Dark Light (14 page)

Anger flashed through her. She raised her fork in warning. “Stop right there, Fontana. I've had enough high drama with my mother this morning. Understood?”

His eyes tightened at the corners, and his jaw looked as if it had been carved from stone. She almost smiled. He wasn't accustomed to having people tell him to shut up. Somewhat to her surprise, however, he changed tactics.

“Who's Jonathan?” he asked.

“Don't play the innocent with me. I'm sure you know all about Jonathan Pemberley.” She forked up a bite of the toast. “You would never have gotten involved with me unless you had done a very thorough background check.”

“I did come across the announcement of your engagement to Pemberley. Also noticed that it had been ended quietly and abruptly about eight months ago.”

“Is there any other way to end an engagement?”

Fontana ignored that snappy little riposte.

“Well?” he said.

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to tell me about Pemberley?”

She concentrated on her coffee. “You heard me explain to Mom that I found him in bed with someone else.”

He waited. She did not volunteer anything further.

“That's it?” he said after a while.

“That's it.”

“Why do I have this feeling that there's more to the story?”

“Beats me.” She smiled. “Possibly because you are suspicious by nature?”

“Possibly. I heard you tell your mother that Pemberley viewed you as some kind of business asset.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because of your family's power in Resonance?”

“Not exactly.” She put down her coffee cup. “Look, I really don't want to talk about Jonathan. Let's change the subject.”

“Fine. You want to change the subject, let's get down to business.”

“Business?”

“It's time you kept your end of the bargain. I want to meet your source, the one who told you about the alien abductions and the discovery of a secret alien lab.”

Her end of the bargain. Well, what had she expected? That's what this marriage was all about, after all: a bargain.

“Okay” she said, “but there are no freebies here, Fontana. I'll introduce you to Jake, but in exchange I want the complete file on Jenner.”

“What makes you think there's a file?”

“You know, there are a lot of things you do well, but looking innocent is not one of them. You're a planner. I'm betting that when you decided to take down Jenner, you compiled a file.”

“You're right. There's a file.”

“Do I get it?”

“Yes.”

THE ALLEY WAS IN ONE OF THE SEEDIEST NEIGHBORHOODS of the Quarter, a narrow lane formed by buildings with boarded-up doorways and empty windows. The structures would have been real firetraps, Fontana thought, if it weren't for the fact that the First Generation colonists had built them out of native stone and a lot of high-tech, fireproof materials imported from Earth before the closing of the Curtain.

“Jake will probably still be asleep at this hour,” Sierra said. She had her purse slung over one shoulder. Elvis, nattily attired in his white cape, was perched on the other shoulder. “He's not what you'd call an early riser.”

Fontana surveyed the alley. The lane smelled like a lot of other alleys he'd had occasion to visit, an aromatic mix of stale garbage, stale urine, and stale booze. Shards of broken bottles glittered on the ground.

“Great location for a mugging,” he said, checking windows and doorways. “Come here often?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Sierra sounded irritated by the question. “It's safe. Jake and his friend Hank have staked out this alley as their personal turf. They were both powerful hunters once upon a time. They can still defend their territory when necessary.”

“The fearless lady reporter.”

It took every scrap of his considerable powers of self-control not to start yelling at her. What the hell did she think she was doing meeting washed-up hunters in grimy alleys?

He knew that Sierra sensed his simmering anger. She tightened her grip on the sack of cookies she had brought with her.

“As it happens, I'm an excellent judge of character,” she said. Every word was iced with invisible frost.

“Yeah?” And then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, “if that's true, what went wrong with Pemberley? Why didn't you figure him out right away?”

She gave him a repressive glare. “I've always heard that it is not a good idea for a couple to dissect prior relationships.”

A couple. She'd referred to the two of them as a couple. Maybe that was a good sign.

Elvis was excited. He clung to Sierra's shoulder and leaned forward with an air of anticipation.

“Looks like the bunny enjoys strolling through dark alleys,” Fontana said.

“Elvis knows this particular alley. He and Jake are buddies. Jake makes toys for him, and we give Jake cookies in return. Works for both of them.”

“But not for you?”

“Let's just say that I blame the Guild for not taking better care of its men. Jake should not be living in this alley. He needs rehab and counseling to get off the juice, and then he needs a job. He's very good with his hands. In another life I think he could have been an artist.”

“Instead, he came to a bad end as a retired ghost hunter, right?”

“You have to admit that, while the benefits are great, a lot of hunters end up drifting like Jake after they leave the catacombs. The Guilds take them in young, use them up, and then toss them out onto the street. They don't do a good job of preparing them to lead productive lives in mainstream society.”

“You made your point in that series on burned-out hunters that you did for the
Curtain
,” he said.

“You read that series?” She looked pleased.

“Hell, yes. Everyone on the Council, including Jenner, read it. Caused quite a rumble in management.”

“Evidently not enough of one. Nothing was done about the problem.”

“Jenner was still in charge at the time. He saw the series as just another PR issue. He figured he took care of it by giving the
Herald
an exclusive interview that highlighted all the work the Guild Foundation does with teenage boys.”

“Hah. All those Hunter Scout programs are nothing more than thinly veiled recruitment operations for the Guild, as far as I'm concerned. It is a totally self-serving charity.”

“The Guild sees the programs as a way of keeping young dissonance energy para-rez talents from experimenting recklessly with their budding ghost-rezzing abilities.”

“In other words, you don't want a bunch of young hoodlums forming gangs and using their talents to intimidate people, because it would be bad for the image of the Guild.”

He smiled. “You've got it.”

“All that those scout programs do is glamorize life in the Guilds. I doubt if any of the troop leaders bother to tell the boys that it would be smart to get some higher education under their belts before they go underground or maybe even consider a real profession instead of ghost hunting.”

“You've made your negative opinion of the Guild's outreach efforts crystal clear in the
Curtain
,” he said.

“I've certainly tried.”

“Speaking of outreach, how did you meet Jake Tanner?”

“I told Simon and the men at the Green Gate that I wanted to talk to any hunter who could tell me about the alien abductions and the secret lab rumors. They suggested Jake because he was a juicer who had recently retired from the Guild. I tracked him down.”

He decided it would be better for his nerves if he did not ask her exactly how she had set about tracking down a burned-out hunter.

“I'm surprised that Tanner was willing to talk to a reporter,” he said instead.

“He and Elvis took to each other right away. Jake trusts me because he likes Elvis. The problem is that because Jake uses juice, you never know how much of what he says is a fantasy from his most recent juice dream and how much is real.”

Elvis muttered uneasily. Fontana glanced at him. The dust bunny was no longer a scruffy fur ball. He was partially sleeked out, all four eyes showing.

Sierra stopped abruptly.

“Something's wrong,” she said.

Elvis stared intently at a doorway halfway down the alley. He muttered darkly.

Fontana followed his gaze and saw what looked like a portion of an old blanket or sleeping bag sticking out of the entrance.

“That's Jake's crib?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sierra said.

She started forward, her face urgent and intent. Elvis chattered unhappily. She stopped again.

“This doesn't feel right,” she said, talking so softly that she might have been speaking to herself.

Elvis mumbled, clearly disturbed.

This doesn't feel right.
Fontana made a mental note to go over that odd comment at a later date.

“Wait here,” he said, automatically sliding into the voice he always used when he wanted instant and unquestioning obedience. It was the voice he had employed underground when the safety of a team was at stake.

Somewhat to his amazement, Sierra obeyed. Elvis appeared strongly disinclined to move forward, too. Maybe Sierra was simply trusting the bunny's instincts instead of actually following a Guild man's orders. Then another thought crossed his mind. Maybe Sierra was trusting her
own
instincts. Now, that was an intriguing thought.

He walked to the grungy bedroll and looked down.

“It's empty,” he said. “Probably ran out of juice and went looking for a dealer.”

“No,” Sierra said with shattering conviction. “He's gone. Just like the others.”

“You don't know that. Not yet.”

“Yes,” she said. “I'm sure of it. Come on, we've got to see if they took Hank, too.”

“See if who took Hank?”

“The aliens.”

“Tell me you don't really believe Jake was abducted by aliens.”

She did not respond. Instead, she rushed toward the large trash container at the far end of the alley. Fontana followed. By the time he got there, she had disappeared behind the container. When she reappeared a few seconds later, her face was stark with dread.

“He's gone,” she said. “I've got to find him.”

“What makes you think he wasn't abducted, too?” Fontana asked.

“Because his bedroll is gone. He packed up and moved, maybe because he saw what happened to Jake.”

AT THREE O'CLOCK THAT AFTERNOON, IVOR RUNTLEY charged into the newsroom bellowing and waving his hands. Accustomed as everyone was to his frequent bursts of excitement, nobody looked up.

Elvis, hovering above the coffee machine in his balloon craft, was the exception. He responded with his customary enthusiasm. He chortled and bounced up and down, nearly toppling out of the cardboard basket.

“Listen up, everyone,” Runtley shouted, “the day's print run is sold out. We're getting flooded with requests for more details on the alien temple of love. Kay, I need another story about the secret hunter wedding-night rituals for tomorrow's edition.”

“Ask Sierra.” Kay did not take her eyes off her computer screen. “She's the one who actually experienced the secret rituals in the alien temple of love.”

“Forget it,” Sierra said. “I'm working on the alien abductions story. I've got some hot new leads.”

Runtley stopped, briefly stymied. Both stories promised to be grabbers. He made an executive decision.

“Kay, you'll have to do the secret wedding-night rituals piece. That's final.”

Matt grinned at Kay. “Surely you got some inspiration last night when you went home with Ray Takashima. I saw the way you two were eyeballing each other.”

“All I got last night was a hangover,” Kay said primly. “There was no inspiration of the sort to which you so crudely refer.”

“Maybe you just don't remember it,” Phil suggested.

Kay narrowed her eyes. “In case you haven't read it,
Ten Steps to a Covenant Wedding: Secrets of a Professional Matchmaker
strongly advises against sleeping with anyone on a first date or a second or third, for that matter.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Don't tell me you're reading some dumb dating manual.”

“As it happens, my mother gave me the same advice,” Kay said in an acid tone.

“So did mine,” Sierra volunteered. “It's very sound advice, if you ask me.”

They all looked at her.

“What?” she said.

Matt gave her an evil grin. “Is that how you got Fontana to marry you? By holding out until after the third date?”

“Maybe you should write your own dating manual,” Phil said. “
Ten Steps to Marrying a Guild Boss.
”

Sierra glared at each of them in turn. “One more word out of either of you, and there will be no more cookies, ever.”

“Just trying to be helpful,” Phil said.

“That's enough, people,” Runtley snapped. “This is a newsroom. Kindly act like professionals. Phil, get me a photo of the alien love temple.”

“Gee, boss, I dunno,” Phil said. “According to Kay, the alien love temple is hidden away in some secret underground tunnel.”

“You're a photographer, damn it, I expect you to get creative. How hard can it be to figure out what an alien love temple looks like?”

“Well, I might be able to do something with the coffeepot and a couple of doughnuts,” Phil conceded. “I'll get my camera.”