out, texting Nic.
I should’ve stayed. What the fuck was wrong with me? What was with my fucking impeccable timing, always taking off when shit was about to go down and hurt other people?
Michelle hit fast-forward and it sped along. People rushing by. Cars. Rain. Nothing interesting.
Then a flash of dark blue—it was in the far left corner, and mostly just the bumper showed, but someone definitely turned into the garage. 1:47. No license plate.
Hmm.
Five minutes passed on the tape. Ten. Then something emerged. “Real time,” I said quickly, and she obliged.
Blue van. Windows blacked out. Nearly fifteen minutes after they first went in. I couldn’t make out the license plate and it only showed for a second anyway.
Fuck.
“Can you send that to Zara? Um, somehow?”
“Sure,” she started, but I barely heard her because I was already pounding out the door, jogging through the shop, the treads of my runners slapping polished wood. I darted across the street and right back for Zara’s place.
I was going to need guns. Lots of guns. Because while I could be wrong, that van looked an awful lot like the one owned by the people who tried to kill the kid.
Whoever was jumpstarting the end of the world had Nic.