Embrace The Night (3 page)

The way they’d explained it, they’d been able to take cached information from any hard drives they were able to find from undamaged personal computers, as well as the big backup caches from local or national hosting and search engine companies like Google, Yahoo!, Comcast, and so on, to re-create a static picture of the Web. That meant that any link might lead to a website with missing pages or images, leaving them with lots of holes. But the more information they gathered, the more holes were plugged. Simon had found Internet research less than a barrel of laughs on its own, but in this case, the process must be ridiculously tedious.

Sage nodded. “I did find several pictures of him that were recent—or at least, recent in relation to the Change—so we know what he looks like. I have some printouts here,” she said, half rising to dig into the pocket of her long, loose dress.

As she leaned forward, the vee-necked bodice gapped a little, offering a teasing peek of glowing, freckle-dusted skin and an enticing curve.

Simon dragged his eyes from her and focused them on the edge of the table. She probably figured the dress, which had some sort of curly feminine stuff along the edges and hem so it wasn’t completely sacklike, enveloped her enough that no one would notice her curves. She would be wrong.

He’d walked onto the roof and found her standing there, the blazing ball that was the sun lighting a fiery nimbus around her amazing hair, making the ends burn and shimmer, settling a brilliant red glow over her figure, and, yeah,
through
the light, pale-colored material of her dress—he’d seen more than he should have…but less than he wanted to.

Simon would have walked away, leaving her to her solitude if she hadn’t started talking to him. Since they’d exchanged maybe five words including introductions since their first meeting, he found himself intrigued that she meant to press the conversation. She showed no sign of apprehension or nervousness at his presence.

But then again, Sage Corrigan didn’t know anything about him. How bloody his hands were, and how black his conscience was, how irredeemable and unholy he’d been.

Now, she tossed a thick fold of paper onto the table and settled back into her chair, the teasing bodice sliding into place.

“I made several copies,” she said as Theo unfolded the papers and passed them out. “I suppose showing them to people might help us locate the man, if he still exists. There aren’t many places he could be. But I—”

“Unless he’s holed up somewhere alone,” Theo said. “Which is where I’d fucking be if I knew all the Strangers and their
gangas
were after me.”

“Looks like a bloody wanker to me,” said Quent, who’d barely glanced at the picture. Bitterness flattened his aristocratic features.

“He was born in nineteen fifty-seven,” Sage said as she shoved one of the papers across to Simon. “Grew up in Boston, went to Boston College for mathematics and joined the
CIA
. Stationed in Russia for a time, then Turkey, then came back to…where was it? Not Quantico. The other place. Anyway—”

“I’m sure you have it all written down, organized chronologically,” Theo interrupted. “If I know you.”

Simon glanced at him, surprised at the faintly dismissive tone in his voice. Not really dismissive, but…he couldn’t put his finger on it. And when Theo reached over and squeezed Sage’s delicate wrist, smiling at her as if she were a puppy who’d just done a new trick, it was all Simon could do not to shake his head.

Right,
vato.
Treat her like a child.

Sage settled back in her chair, smiling sweetly. The reserved curve of her lips had the effect of elongating her face a bit, making it look almost feline. “You’re right. I can give it to you without rambling on about it. But at least you know what he looks like.”

Well, at least Dragon Boy hadn’t ruffled her feathers.

But the guy had sure been annoyed when he came upon Simon and Sage on the roof together earlier. Simon had met Theo’s immediate questioning—then warning—gaze with a blunt one of his own:
message received, but don’t fuck with me
.

The old Simon, the one from East Los who always carried and was tied to Mancusi, would have raised both his hackles and the blade he carried in his boot, and drawn a little blood on that overkill dragon tattoo to prove his point.

Whether he gave a shit about the woman or not.

But this Simon, the mellow one, the one who’d had the miracle of rebirth, had merely snorted to himself and walked away.

Now Simon reapplied himself to the crinkled paper in front of him and took a good look at Remington Truth. The face in the photo was familiar, but Simon had never had reason to study the man. He looked about mid-fifty, with startling dark blue eyes and silvery hair. His features were unremarkable except for the piercing gaze that displayed marked intelligence, and a strong, determined chin. From the picture, he appeared rather stocky but not unhealthily so.

“That’s why the
gangas
take only blondes, and kill everyone else,” Simon mused, half to himself. “They’re looking for a man with silver hair.”

“But they’ve been known to take light-headed women too,” Quent said, smoothing his blond hair. He’d taken to wearing a bandanna whenever he might be out of Envy’s protective walls at night.

“Yeah, but they’re dumb as stumps,” Theo said with a quick smile, “so they probably can’t tell a woman from a man anyway. They just know they’re looking for someone with hair that’s not dark.”

Simon realized that Sage had stood, and was now bending to give Lou a quick hug. “See you all later,” she said with a smile as she straightened. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Have fun,” said Theo, his eyes lingering on her for a moment. “I’ll stop by later to see how things are going.” As Sage walked away, he returned to his companions, glancing at Simon as if to check whether he was watching his woman.

He wasn’t.

He was watching the other patrons.

A few of them stared, giving snide looks as she passed by, and Simon recognized the same tautness as before…subtle, again, but noticeable if one were looking for it. Lou and Theo didn’t seem to be aware of the unpleasant attention that Sage attracted, or if they were, they’d become used to it and dismissed it.

Sage, head high and appearing to ignore the looks, passed through the restaurant without any incident, but Simon felt uneasy nevertheless. He glanced at Theo again, who was in a lighthearted argument with his brother about who was more godlike—Donald Knuth or someone called the Woz.

“I’m going to head up,” he said, standing abruptly, still eyeing the room.

“You’re not eating?” Quent asked.

Simon shrugged. He’d noticed Sage hadn’t eaten either and wondered why no one had commented. Either they didn’t notice or didn’t care, or she was so independent or that much of a recluse that she was left to her own devices. He wasn’t certain if either instance would be considered flattering. “Not hungry. See you later.”

“Well, I’m going to eat,” said Lou, waving over one of the waitresses as Simon left. “Tonight’s meatloaf night.”

As Simon passed through the restaurant, he continued to scan the tables, noting with relief that none of them had emptied or changed since Sage’s exit. That was good.

The restaurant had once been part of a cluster of eateries and shops in the lobby of New York–New York Casino and Resort that were made to look like street blocks in the Big Apple. The area had been maintained as well as possible—which was to say, very well—since the Change, and Simon found that much of the basic setup was intact. A little shabby, not so obviously NYC-ish. The high ceiling that had covered the lobby area now had some skylights in it (likely holes that hadn’t been able to be fixed and now protected by screens or pieces of glass). Some living trees and bushes grew as well, and someone had even taken the time to plant a random cluster of flowers.

He left the restaurant and walked along in the path that Sage likely would have taken if she were going back to the secret computer lab. He listened carefully, passing one of the ballrooms that had been turned into a movie theater. Tonight’s feature was
Pirates of the Caribbean,
causing Simon to roll his eyes because, living in L.A. and frequenting places like Chateau Marmot and Nobu, he’d been mistaken more than once for the star of that film.

He hadn’t seen the resemblance except for the long dark hair, but what the hell.

At least he hadn’t been mistaken for that lip-glossed pretty boy
bolillo
Orlando Bloom who couldn’t even grow a full beard.

Simon strolled along the way, moving beyond what had been the tourist area toward the administrative wing of the casino.

He turned down a hall that led to the depths of the old hotel, brushing past a warped wooden park bench flanked by two bushes, and would have continued on his way if he hadn’t seen it out of the corner of his eye.

Open, pages bent, its soft cover crumpled at the corner, just beneath the shadow of the bench: a book.

Vegas!

I’m staring out the window, looking down on the Strip. It’s two in the morning and it’s still incredible. The lights, the sounds, the people, all the activity—it’s nonstop. They say that New York is the city that never sleeps, but I think it’s truer for Vegas. And it’s all contained in a much smaller area. Pleasure within walking distance. I love Vegas!!!!

Drew and I had our first dinner as a married couple (the reception yesterday didn’t count—but it was great seeing all of you there!) at a great Italian place, and then lost $20 each playing slots. Tomorrow, we’ll sleep in, have breakfast in bed, and then hit the Strip. Two more days of bliss!

But for now…Drew’s giving me that look. Better close up the laptop and join him. This is, after all, the honeymoon suite. ^*^wink^*^

—from Adventures in Juliedom:The blog of Julie Davis Beecher

It happened so quickly that Sage didn’t have the chance to cry out.

Strong hands shoved her hard, whipping her against a wall. Her temple and shoulder slammed into it, and the books slipped from her fingers as she struggled to recover from the sudden assault. But by then, he’d yanked her around so quickly that she couldn’t keep her balance, and his fingers closed over her mouth, pinching into her cheeks. Her head and shoulder throbbed but she tried to shake off the shock and fear, twisting beneath his grip as the man dragged her into a dimly lit area.

“This way, little Cor-Whore,” he said, his voice low and steady.

A room. The door closed quietly behind them as he shoved her down hard. She crashed into a table, its edge banging into the back of her hips, and she cried out at the pain as much as to raise alarm. In the dim light, she could see little detail of her attacker, other than that he was a man of average size and height.

Fear threatened to clog her mind, paralyzing her, but Sage forced herself to push it away. To concentrate and pull from the dregs of her memory the moves Theo had taught her.

Use your legs. They’re the strongest part of your body.

She collapsed on the floor, tumbling half under the table, her dress wrapping around her, but oh, thank God, she felt a wobbly metal leg.

“Now, let’s take care of some business,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Come on, now. Don’t be shy.”

As the man lunged toward her, Sage surged up from beneath the back of the table as she lifted it. The table tumbled forward and she scuttled back as it crashed onto his feet or arm or something—she didn’t know and didn’t care.

He grunted with rage and came after her again, but Sage knew she couldn’t get past him to the door, so she’d remained on the floor with her legs half-bent as Theo had taught her, gasping for breath, trying to focus the pain away. As he lunged, she slammed her feet forward with all of her might, catching him in the gut and sending him off balance.

Scrambling to her feet, head and shoulder aching, hardly able to move from the pain in her lower back, she stumbled toward the faint outline of the door. But a hand lashed out and grabbed at her ankle, and with a hard yank, he dropped her to the tile, palm-flat, knee-hard.

Sage shrieked with rage and pain and tried to crawl away as he dragged her back toward him, her dress bunching and catching up around her hips. His fingers curled tightly into her right ankle and then his other hand pulled on her bare leg, and then as she came close enough, he backhanded her across the face.

Even in the dimness, she saw stars and a streak of light, then felt the wave of pain and grasping, clawing fingers tugging at her dress. “Now, that’s more like it,” he said as she struggled to breathe, to regain her focus, not to think about where his hands had moved…

She thought she was imagining it when the light seemed to grow brighter, but that galvanized her into hope. Sage twisted one hand away and, as he was tearing at her dress, buttons flying, she slammed her palm up and into his nose.
Aim for the septum.

Something crunched beneath her hand, he cried out, and then suddenly, he was gone. Lifted, like a puppet…and then his silhouette was flying through the air. Sage heard the crash as he landed on some furniture, and then the unmistakable sounds of fists thudding into flesh and bone, and even over the man’s groans and the slams and slaps, she discerned a nauseating crackling sound.

Sage pulled to her feet, knees weak and fingers trembling, just in time to see her attacker slammed down onto a table—ouch, no, it was the
edge
of the overturned table onto which he was shoved, bent backward over, by a powerful hand at his throat.

She recognized Simon with a little jolt of surprise, and then the surprise was replaced by awe. Unruffled, unmoved, he held the man’s life in the palm of his hand, in the little vee of his thumb and forefinger jammed up against the attacker’s neck. One twitch, one twist and she knew it would be all over.

“Wait,” she said, pleased that her voice came out steady, if a bit husky from the dryness that barely allowed her to swallow. “Uh—Simon?”

He turned to look at her, casual in his movements, unquestionably certain of his control of the situation—as if she’d simply hailed him while walking into the room, not as if he’d just finished beating the bunk out of the guy. He wasn’t even breathing heavily and his dark hair was still pulled back neatly in its low-riding tail.