The Drafter (28 page)

“That's not what this is about.” He hesitated, the lights from the oncoming traffic making the furrows on his brow look deep. “Okay, the alliance is trying to shut Opti down, but not the work that drafters and anchors do. We
need
the terrorists stopped, the flesh-trafficking rings ended, and the power-hungry extremist governments held in check. And sure, the alliance isn't so much the green tree-huggers that we don't understand why sometimes it's better if someone dies early or innocents suffer for the greater good. What the alliance believes is that it shouldn't be a handful of wealthy families who both dictate and benefit, telling the rest of humanity that they did them a favor and to be happy with their new toys and don't ask who paid for them and how.”

Peri pushed her food away, her appetite gone. She wasn't so innocent as to believe that there was a right or wrong answer, either. But Opti
had
rescued that plane. They
had
saved the taxpayers millions of dollars.
And murdered a politician before he could strong-arm a series of laws into legislation that would set the U.S. back a hundred years
.

But even she had a problem if the real benefit Opti was serving might be only the interests of those who could pay for the miracle of changing time.

“Jesus, Howard, how did you ever get mixed up in this?” she said softly, not really expecting an answer.

Digging to the bottom of his chip bag, Howard chuckled. “A woman.”

“See a man in trouble, look no farther than the woman beside him,” she said, saluting him with her water bottle.

“No. It was Silas,” Howard added as he shook the crumbs from his chip bag into his palm. “I was a tutor in college, and I met Silas when he came over to pick up one of my clients. We found we liked the same football team, started hanging out, watching the games. He got drunk one night, staggering drunk over a girl I'd never heard him talk about before. I took him home.” Howard crumpled the chip bag and threw it away. “The entire ride he debated with himself the moral responsibilities of how much someone should sacrifice for their beliefs and the responsibility of those who love them. He told me this fantastic story about what if people could jump back a few seconds and rewrite a mistake but in the doing, forgot it.”

Peri met his eyes, glad it was dark. “Drafters.”

He pushed his crumbs into a tiny pile. “I found out about anchors and drafters. Found out that Opti was a for-hire service. The rich get richer, the poor get cheese off a truck. The alliance was my chance to be more than I am, I suppose. Put my actions where my mouth is. You don't always have to have a reason other than the need to do what's right. And it was exciting to know that there really are people who can do what you do and to be a part of that.” He shrugged. “Why does anyone do anything?”

A smile crossed Peri's face.
Why indeed?

“How about you?” Howard asked, and she reached to pluck a chip off his starched white shirt.

“I fell off a swing,” she said, not wanting to talk about it. “Would you mind if I sat across the aisle to catch a few z's?”

“No, go on,” he said, gaze falling to her untouched sandwich. “Are you going to eat that?”

She shook her head, smiling as he shifted it to his tray. “Wake me up before we get there, okay?” she asked, and when he nodded, she took her water and moved to the other side of the bus.

The seat was cool as she settled into it, but it wasn't the temperature or the cold window she rested her head upon that made her shiver. Eyes open, she stared at the passing lights, her mind full as she weighed the last couple of days against what she'd known her entire adult life.
She wasn't sure if remembering those three missing years would make any difference.

Opti was both more and less than she had thought: more involved and insidious than she had believed, and less moral and transparent than she had ever imagined. The alliance couldn't be as ineffective and laughable as she had been told—not if it attracted people like Howard, people risking their lives not for revenge or money, but because it was the right thing to do.

Peri shivered again, pressed against the side of the cold bus.

She couldn't believe Opti was entirely corrupt—because if it was, it meant she was, too.

P
eri stepped off the charter bus, the ugly blue coat over her arm as she blinked in the clear, early sun. Howard was tight behind her, almost running into her as he took her elbow and edged her out of the way of the excited passengers. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath to push out the lingering, mild paranoia of being trapped in a bus with women who
did not shut up
.

Silas was being lied to about her, and that bothered her more than she'd like to admit. Exhaling, she opened her eyes. People dressed with an overdone flair mingled with those in jeans and tees in a noisy throng, all walking the paved path to Churchill Downs. The track was closed for the season, but the venue could apparently still be rented out, and Peri squinted at the woman on the blond horse welcoming everyone to the Run for the Hearts charity race.

An announcer blared over the noise of the leaving bus, and the woman wheeled her horse around, making it prance in place as the crowd before her cheered. A small jet roared nearby in takeoff, and Peri noted it. Not far away. Not far at all. Mid-sky, several low-Q news drones hummed over the track getting footage, and she lowered her head as one buzzed the parking lot for a shot of the arriving fans. Black cars lined the shade at the outskirts of the lot, their drivers catching a smoke or clustered around tablets. Most of the vehicles were
late-model—probably rentals with drivers—but there were enough
real
cars to make her run a hand over her rumpled sweater. She'd fit in better with a big hat and jewelry.
Black pearls
, she thought, not knowing why. It was an odd mix of wealth and commonality bound together by the love of horses. That Howard's contact was among the throng wasn't encouraging.

“That way.” Howard pointed to a narrow sawdust path that led away from the track, and she pushed herself into motion, relishing the chance to move. A flicker of mistrust rose as they passed the sign stating they were headed for the platinum campsites, but her gut said Howard was being honest with her. His mood had softened this morning, and she had the growing suspicion that he felt she needed rescuing.

“It's up on the right,” Howard said, head down over his phone as three girls in skirts too short and heels too tall passed them going the other way. “It's about time she answered my text.”

“Gawwd,” one of the girls drawled. “Did you see her black eye?”

Oh, yeah. I forgot about that
. Giving her hair a fluff, she lifted her chin.
It is what it is
.

Howard's pace slowed as they entered the campsites and he began casting about. Huge RVs were spaced haphazardly under old trees. A number of them had golf carts parked in front. Others had tents with alfresco eating more lavish than most restaurants offered inside. There was a permanent pool and spa, and horses were clearly welcome, judging by the number of places available to tie them up or water them down. Millionaires camping out. Go figure.

“There,” he said, exhaling in relief, and Peri followed his pointing finger to one of the more elaborate campsites under a banner reading
JACQUARD EQUINES
. A blond woman in a black evening dress sat in the cabana-like lounge area, her laptop and tablet open and in use. An overdone silk derby hat crowned by a veil and an enormous magnolia blossom rested on the table beside an untouched julep, unnoticed as she talked on her glass phone. But it was the multiple dishes on the roof of the RV that captured Peri's attention. This was the alliance? She'd been expecting something backroom and slick with sunglass-wearing security. This felt like home.

Seeing them, the woman stood, her conversation continuing as she came forward. She moved confidently, smoothing her long blond hair, which had been mussed by the hat. Peri eyed her low-heeled sandals in approval—stylish but still good to run in. Her dress was modestly high at the bodice, but it clung to accentuate her femininity. Even her jewelry was perfect, simple enough to keep her from sliding into the ranks of partygoers but saying “money” nonetheless. It was clearly a cultivated look, both elegant and in charge.

“Hi, can I help you?” she said with a slight drawl, phone call ending as her gaze ran over Peri before returning to Howard. And then her eyes widened. “Oh. My. Gawd! Howard!” she exclaimed, her southern drawl strengthening. “I haven't seen you since my freshman year!”

“Taf.” Howard grinned, grunting in surprise when she yanked him into an enthusiastic hug. Her hair shifted to show a butterfly tattoo, and then she pushed back, beaming. “Wow, you look fabulous. I should have changed my major. How's life been treating you?”

“Great! I work for one of the big hospitals planning their events. I'm using up all my vacation days to help my mom out on this, but God help her, she needed it. How about you? You got your license, right? I bet you're why my mom is in such a state. Lord love a duck, you know better than to bother her when she's fund-raising.”

“Yeah. About that.” Flushed, Howard dropped back, his eyes darting to Peri to include her. “Taf, I'd like you to meet Peri Reed. Peri, this is Taf Jacquard. We met at school. I was pre-med. I think Taf was going for her MRS degree. How many majors did you have, anyway?”

MRS degree, as in Mrs
. . . . Peri took the woman's hand, surprised at how firm it was.

“Just one,” Taf said, giving him a mock punch as she let go of Peri. “I'm a marketing events coordinator, which means I can plan one hell of a party for six or sixty thousand. Nice to meet you. It's Taffeta, actually, but call me Taf.”

“Pleasure,” Peri said, forcing her smile to stay undimmed as Taf checked out her scuffed boots, wrinkled slacks, and ugly coat. At least she didn't say anything about her black eye.

“Is your mom around?” Howard asked, fidgeting. “She's expecting us. I think.”

“Sure. Come on up and sit down,” Taf said, and then louder to the aide hovering near the cabana, “Find out where my mom is, will you?” The aide murmured something, and Taf barked, “Then text her! The woman has her phone grafted to her ass.” All smiles, Taf turned back to them. “You want something to drink? It might take a minute. She's got an entire group flying in from LA, and she's trying to cram in as much as she can before they get here.”

Peri eyed the cabana in anticipation, but before they could move, Taf sighed at the sound of hoofbeats. “Speak of the devil and she will appear,” she said, a tired resolve in her voice. Peri caught a flash of irritation on the young woman's face, and then it was gone.

“Hoo . . . boy.” Howard backed up when an arch-necked, light-blond mare high-stepped into the campsite. “I really don't like horses.”

“Then you came to the wrong spot,” Taf said as two men in stable livery came out from behind the RV to take the animal's head.

It was the woman from the parking lot, and Peri refused to retreat as the horse shied. “I've never seen a horse that color before,” she said, thinking it had almost a metallic sheen.

Taf eased up beside her, so close Peri could smell her expensive perfume. “It's an Akhal-Teke gold. I think she spent more on it than on my entire education.”

“
She's
our
contact
!” Peri blurted, eyeing the woman in her velvet blazer and vibrant cravat. The dappled light caught the diamond-encrusted broach of a horse head, and her short, blond hair was bound up under a small but eye-catching derby hat. She looked like a politician's wife with too much money and not enough to do. But then Peri spotted the security men behind the RV coming forward. An unsettled feeling crept into her, curling around twice before settling into the pit of her soul like a bad dog.

The woman dismounted, graceful from practice. Taking off her hat and gloves, she handed them to one of the men. “Howard,” she said, eyes bright and color in her cheeks that makeup couldn't hide. Her
riding boots, unlike everything else, were well worn, and Peri looked for a whip, thinking it wouldn't be out of place. “Your text was nebulous, to say the least. You'd better have a good explanation. This isn't a good time.”

“Is it ever?” he said, shaking hands with her, but the woman never took her eyes off Peri.

Taf had shifted to make room, ultimately ending closer to Peri than to her mother. “Mother, this is Peri Reed,” she said formally, a stilted smile in place, and Peri shifted her coat to stick her hand out. “Peri, this is my mother, Fran Jacquard.”

“Pleasure,” Fran said, motioning her security forward.

“Hey!” Peri exclaimed when one took her hat and coat, and the other patted her down.

“Seriously?” Taf complained. “Howard wouldn't bring her here if she wasn't clean.”

“Mistakes happen.” Sculpted eyebrows high, Fran waved off the guard when he showed her the jackknife she'd taken from that beat two-door car she'd hot-wired.

“Peri is clean,” Howard grumped as the security guys dropped back. “It's what I do.”

“Good, then.” Fran stood before Peri, her sharp attention making Peri stiffen. So she was dirty and smelled like a bus. She'd been working three days straight. “I understand you have something for us?” Fran prompted, and Howard shifted from foot to foot, making the beads in his dreadlocks clink.

“Ah, actually . . . ,” he hedged, “we don't quite have it yet. That's why we're here.”

Fran turned to him, but Peri was wondering what the
it
was they were talking about. Taf, too, looked out of the loop. “It what?” Peri asked, feeling ignored.