Lethal Engagement (An Unbounded Novella) (8 page)

Fortunately, no one seemed to know the rest of the quote: “If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?” Poison would do no long-term damage to any Unbounded, and the idea of Unbounded revenge was terrifying.

Then again, poison would stop an Unbounded temporarily until something more drastic could be done, which was why we carried equipment to test for it, and mortal revenge could be every bit as ugly. We really weren’t so different after all.

“As for whether or not my being Unbounded bothers my fiancée,” Patrick continued, “well, I’ll let her speak to that.”

The microphones shifted slightly in my direction. I tossed my hair over my shoulder with a careless flick of my head. “Think of it this way—I get a man who in my lifetime will never get sick, grow old, or lose interest. What do you say about that, ladies?” A little cheer went up among the women. More seriously, I added, “I think our lives and our relationship will only be that much more fascinating with the Unbounded dimension.” Now I paused to make sure everyone was listening. “But I’ll say one thing to all of the women out there—I’m the only one having his babies! So back off. You’ll have to find your own man, Unbounded or otherwise. Patrick is taken.”

A murmur of approval ran through the crowd, almost drowned by the sound of clapping. I laughed, not even feeling the need to shift away. The wide sky had completely alleviated the trapped feeling I’d experienced on the plane.

“Who’s the man with you?” asked another reporter.

“This is my brother, Kenton. He’s my chaperone.” I winked at the cameras as they all laughed. “At least until the wedding.”

Patrick raised his hands, and the attention shifted back to him. “Thanks, everyone. If you’ll excuse us now.” He put his arm around me and rushed me to a waiting limousine, flanked by Secret Service. Keene hurried after us.

“That was perfect.” Patrick handed me into the car. “Really perfect.”

“Had me convinced.” Keene’s eyes dropped to our linked hands, and then away, as he slid into the seat facing me. Patrick climbed in next to me and we were off.

Patrick’s grin didn’t go away. “It really is great to see you guys. Lucinda about had a heart attack when everyone said we needed to go public.”

“And she’s okay with this?” I didn’t see how she could be.

Patrick laughed. “Yeah. I think so—unless you suddenly develop the hots for me.”

“I think I might be able to contain myself,” I said dryly. “If I try really hard.”

“Just let me know if you can’t.”

Keene rolled his eyes at the exchange, but I was already having fun.

“Truthfully, I only told Luce last night about the added protection,” Patrick said. “She seemed okay with it. Guess you’ll see for yourself. She’s waiting at the house.”

If she wasn’t okay with the situation, it’d make my job all that much harder. “Keene and I—Kenton and I—will do our best to make this easy on her.”

Patrick flashed me a grin. “That’s reassuring. And I’m glad it’s you. Could have been awkward, but I think we’ll do just fine.”

I glanced at the soundproof glass separating us from the two Secret Service agents riding in the front. “We were told they don’t know why we’re really here.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Oh, no. They’d take that as an insult. They honestly believe you’re my fiancée. Still, you don’t know what it took for me to make sure they didn’t pat you down for weapons. They are quite dedicated to their jobs. I had to keep reminding them that we were getting married, that you could smother me with a pillow or something, if you wanted to. By the way, they know Luce and I are friends, but I’ve mostly kept her away from them since we got back from Europe and they were assigned to me. If they ever suspected something else, that will change now.” Patrick shifted enough to pull out his wallet. “Since yesterday, I’ve been helping Stella plant information on the Internet about you and Luce being friends and us meeting through her. I’m actually hoping this situation will give Luce and me more time together.” No mistaking the heart in his eyes as he handed me a photo from his wallet.

Lucinda Ririe, Patrick’s real fiancée, had short blonde hair, striking cheekbones, pale blue eyes, and a rather large nose. She was beautiful in a classic sense, definitely model worthy, despite the lack of makeup. In the photograph, she was looking off into the distance, as if embarrassed to be a bother to whoever was taking the picture.

“She’s beautiful,” I said, passing Keene the photograph.

“I think so. You’ll meet her when we get to my house—or rather the place where I’m installed at the moment. I thought it best to get away from the White House, after what happened with that girl. The press hasn’t found me yet, but it’s only a matter of time until they do. Everyone seems to have eyes in DC. I have four Secret Service with me at every minute, and another two who come on outings.” For the first time, I caught a glimpse of something besides the cheerfulness he’d displayed. Patrick Mann was doing what he had to do for the world, but he wasn’t happy about it, or at least not all of it.

Keene handed back the photograph and pulled out his phone to briefly check his texts. “My contacts verify that there isn’t any official Hunter hit out on you, but that doesn’t mean some of their new members aren’t going off on their own. So, until we determine where the attacks are coming from, we’ll need you to make a list of any business dealings that might have put you on someone’s hit list.”

Patrick’s face took on a slight green cast. “That guy who took my place when I was held captive made serious enemies. More than one or two. I tried to make it right with everyone when I got back in control, but some people aren’t easily appeased. And some things you can’t give back.” He sounded both sick and angry, and I knew there was more to the story, maybe something personal, but I wouldn’t press now.

Keene obviously agreed. “Get me the list, and send Stella a copy. I know you’re a technopath, but she’s been dealing in information a lot longer than any of us.”

Patrick didn’t show any annoyance at the curtness in Keene’s voice. “Tell me about it. Stella makes me feel like I’m back in kindergarten.”

“That, we can all understand.” Keene’s eyes fixed on something outside the window. “Looks like more fun up ahead. Maybe we’ll get to knock some heads together after all.”

“You sound like Jace,” I retorted. His comment made me uneasy. What was I missing? I looked out the window where we were passing a security gate to see another crowd waiting on the other side—people who hadn’t been allowed onto the airfield with the press. Curiosity seekers and women with suggestive signs. Worse was the knot of rough-looking men with the telling Hunter symbols on their hats and clothing.

Time to start earning my pay. I reached for my purse before I remembered that my nine mil was back in a hidden compartment on the plane with the rest of our normal weapons. Instead, I pressed the release on one of my arm sheaths, allowing the knife to slide into my hand. The weight was different from my regular blades, but the enhanced plastic would cut through flesh and meat just as well.

Patrick put his arm around me, pulling me close, trying to look relaxed. “In case those women can see through the glass,” he explained. “The sooner they quit lusting after my genes, the better.”

We all tensed as the car pressed slowly through the crowd, the bumper nearly touching several sign-holders. One man shoved his crazed face against the darkened glass of the window next to me, screaming obscenities, but we got through without further incident. Rather a letdown with the adrenaline zipping through my veins and the energy filling the limo. I could see numbers in my head without trying, and I had the crazy notion that I could shift the entire car to any destination of my choice.

“Sorry, I thought it would be better having you fly into Dulles instead of National,” Patrick said. “But it looks like more people besides the reporters got wind of my pending announcement.”

“Should calm down now that we’re almost through,” Keene said.

But things weren’t calming down, at least not for me. Numbers filled my head, the car, the faces of my comrades. A sound must have come from my throat because Patrick’s arm tightened around me and Keene leaned forward, his face creased with concern. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t know what was wrong. Most of what I knew about my gift I’d discovered through trial and failure. I’d never met the only other Renegade shifter, who’d died in Europe of old age shortly after the president’s announcement. By that time, he could barely shift across a room. As far as I knew, the Emporium had no shifters. Mine was one of the rare abilities that both Renegades and the Emporium had been trying for decades to revive. There was no one I could ask or learn from. For all I knew, this could be some fatal side effect of using the ability.

I could see Keene’s number color was green. Green as in rebirth, green like growing, green meaning balance and a tendency toward martyrdom. I could
see
Keene. I could see him more clearly than anyone. Not only him, but the others in the car, though the green was the clearest.

What the hell was going on?

Then, all at once, I knew. It wasn’t me . . . it was Keene. The others had hinted, but I hadn’t understood. Keene wasn’t just acting different, he
was
different. He had Changed. Beyond all hope or expectation, he was Unbounded, and all this energy was coming from him. The fact that I hadn’t realized what everyone else knew made me furious at myself.

And at him.

Keene removed his seatbelt and put his hands on my shoulders. “Mari,” he shouted, “what is it?”

“Stop,” I told him, unable to catch a breath. “Too much.”

Whatever he was doing was strangling me.

THE NEXT INSTANT, THE PRESSURE
was gone, along with the numbers and the colors. My lungs filled with blessed air. I stared into Keene’s eyes, the emerald color dark in the gray interior of the limo. A flitting anger passed over his face. He released me abruptly and sat back.

“You okay?” Patrick asked, running a hand from my shoulder to my elbow and back again.

“Yes. Sorry.” I breathed deeply. “Sometimes I get a little claustrophobic and my instinct is to shift.”

Keene’s nostrils flared, and I knew he was affronted with the lie. Keene didn’t lie, except in my book withholding the truth was every bit a lie as telling a whopper.

I held Keene’s eyes as I added, still addressing Patrick, “I was seeing numbers like I never have before. Couldn’t you feel the pressure?” Keene and I were
so
going to have this out when we arrived at wherever we were going.

“To be honest, I did feel something,” Patrick’s voice was subdued, respectful. “Even the agents up there were looking back.”

Let him think it was me, all that power.
What gift did Keene have to affect me and Patrick that way? It both scared and exhilarated me. It had to be what Keene had been arguing about with Cort.

I knew his color now, his coordinates, and it only took the barest effort to find the number that would shift me next to him. Like it did with Erin and Dimitri. I couldn’t find Patrick or the agents, though, perhaps because I hadn’t focused on them when it was happening. But Keene could probably help me find them.

Suddenly, I laughed inside, careful not to show it on my face. When I was finished being angry at him, we would do a little experimentation. First, I needed more information—but not with Patrick staring at me like he was just the slightest bit afraid.

Forty-five minutes and much traffic later, even at this early hour, we arrived at his place on S Street. Meaning twenty-seven thousand square feet of house on three quarters of an acre. In Washington DC the cost of the place would be astronomical. But not only was Patrick a businessman in his own right, he also had the backing of all the Renegade cells and the US president.

The house itself was rather ugly, boxlike, and covered with red brick. However, what little I glimpsed of the gardens, before the car was buried in a detached garage, was enchanting. Inside the spacious entryway of the house, a checkered black and white rock floor met us with unremitting boldness. The round chandelier, bench, and numerous side tables filled with fresh flowers looked like something from a museum.

Several of the Secret Service agents hurried in front of us across the checkerboard floor to a set of double interior doors on the far side of the entryway, apparently checking for danger. The doors opened onto a wide hallway, where a multicolored rug ran down the middle of the floor, marring the bold of the black and white rock that continued through the space. More museum furniture, light sconces on the walls, large mirrors, and tapestries screamed wealth. Multiple doors connected to the hallway, and stairs led up to other areas of the house.

“Sorry,” Patrick murmured, staring at a gilt-framed picture of some early political figure. “A little pretentious, I know. We bought it furnished. Come on, I’ll show you to your rooms.” He smiled at me as we started up the stairs after the agents. “You’re in the suite next to me, of course, with Luce—hope you’re okay sharing the suite with her. Your brother, uh, Kenton, is across the hall.” He glanced at the Secret Service agent ahead of us to see if he’d noticed the hesitation, but the large black man didn’t appear to be listening.