Going Grey (73 page)

And so do I.

"I promise you that this'll be good for both of us in the end," Dru said. "We've just got to be willing to take a chance on new things."

"I think I told you to do that ages ago, Mom."

Clare was in forty-year-old mode today. And she was right.

Dru drove back from the school, rehearsing what she'd say to Larry. She didn't dare tell him she was okay for money, let alone that she might need to sell up. All she could do was pretend everything was normal and not say a word until things were set in concrete.

But first she had to show up at the office with Leo Brayne. This was so far above her pay grade that it was probably pointless trying to grasp it. Leo – he insisted on first names – had rung personally just after she got back, all reasonable, polite graciousness like his son, but it was clear he wasn't so much inviting her to accompany him as telling her that she would.

When she thought about it, it was another lifeline. If you were going to tell your boss to ram it up his ass for sending hit-men to follow you, then it was probably better to do that with the likes of Leo Brayne at your side.

Or maybe in front of me. He's seriously pissed at Weaver. He might want to keep the juicy bits for himself and just toss me a half-chewed ear.

What was she going to say? Weaver must have known his biker guy hadn't made contact for a while, but he hadn't tried to mail or phone her. He could have been anywhere between complete ignorance of what was unfolding, and standing outside her house with an axe because he'd somehow heard every damn word she'd said in the last few days.

Dru took her time choosing the right suit for a showdown. Maybe clothes didn't matter when she'd walk in with the ultimate accessory, a juggernaut of a politician who also happened to be able to buy companies like trinkets. It felt like preparing for a date. She kept redoing her hair and changing her blouse, but that still left her with hours to sit and replay the seismic shift that had hit her over the weekend.

It wasn't just the headline events, her first encounter with real violence and watching a boy alter his features at will – a shape-shifter, a real goddamn
morphing human being
– but also being among thoroughly alien people. She'd never met really powerful families. She didn't know any soldiers, or security operators, or people who couldn't tell her where they worked. It would take her months to chip away at all that and understand it.

But if she stripped away all the otherworldliness of the Braynes and their friends, she was looking at people who enjoyed working and socialising together, a real honest-to-God team. It shone out of them. It was as unlike her own workday experience as she could imagine. She had no friends at work, except maybe Alex. She was the pink-slip kapo. Outside work, she had a hostile ex and no life beyond Clare. The Braynes' tight-knit circle looked like paradise, and it wasn't all about their wealth.

And yet Mike had killed a guy. He'd seemed such a gentleman. You didn't need to be angry or hostile to kill someone, then, simply able to decide that it had to be done.

Dru was pondering on the capacity of nice people to do unpleasant things when an e-mail popped up on her phone. The header said it was from Shaun Weaver. She felt almost sick, but she had to read it.

It turned out to be a simple note asking where she was. Maybe he really didn't know. Should she respond? She had no choice. She tapped out a reply, saying she'd be in the office after lunch. Two minutes later, a reply arrived: '
Then maybe you should see this.'

It was the long shot of her in the woods with Ian. How did Weaver get that? It must have been taken shortly before the biker jumped her. Maybe the guy had e-mailed the image to get her ID confirmed or to show Weaver that he'd found someone who looked the right age for the mule, a kid in his late teens or early twenties.

But Ian looked like Tom in that shot. If Weaver had real evidence of Ian morphing, she'd have expected him to send that if he was going to send anything at all. This was something else. Dru stalled him with an ambiguous response while she thought of way to turn this around.

'That's not a mistake you want to make,'
she typed. It was cryptic and true on many levels. '
Trust me on that.'

That was the last e-mail she was ever going to send him. She'd have to warn Leo Brayne now. Why would Weaver be stupid enough to show her that he'd been in contact with the dead guy? All she had to do was hand that e-mail to the police, and he'd be sunk.

But he probably doesn't know the guy's dead yet. He might not even be aware that anything's wrong if they avoided contacting each other too often.

She forwarded the e-mail to Mike with a carefully worded note: '
You need to be aware of this. Are there any images of Tom on the Internet?'

It took Mike minutes to respond. He checked his cell as obsessively as a teenager. Dru read the reply: '
The police recovered that image from a cell. Rare pic of Tom — see this URL. University soccer. Are you going to show that to my father?'

She thought it was essential. '
Yes, unless you tell me not to
.'

His reply was short. '
I'll send him my copy
.'

It didn't strike her as odd. Mike probably had secure systems anyway, and she didn't. She opened the link he'd sent her to see a fairly clear image of Tom, identified by name in a soccer match. If she put the images side by side, the real Tom and Ian's version, they looked pretty much the same person; with the picture quality and the distortion of angle, shadow, and expression, they seemed to be the same guy. Weaver could suck on that. She'd confront him with it, taking Leo's lead.

By the time Leo's black limo showed up outside, Dru was vacillating between bullish aggression and wanting to lock herself in the bathroom. She had her short, bland letter of resignation in her purse. She psyched herself up by remembering how she'd sunk her teeth into that guy's glove and how she'd thought the next second would be her last. She didn't care if Weaver hadn't known how far things would go or if he'd blessed it: it was his doing. Now she was mad as hell. She needed to stay that way for a couple of hours.

"Hello, Dru." Leo shook her hand when she got into the back seat. "How are you feeling now?"

"I'm fine. Really. Thank you."

"Dreadful weekend for all, I think."

She'd seen Leo's picture, but that was no guide to the physical reality. Old money oozed from his polished voice, just like Mike's, and he had the same blue eyes. The back seat was separated from the driver by a glass partition.

Chin up. Don't lose your nerve.

"I don't think Weaver knows I'm coming with you," she said. "But I told him I'd see him."

"It'll be even briefer than he expects, then." Leo nodded to the driver and the car pulled away. "My legal team developed instant ulcers when I said I was doing this, but I'm going to make it very, very short. I'm simply showing up in person because it tends to focus people more effectively than a letter or an e-mail."

I can see why.
"You've seen the image he sent me."

"Yes."

Dru took out her phone and showed him the photo of Tom playing soccer. "Subject to your guidance, I'll show him this if he starts making allegations about mules and shape-shifters. It's pretty compelling."

Leo just looked at her. It was hard to tell what he was thinking.

"Works for me." He put on his glasses and checked his phone. "Mike told me nothing about this until after it was over. He didn't want to worry me. That's why I'm here in person, because I won't tolerate anyone distressing my son. You're a parent. You understand."

Dru wasn't sure if that was a statement or a subtle warning, but it hit both spots. While the traffic held them up, Leo chatted about bringing up children and how he and his wife had never employed a nanny for Mike and his sister. Dru couldn't resist looking for the roots of Mike's attitude in his father. It was there, all right, just writ larger in the son.

It was harder than she expected to walk into the KWA offices. As she walked up to the reception desk with Leo, the looks started. She could see it out of the corner of her eye. Passing staff did a double take. The bush telegraph would relay the news halfway around the building before she got to the third floor. Even if they didn't recognise Leo, they could certainly see that he wasn't the janitor. Weaver's secretary, Julianne, showed them straight in.

"I wasn't expecting you, Dru," she whispered.

"I know," Dru said. "But I'm here now."

Weaver kept a commendably inscrutable face for a man who'd been ordered back to base to make himself available. He indicated the big green sofa.

"Please, take a seat, Leo," he said. "I wasn't expecting to see Mrs Lloyd with you, though. How can I help?"

Leo sat back, giving it a few beats before he spoke. "Shaun, I'm going to explain something informally before my lawyers contact you. I always find it aids clarity."

"I'm listening."

"You will
not
go near my son, his family, or his friends. You will
not
instruct anyone else to go near them, either. There's no
again
, or
if
, or any condition in there. You simply will not do it. Do we understand each other?"

Dru's stomach was knotted so tightly that it hurt. It was like watching violence even though nobody made physical contact or even raised their voices. Leo was all the more terrifying for being calm.

"I'm not sure I've understood you." Weaver did a credible impersonation of bewilderment. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Yes. I am. Harassing my family."

"I assume you can substantiate that, Senator."

"I believe you did that yourself, when you sent Mrs Lloyd a photograph earlier today."

Weaver didn't even start fidgeting. "Very well, since you raised it, perhaps you can tell me what Mrs Lloyd was doing in that photo."

"I'm sure she can tell you herself, but she was trying to arrange a discreet meeting with me at my son's house to go through the original Ringer discussions. She was checking for names or connections she hadn't been made aware of."

"I had no idea. I'd never have authorized her to do that. I do apologize."

Leo didn't blink. "Actually, I was referring to the man you sent after Mrs Lloyd, but I'm afraid my son shot him dead on Sunday, so we can't ask him. It's a police matter now. Never mind."

Dru watched Weaver's face. It was extraordinary to see a man lose all control for a fraction of a second and then pull it all together again, especially someone as laid back as Weaver. It was almost invisible because it was so fast. She couldn't tell whether he was winded by the fact that his guy was dead, or by the revelation that Mike Brayne had shot him. This was heady stuff for a biotech company. Dru would probably never know exactly what instructions Weaver had given and who he'd dealt with, but whatever it was, something had obviously gone wrong.

He carried on without a trace of panic in his voice. "I've no doubt you've told Senator Brayne some story about shape-shifters, Dru."

"No, but I did tell him you suspected Charles Kinnery of parking stolen genes in an accomplice, and that you'd tasked me to find him." She held up her phone to show him the image he'd sent her. "I thought you mailed me this to say you believed I'd found him."

Weaver just looked at her. It was probably easier than looking at Leo. "It's up to you explain who that boy is, I think, Dru."

He had to know he was screwed, but he was brazening it out. Dru admired his inability to accept defeat, or maybe she'd read this all wrong and he had another much nastier surprise waiting for her at a later date. She opened the image of Tom playing soccer and showed it to him.

"This guy, you mean? That's Tom Rennie. It says so on the caption. He's the son of Mike Brayne's friend. He was over from England for the holidays." Dru held her phone next to print-out of the snatched shot from Westerham so Weaver could compare the two. "I'm sure Tom wouldn't mind providing some DNA so you can look for werewolf genes to your heart's content, though."

Weaver's expression was now locked. Either he knew he'd been manoeuvred into a corner and that she was lying, or he was now having serious doubts way too late. Leo sat swiping through his phone with no real appearance of urgency.

"Here," Leo said. "That's Rob, Tom's father, with Mike, my boy." He held up his phone. It was some photo taken in Africa, with Mike looking suitably military in a dusty landscape, sitting on the tailgate of a vehicle with Rob. "Not that you'd need DNA to see that Rob is Tom's father. Extraordinarily alike, aren't they?" Leo smiled at the picture, which might have been pure theatre or genuine paternal pride, then put the phone back in his pocket. "I think we're done now, Shaun. Just remember that I won't tolerate you or your minions even being in the same time zone as my son or his family."

"Is that a threat, Leo?"

"Let me explain. A threat is when I say that if you do X, then I'll do Y. I'm going to do Y anyway, regardless of whether you do X, so technically, it's advance notice. Y, in this case, is an ongoing police investigation, plus the scrutiny of whichever agency my colleagues might feel is appropriate in the national interest, given the nature of your industry. But I've got people to explain all that to you. I really must be going now." Leo stood up and held his hand out to Dru. "I believe you had some unfinished business, Mrs Lloyd? Letter?"