The Administration Series (195 page)

"Oh?"

"No. It was . . . I went for lunch at work, and the screen in the cafeteria was showing the damage to some of the Int-Sec complex. It suddenly occurred to me that it was pure luck — or pure chance — that Toreth survived at all. I don't know why it should have come as such a surprise. He even mentioned it, if you recall, while we were eating on the first evening."

"He left Interrogation early, to go to the gym."

"Yes." He seemed to consider the problem for a while, then said, "I suppose it's that I didn't allow myself to dwell on the possibilities before you were released, and afterwards there seemed no point in thinking about might-have-beens."

"I was sure he was dead. Really sure. There was someone in with us who'd seen the interrogation levels and — " She stopped as the images returned, as clear as the instant the lift doors had opened and she'd seen it for herself. Warrick looked at her questioningly, and she shook her head. "It sounded bad. I knew he was down there, so I thought there wasn't much of a chance. Mind you, most of the time I was too busy worrying I was going to end up the same way to think about him, or anything much."

There was a pause, then he said, "I can't imagine how awful it must have been."

It sounded peculiar, and it took her a moment to realise why. It wasn't simply a platitude. In fact, it was closer to observation than sympathy — he'd tried to put himself in her place, and failed.

"At least we had you to get us out," she said.

"Yes. I have no real grounds for complaint, do I? I was here and relatively safe."

She almost said, 'sometimes waiting is the hardest part', but that
was
slipping into platitudes — she'd readily have swapped her four days at I&I for four days in Warrick's flat. And she vividly remembered Toreth in the interrogation room, bruised and cuffed, and stumbling with fatigue. Instead, she said, "So, you saw the Int-Sec stuff?"

"Yes. And then I thought a lot of terribly cliched nonsense, and it suddenly seemed very important to see him. I'd intended to ask Carnac to help with the curfew permits anyway, so that was sufficient justification for indulging myself. Afterwards I felt a great deal better. I think I worked the last of it out of my system just now, before you came in. So I am, now, perfectly all right."

She wasn't entirely sure she believed him, but there was no point saying so. They sat for a while, then Warrick looked at his watch again. "I'm afraid I ought to be getting back to bed. Goodnight, and thank you for your patience."

"It's, um, no problem. 'Night."

When he'd gone, she sat on the sofa, hugging a cushion and feeling unexpectedly lonely. There was no one to mind if
she
woke up in the middle of the night and felt like crying. No one except Bastard, anyway, and he had been banished down to the basement, where at least he had been granted the privilege of a small open window.

She was almost ready to start sniffling, when she heard a movement behind her.

"Warrick?"

"No, only me."

It was Rob, standing in the doorway.

"Come in. Where've you been?"

"Keeping out of the way in the dining room."

The room furthest away from the main bedroom. She couldn't help smiling. "Were they loud?"

He stared at her, then his expression smoothed away and he said, "I have no idea what you mean."

"Oh dear. That bad? I must've been faster asleep then I thought."

Not a muscle in his face twitched. "Can I get you anything?"

Fun as teasing him was, she thought she'd better change the topic before she overdid it. "Something hot would be good. Without caffeine."

"No problem."

After he left, Sara sat and watched the city through the window. The shooting was more intermittent than on previous nights, and there were fewer of the fires that had kept her away from the window before. She wondered how many more people like her were out there, unable to sleep. Stuck remembering for the rest of their lives things they'd rather never think about again.

There must be hundreds, she decided, or probably thousands. She wasn't even that badly off. All the people she really loved were alive and safe. It was only people from work who were gone from her life. The still missing and the definitely dead. Parsons, who had — she closed her eyes, shutting out the distant fires, and forced herself to think about something else.

Rob returned a few minutes later, with a mug of herbal tea. "I'm not entirely sure what it is — most of the label on the jar is in some exotic alphabet I don't read, but it smells okay."

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Is it safe, do you think?"

He grinned. "I'll test it for you." He took a sip. "Seems to be. At least it's not instantly fatal. Tastes good. Lemony."

"Okay, I'll trust you."

He crouched by the chair and offered her the mug. Instead of taking it, she wrapped her hands over his and leaned forwards as if to take a sip. She pulled gently on his hands, bringing him in closer. She couldn't have offered a much broader hint and, finally, he took it, leaning over their joined hands and kissing her.

Lemony, indeed.

It lasted only a couple of seconds, then he sat back on his heels and gently disengaged his hands.

"Rob?"

"I'm sorry," he said.

Not the response she'd been expecting. "You're sorry you kissed me?"

"Something like that. Except for the part about being sorry. What I mean is — "

Ah. Daylight dawned. "You're on duty."

"'Fraid so," he said, relief evident at the understanding.

She smiled. "Well, that's easy. Because you're only on duty until two, and then, when you're not . . . "

"Yes?"

"I'm in the spare room."

He looked at her for a moment, still crouched by the chair. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." She curled her feet up under her, and settled back into the embrace of the deep chair. Warrick had great taste in furniture, even if it wasn't cat-proof. "I thought it would save a lot of time."

He stood up. "Sara, I, er . . . "

She took a sip of the drink and rested her head on the back of the chair, closing her eyes. "'No thanks' will do fine."

"It's not that — not at all. But I'm working for SimTech. For Warrick. If anyone found out I'd done something like that, here, I'd probably get sacked for it."

"I understand. No need to say any more." Pity, because she could fancy it. Just a fuck, as Toreth would say. Not something she normally did, or wanted to do.

Even with her eyes closed, she could
feel
him hovering nearby. Eventually he said, "I, um . . . "

"It's fine, honestly." The chair was too comfortable to get out of, but the atmosphere in the room was anything but. For a few moments she considered asking him to leave, but that seemed unfair. Besides, she needed to get back to bed or she'd be a wreck at work tomorrow. Even though it was Saturday, it seemed unlikely that she'd be getting in any later than usual.

They knew her name. They were going to kill her — she knew that was true with a certainty that paralysed her with terror. They meant to take her away and kill her. If they found her, they would lock on the cuffs and take her through the door and through the door she could see the bodies. Smell the blood. Toreth was dead. She'd seen him dead in the interrogation levels and they'd handcuffed him too.

They knew her name.

Calling her name and she thought, I can run, but there was nowhere to go, even if she could have forced her leaden limbs to move. Blood, everywhere, sticky and clinging. So she crouched in the centre of the crowd, trembling, as they searched. Closer and closer. They were looking for
her
.

People creeping away, leaving her alone in the middle of the stinking, blood-slippery room.

They knew her name.

"Sara. Sara!"

Now she was struggling for real, released from the paralysis of sleep and fighting the hands on her wrists, dragging her towards the door.

"Sara, it's me. McLean. Rob."

For a moment, caught between dreaming and waking, she knew it was real and she knew it was a trick to make her give herself away. Then her eyes opened and she saw him in the light from the doorway.

"I heard a noise." He let go of her wrists and touched her cheek, and it was only then that she realised she was crying.

"I was dreaming about —" She couldn't say it.

He took his hand away and rubbed his thumb over his fingertips, then moved up the bed and she leaned against him, still shaking. He stroked her back, gently. "Shh. You're fine. You're safe. Everything's okay."

She swallowed, wondering if she was going to be sick again. Throwing up all over him would be a wonderful next step. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly." He pulled away slightly, looking down at her. "That is, it's no trouble at all. All part of the service."

There were a great number of replies to that, many of them highly suggestive, but as it was all Sara managed was to look back at him, grateful and at the same time wishing he could be a little bit less professional. She put her hand on his shoulder and, gently, pulled him down towards her.

He resisted for just a moment, before he kissed her lightly, like the first brief kiss in the living room. Then he kissed her again, and it went on and on, warm and tender. While he kissed her he held her gently, almost impersonally, as though waiting for permission to do anything more.

He kissed very nicely.

Eventually he pulled back and looked down at her, seeming serious in the dim light. "I wouldn't want it to be . . . taking advantage."

"Me either. Would I be?"

He smiled, a flash of teeth, then he went across the room to close the door.

"I thought you'd get sacked?" she whispered.

"I decided I don't care."

"You never know — if you get caught, maybe they'll let you patrol corridors."

There were footsteps, then a pause.

"Well?" she asked.

Sara listened to him stripping in the dark. It was tempting to turn the light on — there was no reason not to — but it seemed more fun to leave it off. As he slipped into bed beside her, she realised why. It was just like sneaking a boyfriend into her room at her parents' home. The idea of Warrick and Toreth playing the part of her parents almost made her laugh out loud.

Once in bed, he hesitated again, close beside her but not yet touching. She reached out, guessing, and found his mouth with her fingers.

"Kiss me again."

Sweet. It was sweet; he was sweet. Also gentle, considerate, patient, and lots of other delightful adjectives, but mostly sweet. He even came sweetly, pressing into her, gasping softly into her ear, sounding almost surprised.

Afterwards, he didn't show any sign of rushing off, which was rather sweet too. In fact he seemed happy to hold her, playing with her hair, murmuring compliments. She was terribly tired, but not so tired that she didn't mind staying awake with him for a while, until he finally had to go. He smelt lovely.

Eventually, he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her, a dark outline against the window. "Can I ask you something?"

She turned her face up to him and he kissed her.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"Do you . . . do this sort of thing a lot?"

"What? Meet men, proposition them outright, and screw them?"

"Er, yes."

"No, not really." She ran her finger along his collarbone. "Usually I get references from friends, check them out, follow a strict dating plan and
then
screw them, if they look like a solid prospect for a reasonably long-term relationship."

"Oh."

"Don't worry. I felt like a change."

"So I'm what? Not a prospect?"

Oh, great. Just her luck to try casual screwing and get a stalker. Toreth would die laughing.

"I'm sure you're lovely. But don't you have a girlfriend or something?"

He sat up. "No! Of course I don't! What the hell would I be doing here if I had a girlfriend at the moment?"

Even better — a faithful stalker.

"Sorry. I didn't mean —"

"I don't cheat on my girlfriends."

Bloody hell, he sounded actually upset about it. "I'm sorry, honestly. I didn't mean to say I thought you would. Or I didn't think about it. Oh, hell." Too complicated, when she was so tired. "I think my standards are screwed — spending too much time with Toreth does that to you."

"I'm sure it would."

The sudden coldness drove her to sit up too. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Rob paused, then said in his professional voice, "Nothing."

"Yes it bloody well is. What?"

"All I meant was that it's not exactly, well, moral. Working at that place."

Oh, of course. Bloody outsiders. "I work there too, you know."

"You don't . . . do what he does."

"No, I just screw men I've known for five minutes. I suppose that makes me a whore, does it?"

"Don't be — I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to." She hated him, suddenly and absolutely. Ruining everything — all she'd wanted was half an hour's fun with someone she liked. Something to make her feel sure she was alive.

"Sara, I was talking about I&I, not you. What used to happen there was wrong. People knew that, and they were just too frightened to speak out. If it's the only result of all this, I think they did a good job when they started to clean the place out."

"You have no idea what happened at I&I, so you can —"

"And you might not like to hear this, but I'm sorry they didn't finish the job and close it down for good."

"Get out."

"Sara —"

"Get the hell out of my room and don't even
think
about ever coming back."

"I just —"

"Out!" She raised her voice. "Get out!"

"All right, all right, I'm going."

He jumped out of bed, and she heard him stumble. Then more noise as he tried to find his clothes. Angrily, wanting him gone, she snapped the light on and caught him, frozen, halfway into his trousers. She had to laugh.

McLean frowned, gathering clothes. "Don't worry, I'm leaving as fast as I can." He pulled on his shirt and shoes and suited action to words.