The Drafter (58 page)

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, pushing back from Peri and turning to look.

Peri's heart pounded as guilt and self-loathing poured over her, making her knees go weak.
What am I doing?
Silas. He was running, but so far away.

“Babe?”

Peri's resolve to leave him returned in a cold wash of reality. “I can't do this.”

His hand ran across her cheekbone, slipping down to hold her shoulder. “I know,” he whispered, and then she gasped when the gun in his hand went off, the slug thumping into her with the force of a kick.

She gasped, her fall arrested by Jack as he held her to him. Her
chest exploded into pain, and she couldn't breathe as he eased her down. She blinked, looking at the gun in his hand and seeing the smoke drift idly from the muzzle. Faint on the wind, she heard Silas screaming her name, but she couldn't look away from Jack. “You shot me,” she choked out.

“Sorry, babe,” he said, gentling her to the cold pavement like a lover. His eyes were trained on her, and she saw not the cold calculation of a murderer she had expected to see, but something resembling heartache. “It will be our secret, okay? I'll just tell Bill you said yes and that you got shot by accident afterward.”

“Why?” she said, staring at the sky. “Why!”

He stood, handgun ready as he watched Silas, not her. “It doesn't look like it, but I just saved your life. You need me. You need the way Opti makes you feel. Draft. I'll take you home.”

She couldn't believe this, and her hand felt her chest as she choked on the pain.
Son of a bitch . . .
He'd shot her, shot her so that she'd draft and save herself, and forget everything that had been made clear to her today so she could be a pawn of Opti once more. He was counting on it. “I can't believe you shot me.” The pain redoubled, but she blinked, her searching fingers coming away in the startling realization that though she felt as if she'd been kicked by a mule . . . there was . . . no blood. Instead, a page from her diary peeked from between her fingers—her past had saved her after all.
You have got to be kidding me
.

Oblivious, Jack stood above her, the wind shifting the hair into his eyes as he frowned at Silas. She felt something within her war with itself as he swiftly brought the gun up, sighting it at Silas. She could do nothing and Jack would take her home. No one would blame her, and she would be everything she wanted to be. Her soul cried out for it.

But that wasn't who she wanted to be.

Groaning, she rolled, knocking into Jack as the gun went off.

“Peri!” Jack shouted in anger as his shot went wild.

A low, guttural snarl rumbled through her. Grit pinching her palms, she rose. Jack turned at the sound of her boots scraping on the pavement, but it was too late as she launched herself at him.

They crashed into the car and went down; Jack's face was awash with surprise. “You didn't draft! How!”

“I didn't have to,” she snarled, then head-butted him to get him to let go of her.

He cried out and her hands were free.

Grabbing her head, he slammed it into the concrete dock.

Stars blotted her sight. Gasping for breath, she hit his face with her elbow, and he shoved her away as his nose gushed bright red blood.

She rolled, cursing herself. She'd lost the advantage of surprise, and with it, her chance at the handgun. Pages from her diary were slipping from her, and Jack's expression became ugly as he realized why his shot hadn't done anything. “That is so clichéd,” he said as he staggered to his feet and brought up his handgun.

“It goes with the joke you made of my life,” she said, then dove to the pavement when he pulled the trigger.

The bullet winged away and Peri came up into a fighting stance, staggering when her wounded leg gave out. Jack followed her down, pinning her to the pavement, and she stopped, feeling the hard blunt end of a pistol against her kidney. He was inches away, feeling both familiar and threatening atop her.

How many times have we played this out?
she wondered, then gasped when chunks of concrete peppered them, cutting her face and making Jack look up.

“Why do you care!” Jack shouted, and the pistol lifted from her to point at Silas.

Peri jerked her arm free and smashed her palm into his already broken nose.

Jack screamed. His fist lashed out. She couldn't move to escape it, and it hit her full-on.

Pain exploded in her face. She couldn't see. She struggled to keep from vomiting as vertigo swamped her.

And then she could breathe as Jack was ripped off her.

Bleary, she rolled to her stomach. Silas and Jack fought hand-to-hand on the concrete. Gasping, she sat up and looked for the gun,
spotting it flung off to the side. Holding her stomach, she pushed herself up and staggered toward it. He'd hit her so hard she couldn't walk straight.

“Silas, get clear!” she shouted, and he howled, getting in one last punch before he rolled to his feet and away.

Jack lurched upright. Expression wild, he didn't see her as he screamed and went for Silas. Her hand trembled, and she shot at the ground at his feet. Shrapnel sprayed up, and Jack halted, his head snapping around. Arms held out before her, Peri pointed the gun and shook. She had him!

“Peri?” Silas shouted, hunched and afraid to move. “Oh God. Don't kill him. He's your past. You need him to tell you your past!”

“
I don't need him!
” she raged. She wasn't scared. She was angry with herself for being tempted, knowing that it would always be there. The cracks would never mend. She wanted what only Jack could give her, and she hated that part of herself, even as it kept her alive.

Slowly Jack pulled himself to his full height, his eyes going from her to Silas. “You're not going to shoot me, babe.”

Her arms shook, but her gaze never left him. “Stop calling me that!” she shouted, her throat going raw. “And why not? You killed me first.” The words were hard as they fell from her. Hands quivering, she said, “Silas? Will you take this for me?”

Silas eased up beside her, and the muzzle of the weapon steadied as he took it. Jack's expression went grim. Being careful to stay out of Silas's line of sight, Peri eased up to Jack. She was almost light-headed from spent adrenaline. It would pass. Grunting, she kicked the back of his legs to make him kneel, and he hit the pavement hard. “I want very much to shoot you,” she said from behind him, her words hardly above a whisper. “But Silas is right. You're useful.” Reaching behind her coat, she brought out the damaged diary and tapped it against his bloody face. “One way or the other.”

Jack clenched his teeth, and she backed up, not trusting that his desire to remain unshot was stronger than his desire to throttle her. “If he moves, shoot him,” she said, retreating to stand with Silas. “Can I use your phone?”

“Back pocket.”

Her eyebrows rose, and she gave Jack a smile as she fished it out. “You knew Jack was alive, didn't you?” she asked Silas.

“I didn't know he was in Allen's car,” he said, and Peri made a sad laugh. “Fran wouldn't trust you until you settled it with Jack. Peri. It's truly over. Are you mad at me?”

Over? It wasn't over. She'd almost said yes to Jack. She'd wanted to say yes, and even though she had said no, it sickened her. She couldn't go back to the alliance now. She didn't trust herself—and they would never trust her.

“You can't stop this,” Jack said softly, the blood flowing from his nose. “They will come for me. And when I get free, I will find you. I will—”

Peri took three steps forward. Hands in fists, she snapped a sharp front kick at him, flicking his head back and knocking him down. Grunting, he levered himself up, hand on his chin as he sat on the pavement and stared silently at her.

Shaking, she backed up to lean against the car. She shouldn't have done that. Her leg was in agony. Swiping the phone app on, she called Fran. The line clicked open, and Fran's intent voice barked, “Silas? Talk to me.”

Peri's eyes went to Silas, his aim unwavering from Jack. The wind gusted, drawing her attention to the loose pages of her diary, shifting in the wind.

“Silas, are you there?”

Peri jerked herself back to the present. “It's me. Silas and I are at the ferry dock. Can you send someone to pick up Jack? Silas has him at gunpoint. I'd appreciate you locking him up. And thanks for the offer to work for you, but I'm going to have to pass.”

Silas's face became ashen, and Jack chuckled, his eyes on the muzzle fixed on him.

“I'm leaving now,” Peri said into the phone but talking to both of them. “Don't follow me. Tell Allen I need his car for a few days but I'll leave it parked illegally somewhere next week so he can pick it up at impound. Oh, and, Fran? You suck.”

“Agent Reed—”

Peri ended the call, setting the phone down on the pavement where she wouldn't run it over when she left. Almost immediately it began to hum.

“What are you doing?” Silas asked, but she said nothing as she dropped her diary next to it, not caring if more pages blew into the water. Head high, she limped to the car. The keys were still in it.

“Peri!”

Silas fidgeted, unable to move for worry that Jack might get away. Jack was laughing, bitter and vindictive as she opened the car and got in, lip curling that it smelled like Jack. There was guilt for leaving Silas, but it was outweighed by the horror at the temptation that she knew Jack presented. She hated him for laughing. He knew why she was leaving—running away. She wanted what he offered, and she didn't dare tempt herself again.

“Don't let him move until they get here, okay?”

Frantic, Silas divided his attention between her and Jack. “Where are you going? Peri, talk to me!”

“Somewhere else,” she said, then slammed the door shut.

“We can fix this,” Silas called out. “I promise.”

She started the car and rolled the window down. “I'm sorry. I have to. And thank you.”

“Don't do this. God bless it, woman!”

She thought she heard shots as she drove away, but there was no change when she looked in the rearview mirror. Silas was standing there horrified, unable to stop her as he held Jack unmoving. The son of a bitch was laughing, and helpless tears slipped from her. She angrily wiped them away. She didn't deserve to cry.

She was close enough to the bridge to Canada that she would be across it before Fran's call could stop her. She didn't need a passport to go over the bridge, not with her enhanced driver's license. They'd think she was just a woman on the way home. She probably had time to stop and get her cat and knitting. The clothes she'd leave, though. Allen's taste in women's fashion still sucked.

Her helpless bark of laughter sounded fanatical, and she turned the radio on to distract herself from her thoughts. Her heart was breaking, but she couldn't stay. Jack was alive, a temptation she didn't know if she could resist. She couldn't be that person anymore, someone so dependent upon others that she was a danger to herself. So she would leave, and go somewhere far away, pick up the pieces of her shattered facsimile of a life and start anew.

She was done with it. Done with it all.

I
should have worn white sneakers
, Peri thought as she strode purposefully through the wide corridors with their uniform handrails and hidden, indistinct lighting. Her borrowed scrubs were a pale blue to match the stripe on the wall, and a forgotten machine lit up in alarm as she passed it, reacting to her mild radiation level.

She just kept going, taking a dust cap in passing from a nurse's station and tucking her short hair under it. Behind her, two nurses and an aide went to fuss over the machine.

Pulse fast, she read the names on the doors, trying not to glance in and ruin what little privacy the residents had. She found the one she was looking for across from the communal living room. Someone was at the baby grand, playing music from the forties as three patients and a nurse sang.

MRS. CAROLINE REED
.

Head down, Peri took the clipboard hanging on the door, hiding her face from a passing orderly. There was a current picture of her mother, and Peri's heart clenched at the fading hint of the strong woman Peri had once railed against, the strength and determination hidden under the wrinkles and indistinct focus. Beneath it was a brief description of her life, the highlights and accomplishments: marriages, siblings, divorces. Peri wasn't on it.

The orderly turned the corner. Steeling herself, she knocked. The door was hard against her hand, and it made hardly any noise.

“Yes. Come in!” a strong but quavering voice called.

Peri unclenched her jaw, forcing a smile on her face as she pushed the door open. “Hello,” she said, shutting the door carefully behind her.

“Finally!” her mother said, sitting in a chair all alone in her robe, looking out the window to an empty bird feeder. “Just how long were you going to let me sit here? I've got things to do today other than wait for my stylist. New girl, eh?”

She swallowed, blinking fast.
She doesn't know me
. “I'm sorry I'm running late,” she said, glancing at her clipboard like it meant something. “What can we do for you today?”

“The usual.”

How many times
, Peri wondered,
have I said the same thing to hide the embarrassment of not knowing what's going on?

Heart aching, Peri helped her mother sit up straight, trying not to notice how light she was as she turned her to the huge mirror that was there to try to make the small room look larger. Her mother's chin was high, her anger that she didn't know what her usual was obvious.

“A style it is,” Peri said, reaching for the soft brush beside the bed. “We can skip the wash if you like. Your hair is in wonderful condition. You take very good care of it. Is it getting too long? Would you like me to schedule a cut next week?”