Don’t say it, Michael, Bill silently prayed as the dark man smiled charmingly.
“It was my pleasure—”
“No trouble at all,” Bill interrupted, wary of the glint in the man’s eye.
Michael put his hands behind his back. “Why am I here?”
Helen smiled. “Direct and right to it,” she said as she escorted them deeper into the room and to the arrangement of couches and chairs before the windows where the little girl played. “Bill, your assessments are as precise as always. Would either of you gentlemen like some coffee?”
The little girl beamed at him, her fingers covered in glitter. Bill smiled back. “It looks as if we’re having hot chocolate,” he said, and she grinned to show a gap in her teeth.
“This is my niece, Annabelle,” Helen said, a comforting hand on her head. “I have her for the week her parents are out of the country. We’re getting along famously, aren’t we, Anna?”
“Yes, Aunt Helen,” the little girl said, going back to her picture of glittery clouds. No, it was the haze on the rocks from the crashing waves, Bill realized.
“Anna,” Helen said as she dropped down to crouch beside her. “Will you change into your swimsuit, please? It’s almost time for our lesson.”
Her eyes lighting up, the girl stood. “Can I jump from the big diving board today?”
“Of course.” Rising, Helen gestured to the door. “Go on now. I’ll be right along.”
Leaving her glitter and glue behind, the little girl skipped to the door, a young woman in a dress suit waiting for her already.
“Water is fine,” Michael said, and Bill sighed, not liking how this was starting.
“We can talk freely on the balcony.” Taking a bottled water from the wet bar, Helen handed it to Michael. Bill hustled to the sliding doors, opening them with a flourish to find the entire area had been glassed in for the winter, moist and smelling like a garden as ice lay heavy on the surrounding rock and slumbering landscape. Helen smiled at him for the small courtesy, and he followed her and Michael into the expansive, seasonal greenhouse, where a steaming coffee set waited on a low table under a palm tree as tall as the house.
Helen looked even more stunning in the sun edged by black clouds at the horizon, but Bill was sure they were out here because of security, not the orchids she was touching in passing as if they were fond friends. “Michael,” Helen said, holding up two fingers to the woman beside the coffee set. “I asked Bill to bring you here so I might impress you with the thought that with a little more attention to your job, you might be ready for acceleration.”
Michael brought his eyes back from the demure Asian woman now pouring coffee into two cups and arranging them on the low table. “I’m ready now.”
Bill shifted foot to foot, not liking that there were weapons pointed in their direction, even if he couldn’t see them. “We’ve talked about this.”
Brow furrowed, Michael turned to him. “You have talked, and I have listened, but I’ve seen her,” he said, pointing at nothing with his unopened bottled water. “Peri is handling the Evocane. The stabilizer works. Continuing to withhold it from me is counterproductive.”
“Michael,” he coaxed.
“Just a moment, Bill.” Helen held up a restraining hand, and their motion to sit stopped. “I want to hear why he thinks he’s ready.”
Shoulders a little straighter, Michael calmed. But then, that’s why he told Helen he wanted her to meet him. The reality was he wanted Michael to see the security—find the way in, where he could do the most damage.
“I’m as good at what I do as Peri, if not more,” he said, glowering as if Bill would deny it. “Her mind is Swiss cheese, and I’ve never had to be scrubbed because I believe in what Opti is. I’m doing what I like.”
Helen waved the coffee girl away, frowning as the woman’s heels clicked noisily on the tile. “That’s part of the problem,” she said almost wistfully. “You’re doing what you like, following your own ideas, not what Bill has set before you. I abhor bringing up the past, but what happened at Everblue is a good example.”
Bill cringed as he helped Helen with her chair. “I’ve minimized the damage.”
Motions graceful, Helen settled herself at the table under the palm, the fronds looking fantastically out of place as the sun vanished behind the encroaching cloud bank. “I’m not looking for an explanation,” she said. “It’s in the past. I only bring it up to show the repeating pattern. You do what you want, Michael, instead of what is best for Opti.”
“You want a doll?” Michael sat down, his tone bordering on aggressive, and Bill caught a glimpse of movement from the shadows. They weren’t alone. It just looked that way. “Dolls are toys,” Michael continued. “And toys break. That’s what Peri is, and your doll is ready to shatter.”
“You’re more right than you know.” Primly arranging the napkin, she smiled at Michael without emotion. “If you were the one to break her, it would further your standing greatly.”
Bill sat down. It was too warm out here, even with the snow beginning to hit the ceiling.
“I can understand your desire,” Helen continued. “I can even applaud it. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t break a few toys myself. Michael, be patient. Evocane isn’t perfect yet.”
“Peri is handling it,” Michael said. “I can accomplish more in one afternoon than she can in a week because I like who I am and don’t need to be tricked into doing it.”
Helen looked at Bill, and Bill raised his hands, gesturing as if to say “See?”
“I need a reason,” Michael said as he settled back. “Here I am. Convince me.”
Helen sipped her coffee, the fine china clinking as she discreetly checked her watch. “You’ve done little to instill a feeling of comfort. Entertaining your desires to kill her for your benefit?” Her head inclined. “It is a good strategy, but it’s not ours. You don’t see everything. You need her alive and in Opti.”
“And you are lying,” Michael said calmly, and Bill cringed even as Helen smiled.
“Not this time,” she said with a fond chuckle. “You will be accelerated, but it’s not right yet. You’re correct that your desire to work bests Peri being manipulated into it, but we need a field test to ensure that the safety measures we’ve implemented are adequate. Peri is easier to control if there are issues. That’s why she is first, not you.”
It sounded more reasonable coming from her, and Michael sat back, his expression empty, as if he was finally starting to believe. That the safety measures she mentioned were to control drafters, not ensure their continued health, was not worth bringing to Michael’s attention.
“We need to monitor Peri, see where we need to adjust the formula. It’s too chancy with her in the wild the way she is. The way to make the acceleration viable and permanent is in her, but we need her alive to find out how to do that. Do you understand, Michael? We need her sacrifice to tell us how to make it safe for you.”
Michael drummed his fingers, head cocked. “Rich people are good at lying.”
Bill was horrified, but Helen laughed in appreciation. “True, but I’m not lying now. I like you, Michael. Bill was right to ask me to meet you. Scrubbing you would be a mistake.”
Shit, he thought, wishing she hadn’t said that. Michael was deathly afraid of being scrubbed, days or months of memories artificially removed to better manipulate him—so much so that he refused to jump unless his own life, or pride, apparently, was in danger.
Michael’s thin smile had faded. Noticing, Helen stood, effectively getting them all to rise. “Leave her to us, Michael,” she said as they returned inside, and the stabilizing air pressures blew her niece’s artwork to the floor. “Peri is serving a function to benefit you, and until that task is over, she is to remain alive.”
Michael’s face showed the first hints of belief, and Bill began to relax.
“You are very good,” Helen praised as she examined Annabelle’s glittery haze. “One of a kind as Bill has pr
omised me. Eager to act, unafraid of possible ill consequences, strong enough to see yourself through. Perhaps even more important, you get the job done, but you are splashy. Do you understand?”
“You want me to be more bland?” he questioned in disbelief.
“I want you to stop thinking you know all the options.” Picture in hand, Helen went to the corkboard easel standing in the middle of the room. More artwork decorated it, and she searched for a thumbtack. “We want you around for a long time, and you’re not being careful,” she said as she stuck it in the place of most importance. “Like Annabelle’s page, you’re bright and sparkly, attractive to the point of distraction, but the goal was to make a memory of our trip to the zoo, and no matter how pretty this page is, it doesn’t fulfill the goal and it won’t go into my scrapbook.” Head cocked, Helen eyed the glittery mess. “She has talent, for a six-year-old.”
Michael was scowling again, but it vanished when Helen turned.
“It will come, Michael,” she said, taking his hand. “Let Bill deal with this as he sees fit. It’s his job. You will be accelerated when we know it works safely. In the meantime, impress us with your new understanding.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep the glitter off it,” Michael said calmly, but Bill could see the threads of dangerous thought running through him, and his lip quirked to fight the smile. Perfect.
“Good.” Satisfied, Helen dropped his hand and looked at her watch again. “Do you have time for a late lunch? The storm is likely hours away.”
Bill let his smile show, eager for it. “Yes, ma’am. That would be appreciated.”
“Wonderful.” She gestured for her security, and Bill was satisfied when he saw Michael note where they came from. This was working better than he’d hoped. Lunch, followed by a short tour, perhaps? “My niece is waiting. Enjoy your meal. Gentlemen?”
Both Bill and Michael shook her hand, and without a backward glance, she walked out, heels clicking on the imported tile. A man came in after her, gesturing for them to follow him. To lunch, presumably.
“She’s not going to eat with us?” Michael said, and Bill exhaled, relieved.
“No. We were lucky to get even this much of her time. And now that you’ve seen her, don’t talk about it.”
“Who would I tell,” he said idly, but his eyes were scanning everything, finding the layout of the place and noting how security hung with her, not covering the entire premises.
Pleased, Bill clapped him across the shoulder. “Good choice in not wearing the suit.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
An almost-not-there heat radiated up from the thermal stone the commercial square was paved with. It was there to keep Lloyd Plaza clear of snow, but Detroit allowed the solar stones to free all their stored energy during festivals. It nearly felt warm as Silas tugged his winter coat close and waited for Peri at one of the outside tables.
People milled around him, taking up the tables or gathering beside the nearby small stage lit with neon and loud with preshow patter. The upscale clothing store Sim’s Mules was behind him, the holographic simulations in the window getting a workout as they spiraled through a bewildering array of sparkles, colors, and styles, recognizing the clothing passing before their windows and mimicking them to lure patrons in. One of them had fixated on Silas’s unmoving form, posing in the latest Armani suit as he beckoned to him. The complex algorithm had probably noticed his shoes and extrapolated his tastes from there.
Cars went past in the nearby street, and a burst of music rose and fell, echoing off the surrounding buildings. Silas hunched into himself, scanning the moving flow for anyone watching him. It had been early spring the last time he’d been to Lloyd Plaza. Peri had just realized that Bill had filled her memories with lies and had made her his queen in the very game she’d entered with the intent to shut down. She’d ultimately succeeded, but his gamble of giving Peri her diary to hopefully remind her of their love was looking slim at best.
Frustration, quickly smothered by guilt, pulled at him. It was up to Peri. It was always up to Peri.
Frowning, he turned from the shallow, engineered lake thick with ice-skaters and spun his empty coffee cup between his finger and thumb in a nervous circle. Peri’s favorite coffee sat cooling next to him. The email of her flight reservation coming in at Detroit rather than returning to Atlanta hadn’t surprised him, but her later text asking him to meet her here with any Evocane he could spare had. It was ugly stuff, growing worse as he picked it apart. WEFT had been in a tizzy when he left. No one was telling him anything. Actually, they were ignoring him. Being labeled a science geek had its perks.
Uneasy, he shifted on the bench, squinting up at the low-Q recording drones hovering over the stage, not comfortable with the thought of how easy it had been to slip out of Atlanta and make his way to Detroit with three injector pens full of what Evocane he had left. Sure, he’d gone through eighty percent of his field-agent training before abandoning it, and yes, mistakes happened when you pulled the best people from multiple organizations and various protocols mixed, but the door had been wide open.
That he might be leading Peri into a trap was a distinct possibility. That she’d left St. Louis without permission wasn’t hard to figure out either. His first guess that she’d gone ghost seemed unlikely since what little WEFT gossip he’d heard was about Harmony and how pissed Steiner was at her. Peri had to be behind it.
Frowning, he crossed his ankles under the table and put his hands into his coat pockets to at least try to look relaxed. She wasn’t late—yet. The cool shapes of the three Evocane pens met his fingers, worrying him more. He’d double-checked that it had been untampered with before he’d parceled it out and put a vial of tinted baby oil in its place. Peri had asked him, and he’d brought it, but he’d be damned before he let her get hooked on it—the lure of being able to remember her drafts or not.
Silas jerked upright when he recognized her silhouette among the throng, her petite form graceful and her boots giving her an extra inch. She looked good in her tight black pants, somehow making the utilitarian coat with the WEFT logo seem trendy and fitting in with the young crowd even with her intent expression. A ball cap covered her face, and she was watching the low-Q drones as she made her way over.
He gathered himself to rise, motion slowing when Harmony came up behind her. They were wearing the same coat, and Silas scanned the tops of the surrounding buildings for more than pigeons as the two women had a hushed, eye-darting conversation. Clearly not liking the situation, Harmony grimaced at him before settling herself against one of the snow-dead planters, where she could watch both them and the street behind her through the reflections. The CIA agent had the shadow of a bruise on her jaw and was moving with a pained stiffness that said she was feeling more than the extended travel to get here.
Silas’s welcoming smile faltered as Peri got closer. She didn’t look much better, her turned-up nose red with cold, her lip swollen, and a scrape on her cheek—rug burn, maybe? Eyes haunted past her long lashes, she looked too small to survive the crap her life heaped on her as she made her way through the gathered people. She’d cut her hair to its task-short severeness sometime between Atlanta and now, and she flicked it from her eyes when the wind gusted, meeting his gaze with a guilty swiftness. He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride for her. She’d come a long way in regaining herself in the year she’d been out of Opti. They’d worked hard to instill in her an aversion to being alone, building on her natural fear of forgetting and lying to her that to not remember would lead to insanity. He’d have to remind her of that lie.
“How do you get so banged up in so little time?” he said, his hand going out to cup her cheek. People were watching them, but it was in question of what someone like him was doing with someone like her.
“You should see the other guy,” she said, stiffening as his fingers touched her face. But it was guilt and heartache in her eyes, and he slid his other hand behind her back and drew her
forward to sit.
Peri’s eyes shot to his, the panic in them having nothing to do with Opti, WEFT, or the low-Q drones skating over the square. But he would not lose her again because of his own fear, and he pulled her into an embrace, needing to feel her against him to prove she was okay.
“I did, and she looks better than you,” he whispered, his arm still around her and his head bowed to breathe in the scent of her hair. He felt her breath catch, and then, for an instant, surrounded by the happy chatter of people, her body relaxed into his, accepting him as her arms tentatively encircled him, so light they were almost not there.
And then she pulled away, still refusing to believe she deserved it.
Silas slumped as his hand dropped to his side. Harmony was staring at him. Worried, he gestured for Peri to sit. She wouldn’t look at him as she settled herself exactly where he knew she would, able to see the skaters and the street busy with Sity bikes and commuter traffic. Behind her, the holographic mannequins began shifting into upscale leather and lace.
His heart ached at her heavy sigh as she reached for the coffee, her tension vanishing when most of the milling people were pulled to the stage with a guitar riff and enthusiastic cheer. “Thank you,” she murmured, her words meaning more to him than they should.
Silas and Allen alone knew her past. Only Silas could guess her future. There were, and never would be, any easy answers for her, and all he wanted was for her to be happy.
“Do you have it?” she asked around the rim of her cup.
His worry rushed back. “Yes, but I don’t want you to take it. Peri—”
“Bill has Allen,” she said, setting the cup down and putting a cold hand atop his.
Silas’s breath caught. He didn’t trust Allen, but he was his friend, and Bill wouldn’t have a problem killing him. “No one told me. Is he okay?” he asked, and Peri’s hand gave his a squeeze before slipping back into her coat pocket.