Two Weeks' Notice (12 page)

Her eyes were clear now, but very distant.

“Sweetie?” Bryn said, and took the empty bowl and
spoon to put aside. She put a hand on her sister’s forehead. “Hey. Do you feel okay now?”

“Fine,” Annie said. Her voice, like the frozen stare, was dim and far away. “Thanks for coming for me. I was…I was afraid.”

“Of course you were,” Bryn whispered, and smoothed the rich brown curls. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry you got caught up in this. It’s my fault. I should have made you turn around and go home first thing. I should never have let you stay with me, not even for a minute. But I wanted you here. I wanted to feel…
alive
. You helped me to do that. It was selfish, and I am
so sorry
.”

Annie’s gaze moved to focus on her, and her sister raised a pale hand to touch Bryn’s face. “Not your fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have fallen for it. But he was so
cute
.”

She must have meant Fast Freddy. Annalie had been on her way to the airport, headed home, when she’d disappeared; nobody had been able to pinpoint how that had happened, but now Bryn understood. Somewhere along the way, maybe even at the airport, her sister had run into Fast Freddy, and he’d sweet-talked her into a drink before her flight. Or something more intimate; there were hotels you could get to without even leaving the terminal. But instead of getting a free margarita, or a cheerfully sexual good time, Annie had gotten something else entirely.

Because Freddy liked killing women. He was good at it. And Mercer would have allowed that to happen, then administered the shots to bring Annie back, simply because she was someone he could use against Bryn.

Leverage.

I’m not going to cry,
Bryn ordered herself fiercely.
I can’t.
Her sister needed her strength, not her self-pity. She could let that out later, in private, where only the
dog could hear and sympathize, but now she had to be the older sister, and
hold it together
.

“You’re going to be fine now. I promise,” Bryn said. “You’re safe. Freddy’s not coming near you again. Neither of them is.” She swallowed hard. “Annie, I’m sorry to have to do this, but I need you to listen. I’m invoking Condition Sapphire.”

Annie’s gaze snapped to hers, suddenly and intensely unnerving. That wasn’t Annie looking at her. That was the nanites, waiting for a command.

“Cancel all previously invoked Protocols,” Bryn said. “Confirm Condition Sapphire.” These were Pharmadene codes, built for military operations; Mercer had developed them, and he would have used them on Annie. He’d tried to use them on Bryn, before Patrick had helped her find Manny Glickman and develop the blocking agents.

“Confirmed,” Annie’s voice said, but again, it wasn’t Annie’s at all. There was a cool, mechanical tone to it. “Protocols canceled.”

And then the shine in her sister’s eyes faded, and it was just Annie, shivering. Bryn adjusted the blanket around her. “It’s okay,” she told her. “You’re okay now.”

Annie, for the first time, seemed to take an interest in where she was. “This is—where is it? Not your apartment.” She almost laughed, but it was more of a rasping sound. “I’ve been to your apartment. It’s not this fancy.”

“No. I don’t have that place anymore. I gave it up.”

“Why?”

“Well…” Bryn gestured around vaguely. “This was kind of…available. And it’s safer. And nicer.”

“Huh,” Annie said. She blinked. “It’s
his
house, isn’t it?”

“Patrick’s. Yes.”

“Rich?”

“His family is. I don’t know that he’s personally dripping with it.”

Annie smiled a little. It was newborn and fragile, that expression, but at least it was an attempt. “Wow. Who knew
you’d
be the one to snag a billionaire? And I was really trying. I read books about it. I was thinking about going on one of those reality shows.”

“He’s
not
a billionaire,” Bryn insisted, and felt her cheeks heating up. “And you need to rest. Your body’s exhausted from the repairs. I’d give you something to help you sleep, but it doesn’t really work; the nanites burn it off fast.”

“Nanites,” Annie said. “There are times when I think this is all just a crazy drug trip. You know that, don’t you? We’re talking about
tiny little machines
. In
my blood
.” She was definitely much better, but she seemed drowsy. Exhausted. Maybe that was a good thing.

“I know it’s crazy.” Bryn kissed her forehead. She smelled like Annie now—clean, scrubbed, flowery as spring. But there was still something wintry in her expression, as if she’d never really let go of the fear again. “Please, try to sleep. I’ll check on you in the morning. I’ll be right next door.”

“Okay.” Annie kissed her when Bryn leaned down, then turned on her side. “Bryn?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“Thank you,” Annie whispered, drugged by exhaustion. “Thank you for coming to get me.”

Bryn pulled the heavy tapestry coverlet up and over her, turned out the lamp, and left her bathed in the dim glow of the night-light. She didn’t want to leave her, but Bryn was exhausted herself, and full of a sharp, cutting tangle of emotions. She needed to talk, and she couldn’t with Annie.

She locked Annie’s door from the outside. Just in case. She changed out of her battle gear into a soft pair of pajamas and a thick robe, and then took Annie’s soup bowl and spoon downstairs to Liam.

He was in the kitchen, tidying up—there was never a spot, a crumb, or a thing out of place in this temple of culinary arts. He took the empties from her and rinsed them, then added them to the dishwasher racks. “You look tired,” he said. “I assume that Annie’s all right?”

“Better,” Bryn said. She wouldn’t go so far as to say
all right
, not without a full hearing of what Annie had been through. “Thanks. She needed something to eat.”

“Quite all right. If she’s hungry later, there are some premade things in the refrigerator you can heat up, or you can ring me.” Liam finished wiping down the sink and folded the rag before putting it in the laundry basket beneath the counter. “Are you in search of cocoa?”

“I could murder one,” she admitted. “Would you mind…? I know you’re probably off duty.”

“I live here, too,” Liam said, and sent her a sharp, kind smile as he got out four cups, cocoa, sugar, milk, and marshmallows. “And I make myself snacks from time to time. I expect we’ll have company as soon as they smell things heating.”

He was right about that. As he mixed and stirred the cocoa in a copper-bottom pot, Pat and Joe came in and took seats at the round kitchen table. Joe had a neatly applied bandage on the side of his head.

“I forgot to ask,” Bryn said. “Joe, how are you?”

“Flesh wound,” he said. “But Fast Freddy got me with a Taser from behind. My own fault. I should have known that little fucker is sneaky.”

She pointed at the bandage. “That’s from a Taser?”

“Nope, that’s from the gratuitous boot to the head
after
the Taser. Your friend Freddy’s a real piece of work.” Joe popped his jaw and winced. “Should have sawed his damn head off when we had the chance.”

“There were other problems at the time,” Pat said. “How’s Annie?”

“The shots are working. She seems better. Just tired. I’m letting her sleep.” She cleared her throat. “I canceled the Protocols. And just in case, I locked her door.”

He nodded, gaze lingering on her as if he was trying to tell without asking how
she
was. For her part, she wondered about him. He’d taken an awful risk, dropping Freddy like that with Joe’s life at stake. Even Joe had been rattled, and he didn’t spook easily.

Ice water in his veins. When Patrick had spotted the grenade, he hadn’t hit the deck; he’d calmly, methodically taken it away.

There were times when Bryn would swear Patrick, rather than she, was part machine. He could just…switch things off. She envied that a little.

As he accepted his hot cup of cocoa, he just seemed like a normal guy. His five-o’clock shadow was pronounced, and he looked tired, but not like the same ice-cold professional who’d done the things he’d done tonight. When that switch was off, it was
off
.

He looked like a man who badly needed human contact, just now. And when he saw her watching him, he smiled. There was warmth in that, and understanding.
If we were alone
…But they weren’t. All too often, really, they weren’t.

Liam joined them with his own drink. “So,” he said. “I gather tonight was productive? And, from Mr. Fideli’s bandage, eventful?”

“You could say that. Pat almost shot me in the head,” Joe said, with remarkable cheer. “Mmm, good cocoa.”

“
Almost
doesn’t count,” Pat said. “I told you, he was going to drop you if I didn’t drop him first.”

“Yeah, and I’m still partially deaf in that ear from the round he popped off on the way down. Next time, just give me a signal first, ’kay? I’d like to get a last prayer sent up.”

“I thought working with me, you’d be fully paid up on that account at all times.”

“Point,” Joe said, and toasted him. “You know what would make this so much better? Alcohol.”

“Irish whiskey, coming up,” Liam said, and rose to get it. He came back and poured a shot into each of their cups, including his own. “To surviving. May it happen every day.”

“Every day,” Joe said, and clinked china with Liam. Pat and Bryn echoed him, although Bryn’s had a strong taste of irony to it. Joe sipped, and winced. “Damn, I think I cracked another rib.” He held out the cocoa. “Medic?”

Liam added a second shot.

“Aren’t you driving home?” Bryn asked, and saw Joe and Pat exchange a lightning-fast glance.

“Nah, thought I’d stick here tonight. No sense in waking up Kylie. I already let her know I’d probably be out.” He sounded casual, and if she hadn’t caught the look that had passed between the two men, she would have thought it was legitimate. “Besides, staying here at the Millionaire Home for Wayward Orphans ain’t exactly stressful.”

Something was up. Bryn drained her cocoa, and the warm flush of the alcohol only stayed in her system for a few minutes before it faded, carried off by those industrious little nightmare machines. “I’m going to check on Annie,” she said. “Good night. Thanks for the cocoa, Liam.”

He nodded to her with another of those warm, gentle smiles. “I’m glad you found her safe.”

As she pushed her chair back, Patrick rose as well. He took both their cups to the sink and rinsed them, then put them in the dishwasher. Liam watched him with, Bryn thought, a certain amount of alarm, as if he hated
seeing anyone else touching things in his kitchen. Which was probably the case. “I’m off, too,” Pat said, and Joe raised a hand in lazy farewell.

“Usual time for breakfast?” Liam asked.

“I’ll be off early tomorrow. I’ll catch some coffee on the way in the morning. Don’t get up.”

“But it’s the most important meal of the day!” Joe called after him, and then, to Liam, “Listen, if you want to make me breakfast, I’m damn sure going to let you.…”

His voice faded behind her as she followed Patrick through the dimly lit rooms. One of the estate’s many dogs—a greyhound—watched them from the comfort of his bed in the corner of the gorgeous sitting room but didn’t get up; they were all more Liam’s pets than Pat’s or Bryn’s.

She wasn’t planning on catching up with Patrick, but she found herself moving faster nevertheless, and by the time he was at the top of the stairs to the second floor, she was beside him, step for step.

Patrick stopped. “You’re checking on Annie?” His voice was neutral, and she couldn’t read his face at all.

“I should,” she said.

“Good night, then.”

“Yes, good night,” Bryn said, and watched him walk away. He didn’t glance back, just opened his bedroom door and closed it with a firm
click
. She went to Annie’s room and checked her door: still locked. Bryn turned the key in the lock, slid it open a crack, and peeked inside.

Annie was asleep in a tangled mound of covers and a storm of disordered brown hair. She looked so young this way and so thin that it made Bryn’s heart ache.

But she was breathing steadily, and she looked…alive.

And she was safe. Safe, finally.

Bryn shut the door again, turned the key, and leaned
her forehead against the heavy wood. It smelled of lemon polish, a comforting, normal thing, and for a few seconds she didn’t move at all.

Then she pushed away and looked down the hall.

Patrick McCallister was standing in the darkened doorway of his room, looking back at her. His black shirt was unbuttoned halfway, as if he’d stopped in the middle of the task, and he looked deliciously, warmly rumpled. Like someone awakened from a vivid, sensual dream.

“She’s all right,” Bryn said. “Sleeping.”

“I suppose we all should be,” he said again. But he didn’t go in. He just kept watching her.

She walked to her door, passed it, and kept moving toward him.

He stepped back to let her inside, and for the first second they just…looked at each other. Then Bryn reached over, swung the door shut firmly, and said, “You look tired.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She pulled in a deep breath. “And…no. Not particularly. I thought maybe we could…continue what we started earlier tonight. In your office.”

He didn’t speak, but the incendiary look in his eyes answered for him. She reached out and drew her fingers gently down the exposed skin of his chest until she hit cloth and button, and began to undo the rest.

It was as if she’d unlatched a cage, and the tiger leaped out. Her reactions were by no means slow—faster, if anything, with the addition of the helpful nanites—but she wasn’t prepared when he lunged forward and pushed her against the door, then put his hands on either side of her head. He got kissing-close…but their lips didn’t meet. “I want this,” he said, and there was a rich, focused intensity in the words that made her shiver. “I want this
very, very badly, Bryn. So don’t start this if you don’t. Just tell me no, and I’ll back off. You can go. And everything can be as it was yesterday.”