Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1) (21 page)

“Yeah? Did she tell you that? What makes you so goddamn sure?”

He had no doubts at all. Mark was covered with scars just like his. If Caro had seen such a phenomenon before, it would have been visible in her sig.

But last night was none of Zade’s business. “Drop it.”

“Fuck no,” Zade said belligerently. “I sat around all night in this shitty neighborhood, fending off the creeps who wanted to feel my fine ass for free, or buy drugs from me, or whatever else was squirming around inside their pointy little heads so I could pick up this woman’s tail again, and you drive up with her loaded into your Porsche? What, you
forgot?
You’ve been boning this girl all night, but did you call and say, dude, I’ll pick up the tab for your tacos and beer and you wait while I take her home and fuck her—whoa!”

Zade grunted, startled as Noah slammed him against the brick wall, his hand wound into the folded collar of Zade’s thick shearling jacket.

“Do not speak about her like that.” He barely recognized his own voice.

Zade made no move to defend himself, though he was supremely capable of doing so. He just stared at Noah, his dark gaze alive with suspicion. “Holy shit,” he said. “What the hell? Are you in love with this woman?”

“No!” He couldn’t seem to breathe. All the strength ran out of the arm that clamped the other man against the wall.

He let go, and just stood there swaying, fists clenched.

Zade looked almost scared. “I’ve never seen you like this. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you OK? Do I need to call—”

“No.” Noah waved his hand in negation. “I’m just . . .” He broke off, rubbed his mouth. “It’s the AVP. And stress hormones. The combat program is kicking my ass.”

“Oh.” Zade studied him intently. “So. What about the Ice Maiden?”

Noah frowned at him blankly. “Who?”

Zade rolled his eyes, disgusted. “Your fiancée? Simone? She doesn’t deserve this kind of shit, you two-timing pig.”

“We broke up,” Noah said.

Zade’s eyebrows shot up. “Say what? Did she cry?”

“No,” Noah said, uncomfortably. “She dumped me. Gave me back the ring. Told me I was a prick, not in those exact words. That was it.”

“Wow. And your rebound is Mark’s fugitive ex? You’re keeping it interesting, I’ll say that much for you.”

“Don’t call her that,” Noah snapped. “She’s not Mark’s ex.”

Zade’s own unique design of augmented sensory processing, with different brain stim and implants, made him as good at reading people as Noah, in his own way. It felt strange, being observed so intently. Not that he had any goddamn right to complain.

“So what now?” Zade said finally.

“You’d better up your game, for one,” Noah said. “She saw you twice and remembered every detail. She thinks you’re a hit man for Mark, with good reason. She’s skipping town because of you. Mark’s trying to destroy her, but she wouldn’t tell me a goddamn thing.”

Zade grunted. “She saw me, huh? Sharp eyes, for an unmod.”

“And you dress to impress.”

“Now is not the time for cracks about my personal style,” Zade said. “You practically broke my ribs on that wall, dude.”

“Boo hoo, poor you. Go check yourself into the hospital.”

Zade snorted. “So, what’s the deal? Why bring her back to this dump at all? You could have sent one of us to get her things.”

“I’m not taking her anywhere right now,” Noah said. “She threw me out of her place.”

“Ah.” Zade looked puzzled. “That sucks. I’m, ah, almost afraid to ask—”

“So don’t.”

Zade didn’t, for about three seconds. Then he cleared his throat, and did. “For twelve years you’ve been kicking our asses, pushing us around. You can wrangle a bunch of crazy mutant freaks, but you can’t lay down the law with a pussycat artist? Just be the man! Tell her how it is!”

Zade had a point, but still. Pushing Caro around might keep her alive, but it would kill something else, something he treasured. But he didn’t know how to say that in a way that Zade could understand.

“I put a locator tag in her coat,” he admitted.

Zade shook his head, bewildered. “Hope she doesn’t take it to the cleaners. Did you get her story?”

“No,” he said bleakly. “None. Best I could do was guess at some of it.”

“You rock, secret agent. So did you take out the lenses and do the scary glowing eyes thing?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “All night long.”

“And she still didn’t talk? That gonzo yellow cat stare would make me confess to anything.”

He was too miserable to tell Zade to get stuffed.
“Didn’t have much of an effect on her,” he said. “She wouldn’t spill a goddamn thing.”

Zade whistled. “She’s tougher than she looks. What signal did you plant?”

“The tile Sisko put on my Delaunay painting. I’ll tail her myself, today.”

“Did Mark hurt her? Can we kill him now?” Zade’s eyes gleamed.

“She wouldn’t tell me. But she has knife scars, and probably PTSD or something like it. Whatever happened, she barely got away with her life. I’m giving her some breathing room for now.”

A grin split Zade’s lean face. “You know, I’ve never seen you like this.”

Noah was irritated. “Like what?”

“All turned on. Fired up, but not AVP freak-out mode. Not deep-freeze robot-king either. This one’s new. Hey, I think maybe you annoy me a little less this way.”

Noah tapped data into his phone to monitor her locator tag. “You’re making me all soft and warm inside. Stop it, before I get confused about who I am.”

“Awww,” Zade crooned. “Am I emasculating you, Noah? I’m so sorry.”

“Get lost,” Noah said. “Go have some tacos and beer.”

“Too late, asshole. But thanks.” Zade strode away without looking back.

* * *

Mark peered through the chilly mist of the autumn morning. His phone burbled in his pocket. He checked the display. It was the leader of his Seattle team.

“Carrerra”, he said. “Give me good news.”

“You got it, boss. We’re following her. She’s on a bus. We’re behind it.”

“Good,” he said, circling the mud puddles. “Gareth Wickham gave you her address?”

“He knew her street address, but not the apartment number. Pain in the ass.”

“Did you push him hard, like I told you to?”

“We scared the living shit out of him. He would have handed over his own grandma and given us all blowjobs by the end. But he was still fucked if he knew, and the building has sixty goddamn units. But we just got lucky. She came out the front door of the building, alone, just as we were getting out of the car. So we just got back into the car and followed her to the bus stop. She’s heading downtown now. How do you want us to wrap this up?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Being forced to micromanage was annoying, and he could see his target already, barely visible through the trees.

“I don’t wanna screw up. Tell me what your comfort level is when it comes to making noise,” Carrerra said. “It’s business hours downtown, so we’ll have to—”

“Be discreet,” he snapped. “Be creative. Don’t get caught, don’t be seen, and stay away from surveillance cameras. Most of all, do not make me wait one second longer than I have already. When I get to Seattle, I want her waiting for me. I don’t want problems. That’s why I pay so well. Do we understand each other?”

“OK, boss. Got it.”

Mark cut the connection, enjoying the hot buzz of pleased anticipation as his target approached. His first prototype slave soldier, and he could finally activate him now that he’d retrieved the freq wand from Kitteridge’s vault. R-Gen, serial number 57-878, who went by the name Brenner Jameson to the outside world. Once entirely human and now . . . not. Six foot four, two hundred forty pounds of enhanced muscle and super-dense bone, sprinting through the morning drizzle with the speed of a pro athlete.

When Brenner was done with his workout, which he was programmed never to miss, he showered, ate a huge high-protein meal, and went to his job in a local big box appliance store, humping stoves and refrigerators. Working super hard. Lacking the slightest idea of the specialized knowledge and training hidden inside his
highly compartmentalized brain.

In his research, Mark had noticed that Brenner had bucked his programming in the past two years, to the extent of getting romantically involved with a woman in the town where he lived. He’d even had a child with her. The woman had since died, but the liaison should never have happened. Probably a programming design issue.

He was ten yards away when Mark stepped out of the trees. “Brenner Jameson?”

The young man turned to look at him as he ran. “Yes?”

Mark pushed the button on the small freq wand he had taken from Kitteridge’s safe, activating the silent shriek, a coded pulsation of an ultrasound frequency, designed to tear down firewalls inside Brenner’s barricaded brain.

The younger man stopped, staggering. His momentum drove him to his knees in the mud with a grunt. His energy sig exploded in a chaotic burst of wheeling color as energy was released, suppressed memories liberated. What an incredible sensation it must be for him. And painful, perhaps. Always entertaining to watch.

“Your real work just began,” Mark told him. “I’m your controller now, Brenner. You have to do anything I tell you.”

Brenner stared up at him, his hand at his throat. Struggling to speak.

“I heard you got involved with a local girl,” Mark said. “Started a family.”

Brenner staggered to his feet, swaying. “Callie,” he said thickly.

Callie. That had been the name of the child. He wondered if he should eliminate her, just to simplify things. Might attract too much attention, though.

“That’s all finished for you now,” Mark said. “You’ll never see Callie again. Forget her and everyone else. Starting right now. Never think about her again.”

Brenner’s eyes narrowed. “Callie,” he blurted out, more fiercely this time.

“Forget her,” Mark snarled. “You’re mine, now.”

Brenner just stared at him. His breath was sharp and panting, his face shiny with sweat. His hands kept clenching into fists. He looked like he wanted to kill Mark.

Mark was pissed. The guy didn’t even look happy to be activated. He should be thrilled, to finally be able to use the power inside him. It was a gift that Mark had given him. He should be fucking
grateful.

Brenner’s brow furrowed. He was trying to resist the programming.

Eight more iterations of brain stim research after Mark’s time at Midlands, and subjects were still rebellious? Was that the best the researchers could do?

It took ruthlessness to get results. He had no problems being ruthless. He adjusted the wand, pointed it at Brenner’s head and activated a suitable punishment.

The effect was instant. Brenner screamed, arching back and writhing in the mud. Mark watched the spectacle for a few minutes with enjoyment.

“Get up,” he ordered Brenner. “Come back to the truck with me.”

Brenner obeyed, haltingly. He was a sorry sight, all soaked in mud.

At the truck, Mark dug his keys out of his jacket pocket, and flung them at Brenner, who caught them one-handed. “You drive,” he directed.

Brenner climbed into the driver’s seat without a word.

Mark used his time to access all the road maps of the state stored in his database. Seeking the perfect out-of-the-way place. Brenner’s punishment had restored his good mood.

He was jonesing to play with his new toy.

Chapter 16

The door clicked shut. Caro leaned her forehead against it and sobbed.

The only way to get him out the door was to be an icy-hearted bitch. She’d had her fun and now she was done. Goodbye and fuck you, too.

It killed her to play that role. She was starving for more of him. Pushing him away made her so fucking angry, she wanted to scream and break things.

Such a goddamn stupid waste.

Don’t be needy. You don’t have the luxury. Grow . . . the fuck . . . up.

She forced herself to think about what happened to Tim. He’d been a tough guy by anyone’s standards: martial arts, military training, concealed weapons permit. He’d tried so hard to help her.

Mark and his thugs had tortured him to death.

She got into the tiny shower. The trickle of tepid water soon turned ice cold, but she barely noticed. She dressed mechanically. Packed fast, to be ready to blast out of there the second she got back. Ditched anything that would not fit in her roller bag.

Travel light. Leave no trace. Those were the rules of her current life. She’d broken one of them bigtime. Now she had to pay for it in blood.

A city bus got her downtown and to the coffee shop half hour earlier than the appointment. Not too smart, wandering around in the open, but she was too exhausted and pissed off to care. She didn’t even bother with the disguise. Just shoved stuff into her coat pocket. Walked around with rain misting her bare face, her real hair. Fuck it all.

Nine o’clock came and went. No Bea. The crowd in the café changed. Someone switched the music from the cheerful Vivaldi to a melancholy adagio for strings. Violins sobbed in agonizing pathos. She hated it.

Minutes ticked on. Nine twelve. Nine-nineteen. Nine twenty-eight.

At nine forty-one, she saw the slight figure huddled in the entrance wearing a drab raincoat. She was shrouded by her big hood, but Caro caught a glimpse of a pale, anxious face and lank black hair. Caro waved and the woman approached warily.

“Were you followed?” Bea demanded.

“Not as far as I could see,” Caro replied. “Thanks for coming.”

“I was across the street for a while,” Bea said. “Wasn’t sure if it was a trap.”

“It isn’t. Want some coffee? Something to eat? The cinnamon rolls look good.”

“No. I can’t seem to eat much,” Bea said. “Not since . . . you know. Luke.”

“I know,” Caro said. “Me, neither. There’s a brick wall in my stomach.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Bea slid into the chair, perching on the edge. Her nervous gaze darted around the room. “Todd keeps asking me about you,” she muttered. “I think he’s afraid I’m into drugs or that I embezzled money. I wish it was that simple.”