Hidden Trump (Bite Back 2) (2 page)

“Wait,” he said. He looked over at Mr. Shotgun, and shifted slightly so his back was to his partner. His voice dropped. “Please, take me with you. I want out, Farrell.”

What?

I’d been in this position on missions before. I’d had conscripts beg me to keep them prisoner. But surely not this guy? I stood back so I could watch him and the road.

“Out of what, exactly?”

“I’m not House Matlal, for Christ’s sake. I’ve gotta get out.”

“Which House are you?”

“I can’t say.” His eyes bulged as if he was going to be sick. I inched forward with the gun. Sweat started running down his face.

I was having real trouble reading this. One minute, he was a smart operator; the next minute, a gibbering wreck.

“Try again.”

“I.
Can’t.
Say
.” He had to force the words out. His stomach was heaving.

Light bulb moment.

I’m no expert, but I knew just enough about Athanate mental abilities to suspect he meant it; he actually, physically, couldn’t say, gun in his face or not.

I was stunned. A House allied somehow to Matlal, but its people so unwilling that Matlal was compelling them?

Could I trust this? And if he wanted out, how could I use that to get to Hoben?

“Matlal’s screwed with your head?”

He didn’t answer, but his expression told me I was right. I wondered what he
could
answer.

“Matlal’s got you working for Hoben? You can talk about Hoben?”

“Yeah.”

“Enough info to allow me to hunt him down?”

He looked more cautious. “Maybe.”

I knew then I could nail the son of a bitch. I could work with hints that this guy didn’t even realize would give me Hoben.

If
he wasn’t a real cute way of trapping me.

But taking him with me now was definitely out. It’d alert Hoben. It would be too much to say a plan was forming, but I had an idea. This guy was going to have to work for his way out.

“What’s your name?”

“Larry,” he said.

“Listen up, Larry. I’m not going to take you with me now. But if you can get away tomorrow evening, without anyone knowing, I’ll pick you up. You think you can do that?”

“I think so,” he rasped.

There was no time to plan anything fancy for lifting Larry. I needed somewhere open, where I could see anyone trying to sneak up. With people around. I didn’t like the thought of others getting in the way, but probably my best defense was that Matlal and Hoben would be wary of getting bystanders involved as well—they couldn’t afford the police attention.

“You know Cheesman Park, the one with the fancy pavilion?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be there tomorrow, just as it’s getting dark. Make
sure
you don’t have anyone following you. I’ll have the place staked out.” I was lying through my teeth, but he didn’t know that.

“I’ll be there. I won’t screw you around, Farrell.”

“See that you don’t. You give me Hoben, and I’ll protect you.”

I made him fasten one hand to the wheel with the cable ties, and I did the other. One eye on the road to Parker, I ripped the comms unit out and tossed it into the trunk of my car, along with their guns and his cell.

Then I smoked my tires and headed back down to the I-25 and Denver.

I’d given Larry a tough job, and he’d need some luck.

Now a cool operator, a really,
really
good operator, an operator with ice in his veins instead of blood, might have come up with all of that to trap me. But that wasn’t the thought that was bouncing around in my head—no, that was
I’m going to nail that bastard Hoben tomorrow night
.

Meanwhile, I was still dressed in the courier uniform disguise I’d used to get into the Nexus building, and now I looked like a hobo, with dust in my hair and clothes, blood splatters under the dust, and my face and hands a mess. And there was scratchy sand down my panties. Eww. I would hardly have noticed it back in Ops 4-10, let alone cared.

I’m getting soft.

Luckily, my gypsy lifestyle meant there was a change of clothes in the trunk. I really needed to find someplace to clean up before I did anything else. Anyplace would do. The hot shower would have to wait.

Chapter 2

I pulled into Park Meadows Mall and managed to sneak into the restrooms without being arrested for vagrancy.

With the worst of the mess cleaned off, changed into fresh underwear, jeans and T, I started to feel better. I leaned forward and checked my reflection in the restroom mirror. I’d brushed the dust out of my auburn hair as best I could. There were dozens of scratches on my face, caused by spalls and ricocheting fragments from the grenade exploding in the stairwell while I’d been rescuing the hostages.

The scratches were closed and healing already, because I was Athanate now, and we healed quickly. There were no other clues to that in the mirror. I had a runner’s body because I ran. My face was unchanged. The too-sharp nose was the same one that had always told me I didn’t have a best side. The bronze tone to the skin and the green eyes were unusual, but the result of mixed Irish and Arapaho genes rather than any peculiar side effects of my paranormal transformation. At some stage, as I became fully Athanate, there would be changes to my body. Not all something-for-nothing changes, but better returns for effort I put in. My body had already become more efficient. I was faster, stronger and fitter than I had been.

I felt a mild panic as I looked at my reflection.

I’m a freaking vampire.

No, Athanate. Not the mythical vampire that burned in the sun, but a living, breathing person. Just one with a need to drink human blood. I’d get the fangs for it, too, even if they would only manifest for drinking. I’d felt mine a couple of times, but I’d never seen them and I hadn’t bitten anyone, yet. I was developing a phobia that they’d pop out and would stay there in plain sight, forcing me to go around with my hand in front of my mouth.

A woman came in and caught me inspecting my gums.

“Oh, my dear, you’re so right to check them.” She tripped across and laid a card on the surface next to me. A periodontist. My luck. “People can do all sorts of things with teeth, but if you lose your gums, that’s it. Come see me for a free evaluation. If you need treatment, you can put it on your accident claim. Don’t worry.” She flapped her hand. “I’ve seen everything.”

“Ma’am,” I said, grinning, “you have no idea.”

And I guessed my face did look as if I’d been in an accident. I took my bag of dusty clothes and went back out to the mall to buy a snack and a soft drink. No time for breakfast this morning, and nothing for dinner yesterday, if you didn’t count the soup.

While I ate, I turned my cell back on. A bunch of messages from Tullah, my assistant. I felt a pang of guilt. She’d been waiting to hear I was okay. I wasn’t used to having people worrying about me.

I gave her a call, but got her voicemail. Things must be busy at work. I told her to meet me at Washington Park. I’d lost Hoben’s guys, but they might be watching the office as well as Jen’s place, where we’d been working temporarily. Better to meet somewhere they wouldn’t be looking for me, and where I’d be able to spot them if they followed her.

The next message was from Bian. This one I couldn’t ignore.

Two weeks ago, I’d been fighting against becoming Athanate, and losing, even if I’d denied it. Then I’d met and been adopted by Altau, the Athanate House in Denver. They’d decided I warranted my own subsidiary House and allocated Bian to advise me on what that meant. But until I swore allegiance to House Altau at the formal Athanate Assembly this coming weekend, it wasn’t a done deal. And until I got that protection, it was hunting season, with me as game.

Yeah, Altau were definitely my new best friends.

My world hadn’t completely been turned on its head. I would still kill myself rather than become Basilikos Athanate like Matlal. One of the two major creeds of the Athanate, Basilikos regarded humans as food.

But the thought of being part of the Panethus Athanate, the alternative creed, wasn’t so bad any more. Panethus worked to make their relationship beneficial to both humans and Athanate, and Altau were the leading House in Panethus.

There was a problem here; I didn’t have any guarantee what type I’d end up as. I hadn’t had enough time to find out very much about the Athanate at all, and nothing particularly about why there was a difference between Basilikos and Panethus. Athanate needed emotional sustenance as well as blood—why did Basilikos feed on fear and Panethus on love? What if I became Basilikos? Was it a gradual process that could happen without my realizing it? I’d seen enough to know your head can play games with you. I’d changed even over the last two weeks, and things felt different to me. How would I know if I was going in the wrong direction?

For that matter, what if I just went completely rogue?

The Athanate survived by controlling their instincts. Even Basilikos were careful not to attract the attention of the normal world. But the sensations were difficult to master. I hadn’t experienced them yet, but I’d had plenty of warnings. Athanate, especially new Athanate, were liable to lose themselves in the pleasures, and if unchecked, quickly descended into insanity.

I couldn’t face the thought I might become Basilikos. Or rogue. I shuddered. I had to pick up on that with Diana.

Diana was second in command to Skylur at House Altau, and I just felt she was slightly more approachable on this. I couldn’t quite figure out where Bian came in the hierarchy. Possibly third. Diana and Skylur were scary as hell; Bian was different. And scary.

Enough daydreaming; I had to talk to her. That presented a Bian-shaped problem all its own. Our last conversation had ended with her leaning through the window of my car, licking her lips and showing fangs. I’d made a joke and she’d upped the ante. Like the best of running jokes, I was kinda nervous about my turn and unsure where the game ended and reality took over.

She answered on the second ring.

“Hello, Round-eye.” She sounded as if she’d just woken, but I didn’t know what to make of that. I had no idea what her hours were. She’d never failed to answer a call from me at any hour.

“Morning, Pussycat,” I said. “Why am I picturing your spotted shoulders peeping out above silky white sheets?” She’d made some tattooist very happy when she commissioned him to turn her neck and shoulders into leopard skin.

“They’re silky
black
sheets. Are you calling me for phone sex?” she purred. “Why not just come right on over instead?”

I should have known better than to try and tease her. “I’m calling because you left me a message asking me to.”

“Oh, that. It was nothing, just a TV news item with some idiot leaping off a building and hitching a ride on a helicopter like a monkey dangling from a branch. It’ll probably go viral on the net.”

I winced. I was supposed to be a discreet PI; I didn’t want my face all over the news or the net and Altau didn’t either. The only good thing was that the press couldn’t have been at the Nexus in time to film it; this would be someone’s cell phone video, and the picture would be small and jerky. But Bian was head of security for Altau—it was her job to make sure the Athanate stayed under the radar. Which was no doubt why I was getting this call.

“Ah. Yes, that was me, on Jennifer Kingslund’s case.”

“Busy girl, Amber.” There was a pause, and I expected her to warn me about the danger of drawing attention to the Athanate through my actions. Instead, she said, “Are you okay?”

Before I could stop it, the demon that sometimes takes over my throat said, “Why, Pussycat, I didn’t know you cared.”

She gave a snort. “I’m supposed to be educating you in your duties as House Farrell,” she said. “Imagine the embarrassment if you went splat on the sidewalk during my watch.”

This was the Bian I knew and—kind of—liked. “I’m battered and bruised but fine, thanks,” I said.

That appeared to be the extent of her concern about security issues. Maybe she really
was
checking to make sure I was okay. Stranger things had happened. “You should stop by,” she said. “We can use my special Vietnamese oils for treating bruises.”

“Hmm. Yeah.” I was pretty sure I knew where
that
would lead. “You may be more interested to hear what happened after.”

Something about the way I said it alerted her and the banter disappeared. “What?”

“A couple of Matlal’s crew tailed me, tried to capture me.”

“Matlal? Why?” All trace of sleep was gone from her voice.

“I think the idea was to capture me for Hoben. It looks like Matlal’s loaned some guys to Hoben, probably to make sure he doesn’t go underground. Matlal figures Hoben owes him for the drug shipment that was busted.”

“You said capture? You mean Hoben wants you alive?”

“Seems so, according to one of the guys. I doubt it would be for a long time.”

“Huh. And these Matlal people, how did you get rid of the bodies?” She was all business now, the Altau head of security.

“Ah. I left them alive. Only one was House Matlal. I shot him when he turned a gun on me, but he was still alive when I left. I think the other guy was under some kind of compulsion, so I just tied him up. I wasn’t sure what you’d want me to do.”

“Uninvited Basilikos in our mantle?” she said. “Bring them to us securely if you can, otherwise kill them and call it in. It’s really not helping us to leave them free.”

Great. She sounded pissed that I’d let them go.

“That’s pretty terminal,” I said. “And how wide’s that mantle?”

“Say fifty miles of the Capitol. But no one’s going to argue about a couple of House Matlal, or their affiliates. They shouldn’t be this side of the Rio Grande without special permission.”

I’d bet there were more than a couple. If only one of the cars that Larry had mentioned had Matlal people in it, that would still mean a half-dozen of them in all. That was overkill for watching Hoben. What else was going on? If Larry made it to our meeting tomorrow evening, I was going to have to pump him for information.