Bloodshot (26 page)

“
Now?
”

“Yes, now.”

“Forget it,” I told him, even though dawn was only a few hours off and once the sun came up, there was precious little I could do to stop him. “It’s too dangerous. Worst-case scenario, they’re getting interrogated right now, and there’s nothing you could do except go barging in and get caught.”

“They could be in danger. I should check—”

“Not right now you shouldn’t.” I put a hand on his arm—a risky prospect, but he didn’t lash out or even do that thing guys do where they flex up the moment you touch them, lest you think they weren’t total hard-bodies 100 percent of the time. He just sagged, drooping on the bar stool that serves as dining furniture in just about any home of mine.

“I’ll wait until tomorrow night.” It was a compromise between what he wanted and what he knew was most likely best for everyone involved. “It won’t do any good for me to show up now. If they’re being interviewed, I’ll only make them look like liars who know more than they’ve said.”

“Attaboy.” I patted his arm and this time he flexed, but he might have only been pulling himself upright from his sad-man droop.

My phone chose that moment to ring, and ring loudly enough that we both jumped and damn near punched each other from the pure surprise of it.

I scrambled for it and didn’t immediately recognize the number it displayed, which told me it was probably one of those telemarketers who isn’t supposed to have anybody’s cell phone number, but somehow always
does
. But then I remembered that I’d called Cal, and I pressed the button to answer the call before I completely missed it.

“Hello,” I said. Noncommittal. Blasé.

“Ms. Pendle?”

It was all I could do not to melt into a little puddle of relief,
right there on the floor. For a moment I considered it; after all, isn’t that what linoleum is for—easy cleanup? But I restrained myself and said, “Ian, thank God. I had no idea if you’d get my message or not.”

Whoops. I’d let his name slip.

Adrian noticed, damn him right to hell. He raised an eyebrow in a perfect arch, like a child’s drawing of a bird’s wing.

I gave him a hand-flap that told him to stay quiet, and turned away from him, strolling into the living room. Ian was already talking.

“Yes, I got your message. And I was glad to hear from you. Considering the terms on which we parted—”

“I know, I know. And again, I’m sorry I buggered off like that, but I think the fact we’re both free and able to chat implies it was the right thing to do.”

“Have things gotten … hairier? Where you are?”

His use of the word
hairier
was more hilarious than it should’ve been, but my laugh was louder than it should’ve been, too. It was a relief laugh, and those things get boisterous. “Hell yes, they’ve gotten hairier, but I’ve also got a rather significant lead or two for my trouble.” I eyeballed Adrian, who was no longer sitting on the stool, but standing in the archway that separated the kitchen from the living area, still wearing nothing but the spangly silver secret-agent underpants and my robe.

He eyeballed me back.

I returned my attention to the phone. Ian was saying, “Leads?”

“Yes, good ones. I think I might have a pretty fair idea of how to go about getting your paperwork.
Don’t I?
” I asked the man in the archway.

Adrian crossed his arms, bracing for a defense … then he changed his mind. He shrugged and nodded.

“That’s wonderful news!” quoth Ian.

“But let me ask, while I’ve got you: Is everything still all right where you are? Did you go where I told you? Have you remained there unmolested?”

“Yes on all three counts. Your excessive precaution has proved quite helpful. We’ve done as you suggested and we’ve been utterly left alone. Lovely waterfront out here, I must say.”

“Yeah. It’s a real delight.” I shifted the phone to the other ear.

“In our … shall we say, ‘unmoored’ condition, I don’t have a fax machine or computer handy, but I can change that if you can send me copies, or emails, or … or however you can most easily transmit the documents. Though, heavens. Pardon my manners—we still haven’t had that money conversation yet.”

“Don’t worry about it. Not yet. I don’t have the paperwork in my hot little hands, but that’s about to change,
isn’t it?
” Again, I addressed the last two words to Adrian, who nodded some more. I liked him. Cooperative gent, once you got through to him. “Will I be able to consistently reach you at this number?”

“Absolutely. I’ve commandeered the phone from Cal, who has been most gracious about the situation.”

“You’re awesome. And tell Cal I said that he’s awesome, too,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it. Ian was awesome, yes. Cal was respectably competent. But he had yet to earn any serious feelings of awe on my part.

“I’ll do so,” Ian said, and I could hear him smiling. “How long do you think it’ll be before we can have a chat about this information?”

I said, “Hmm,” and I held the phone down against my chest. “Adrian, how long will it take us to retrieve the paperwork you stole?”

“Depends on what you’re planning to do with it.”

Ooh, stubborn all of a sudden.

I gave him the answer I thought he’d swallow best. It was
mostly true, anyway. “I’m going to use it for two purposes—one, to help my client possibly repair some of the damage that was done to him; and two, I’m going to do my damndest to make sure that the program is utterly disbanded, unfunded, and burned down—and then I’m going to salt the earth where it stood. Will that work for you?”

He said, “That’ll work for me.”

I lifted the phone back to my ear. “Ian?” I returned my attention to my client.

“Still here.”

“Excellent. I’m standing here with the … well, let’s call him a gentleman. I’m standing here with the gentleman who pilfered the papers you require.”

“A gentleman?”

“Well, a drag queen who’s not in drag, so, yeah. The important bit is that he has your papers.”

“Is that so?”

“A true fact.” I bobbed my head. “And he’s willing to assist with our little predicament. Adrian,” I asked again, leaving the phone up near my ear so that Ian could presumably hear any response the sometimes-drag-queen might offer. “How long will it take us to recover the paperwork?”

“Not long.”

“Could I trouble you to be more precise, darling?”

The shift of his eyebrows suggested he didn’t really care to have me calling him “darling,” but I didn’t retract it. He sighed and said, “I stashed them years ago. They’re on the other side of town, but it wouldn’t take more than a couple of hours to get them.”

I was right. Ian heard him. He said eagerly, “Then you can fax them, or email them?”

“Okay Ian, give us through tomorrow morning to retrieve
them. It’s close enough to dawn that I don’t want to give it a go tonight.”

“Understood.” Oh, he understood all right. But impatience simmered under that one word, making it tight enough to bounce a quarter. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. Absolutely. I’ll call you when the files are secured, and we’ll proceed from there. I don’t want to put the cart in front of the horse or anything.”

“Understood,” he said again.

“Great. I’ll be in touch. Hang tight,” I added. Then I hung up before I could say anything dumber.

“Hey Adrian?” I called, suddenly noticing he wasn’t standing there watching me anymore. He leaned his head out so he could see around the archway entrance.

“What?”

“You’re not shitting me, are you? You really do know where these files are? Because let me be crystal clear—this client of mine, I’m rather fond of him and I honestly want to help him. If you give me any runaround, you’re going to answer for it.”

Somehow, that came out less menacing than I intended. Maybe it was the size of him, half a head taller than me and bulky as … well, as an old Navy SEAL. Or maybe it was the utter apathy on his face, in the cracks between the sadness.

He only said, “I’m not shitting you. I know exactly where they are. I buried them under the marker my parents put up for Isabelle, in the Memorial Lawn Cemetery.”

W
hen I rose at dusk, I could smell Adrian somewhere nearby, and for a moment it confused me. I’m easily confused when I first awaken—which probably sets me apart from very few people, I know—but it’s always a strange moment, that first snapping open of the eyelids. Many nights I awaken on the verge of a panic attack, wondering what new and hideous situation I’ve gotten myself into
now
. So when I shuddered myself to consciousness and smelled the burly drag queen (and the leftover glitter, and a hint of somebody’s body lotion. Mine? I guess he helped himself) … I spent a split second wondering where the hell he was and if he was trying to kill me.

The other half of that split second remembered that I’d brought him here and he was ostensibly cooperating
with me, which took me down a notch back to “cautious alertness” instead of “barely lucid hysteria.”

From lying in bed, in my shut and locked bedroom with the curtains that could stop a bullet, I could hear him puttering around in the living area. Things were banging softly, as if he were being careful not to make too much noise—which was either considerate, or worrisome.

As I dragged myself out from between the sheets I also smelled coffee and fast food—something with french fries—and that meant he’d left the apartment. I didn’t like it. He didn’t have a key, and if he’d left, it meant he’d left the place unlocked. While I slept! He may as well have hung out a shingle that said
DISTURB, WITH PREJUDICE!

God. Waking up is hard.

I filed all my stupid, crazy thoughts into their appropriate drawer in my head, found some clothes to throw on, and followed them up with a pair of combat boots I’d nabbed from an army/navy surplus store years ago. Because irony is my friend, that’s why—and because we were supposed to go digging in a graveyard. No need to break out anything expensive if it was only going to wind up covered in mud anyway.

I unlocked and opened my bedroom door to find the condo mostly dark, except for the lights in the kitchen. I wandered toward them like a moth, and found Adrian polishing off the french fries I’d smelled. Somewhere, he’d scored a couple of shovels and a black shirt. The shovels were tarnished with a thin layer of rust but appeared otherwise sound, if filthy. The shirt fit him like a paint job. I approved.

“Where’d you get this … stuff?” I asked in greeting. I didn’t really want the shovels on my counters, even though I never ate off them or prepared food. Irrational, yes, but you should expect that by now.

All he said was, “I know a guy.”

I grunted, stretched, and popped my neck and back in a couple of moves that weren’t very graceful, but made me feel much better. “Well, I hope he’s the kind of guy who can keep his mouth shut.”

“He is.”

“And I hope nobody saw you.”

“Nobody did.”

“Not even—”

“Look,” he cut in. “You gave me the speech yesterday about flying under radars, right? Well, here’s mine: I’ve been on the run from the military, the government, my family, and a neighborhood-ful of grabby frat boys trying to check my package for the last few years. So trust me,
I know how to lie low
. By the way, you didn’t get my parents killed.”

“Good to hear.”

“Yeah, it is. Because if I’d found out you’d done anything to get them involved in this in any way, you wouldn’t have awakened this morning … this evening. You know what I mean.” He said it deadpan, his mouth working around the gummy starch of a half-chewed fry.

A thousand comebacks came to mind, and great personal affront welled up behind them—shoving them forward—but I swallowed them back down. For one thing, if I’d gotten his parents killed, he would’ve been right to be murderously pissed. For another, Navy SEAL or no, he’d have to be a supernatural goddamn ninja to take me while I slept. Some people drive defensively. Vampires sleep defensively. Violently so.

Mind you, he could’ve tossed a grenade into the room and that would’ve been the end of me. Or he could’ve started a fire. Or … oh shit. Well, I had reason to worry about his threat after all. But by the time my neuroses had calculated them, the moment had passed and it would’ve been silly to say anything blustery about it.

So I said, “Great.” Because it meant nothing.

Note my careful restraint. I didn’t breathe a syllable about how I’d practically saved his life the night before and how this was no way to treat somebody who’d pulled your ass out of the fire. Mostly I didn’t say this because I didn’t know if it was true or not. Usually, that doesn’t stop me. But when dealing with a vengeful gender-shifter with covert military training and the patience to hold a grudge for years at a time … I could let it slide. I had enemies enough. I’d rather not add another one to the tally, especially not one who knew I was a woman, and who knew at least one of my safe houses. And, as I reflected morosely, he also knew more about one of my clients than I ever should’ve exposed.

Goddamn, I was getting sloppy. I wanted to sit there and punch myself, but Adrian was watching me, and I felt like it would be inappropriate to have a nervous breakdown in front of a man who just casually mentioned that he was not going to have to kill me after all, at least not today.

But in the future, I needed to be more careful.

I’d been saying that a lot lately, but hey, it was true. If I had nothing else to thank Ian Stott for (apart from the inconveniences), I could thank him for the wake-up call. I needed to get my business back in gear, and my head back out of my ass.

As my mind had been wandering right up that rearward canal, Adrian had been pondering. He pointed at the gear and said, “Tonight, we can work together. As long as you understand that I don’t trust you, and that I still believe that somehow, this is all your fault.”

“This? What
this
?” I demanded to know. “Even if I blew your cover at the drag bar—which I most certainly did
not
—I’m not the one who stole sensitive government documents and buried them out in the open, where any damn fool could come along with a bulldozer and retrieve them!”