The Drafter (42 page)

“Peri, have you thought about moving back in with me?” he said, and she accidentally ripped the pouch all the way open, spilling it. “I wouldn't even mind the cat box,” he said sourly.

“No,” she said, trying to get the spilled cat food in the bowl. “Allen, I'm sorry,” she said to ease the bite of her words. “I appreciate you not making a big deal about me moving out in the first place, and until I remember something more, it feels, I don't know.” Allen made a face, and she gestured helplessly. “We need to do a few tasks together. That's all.”

Gaze down, he picked at the edge of his cast. It had everyone's name on it but hers. She didn't know why she hadn't signed it. She was with him all the time, it seemed. “Psych keeps telling me to be patient,” he said softly.

“Psych is right.” Leaning over the counter, she gave him a kiss. His knobby-knuckled hand rose to caress her jawline, and her fingers slipped from his smooth-shaven face. Her eye twitched and she pulled up and away. “Let me clean this up and we can go.”

“Sure.”

She could feel him watching her as she wiped the counter down and washed her hands. “How come you never knit anymore?” Allen asked, and she looked up, startled.

“Ah, because it's spring?” she said, eyes going to her canvas bag tucked beside the couch. “It's not as if I need it.” No, she didn't need the soft red scarf anymore, but clearly it bothered her that it wasn't finished yet, since it was still out.

“I like it when you knit,” he said, and she came around the counter, looking for her purse.

“I'll finish it this weekend, then,” she said as she found it and went to the front closet for her coat.
Good God, why did I buy a red coat? To match a scarf I haven't finished?
Her fingers on the smooth finish felt numb, and her focus blurred. The jacket smelled like real leather, but she didn't remember buying it, and she had her doubts.

“Why does Bill want to meet at Overdraft, anyway?” she said as she came out from behind the closet door. “Sandy always fills the Juke'sBox playlist with suicide country crap.”

Allen laughed as he slid from the stool. “You'd rather go into Opti for a formal psych review? Give the guy a break. You're his best drafter and he doesn't want to push you.”

Peri forced her shoulders down, but the fear of drafting settled like ice in her middle, and she had to fight to keep her hand from her pendant. “I suppose,” she said dully. “Ready?”

“You want to drive?” he said, holding up his cast in explanation.

“Absolutely,” she said as she headed for the door, eager to feel the smooth power of her Mantis around her.

A ground-floor apartment
, she thought in dismay as she locked up. Even after a month, she didn't feel safe. She could not
believe
she'd let Allen talk her into it. It might have had something to do with that second-story balcony he'd fallen off.

The April morning air still held the dampness of last night's rain, and Peri paced to her car, hesitating with her hand on the handle for the car to recognize her and unlock. Allen hobbled to the other side.
She liked driving, and the truth was, his cast made her nervous. Sliding in, she felt the car wake up around her, and for a moment, she felt good as she lost herself to the pavement and motion. Allen chatted about getting his cast off and the rehab to rebuild the muscle. He figured it would be at least a month before they got an assignment, and that was fine with her. She wanted some time to do her own research, research she hadn't told anyone about.

Her fingers gripping the wheel went tight, and she forced them to relax before Allen noticed.
Silas
. She wanted him dead, and she wanted to be the one to do it—needed to be the one to do it. It was his face that haunted her nightmares, and the growing urge to end his life filled her with more anticipation, more drive than she'd felt in the last six weeks.

Lost in thought, Peri nearly missed the turn into the strip mall where Overdraft was. The parking lot was almost empty, traffic moving fast just a few feet beyond. It was a cold, ugly place this early in the morning. A man in a tight-fitting overcoat stood under the overhang as if waiting for a ride, and she eyed him suspiciously.

“I don't see Bill's car,” Allen said as he leaned forward to peer through the front window.

“He's always late,” Peri said. “Or he might have walked it. He's been threatening to work out more. I saw him on the track last week.”

Allen's reach for the handle hesitated. “Bill? On the track?”

She smirked at the mental image of the tall, somewhat prissy yet heavy man in Opti gray sweats lumbering after twentysomething athletes with their ponytails swinging and mouths going as they gossiped and jogged at the same time. Her smile faded. Where had all her friends gone? She had friends, didn't she?

“No, I was on the track—he was in with the belts practicing his martial arts,” she finally said. Bill excelled at them, his extra mass adding to his proficiency rather than hindering it.

The man at the overhang was gone, but she didn't put her keys away, holding them between her fingers like claws as she got out. She was on edge, and she abruptly slowed to Allen's pace when she realized she'd left him behind.

“Peri.” Allen pulled her to a stop at the front door. His eyes were pinched behind his glasses. “Hey, ah, you mind if I go down and get a couple of doughnuts?”

Peri's breath slipped out as she realigned her thinking. “Sandy wants me alone first?”

He smiled sheepishly, nodding. “Cream-filled? Jelly? What do you want?”

The mental image of red jelly oozing out made her ill. “Just a latte.” She hadn't yet had her morning caffeine, and that way she'd be able to avoid Sandy's sludge.

His expression was relieved, but that wrinkle of concern was still there when he touched her shoulder. “One latte, skim milk. I'll be right back.” He turned once as he walked away to make sure she was going in, and she waved, wondering why she felt so odd. He seemed afraid—not of what Sandy and Frank might say, but afraid of something nevertheless.

Shoving it to the back of her thoughts, Peri yanked open the door and went in, hesitating just inside as the door sealed her in the bar's warmth and dim lighting. The man she'd thought was waiting for a ride was sitting at the bar, his tailored overcoat carefully folded on the stool next to him. What he was wearing underneath was just as sharp, making her wonder who he was. Frank was tinkering with the floor sweeper, and Sandy was rolling silverware into napkins.

“Peri!” the dark-haired, petite woman said welcomingly. “Where's Allen?”

Unbuttoning her coat, she wiped off the damp of the street on the colorful entry rug. “He's next door getting breakfast so you can psychoanalyze me.”

Frank tightened a screw. “Please tell me he's bringing coffee. Sandy just made a pot.”

“Hey!” the small woman said tartly, but she was smiling as she came around the bar to give Peri a hug that felt both comforting and uneasy. She smelled like strawberries. Something niggled at her memory—an image of Sandy standing on the bar screaming, expression ugly with hatred. Peri stiffened and Sandy pushed back, her smile looking forced.

Frank set the sweeper on the floor, nudging it with a booted foot when it didn't move. At the tables, all the ordering pads blinked and reset as a sister restaurant updated their menu. “Stupid thing hasn't worked in six weeks,” Frank muttered, kicking it to a corner, where it made a sad beep.

“Ah, Bill not here yet?” Peri said into the awkward silence.

“No,” Sandy said cheerfully. “I wanted some time with you first. You know . . . girl talk. You want anything? We're technically open.”

She shook her head, feeling a familiar pre-task tension in her gut. Avoiding the tables, she sat on the raised hearth, where she could see everyone. The logs stacked beside her looked old enough to crumble, and she picked at one, tossing the bark that flaked off into the unused cavern. “I'll wait for Allen's coffee,” she said, hands clasping around her knees. “How's business?” she asked. Psych reviews sucked.

Sandy sat beside her, her thin but muscular ballerina legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. “You know,” she said lightly. “Same old, same old. Pay bills, listen to the gamehogs bitch about the college kids coming in to use the vid lounge. The only excitement is when one of you comes back. Still having nightmares about drafting with no one there to catch you?”

Peri shrugged, hoping that Sandy would believe the coming lie. “No. I've been sleeping like a baby ever since getting that cat.”

Sandy wrinkled her nose and pulled her legs under her. “Cats are nasty animals. I can't believe you took in a stray. He could have tapeworms and fleas.”

“He wasn't a stray. He had a collar,” she protested. “I had him vetted the first day, and until someone claims him, he's mine. He found me. Needed me.”

Sandy made an unconvincing snort, and Peri flexed her fingers nervously. “Ah, that's actually something I wanted to ask you about.”

Eyebrows high, Sandy faced her squarely. “Talk.”

“Next time I go on task, I need a cat-sitter.”

Sandy's eyes widened. “I thought you were going to spill. You want me to
cat-sit
?”

“Just . . . could you come over and feed him while Allen and I are
out?” she asked, and Sandy made a face. “If we're out longer than two days, I mean,” Peri pleaded.

Sighing, the small woman slumped in defeat. “Fine, okay,” she said. “But only because it's you. I don't have to pet it or anything, right? And I'm not cleaning the cat box.”

“Deal,” Peri said, and the man at the bar watched them through the big mirror, causing Peri to wonder if they were being too loud. Frank had gone into the back room, and it was just them.
Is he an Opti psychologist?
she wondered. If so, why wasn't he being included? He certainly looked the part, well-dressed and professional, his short blond hair styled and a hint of stubble at his jaw. He felt familiar, but she'd been spending enough time with the “couch warriors” lately to be on a first-name basis with most of Opti's psychologists. Maybe he was observing—which would explain why he was being ignored by everyone. She'd do the same.

“Peri, are you even listening to me?”

Embarrassed, she pulled her eyes from the man. “I'm sorry, what?”

Sandy's thin eyebrows were furrowed. “I said, cats steal the breath from babies.”

Pitching her voice lower, Peri muttered, “Well, I'm not likely to have that problem, am I.” It sounded bitter, even to her, and she wished she could take it back when Sandy reached for her hand. Peri stifled the urge to pull away, not wanting Sandy to think she was pining for a baby. A family. She wasn't. Not really. She'd made her choice a long time ago.

“It's not too late,” Sandy said softly, and Peri refused to show any new emotion. “You have lots of time. Is that what's bothering you?”

Peri exhaled, deciding to come out with it if only to speed this up. “No,” she said, meeting Sandy's eyes. “It's like half the people I know are gone, and the other half are treating me as if I'm going to break. As if they're afraid of what I might do, and I don't know why. Was I an ass-hat before I lost everything? Because that's the impression I'm getting.”

“You were—are—
not
an ass-hat,” Sandy said frankly, and the man at the bar snorted.

“Then what is it?” she whispered. “I have no friends but Allen, and
even he's watching me as if I might suddenly—I don't know . . . go off on a nut and break his face.”

“Allen has his own issues,” Sandy said. “You might have lost everything, but he hasn't, and until he lets go of you in the past, he can't appreciate you in the now, much less the future.”

Loss. It was a recurring theme in her nightmares. She had loved someone, and now love was gone. “I shouldn't have said anything. Now you'll be evaluating him.”

“Oh, we've been doing that already,” Sandy said drily. “I'll talk to him.”

I bet you will
, she thought sourly, looking up when Allen came in with a wash of light.

“Hello, ladies!” he called, the sun glinting on his dark curls as he hoisted a paper bag. “Frank!” he shouted, though the man was nowhere to be seen. “You want a doughnut?”

“Absofreakinglutely!” came a muffled shout, and Frank strode in from the back room, thick hands working over a towel.

Peri shifted on the hearth to make room for everyone as Frank ambled over, but the large man took a nearby chair, turning it around and straddling it. Peri's eye twitched, and she dismissed it. Frank wasn't putting space between them because he was afraid she was going to flip out. He was a psychologist, for God's sake. But it still felt wrong, especially when Allen handed Peri her latte and sat beside Frank instead of her.

Allen ripped open the bag. “Mmmm, cream filling,” Frank said as he took one, using a finger to catch the excess on his lips as he took a huge bite. “Thanks.”

“Anyone want coffee?” Sandy asked, sitting back in a mild huff when both Frank and Allen vigorously shook their heads. “There is nothing wrong with my coffee,” she grumbled, turning when the bar's door opened and Bill came in.

“Not when you're drunk, anyway,” Frank said, laughing as she leaned across the space and smacked his thick leg.

“This is nice,” Bill said as he smiled at them clustered around the empty fireplace.

“They're making fun of my coffee,” Sandy complained. “My coffee is fine!”

“I agree. It tastes like it was ground this morning,” Bill said, and Allen smiled at the old joke, wiping his hand free from powdered sugar and shifting to sit beside Peri. For the first time, Peri felt things were getting back to normal, and she glanced at the man at the bar. Even Bill was ignoring him. He had to be an observer.