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HERE WE GO AGAIN. Amos steeled himself for a second standoff with the Hoarders.
He’d recovered from the initial shock of Sheila, dressed like a high and mighty Hoarder, welcoming them into Darcy’s apartment (or villa, as the Hoarders called them).
Questions flooded his mind, but the mere sight of Darcy quenched any desire to ask.
“Amos.” Garr bolted forward in his chair, his look of shock morphing into relief. “How did you get past gate security?”
The entire scene was surreal. Garr sat in a comfortable chair, opposite Darcy, before a massive stone hearth. The fire burning inside wasn’t natural—the hearth was sealed behind tempered glass. Garr was also dressed in Hoarder attire.
Mateo pushed past him, raising his hands in a cautionary gesture. “Good welcome, Colonel. My apologies for pre-empting Amos’s answer. I must insist on a certain level of privacy regarding my visits to the Councilor.”
Amos closed his mouth, yielding to Mateo’s appeal. This isn’t a typical debrief at the Hub. We’re in enemy territory.
“Ah, the voice of the all-knowing Tracker speaks.” Darcy’s mild voice was edged with contempt. He stood to his feet, his pale eyes alive with malice. “Is there no ‘good welcome’ for me, as well, Mr. Reyes?”
Mateo lowered his head in a slight bow, a show of deference that caught Amos by surprise. “I meant no disrespect, Councilor. Privacy is my best defense against the Givers.”
Very smooth. Amos gave Mateo credit for his strategic answer. Reminding us about our common enemy, the Givers.
He couldn’t help but be impressed by Mateo’s dogged insistence in bolstering their uneasy alliance.
He also made a mental note to question him later. For some reason, Mateo didn’t want Darcy to know they’d found his secret entrance into the maintenance level.
He wants Darcy to think there’s more than one way to sneak into the Enclave. Why—to keep him off-balance?
He tensed when he realized Darcy’s eyes were now on him.
“You’re the one they call Amos,” the Hoarder said, as if confronted with a problem requiring a solution. “Garr and Sheila have told me fascinating stories about you. Carving an Implant out of your own body—I didn’t think your kind were capable of such dramatic acts.”
Amos gritted his teeth, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks at the Darcy’s undisguised scorn. “You want to see what kind of drama I’m capable of?”
He took a step forward, his hands balled into fists. “I thought you Hoarders were getting desperate for help from ‘my kind.’”
An angry voice interrupted from the opposite side of the room. “Mind your tongue, savage.”
Amos whirled to locate the speaker, and spotted the gray-haired Hoarder who’d been at Darcy’s side during their ill-fated meeting. He was seated in a straight-backed chair, his hand casually resting on a Hoarder rifle. The weapon’s muzzle was angled toward Amos and Mateo.
“Stand down, Tony.” Darcy’s command had the effect of a whip on bare skin. “That’s no way to speak to our new allies.”
Amos whipped his head around, his blood boiling at the smirk on Darcy’s face. Sheila caught his eye, shaking her head imperceptibly. Under her calm demeanor, Amos sensed her anxiety, the subtle tightness around her eyes.
Bide your time. His inner voice jumped into the fray. You’ve got no idea what progress the Colonel’s already made. Don’t blow it for everyone.
It was Garr who broke the tension. He remained seated on the edge of his chair, his calm air bringing equilibrium to the volatile standoff. “Amos, what about the rest of the team? Sheila and I were preoccupied with getting the Citizens out of harm’s way.”
“Where are my manners?” Darcy interrupted, spreading his arms in a magnanimous gesture. “Please, come and sit with us. We have much to discuss.”
The guy’s a total narcissist. Amos eyed him warily. He can’t stand it if he’s not the center of attention. He loves reminding everyone of his power.
Darcy returned to his chair opposite Garr, reaching for a large bottle of an unknown liquid. He tugged at the stopper, and it acquiesced with a wet pop. He refilled his own glass, and then looked at Sheila with a sly grin.
“Sheila, would you be a dear, and bring us some ice? You do remember how to do that, don’t you?” Amos watched as Sheila, eyes averted, strode stiffly out of the gathering room and into the kitchen.
Mateo took a chair across from the two sitting by the fire. Amos noticed Mateo’s choice of seat put him between Garr and the trigger-happy Tony. Amos moved to join them.
Sheila returned, placing a tray on the table. Darcy used some tongs to add ice to his drink, and Garr’s. He didn’t offer anything to Mateo.
“Not you, Amos.” Darcy held up an imperious hand. “Forgive my bluntness, but you’re in my home. Sheila can show you where the shower is, and provide you with clean clothes. Then you may sit on my furniture.”
He leaned back in his seat, twirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching Amos with a cunning smile.
Stung, Amos looked to Garr. The Colonel returned his gaze with steady calm.
“Perhaps you should take him up on his offer,” he said, his soft voice at odds with the sharp look in his eyes. Later, Amos could imagine him saying.
He acquiesced with a nod, and followed Sheila out of the gathering room.
“Nice Hoarder outfit,” he said sotto voce as he caught up to her. “How does it feel to be Darcy’s little servant girl?”
Sheila halted, pivoting to face him. Her eyes burned into his, and Amos knew he’d gone too far. “Sheila, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.”
He gestured around the opulent villa. “Everything about this has me on edge. Darcy . . .”
“Is the enemy,” she interrupted, cutting short his fumbling attempt at an apology. “And as long as the Givers are around, he’s also our ally. Have you ever heard of ‘hidden in plain sight,’ Amos? Well, it looks a little different inside the Enclave.”
Amos nodded, chagrined. I deserved that.
She led him to a closet, pulling out a shrink-wrapped set of clothes, measuring it against him. “This should come close. Leave your clothes in the washroom. I’ll get them cleaned for you. Darcy owes us at least that much.”
She gave him a tired smile, her mood lightening slightly. “It’s been an unusual couple of days. I’ll fill you in later. Just get cleaned up, and don’t keep our ‘host’ waiting.”
She ushered him into a washroom nearly as large as the mess hall in their Hub.
“Darcy’s not stupid,” Sheila said as she pulled the door shut. “You don’t have to pretend you like working with him. But whatever you do, don’t cross him. He’s not just an average Hoarder—he’s the one who invented the Implants, reverse-engineering tech he stole from the Givers.”
The door was open a mere crack. All Amos could see was one of her eyes, and for a disturbing moment, he pictured Megan’s disfigured face.
“And he’s nuts,” Sheila whispered. “A total sociopath.”
His eyes. Amos felt a familiar quiver in his gut as Sheila closed the door with a firm click.
It’s always in the eyes.