Going Grey (42 page)

Gran had always said there was no such thing as a normal family, just degrees of weirdness. Ian wondered if he was settling into life with the Braynes relatively easily because they were so abnormal that he was just one more detail in a life that was completely off the charts. By the time they reached the garden centre, he and Livvie had discussed everything from Mike's deployment to Iraq to how she hated the hormone treatment she needed for every IVF cycle. It was like she'd been let out of solitary, and now she wanted to talk for the hell of it.

She knew a lot about orchids, too. It was almost magical to see something new through the eyes of a person who was passionate about it. She led him through the house plant section, naming fantastic orchids from purple
Vanda coerulea
that almost glittered in the light to tiny
Masdevallia
with miniature orange blooms like kites. Some had beads of liquid on their stems that looked like water, but sticky to the touch. When Ian licked his fingers, the sap tasted like syrup. He'd only seen pictures of orchids before. Now this whole new world was there to be touched and tasted. This was just a fraction of the things he never thought he'd see and do. Life suddenly felt exciting and rich with promise.

After a couple of hours' browsing and a coffee, they left with a box of orchid plants, a big copper planter, and bags of compost. The sky was heavy with storm clouds and the first spit of rain hit the windshield. Livvie chatted solidly all the way from the garden centre to the Porton exit, about sixty miles' worth of fascinating details about family, work, and the house. Ian watched the rhythmic sweep of the wiper blades as the headlights streamed towards him on the opposite side of the road.

Livvie glanced in her wing mirror, just casually at first, but then it became every few seconds. After driving with Rob, Ian thought that was perfectly normal, and some people were driving too fast and too close in the rain. But Livvie's conversation trailed off. She slowed down and kept checking the rear-view mirror.

"Go on, pass me," she muttered. "You think the outside lane's invitation-only or something?"

Ian tilted his head to check the wing mirror. "What's wrong?"

"Probably nothing." Livvie turned off earlier than he'd expected, ten miles from the Westerham exit. She was still looking in her wing mirror, then the rear-view, and back again. "Keep your head down."

"Livvie, what's
nothing
?"

"Okay, there's an Impala that's been on our ass for too long, and now he's turned off with us."

Ian's stomach knotted. "They can't have found me. Okay, they found the ranch. But they couldn't follow a jet."

"Relax. Nobody's going to get near you. They'll have to go through me first."

Ian had just started to feel okay, and now everything had pounced on him again with a vengeance. He could feel his scalp prickling.

Calm. Relax. Don't morph.

Livvie's jaw was set. "I'm going to stop in the most public place I can find," she said. "If that guy doesn't drive past, I'm calling the cops. Okay? Stand by to get his licence plate."

Ian was suddenly full of angry adrenaline instead of fear, ready to take a swing if anyone tried to lay a finger on Livvie.
She shouldn't have to protect me. I should be looking after her.
A gas station appeared ahead on the right. Livvie indicated to pull in, and a sudden flash of strobing light filled the Volvo's rear window.

Ian took a quick look. It was a dashboard-mounted blue light in the Impala.

"Oh,
damn.
" Livvie sighed. "Unmarked cruiser. Don't worry, he's not after you. Not if he's for real."

She parked away from the pumps and switched off the engine. Ian looked over his shoulder. A state trooper got out of the
unmarked car, put on his Smokey Bear hat, and walked towards them.

"If he's bogus, he'd be crazy to try anything here," Livvie said. "Too many cameras."

She lowered the window and put her hands on the steering wheel. Ian could hear the faint chatter of a police radio coming from the cruiser, which sounded real enough. The officer stood looking down at her, then dipped a little to glance at Ian.

"Good afternoon, ma'am. Do you know why I've stopped you?"

Livvie suddenly changed into a meek, polite little housewife that Ian had never seen before. "I'm afraid not, officer."

"You've got one tail light on, which means the other one's out."

Was that all? A tail light? Ian's pulse was pounding in his throat. Livvie shrugged, hands still on the wheel.

"Sorry, I didn't know that. My licence is in my purse, with my concealed carry permit." So that was what you had tell a cop if they stopped you, was it? "I have a Glock Twenty-Six in a carry box under my seat."

Ian knew she had a handgun, but he had no idea that she actually
carried
it. She didn't look at him as she reached for her purse and handed her documents to the trooper. The guy took a step back and checked something on his cell. Ian had never been stopped by a real traffic cop before. It was another element from a TV show that had stepped out of the screen into his real world.

"Reason for the concealed carry, ma'am?" the trooper asked.

"This is going to sound awful."

"No problem. Try me."

"My father-in-law's Senator Brayne. My husband's away frequently on deployment. I'm not saying that in a do-you-know-who-I-am kind of way. I'm just explaining why I feel the need for extra security."

"Very wise, ma'am." The trooper didn't bat an eyelash. "Do you mind if I look in the trunk?"

Livvie popped the lock. "Sure. Go ahead."

The trooper poked around in the back, shifting the box of orchids, then walked back to the driver's door. "Is everything else okay? You slowed down when you saw me behind you. You weren't speeding."

So that was why he was making a big deal of this. She'd triggered some instinct in him to check out the car. Ian's heart rate started to slow down again.

"I didn't know it was a patrol vehicle. I just wanted you to pass me." Livvie voice was a stranger's, small and scared. Ian was fascinated by her alter ego, Mrs Harmless. She was putting on a terrific act. "It's pretty scary for a woman if she thinks she's being followed."

She turned her head to look at Ian as if she was going to refer to him, but for a long heartbeat, she just froze. The look on her face said everything.

He must have morphed again. It was the worst possible moment, but then it always was.

But the cop didn't seem to notice. Maybe he was concentrating on Livvie. It was just like Joe or Sheriff Gaskin, though. If they thought they'd seen Ian change, they simply acted as if they didn't believe it, because things like that just didn't happen in their world. Livvie recovered instantly. Her voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper.

"Anyway, officer, you can imagine the kind of crazies we have to worry about."

The officer mouthed a silent
ah
and nodded. Ian couldn't decide if it was the Brayne name that had made him back off, but his tone changed.

"Yes, ma'am, I can indeed." He put his cell away. "The lights. It's probably just the fuse."

"I better check that, then."

"Let me do it, ma'am."

"That's very kind of you, officer." Livvie smiled. "Thank you so much."

Ian watched as the trooper fixed the light, sobered by how much there was still to learn about people. Livvie could act, and when she smiled, men obeyed. In five minutes the lights were working again. Livvie drove out of the gas station, giving the officer a little girly wave with fluttering fingers.

They were a hundred yards up the road and heading back towards Westerham Falls before she let out a long breath.

"Well, fuck, Ian, that scared me" Sometimes she swore like a sailor. Now she was Regular Livvie again, in control and tolerating lesser mortals.
And she's carrying a Glock. Oh my God.
"I thought it was KWA. Sorry I scared you."

"I didn't know you had your gun. And you can
act.
"

"No point pissing off the rozzers, as Rob would say. Still, it was nice of him to fix the light." She gave Ian another sideways glance. "I've never actually seen you morph that much before. Do you want to take a look?"

She gave him an odd smile. Ian felt crushed. He'd been sure he'd learned to stop it in its tracks. But he was back to square one, a million miles away from a driving licence and a girlfriend. He reached out and folded down the sun visor.

The small rectangle of inset mirror showed him someone new. He could still see himself behind the eyes, but he was darker, more square-jawed, and even a little
older
. It was disorienting after a month of stability.

And how long am I going to hang on to this face?

Livvie pulled off the road at a rest area and took out her cell. "Come on, look at me. Look at the lens." The phone made a shutter noise. "There. For the record."

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Livvie."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Please."

"You really want to be built like Rob, don't you? You train like crazy and you keep checking your muscles."

That was beyond embarrassing. Ian cringed. "Yes. Sure I do."

"You said that you should focus on what you wanted to look like, not just on stopping changes."

"Yeah, but I don't know what I want. Other than to just stay the same."

"Well, stay like
this
." She held up the phone so he could see the screen. "Take it from a woman. You look really good like that. It's definitely you."

Was that what women liked? "But I couldn't hang on to the last change."

"Seriously." Livvie scanned his face, breaking into a smile. "I think this is what you're meant to look like."

"Really?"

"You study that face, Ian. Make sure you know every contour. Concentrate on how it feels to be in that skin. Whatever else happens, make sure you know how to get back to looking like
that
."

Ian kept the visor mirror in his
eyeline all the way home. It was good advice, but there was nothing precise in it, nothing like knowing he had to crank out ten more reps with an extra ten pounds, or check how much protein per pound of bodyweight he'd eaten that day. All he had was Livvie telling him that this look was somehow special. He had to admit that it was great to be admired, even temporarily. He felt good about how he looked right then. Apart from being delighted with his new hard-won muscles, he'd never felt that kind of
happy
before.

He'd remember that feeling every time he looked in the mirror, though.

VANCOUVER, SEPTEMBER
ONE WEEK LATER.

Kinnery peeled the Blu Tack from the beady eye of webcam and saw himself on his own monitor for the first time.

It was only a test run for one video call. He wasn't going to make a habit of this. The rehearsal was to check what was visible behind him on his study wall and in the bookcases that flanked him, but inevitably the shortcomings of his own appearance dragged him back to his face, and what it revealed to him rather than to the person on the other end.

This wasn't like looking in a mirror, where a benevolent mental filter kicked in. The web cam threw back a stranger's perspective that wasn't moderated by self-image at all.

Kinnery had expected to look old. That didn't surprise him. It was the look of wasted years that made him recoil.

The stark light from the window threw deep shadows. Switching on the desk lamp evened out the illumination and erased some folds and lines, but the miles on his clock still showed, the ones added by waiting to be found out and by wasting the astonishing research potential of Ian Dunlop.

We're back to the punishment cycle of the Greek gods. I get my just desserts
before
I go to Hades.

Kinnery snapped himself out of it and scrutinized everything else in shot. When he watched TV interviews and the backdrop was an interesting bookcase, he found himself trying to check out the titles on the spines, making a judgement about the person who'd collected them. Were there any
telltale signs of his wrongdoing behind him? One detail, one single book about child development or something out of character, might stand out in that mass and pique Shaun's curiosity.

Kinnery didn't have time to censor the shelves selectively. He got up and cleared them, stacking the books in piles on the floor and removing photos and certificates from the wall. Then he sat down and adjusted his position to frame up correctly, checking the screen again. His backdrop was now stark emptiness and dark rectangles where the wallpaper had faded around the picture frames. It spoke volumes about him, but in a wholly different way.

He replaced the Blu Tack, incapable of relaxing in front of the webcam even when it was switched off, and went back to clearing his e-mail. Students expressed disappointment that he'd be leaving after the holidays. They seemed to think he was on his last legs. He was only in his sixties. Maybe he'd overplayed the old age card.