The Color of Courage (15 page)

There were different kinds of bad news, and knowing what gang he belonged to would help define it, but I halted my interrogation until he got to the point.

“She came to see me last night, and she’s”—he shook his hands in the air and vibrated his head back and forth, his eyes rolled upward. “You know.”

“Hysterical?”

“Yeah, that.”

No wonder we’d had such an unemotional relationship. I thought it had all been me.

He didn’t continue, so I started asking questions again.

“How old is she?”

“Fifteen, I guess.”

“What’s her dad like?”

He shrugged. “I never knew him very well. But he’s okay. He’s not, you know, abusive or anything.”

“Why do you think she hooked up with this guy? The ‘gangbanger.’ ”

“I dunno.” He looked at me blankly. “’Cause he’s cute?”

I sighed. “What exactly do you want from me, Ian?”

“Look, it’s like this.” He shoved aside his food basket and leaned on his forearms. “She’s hysterical. You know, scared of the baby and this kid and angry that it happened—she swears she was on birth control—and then she starts talking about school and wanting to be an engineer and the baby will get in the way and all that crap. I told her I’d pay for an abortion or she could give it up for adoption or something, but she always starts crying and runs off.”

She sounded pretty normal to me. Ian’s anxiety, on the other hand, was suffocating me. I shifted my chair back, angled my body away from him, and crossed my legs. “I repeat, what do you want from me?”

He motioned toward me. “I want you to do, you know, that thing you do.”

I was pretty sure he didn’t mean that thing with my tongue.

“What are you talking about?”

He heaved a sigh so big it blew a napkin off the table. “You know, where you make people feel what you’re feeling. You used to do it during sex.”

Heat swept up from my chest to the crown of my head. I knew if I looked in the mirror I’d be fuchsia. “I did no such thing.”

“Yeah, you do. You told me Adam wanted you to learn how to do it intentionally.”

I found myself unable to swallow. I guessed I’d told him that Adam wanted me to practice projecting calming emotions onto people, though I didn’t remember doing so. But Ian had never, ever mentioned that he thought I was doing it during sex.

God, was I? Unknowingly forcing my ecstasy on him? Was that why we’d been together as long as we had when we were now so clearly incompatible?

I was so shocked and embarrassed that I stood, grabbed my bag, and would have walked away if he hadn’t caught my hand.

“Can’t you do that? Make her stop being so scared and angry and stuff so she can make a decision and go home?”

I could. I knew, if I set up a meeting with this girl, that I could do what I’d done with Josh. If it wasn’t enough, she would surely be susceptible to the bubble of calm and cheer that I’d generated in the restaurant and had attempted at various times over the past week with varying success.

But this wasn’t Ian wanting to help his sister. This was Ian wanting to get a difficult, icky emotional mess off his doorstep, and I wasn’t going to be used that way. Not by someone who’d dumped me. Not even by a friend.

“I’m sorry. That’s not something I’m capable of doing,” I told him. “Thanks for lunch.”

As I walked out of the deli, I felt bad for his sister. But even superheroes can’t save everyone. She’d gotten herself into that situation, and she’d gone to
him
for help. Even if I could calm her, that was the least of what she faced. Better for her to work through it all without the crutch.

By the time I’d reached HQ, my pity had disappeared. My embarrassment, however, had not, and I was certain of one thing.

I was never going to have sex again.

My phone alarm, signaling an urgent call, went off when I was half a block from the building. I snatched it off its clip and opened it as I ran the remaining distance. Adrenaline coursed through me, accompanied by a sense of purpose. Finally, something to focus on.

“What have we got?”

“Boat accident on the Potomac. Where are you?”

I yanked open the front door and barreled down the hall. “Here.”

“Come to the garage. We’ve got your gear bag.”

I changed direction mid-step, tossing my phone into the office as I passed. The battery was almost dead, and I wouldn’t be answering it during an op, anyway.

I skidded to a halt in the garage. Our van was nowhere to be seen. Instead, taking up twice as much space, was a huge SUV-like monster in the same colors as our protective suits. The roof bristled with antenna of varying lengths. The rear windows were tinted dark, and a blue light flashed on the dashboard.

Its engine was running, and Kirby sat in the front passenger seat. The rear door flew open, and Summer called to me. I hit the seat, Trace backed up, and my door slammed shut before I could reach for it.

“What the hell is this?” I twisted to check out the rear compartment. Equipment bins lined one side, lockers the other.

“It’s our new mobile unit.” Kirby seemed excited, despite our mission, which I still didn’t know details of. I started donning my suit, which Summer had handed to me. “Auberginois had it sent over.”

“Ink’s barely dry on the contract,” I muttered, “and he’s spent half the money already.” I cut Kirby off when she started to retort. “Where’s Adam?”

“No idea. He can’t help, anyway.”

He could direct, but I didn’t bother saying so. It was too late now.

“What’s the job?”

“Boating accident on the Potomac,” Trace answered. “There’s a woman trapped in the debris.”

“Search and rescue?”

“Unavailable. They’re too far away, on a training op. They had a couple of guys still here, but they can’t get to the woman.”

“Why not?” I finished suiting up and drew on my seatbelt. The vehicle barely swayed as Trace took corners at his usual unsafe speed. The blue light and a siren that we could barely hear inside the truck were shifting cars out of our path. Charles had gotten us an emergency vehicle light permit, something we’d been denied before. Apparently, money talked.

“There’s a dog guarding her. He gets ferocious when they get close. The first guy got bit, and the rest didn’t try. But they’re afraid she’s tangled up in debris that will sink and drag her down before too long.”

“Where’s animal control?”

“They’re not trained for water rescue.”

Something was very off about this. “You think—”

“CASE is involved?” Trace floored the accelerator for a straight stretch that was clear. “Yeah, I do. But we can’t say no and take the chance it’s a legitimate need.”

A few minutes later, we screeched to a halt at the waterside, much, much sooner than we would have arrived in our old van. We scrambled out and Trace circled to the back to gather the equipment he thought we’d need. Kirby and I ran to the group at the water’s edge.

“’Bout time you got here.” The man who growled the words through a thick, long mustache and beard scowled at us and pointed out into the water, where we could see the shattered remains of a powerboat. What looked like a German Shepherd stood on the largest piece, barking. Behind him, I could barely make out the orange of a life vest and what could be a head, bobbing with the movement of the water.

“Can you get us out there?” Kirby asked the guy. He didn’t look too happy at the idea, but splashed into the water to a boat moored just offshore. He climbed in and started the motor, then glared at us again.

“I guess that’s a yes,” I said to Kirby.

Trace and Summer rushed up, arms full, and I told them about our ride. Kirby approached another of the apparent rescue workers, a grizzled old man who wasn’t any happier about us than the first guy. While she asked what they knew about the wreck, the rest of us headed for the motor boat. She joined us just as the driver cast off.

Mr. Mustache drove us out to about twenty yards from the wreck, then idled in a little closer before cutting the engine and dropping anchor. The closer we got, the more frenzied the dog became. The woman appeared to be unconscious, possibly from a head injury. Her blond hair was matted with blood.

“Can you calm the dog?” Summer asked me in a low voice. I was already trying, building my bubble and projecting it outward. The dog’s fury was too intense, though, and we were too far away.

We studied the scene for a minute, riding the boat up and down in the chop.

“Let me see if I can summon her.” Kirby lifted both hands and concentrated. The woman rose a couple of inches, but then stopped. Kirby shook her head.

“She’s caught. I don’t want to rip a leg off or something.”

“We have to go closer,” I said.

“I know, but—”

“I’ll get in the water.” I’d already moved toward the side of the boat when Trace put his hand on my arm.

“That dog will tear you apart.”

I crouched in the bottom of the boat to avoid tipping it. “I can calm him. Animals are simpler, I’m sure I can do it quickly. Then you come in, go under, and untangle her. We’ll drag her to the boat. The dog will probably follow, swimming. He won’t be much danger in the water.”

Trace didn’t like it. His anxiety and fear were growing, as were all of ours. We shared a bad feeling about this, but had no idea how to prove it was a setup, or prepare for it, or stop it. We could only rescue the woman.

He nodded, once. I stood, adjusted my flexi-shield and double-checked that my boots and gloves were secure to my suit, and dove in.

I’d scuba-dived before, but I’d never gone in the water with my suit. The water moved around me, but didn’t touch my skin. The suit held air and buoyed me immediately to the surface, which was good, because the flexi-shield made me feel like I could breathe, but its filters closed as soon as there was no airflow. Any air trapped in the shield wouldn’t last long. I’d have to surface to breathe.

I gave the others a thumbs-up and started a slow breaststroke toward the dog. He’d stopped barking for a moment when I went in the water, but started up again when I swam toward him. Spittle flew off his jaws. His feet scrabbled at the fiberglass under them, his weight shifting with the force of his anger. I could see his teeth, clean and sharp, and was glad my suit would protect me. From being shredded, anyway.

I treaded water a few feet from his face and wished the flexi-shield had sound-dampening qualities. Kirby wanted to get upgrades, now that we had Auberginois’ money. Maybe that was a feature we should ask for.

“Okay, Charm, stop daydreaming and start working.” I concentrated on calming the dog again. My bubble touched his fury, pushing it back. But it wasn’t diminishing. It was like it sank deep into him, and my bubble bent around his body but would go no further. His behavior didn’t change. If anything he went more wild, the sharpness of his bark becoming shrill, almost panicked.

I concentrated, moving my arms and legs only enough to stay afloat and in one place, trying to force his emotion to change. Sweat trickled down my right temple. My jaw started to ache, and then my frustration began to affect the bubble of calm.

Trace and Summer were calling at me to turn back. I was about to when the dog yelped, did a rearing half-twist, and fell into the water behind the boat. He didn’t resurface.

I wasn’t sure if I had caused that or if something else had, but it didn’t matter. I dove back under the water as best I could, trying to see where he’d gone. There was no thrashing shape, no teeth about to grab my leg. I bobbed back to the surface as a splash sounded behind me. It was heavy, probably Trace. I set out for the woman, and a moment later he passed me, his dark shirt telling me he’d shed his suit.

Adam would kill him.

I saw why he’d done it immediately. The suits were virtually airtight and kept us afloat. Trace dove deep, his hands trailing over the woman’s torso and legs. He could stay down, his endurance allowing him to hold his breath for long periods. I watched him work to untangle some kind of line. The dog was still nowhere in sight. Then an odd movement caught my eye. The woman’s hand had risen out of the water. I lifted my head. She was looking right at me, her malevolence on par with Gino Scarengio’s on the ledge. I froze, my blood far colder than the water around me. She was with CASE.

“Trace!”

But he couldn’t hear me. He didn’t have his shield on, so he had no com.

The woman grimaced and lifted her hand higher out of the water. Then I realized that was supposed to be a grin, and she was holding some kind of trigger. I screamed Trace’s name again and dove, but the stupid floating suit kept me from getting to him. She hung in the water, drifting as he untangled the line, and he had no clue anything was wrong.

I bobbed. Her thumb started to clench on the button. I dove again. Trace had stopped trying to untangle her and stared at the line stretched across his hands. He turned to me, his eyes wide, and I realized what he held. Some kind of waterproof primer cord.

She was going to blow us up.