The Drafter (48 page)

Her phone had a bug in it, which was fine so long as she said the right thing. Allen was in the bedroom, drugged from his own pharmaceutical cache after she got him relaxed enough last night not to notice the needle. They were high-quality drugs and he'd wake with no headache, no bad taste, and no reason to check the levels of the tiny bottles. Good news was he'd be out for about four hours. Bad news was that the drugs were probably there to be used on her.

“Hello. Opti Health.”

She slid off the stool. Carnac twined hopefully about her feet, and she set the bowl of sweet milk on the floor. “Ah, hi. This is Peri Reed. I'm calling for Allen Swift and myself,” she said as she went to the window and peeked out the blind. “I'd like to switch our morning appointment to this afternoon. We had a late night, and he's got a headache the size of Montana.”

The busy street was empty of any Opti presence, not even a drone. There was no need, not with that tracker telling them she was still in bed. She had to talk to Silas.

“Yes, ma'am. Three thirty, okay?” came the operator's voice, and Peri closed the blinds.

“Yes. We'll be there.” Leaving her phone on the counter, she went to check on Allen.

“Sleep well, sweetheart,” she whispered as she checked his pulse. “I'd bring you back a doughnut, but then you'd know I'd been gone.” Turning, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, seeing the fatigue under the highlights and base. “Where's my effin' two weeks off,
Bill
?” she whispered as she touched up the heavy eyeliner trailing a good three inches off the sides of her eyes. It was overly dramatic for eight in the morning but, along with the artful cheekbone contouring, would change her face enough that the street cameras wouldn't tag her.

Satisfied, she tucked her pen pendant beneath her shirt and tugged the hem of the jacket she'd put on to try to hide a garish, flower-patterned top. Her eyes narrowed at her hair bumping about at her shoulders. Her mother would like it, but it needed to be cut, a liability in a fight.

Striding into the kitchen, she removed a drawer to reveal Allen's knives hidden behind it. She'd made her choice last night in her search, and she slipped the slimmest into her boot sheath. Purse over her shoulder, she checked to be sure the door would lock before she stepped into the hall. The air was pleasantly cool, and after a quick look up and down the hall, she wedged a fortune cookie slip between the door and the jamb, placing it a finger's span above the floor to tell her if anyone had entered or left while she was gone.

The streets were alive, and she enviously eyed the occasional steaming cup of coffee as she made her way to the elevated train. She hadn't slept well beside Allen. Inconsistencies kept pinging against the top of her brain. It wasn't so much what she remembered as what she didn't. She recalled eating a meal, but not buying the food to prepare it with. She remembered jogging in the park with Allen, but not where she'd gotten the shoes she'd been wearing. She could remember the movies
they'd gone to see, but not waiting in line for the tickets or getting the popcorn she ate. They'd lied to her. The people she'd trusted her entire adult life had lied to her, filling her with memories and ideas that were not her own—and she was pissed.

It was a short ride to her old apartment at Lloyd Park, but as she got off the sky way, her steps faltered. Everything was familiar: the neon, the tidy streets, the commons with clusters of people enjoying the spring morning at the fountain. She knew what she'd see when she looked down the side streets, the trendy shops the same as they were five years ago. The feeling of coming home hit her, a sensation lacking in the rooms she was living in now. This was where she'd felt secure, knowing every side street and alley, every dress shop and boutique, every trendy restaurant. And it hurt.

“It's okay, babe,” Jack said, seeming to take an extra-long step to suddenly be there.

“Yeah?” Startled, she sniffed back a tear, shocked to see it. “I always liked this neighborhood,” she added as she turned to her old apartment.

“Me too. Ahh, I hate to say this, but you're being followed. Ever since the train.”

Of course I am
, she thought sourly, scrambling for a lie that Opti would believe and wondering where she'd slipped up.

But there was no fear, only anger. Eager for it, she took a quick left into an alley, putting her back to the wall and fishing out her pen. Cap between her teeth, she scrawled
GO TO ALLEN'S
to hide Silas's number in case she drafted. She didn't need an anchor. She could function alone.

Jack peeked around the corner as she recapped the pen and tucked it away. Hands in fists, she planted her feet firmly on the stained concrete. Masculine, fast-paced steps were coming, and she clenched her teeth so she wouldn't bite her lip.

Silent, she attacked as the man spun into the alley, planting her foot into his gut. He fell back with a surprised grunt, and she followed it with a fist to his chest, knocking him into the wall. Teeth clenched, she grabbed his shoulder and shoved him upright so she could see his face.

“Ow-w-w-w-w,” Silas groaned, and shocked, she let him go.

“Silas?” Face warm, she backed up. Silas was hunched over, his back to the brick wall; then he slid to the cold concrete to look like a mugged businessman in his dressy coat, pressed shirt, and tie. Silent electric cars and Sity bikes passed at the end of the alley, not seeing them.

“I didn't throw Allen over the balcony,” he rasped, one hand on his middle, the other out in an attempt to placate. “Let me explain. God bless it, I think you cracked a rib.”

Embarrassed, she winced. “I thought you were Opti. And I didn't hit you that hard.”

He looked up, his eyes holding recrimination, and she belatedly reached to help him. He waved her off, refusing to take her hand as he pulled himself upright, expression sour as he brushed his coat off with short, angry motions.

“Hey, um, are you okay?” she said. “I'm sorry I hit you. Both times. You should know better than to follow me.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Silas felt his ribs. “What are you doing here? Jesus, you look like a pirate with all that eye makeup.”

“It helps throw off the facial recognition,” she said. “And I was looking for a clean phone to call you on.” Her fingers curled to hide the message to herself. “There's one in the lobby of my old apartment, and they won't give me any guff about using it. I want asylum.”

His gaze sharpened on her. “You believe me that Opti is corrupt?”

“Enough to be talking to you.” Her heart thudded, her thoughts going to the bell on her key chain. “I think I found the chip you wanted.” He had said it would end everything. She didn't care who was corrupt anymore—she just wanted out.

“I watched them burn your apartment.” Silas's expression was thick with irritation as he looked out the top of the alley and into the bright sun. “I doubt what you found is what we need.”

Peri's lip twitched . . . and then she let the anger go. Her talismans didn't matter anymore. Her past didn't matter anymore. “It was in the bell on my cat's collar. Jack gave me that cat. He's not a stray; he found
me. I don't know why Opti let me keep him.” Peri glanced at Silas, seeing a cautious hope. “Maybe they thought he was just a cat.”

He went still in thought, then slowly put his arm in hers. Together they stepped out into the bright light and sporadic foot traffic. It was a beautiful spring morning, the wind off the nearby engineered lake cleanly lifting through her hair. Their feet struck the sidewalk in exactly the same cadence, and she wished she could enjoy it like everyone else shopping around her.

“You found the chip on your cat?”

His brow was high in disbelief, bothering her. “Yes. Last night while ransacking Allen's apartment looking for something to cut the LoJack out of my ass,” she said, sarcasm thick. “And if you laugh, I'll hit you again. You said you'd give me asylum if I could find the chip. Well?”

“Mmmm,” he said lightly, his pace never changing. “You owe me a coat.”

His response took Peri by surprise. “I what?”

“Owe me a coat,” he repeated, angling her across the busy commons to the shops and weaving around the dog walkers and couples having breakfast at the fountain. “This one has someone's slushy on it.”

She leaned to look. “Sorry,” she said, meaning it, and then a wide smile came over her as she saw where they were headed. “Mules?” she said, liking the upscale men's and women's clothier. “You got enough for this, pretty man?”

“You're paying,” he said, reaching out to open the door for her as the simulated mannequins in the window “saw” and responded to them. “Besides, you need a cover story in case you get caught. You could buy yourself a new blouse. You
should
buy yourself a new blouse,” he amended, and she looked down at the patterned monstrosity.

“Yeah,” she said softly as the young woman in her skintight office dress rose from a round table covered in swatches and several open laptops. The boutique looked more like a redecorating store than a clothier, with drapes of fabric artfully arranged between the clusters of couches. A refreshment bar and two low stages were set in the center of the store, roughly dividing it into his and hers.

“Welcome to Sim's Mules. Can I help you?” the young woman said, and the older woman still at the round table returned to her work.

“I need a new coat,” Silas said as he took his off and handed it to her. “She needs help,” he added. “Lots of it.”

Peri grimaced.

“Of course. I'm Kelly,” she said as she handed the coat in turn to an assistant dressed to look like a behind-the-scenes prop man. Tsking, he took it to the center counter to clean it.

“If you'd like to step into the scanner, we can find your perfect fit,” Kelly said, hiding a wince as Peri fingered an especially fine drape of rough silk. “We usually require an appointment, but it's slow this morning. The weather is so nice outside.”

“I'm on file,” Silas said. “So is she.”

Peri turned to him as Kelly's entire demeanor shifted three tax brackets up. “I am?”

Silas took the palm-size keypad Kelly had enthusiastically handed him. “We are two blocks from your old apartment,” he said as he typed in first his, then her name. “You're on file.”

Kelly beamed at the cheerful ding, turning to see the two holograms that shimmered into existence at one of the stages. “You're on file,” she said happily as the two mules in their silk boxers and black panties and chemise began to interact with each other on basic programming.

“Welcome back, Ms. Reed. Dr. Denier,” Kelly said as she took the keypad and read the screen. “Have a seat and feel free to look through the catalog. I've put you at table three. I'll be right back with some refreshments. Coffee mocha for you, ma'am?” she said, glancing at her readout. “Straight black for you, Doctor?”

Peri didn't remember setting up her profile, but the simulation “talking” to Silas's double looked up-to-date. “Sure,” she said, not realizing until just that moment how wide Silas's shoulders were. And was she really that short beside him?

She stifled a shiver as Silas set a light hand on the small of her back, escorting her to the small table overlooking the commons, bright with light and busy with people living their lives. She could see everything,
and for the first time in ages, she felt safe. But then her butt gave a twinge and her tension swung back around as she tried to find a comfortable position.

“Can't try on coats half dressed,” Silas said as he swiped through one of the two glass catalogs and quickly chose a classic pair of black pants, striped shirt, and matching tie. Peri's mule clapped her hands and jumped, showing her belly button, and Peri hid a smile. Marketing at its finest. But even she had to admit it looked good. She glanced sidelong at Silas. Really good.

“I'm going to change your drink,” he said, eyes furtive as he suddenly stood. “Trust me?”

“With my drink order, sure,” she said. “What are you really doing?”

He chuckled sheepishly. “Calling Howard. He's going to want to run his bug detector over you before I bring you in.”

Peri leaned back in the cushions, arms over her chest. “Yeah, I wouldn't trust me either.”

“Oh, stop looking for shoes to throw,” he said sourly. “I'm going to be right over there. Pick yourself out something. That blouse is awful.”

“I think Allen bought it,” she said, mollified as she pulled the second tablet to herself and brought up the women's section.

“It looks like something he'd like,” he said, already walking away, and Peri smiled.

But it faded fast, and her gaze fell to her palm where her message to herself stood out in harsh letters. Opti would never let her out, unless it was in a body bag.

Mood tarnished, she quickly dressed her mule in a tight, thigh-high evening dress, a wash of color at the collar to show off her slim neck and a pair of six-inch heels to bring her closer to Silas's mule's height. They looked good enough for a night on the town—a really expensive night—and she started, sighing when Jack's presence was suddenly standing beside her. “I hope you like what he brings back,” he said as he sat down, his arms spread across the back of the wide chair to own the space. His suit rivaled the one Silas's mule wore on the stage, now sharing a glass of not-there wine with her double.

“Me too.” Fidgeting, she turned to Silas at the center counter, talking on his own phone. “It's probably some foo-foo drink with too much sugar.”

“I meant,” Jack said, pulling her attention back, “I hope you like the memories he brings back. He wants to, you know. Damn psychologist anchor.”

Peri frowned. She was here to buy her way out of Opti, not defragment memories. Besides, how would she know what was real and what was false?