Bloodshot (34 page)

“Worst-case scenario,” he muttered. “I suppose I’ll pass your worst-case scenario on to Dr. Keene and tell him to stand by. The poor man must think I’m sponsoring someone to take a vacation across the nation.”

I tried to sound sympathetic, warm, and downright motherly when I took one of his cold hands in mine and patted it with authoritative gentleness. “Ian, if this program isn’t shut down for good, it can only come back to haunt you. To haunt
us
, even. They caught you once and you got away, so they know
you’re
out here someplace. And we already know they’ve got an eye on
me
. Better to shut it down now while we’re so close, and while they think they have us on the run.”

He sighed and withdrew his hand. “It’s not that I disagree with you …”

“Great!” I said, deliberately interrupting before he could give me the rest. “Then it’s settled. Me and your buddy Cal here will swing by tomorrow night’s field club meeting for the D.C. parkour program.”

Cal gave a wet little gasp, and Ian lifted a finger as if he had something to contribute before I went any further, but I ignored it and kept talking.

“Because obviously, that’s the only way this is going to work. I can’t take Adrian, because there’s too much risk of him being spotted, recognized, and outed. I can’t take you, because, well, bless you darling, but you can’t see, and we don’t have any trustworthy third parties we can bribe or bully into reconnaissance, so that leaves me and your ghoul.”

“Why don’t you just go alone?” Cal asked.

“Oh, I plan to. We’re going alone together, which is to say,
we’re arriving separately and pretending we don’t know each other—because if they figure me out and make a play to bring me in, somebody has to tell Ian and Adrian what’s gone down. If you’re right, and this is a setup, and they’re on to me … you can bet they’re on to you, too. And you can bet this program is going to be up your ass again, sooner as likely as later. Cal is the party least likely to be identified as one of us. It has to be him.”

Ian said, “I don’t like it,” but he didn’t sound like he was going to put up a fight.

Cal also said, “I don’t like it,” which surprised no one.

I turned to Cal, trying to stare him down and take him seriously—or possibly gauge how seriously I could expect to take him. He looked worried and a little nerdy in that contrived way, like he got bad haircuts on purpose and deliberately chose aggressively retro clothes that were only marginally flattering. But he didn’t look stupid, and he didn’t look particularly fragile. He wasn’t a big man, no. Nor a fat man, either. Underneath that slacker uniform he had slim arms and square shoulders that were thin but didn’t look like bird bones. The more and the harder I looked at him, the more I could’ve guessed him for a runner, or a cyclist maybe.

Now it was Cal’s turn to be on the receiving end of my best persuasive voice. “Buddy, I know this is weird and uncomfortable, but if you like working for this guy”—I jerked a thumb at Ian—“it might be in everyone’s best interest if you just pretend for an evening that you wouldn’t crawl backward away from me screaming, given half a chance.”

“I wouldn’t … I wouldn’t
crawl,
” he vowed weakly.

“Hyperbole, man. Hyperbole. But you don’t want to hang out with me and I don’t have any burning desire to hang out with you—not that there’s anything wrong with you or anything, just
that you’re kind of an unknown quantity to me in this arrangement, and I’m not in a super-comfortable position here myself.”

“How’s that?” he asked, trying to copy Ian’s wry face.

“You think I always get this up close and personal with clients? I didn’t know how thoroughly your case would tie up my life in such an elaborate, choking fashion.” I wrapped up by asking, “But it did, and here we are. So Ian, Cal, what do you say?”

I honestly didn’t know what they’d say. Didn’t have a clue if they’d be down with my plan or if they’d tell me to go jump in a lake and blow bubbles. They glanced back and forth; or Cal glanced, and Ian went through the motions. Nobody said anything, so I picked up my flag again and waved it.

“It won’t be such a big deal, and it’ll be over in one night. At six thirty
PM
me and Cal will mosey into the parkour class, and when it’s over we’ll part company. Then Adrian and I will throw on some black clothes, don a little warpaint, and storm the major’s office, sabotaging everything we can get our hands on in our wake.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Cal said with sincerity, but no conviction.

“You may be right,” I conceded, putting on my best grave-and-sincere face. “But right now it’s the only plan we have, unless you’re offering something bigger, better, smarter, or safer. And don’t get me wrong—I’m willing to listen. But I’m not willing to wait a few days and see how this pans out. For just this moment, we have the closest thing to an advantage we’re likely to get. And if we don’t use it, we’re gonna lose it.” Look at me, busting out all the tired old metaphors. Like I’d been saving them all winter just waiting for an opportunity to trot them out.

After a pause, Ian said slowly, “How do we know they aren’t on to us? Raylene, you’ve been in contact with this man. You said he invited you to come to D.C. and told you where his office was.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t know he was talking to
me
.”

“So far as you know. They must know we’re coming, that’s all. They probably already know we’re here.”

“No way,” I said.

“How can you be so sure?” Cal asked.

“Because if they knew where we were, they would’ve come down on us by now. Like the fist of God, unless I’m mistaken.”

“No,” Ian argued, but the resistance was leaving him. I was winning him over or wearing him down. “They want us to come to them.”

It was then that Cal surprised me, in the wake of a long, drawn-out pause that hung over the table like a funnel cloud. He said to his boss, “I think you’re right. They want us to come to them.” Then he said to me, “So I’ll do it. I’ll come with you.”

“Cal, you don’t have to—” Ian started to say.

“Yes, I do. I’ll go to them, if it keeps them from coming to you.”

C
al sat nervously on the couch while I got ready for our evening out. Either by way of making conversation or just being fretful, he asked, “Does it always take you this long to leave the house?”

I said, “No,” as I examined the contents of my go-bag. Lock picks, glass cutters, one small firearm (the .22, more for show than for firepower) and extra ammo, an envelope full of cash, my most recent disposable cell phone, handcuff keys, and some duct tape because hey, you never know. I’ve used that stuff as getaway rope, as restraints, and much more. Once I used it to strap a diamond necklace to my thigh like a garter, because I didn’t have a better way of carrying it. As an old acquaintance of mine used to say, “If you can’t duck it, fuck it.” I’m pretty sure he knew it was
duct
and not
duck
, but I’ll forgive him for the sake of the rhyme.

I also begged a baggie of A-negative off Ian, who traveled with a supply kept on ice in an Igloo chest. Usually, tracking down a butcher or blood bank is a vampire’s first priority when relocating, but neither Ian nor I had gotten a spare moment to scope for an in-town supplier, so the old stuff would have to suffice.

“Is this a special occasion, or what?” Cal asked, still looking nervous, and a little bit prim.

“Special only in the sense that it’s going to be dangerous—though more for me than for you,” I added, because why give him something else to fret about? I already had the feeling I was going to have to watch him like a hawk and maybe save his ass later on. But I wasn’t sure I’d mind saving his ass, if it came to that. He’d gone all Prince Valiant on me there, back at the Revolutionary—stepping forward in order to save his patron’s hide. Truly selfless, or so it appeared on the surface.

Still, my innate mistrust of ghouls did not let me give him any more credit than a baseline assumption that he would play along and not go out of his way to fuck it up for us both. And I didn’t like extending myself so far as to make that assumption. For all I knew, I could be wrong.

Except … if Cal wanted to bring Ian to real harm, there were easier ways to go about it. And he’d had ample opportunity over the … years? I had to assume they’d been a pair at least that long. More assumptions. I hate those things.

I added a cigarette lighter and a bottle of lighter fluid to my arsenal, then a small thin saw with a pointed tip, some waterproof matches, a second cell phone for good measure, and went ahead and zipped up the canvas bag. I said to Cal, “You ready?”

He said, “Yeah.” Then he watered it down by adding, “I guess.”

Apart from a ludicrous level of personal loyalty, I couldn’t figure out what Ian saw in him.

He continued, “You’re not going to need half of that. Probably not any of it.”

“I hope you’re right.” In fact, I knew he was right, but I wasn’t about to tell him that. I never needed even a fraction of what I packed, but this was just one more parachute designed to cushion my neurotic topple into madness. And sometimes my obsessive emergency preparedness actually worked, so I didn’t feel compelled to stand around and defend myself.

I bet I wouldn’t need to defend myself to Pepper or Domino. Especially not after I’d already expressed them another phone, which ought to be waiting in the post office box within another night or two. Overprepared my ass.

No such thing.

Cal was driving because we were moving around in his rental car, the one he’d picked up at the airport as soon as they’d arrived. I’d been taxiing about and hadn’t had a chance to do my usual buy-something-secondhand-off-a-lot thing yet, so I let him fiddle with the keys to the white 2008 Malibu (which would not have been a first choice of mine, but whatever).

Once inside, he checked all his mirrors and the dashboard as if he hadn’t been the only person driving it for the last day or two. It wasn’t like Ian was tootling around town in it. “Um,” he said. “Put your seat belt on.”

“Way ahead of you,” I said, snapping at the belt with my fingertips.

“Oh. Okay. You’re going to have to tell me how to get there,” he added.

“No problem.” I’d printed out map directions to and from the parkour meeting joint, as well as a larger map of the neighborhood in case we had to improvise an escape. Or in case we felt like going for gelato afterward.

You never know.

The field club meeting went down in a building that hosted a dive bar, a Christian Scientist bookstore, and empty restoration lofts. Upon parking a block or two away, paying for a sticker (you never know when those bastards are watching the lots), and poking around the building a bit, we realized that the empty and restored segment of the old building was populated after all. On the second floor a light was on and I could hear voices, and down by the stairwell was a handwritten sign that said,
FIELD CLUB USE CODE #3314, COME TO ROOM 212
.

Cal went to input the digits but I put out a hand and caught him by the arm.

I said, “Remember. You and me, we just showed up for this shindig around the same time. We don’t know each other.”

“I remember,” he said.

“And you should probably be aware, I’m going to let myself be a little … uh … conspicuous. I want to see if these guys would know a vampire if she—I mean, you know. If she walked up and bit them.”

His eyes widened. “You’re not going to—”

“No, I’m not planning to
bite
anybody.” It’d only been a week or two since I’d nibbled on the unfortunate Trevor, and I’d be set for another week or two, no problem. The extra blood I had in the bag was a backup just in case. Or to be more precise, just in case I got hurt and needed a quick hit to heal myself up enough to run. The blood would taste like ass and lose efficiency after a few hours, but I was crossing my fingers that “a few hours” would be plenty of time to get in and out of this joint.

I said, “I’m not going to sashay up there in a cape and you’re not going to behave like Renfield. I only want to see if they’re looking for some of the telltale signs that mark me as something else. I want to know if they’re trained to spot us, or if they have experience dealing with us. Do you understand?”

He scratched nervously at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess.” Oh, we were back on
that
again. “Just … I’m. I don’t know. Be careful, is all. Ian wouldn’t like it if you got yourself captured, or anything.”

“That’d make a pair of us,” I said curtly, but I was somewhat warmed.

“I mean, he’d want to come after you, you know? He’d want to try and rescue you, but with his eyes … like they are … I don’t know. I don’t know what he’d do. He’s a capable man, but … I don’t know what he’d do.”

I didn’t know either, so I said, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” as if that wasn’t something I did all the damn time. “This could turn out to be the most boring night out any two people ever had.”

“I’ll hold my breath,” he muttered.

I pressed the suggested digits into the keypad and a buzzing noise announced that the “security door” was more than willing to buzz itself aside and let us through. Cal let himself inside, and I stayed outside to wait for a slow, steady count of one hundred—then I buzzed myself up and stepped inside a narrow corridor that smelled like newly cut wood and drying cement.

Even before I opened the door to suite 212 I heard a man’s voice and the echo of people sitting unquietly in chairs and milling about on a hardwood floor. There’s a timbre to it, the sound of people not doing much in a big empty space.

From my vantage point at the bottom of the stairs a couple of floors down, I heard Cal say, “Hello?” in a voice that was firmer than I expected. “Is this the parkour field club?”

“Yes!” said a man inside. He sounded young but authoritative, which is rarely a good combination, in my experience. “Come on in, have a seat. We’re just giving an overview to the newbies. Do you count as a newbie?”

“Probably.” I could almost hear him shrug.

I took my time, walking up slowly to the correct suite. The door was propped open just a sliver with a plastic wedge. I pushed it, and poked my head around it.