Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) (26 page)

“Hey, you guys,” Liam says. “What are you doing in here? Yoshe’s asking about you. So, get your butts back in the kitchen before you freak her out, will ya?” He spins around and strolls away.

Franco raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think your mom likes me very much.”

“Sure she does.”

“Thought you didn’t believe in denial.” He offers a tiny smirk.

“Okay, fine. She just likes Liam more for whatever reason.”

He shrugs. “I’m used to that. Everybody likes him more than me.”

“Is that so?” I tease, refusing to admit I might feel differently. “Maybe it’s because you label your clothes—”

He narrows his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a ‘Property of Franco Harman’ label on your jacket. That’s kind of weird, you know.”

“So?” He scowls but appears amused instead of irritated.

“I haven’t seen those kind of labels since the Early Grades in school.”

“I happen to like my coat. I don’t want anyone to take it.”

“Or maybe it’s the way you dress. First of all, I swear you must wear that jacket all year long because even when it’s blasted hot out, you’ve still got it on.”

He rolls his eyes. “Again with the jacket.”

“And those combat boots are a bit intimidating.”

Franco grabs my arms again. He’s so close I can feel his breath on my face. “You don’t seem to mind them.”

He’s got that right. We stare into each other’s eyes long enough for my heart rate to accelerate far above any pace induced by running. My stomach jumps like it’s full of bouncing balls.

All too soon, Franco breaks off his gaze. “Let’s go back to your mom before she bans me from your apartment altogether. ”

He tugs on my arm, and we leave the room.

I frown. Just as things were getting interesting.

he next morning, I force myself down each step to Mortuary Sciences. As the glass entry doors swish open, cool air strikes my face and loud music blasts my eardrums. Out of dueling speakers, a rocking guitar solo battles with glass-shattering high opera notes. Gus and Dr. Wang work back-to-back in the middle of the room, their shoulders tense. Once again, I note that the overhead camera is aimed at Dr. Wang.

Her face is wan and pale. Her previously over-groomed, shiny, bobbed, black hairdo is rumpled and dull. She leans against the table and closes her eyes. The scalpel in her hand wavers and falls into the open chest cavity of the body lying in front of her.

I drop my gym bag, yank on gloves, and extract the scalpel, holding it up in the air to glisten for the camera before handing it back to Dr. Wang.

She shakes her head. “No… I can’t. You’ll have to finish for me.” She rushes out of the room, moaning and clutching her side.

I turn to Gus. “What should I do?”

“You heard her. Finish it up and make a show of it, will you?” He glances toward the camera. “And turn off that shrieking opera. I can’t hear Slash.”

I click off Dr. Wang’s music. “He’s from the band Guns and Roses, right?”

“Yes, of course. Only the best for your auditory enjoyment, my dear.” He focuses on his autopsy, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

I laugh and grab the chart Dr. Wang was working on before she became “ill.”

By the time I sew up the gaping chest cavity, we have unexpected company—although, perhaps, not so unexpected for Gus. The doors swish open, and two Suits step inside Mortuary Sciences. I tense, my heart leaping into my throat, in case I am their target once again.

“Gus Andrews?” A third Suit says as he enters the room but keeps a safe distance from our tables of death. “I need to speak to you in private.”

“Of course.” Gus sets down his instruments with great finesse and removes his gloves. “Silvia, you can finish up for me, can’t you? This one only needs closing. I’m done, otherwise.”

I nod, still rendered silent by the presence of the Suits.

After filling out the chart for the first body, I move to Gus’s. I hate turning my back on Suits, but I don’t like watching them either.

“Listen to that guitar solo,” one Suit murmurs to the other.

“If you’d prefer, I could turn the opera back on,” I reply.

“Opera?” the second Suit protests. “Just shoot me now. My wife makes me listen to that crap. She says it’s romantic, so what’s a guy to do?”

I smile and relax. These two aren’t the bad guys.

Within a half hour, Gus and the third Suit return, and Dr. Wang has been removed from the premises, swearing that all men are despicable and asking if she could please have a female doctor for once in her life because her insides feel like they’re being ripped in two. After her noisy departure, I clean the work area, and Gus moves into the office, singing along to his music. Once the garbages are emptied, I’m done for the day.

Gus waves me inside the office. “Don’t worry. It’s safe to talk in here. I checked.”

I glance at his desk, comforted by the presence of his familiar penholder and paperweight. “It didn’t take you long to get rid of Dr. Wang. I’m amazed—stunned, actually.”

“What do you mean?” He smirks. “It took three whole days. That’s long enough. I couldn’t have taken much more of her.”

“How’d you do it? Besides that awful tea, I mean.”

“You’re right. That wasn’t enough. It took a little finagling, but I managed to contact the favorite niece of the surgeon she blackmailed years ago. I was sure she’d still hold a grudge since her uncle killed himself over the deal. I’d heard she’d climbed her way pretty high up in influential circles, so I knew she’d have the ability to get rid of Edwina.”

“You’re a tricky man to figure out, sometimes.”

“It’s how I keep so young at heart and mind.” Gus waves his hand airily, stapler in hand to fasten his maps back on the wall. “Don’t you need to go run now or something? No need to wait for me. This could take hours.”

“Yeah, I’m going running, but we’re starting to taper, so I’ll probably be home early tonight.”

“Good. Your mom probably gets lonely without you.”

“So… regarding the race.” I pause. “Do you still think I should throw it? Because, if you do, I need to tell Liam, so he knows what to expect from me race day. Otherwise, it isn’t fair to him.”

Gus turns to me, an urgent tone in his voice. “Don’t tell Liam anything. And I’m not sure about the race. I’ve got some feelers out, trying to figure out if Edwina was right about them taking you away from me, but I haven’t heard back yet. I’ll have to let you know.”

“Okay, I’ll wait, then.” Why are things getting so weird around here? “I’ll keep practicing like I’m trying to win although, I have to say, this puts a cramp in my focus. I like to know what I’m doing.”

“I understand.” Gus pats my shoulder. “But I don’t have an answer for you yet.”

As I head to the gym, everything in my body feels heavy—my legs, my head, and my heart. Why can’t I just be happy that Dr. Wang is out of my life? But what if what she said is true? What if there are plans for me? Plans I don’t get a say in? A life I won’t get to choose? I don’t want to leave Gus behind even if it is my mom’s dearest dream. She wants me to win the race to move her up in Orchestra. But Gus might still ask me to lose. When do I get to choose? And what options do I really have, anyway?

“Did you hear about Liam?” a familiar low voice interrupts my question-packed reverie.

“Wh-what?” My head pops up to discover Franco strolling next to me. He doesn’t even have his bike. He looks upset. Not quite crazy-man-screaming-at-the-Incinerator-workers upset but very unhappy, almost distraught.

“Liam got hit.” Franco shakes his head as if, somehow, this is his fault.

“What?” I turn the corner with Franco close at my side. “Who hit him?”

“Some guy on a bike. That’s all he said in his message. I just got here.”

“Is he all right? Where is he?” I realize I’m still headed to the gym, and Liam could be at the hospital for all I know. But then why would Franco be walking in the same direction as I am?

“He’s waiting for me at the gym. He said not to worry, that he’s all right, but he won’t be able to run today, I don’t think.”

We reach the 37th Street Gym steps and jog up them. Liam lounges in a chair near the entry door, a harem of young women fussing over him. They scoot back as Franco pushes to Liam’s side.

“What happened?” demands Franco.

“Holy crap.” My gaze falls on Liam’s scraped legs. His right knee is swollen, and both legs are bruised and bloodied. “Have you cleaned your wounds yet? Did anyone check your knee? Can you walk on it?”

“Listen to the doctor over here, Liam.” Franco chuckles then turns serious again. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Liam waves his hands. “I’m going to be fine. Superficial wounds mostly, and I landed on my knee, but I should be back to normal after a day or so.”

“I hope you didn’t tear your cruciate ligament.” I cross my arms. “Let’s see you stand. Do you need a crutch or anything?”

“No, I don’t need a cane,” Liam grumbles as he struggles to his feet. “I’m fine, see?”

“You should go home and rest,” Franco instructs. “Plus, Linda’s going to blow a gasket if she can’t keep an eye on you.”

“Yeah, I figured Mom would be upset. Right before the race, too. I’m so sorry, Silvia.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” I say. “I’m sure it was just an accident. Let’s get you home.”

Franco and I both take one of Liam’s arms and assist him down the front steps. He can bear some of his own weight but flinches and groans with each step.

Liam scowls. “I can’t believe this happened. Training was going so well. I really thought we were getting somewhere.”

“We’re tapering, anyway.” I reassure him. “Focus on getting that knee back to normal size, all right?”

“What did the guy look like who hit you?” asks Franco.

Liam glances around and lowers his voice. “Like he was homeless.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Aren’t the Representatives always saying that housing is one of the basic rights guaranteed by New Order? The homeless aren’t supposed to exist.”

Liam shakes his head. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I swear he looked and smelled like he hadn’t showered in weeks, months maybe. His teeth were dirty. I swear they were brown. I’ve never seen anything like it. I guess I never realized how clean everyone is, normally.”