Hot Contract (24 page)

“Father.”

“Guinevere...you look well.”

Jen waved her guards away and they left to
take up position just outside the door.

“You don’t,” she said.

Art walked around his desk to sit on the
couch. He’d lost weight and his hair was a garish, artificial
black. It surprised her that he hadn’t cared enough to make it look
real.

“I would like you to spend some time with us
while we take care of the situation,” he began.

“I—” Jen stopped, blinked. “You’re not going
to try to hold me?”

Art laughed tiredly. “I’m your father, not
your jailor.”

“And all those little Stallings?”

“Not so little anymore.”

“No,” she said. Her entire world tipped over,
leaving her confused and off-balance. “No,” she repeated. “We’re
not.”

Art patted the seat next to him. “I have
copies, you know. Of your work. You’re doing a good thing,
Guinevere, helping a lot of people, and I’m...proud of you.”

Jen sat down in a graceless flop. “You
are?”

Art took her hand, turned it over and traced
the long line running the length of her palm. “You have a long
lifeline, sweetie. Your mother, God rest her, didn’t. I couldn’t
protect her, so I tried to protect you. Too much, I think. To the
exclusion of letting you have a life of your own. Eight years ago,
I made a mistake, and that mistake cost me...you. Although looking
back on it, I think I lost you long before that, when I refused to
consider you Percy’s equal.”

“Dad...?”

His smiled was fleeting and crooked. “Not
another word. I called the Project to let them know you’d be gone
for the next week. Spend some time with us?”

“You called the—?” Jen stopped. Her father
was doing his best in the only way he knew how. “Yes,” she said
slowly.

“I had your rooms opened. Breakfast is at
nine.” His smile changed and grew hopeful. “I’m looking forward to
it.”

****

StallingCo had been built as a series of
interconnected buildings with the family occupying a trio of
buildings on the uppermost plateau. Percy caught up with Jen in the
long corridor outside her room. She was still in shock, and the
significance of his attire didn’t register until he opened the door
for her.

She took in his business suit and blinked.
“You’re leaving?”

“Business suit? Hmm, makes sense in a skewed
kind of way.”

“Don’t be funny.”

Percy threw his arms up, laughing. “All
right, all right. Nobody appreciates me. I’m going to Korea for
five days. I’ll bring you a toy.”

“I’m not a child,” said Jen.

“A boy-toy?”

“No boy-toys, either. Please?”

Percy grew silent and thoughtful, his dark
eyes bleak. “I made a mess of it, didn’t I? It sucked that Makena
had to rescue you from us. I thought we were doing the right thing,
or at least, I thought Dad was doing one of a limited amount of
right things. You never got out, never met anyone. You didn’t have
a clue and we got together to hurt you. I didn’t know about Tim
until after—and I’m sorry.” Percy cleared his throat, his smile
tired.

“Omigod,” said Jen. “You’re an evil
pod-person. What did you do with my real brother?”

“I wish I were a pod-person,” said Percy. He
brought up the lights.

She caught his arm and he twitched away,
shoulders tense beneath the fine gray fabric. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said softly, raking a hand back
through his hair. “Ignore me. Call Ops in the morning. Merlin
locked this place down the day you left. He took Makena’s job.
He’ll send in Housekeeping.”

Percy moved to the windows and threw back the
drapes.

Jen shook her head. “Merlin is not my
favorite cousin, and I don’t remember this room being so pink.”

“Pink?” Percy lifted a brow. “I assure you,
it’s Imperial Cherry Blossom.”

“I remember that!” Jen crossed the lush white
carpet to where a delicately gilded French desk stood against the
windows. A woven porcelain basket centered the ivory inlays.

“The basket is new,” she said. “What is
it?”

“Your life,” said Tris. He leaned one arm
against her door and slid his sunglasses low on the bridge of his
arrogant nose. “Digitalized.”

He wore his motorcycle jacket and carried a
helmet under one arm. His jeans had little holes in them, as if
someone had thrown acid at him and missed. He swung away from the
door and crossed the room in a slow stalk, the chains on his
motorcycle boots jangling.

“Nice view,” he said, looking out the
window.

“You should know,” said Percy. “You live in
the loft. If you call that damned futon living.”

“I have what I need.”

“And what’s that, cave-boy? A bed and a card
table?”

It was an old argument. Jen pulled the tiny
basket in close and ran a finger over the neatly stacked flash
drives.

Percy caught her look. “Don’t go there.
Surveillance was in place long before my time. I have people
working to dismantle it, but the blueprints are long gone.”

He flipped through the flash drives, his face
brooding. “They’re yours now. Burn them for all I care.”

He turned to Tris. “Singapore?”

“Yeah. Two, maybe three days. I’m waiting on
my Diablo.”

Percy glanced at his watch. “And I’m taking
my sweet time. Got to go. I’ll be back soon,” he said, pointing to
Jen. “Be here.”

He looked at Tris and jerked his head toward
the door. “Let’s go.”

****

Jen occupied the lowest two floors in the
smallest of the family buildings. Unlike the rest of the complex,
facing in on itself, or out over the city of Honolulu, her building
cantilevered out over one of the last great watershed forests on
Oahu. The ridge spilled away from her windows, trees like an
ocean.

She sat down at the desk. Her window was
dark. There were no lights in the watershed. The glass reflected
her face back at her, so pale she seemed to float, bodiless in the
void.

She felt thin and stretched out, and tired.
Without anything to distract her, her attention circled back to
Keegan. The numbness was wearing off. Pain oozed in to replace
it.

“Damn it!” She caught the basket up, jumped
to her feet and flung it against her Imperial Cherry walls. The
fragile porcelain shattered. “Damn it! I won’t cry—”

She dragged an arm over her eyes. Not crying.
No.

He never said he loved me.

“Damn it!” She kicked the walls. She hated
Imperial Cherry. “Damn it...” Tears squeezed out from under her
eyelids. I want to go home....

Jen turned blindly and slipped on a flash
drive, heel crunching down through the tough plastic like a
hole-punch. One skittered away marked with the logo of
Security.

Jen knelt and turned it in her hands. Percy
had put it in the basket. He did nothing by halves. A quick call to
Security brought her computer on line. The recording was a collage.
She recognized the quick editing that made the input from a dozen
cameras into a cohesive sequence. Her brother didn’t spare himself,
leaving in every word. Every threat.

The judgment call was hers.

Keegan started down the hall with one hand
pressed to his shoulder.

“...fight for her, damn it!”

“She was a job, Corlis! It's over—”

She was a job, Corlis...

What part of
user
don’t you
understand? It’s over.

Jen pulled the drive and slipped out of her
shoes. The elegantly spiked heel fit neatly into her palm. She
slammed it down, over and over again until nothing was left of
Keegan but a glitter of black plastic shards.

Keegan hauled his tired ass over to the
moving sidewalk. Corlis passed him, side by side with Fallon, a
large black duffle slung over her shoulder. Keegan dropped his own
bag behind Connor and let the people mover ooze him slowly down the
concourse. A man clipped Connor in the side with his laptop, and
Connor winced—too much reaction for a tap. Now that he was looking,
Keegan saw bandages under his brother’s faded gray button-down.

“You’re hurt,” he said.

“Shit happens.” Connor rubbed the back of his
neck.

“The Samoy—”

“Are a bunch of assholes who’ve been dying to
get their hands on us. Get over it.”

Brightly painted cogs rolled by, silent in
the long glass case separating them from the rest of Seattle-Tacoma
airport. Glowing red letters picked out Arrivals and
Departures.

Keegan stared at Connor's reflection. “You’re
my little brother.”

“I’ll always be your kid brother, but man—I’m
an adult. I got over my age years ago.” Connor shouldered his
duffle.

“You know what I mean.”

Connor turned just short of leaving the
secured area. His brilliant green eyes were tired, and there were
new lines carved in his cover-model face. “I do, but I made an
informed decision, and it turned into a cluster-fuck. It’s not your
fault.”

A woman came up behind him and did a
double-take. “Don’t I know you?” she purred, leaning right up
against him.

She gave him a proprietary little pat and he
caught her wrist, jerking her in tight. He put his face right up
against hers and snarled, lips lifted back off his teeth. “Touch me
again and I'll break your fingers, little bitch.”

Jesus.
“What the fuck—?”

Connor shoved the woman hard enough to flip
her on her ass and kept walking. “Questions?” he growled.

Keegan passed the security checkpoint.
“Thought you liked women?”

Connor shifted his duffle to his other
shoulder. “Yeah.” His voice matched the rest of him, smoky and
rough. He was a contradiction in terms, a fully grown, former spec
ops warrior with the looks of an underwear model. Even as a kid,
he’d been drop dead gorgeous. He should have gone to New York
instead of following the rest of them into boot camp.

Keegan limped over to the escalators. Corlis
waited off to one side. Fallon stood beside her, stomping back into
his boots. Even leaving the secured area, Fallon set off
watch-this-guy alarms.

He jerked at his laces and gave Connor a sour
look. “Shit, Connor. Give it a rest. Cover your face or
something.”

Corlis dropped her bag, and a chunk of carved
wood fell out. She tucked it back in. “It’s not his fault.”

“It’s not his fault he looks like some kind
of freaking god?” Fallon tied off his laces and headed for the down
escalator.

Keegan followed them. They were in Seattle,
and Fallon’s sister, Maggie Ann, waited to ferry them all back to
DalCon. Connor was right. It was time to let go.
No-Fly?
Jesus. Keegan limped off the escalator dragging his black mood. His
leg ached, and his shoulder throbbed, but having Connor back went a
long way toward soothing the pain.

A tall redhead blocked their entrance into
the baggage claim. When Connor was around, women just seemed to
appear. Even after two weeks in captivity, Connor broadcast blatant
sexuality in the megawatt range.

They collected their stuff and went outside.
Maggie waited, idling up against the curb with her big Suburban
wide open. Corlis and Fallon got in, loaded down with pieces of the
Indonesian spirit-house Fallon had brought back for his sister.
Keegan threw his duffle in the back and waited until they
maneuvered the steeply gabled roof under the back seat. Connor
slammed into the front seat, fending off yet another admirer.

He ducked his face down into his shirt and
tugged the collar up over his head. “Fuck this shit.”

“Man, if I had some of that, I’d sell it.”
Fallon stretched out on the middle bench, his jacket under his
head.

“Like anyone would buy,” said Corlis, shoving
his booted feet off her lap.

The Suburban pulled out into traffic and
merged on to the exit ramp. In the back seat, Keegan stretched out
and threw his arms over his eyes. Corlis and Fallon argued softly,
and Connor fielded Maggie’s questions with polite, carefully worded
lies.

DalCon was intact, although currently in the
red. He’d liquidated too much of their working capital for them to
be more than barely solvent, but whole enough, all things
considered.

There were contracts pending, people to save
and places to go. Another year would see them back in a position to
expand. Their satellite office in D.C. got a lot of business. Maybe
another in Singapore?

“...talk to him,” said Corlis. “He needs
medical attention. Antibiotics...”

Maggie turned at the next corner. “Harbor
View Emergency, coming right up.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” said Keegan.

Corlis glared at him over the back of her
seat. Keegan sat up straight, cradling his arm. Pain streaked from
his fingers to his chest and radiated out to every inch of him that
wasn’t already hurting.

“It’s too late,” said his sister. “Deal with
it.”

They both knew she wasn’t talking about the
doctor.

“Tell him, Liss.” Fallon sat up, too. “Give
him some of those warm fuzzies you’re so damned good at.”

Connor pulled his collar down. “We’re coming
up on Emergency.”

Keegan rubbed at his face with both hands.
Fury cracked the wall he’d put around his feelings and made his
eyes burn. “Give me your sat-phone.”

Fallon shook his head. “No, man. I know what
you’re going to do, and Liss is right. It’s over.”

Keegan narrowed his eyes. “It’s over when I’m
dead. Right now I need your fucking phone.”

No one moved.

“Even if you called, she doesn’t want you.
She paid you off, and it’s been five days.”

Keegan let out a low sound like an animal
might make, unable to hold it in. He was out the door and down the
sidewalk before the car came to a stop. Pain stopped his lungs. He
couldn’t catch his breath in the cool misty air. When he finally
collapsed, Corlis was there, backed by her partner.