Chapter 11
Vegas was shimmering spikes bristling into desert night under small, flinty stars.
Outside the window, an entire world thrummed with an electric bath of greed and light, but it was, for all its desperation, a relaxed town—probably due to the sheer amount of alcohol being consumed, fuzzing all the deadheads out.
It looked, in fact, like a carpet of brightly colored candy. Radioactive bonbons. Cancerous little sweets.
Rowan set her bag gingerly down on the burgundy bedspread. “My entire body hurts,” she moaned, mournfully. “My ass most of all.”
“Stretch out.” Cath was unsympathetic. She flung herself down on the bed, short black hair puffing out like thistledown. “I’m gonna check the room.”
Rowan nodded, fists against her lower back. She bent backward like the old painting of the Lady of Shalott, shaking her hair and stretching. There were cameras everywhere; she’d kept the baseball cap on the entire time to cover her hair. Probably had the world’s worst case of hat-head by now.
Cath closed her eyes. Breathless silence filled the room as a faint psychic crackling, like faraway crickets, swept from one corner to the next. Rowan, mental defenses still absurdly sensitive, shivered and crossed to the windows, looking out on the carpet of light.
It’s beautiful. Hilary would have loved this.
Thinking of Hilary, with her sleek cap of dark hair and her charcoal business suits, still hurt.
It was probably a blessing she couldn’t remember seeing her childhood friend dead.
That was one memory Justin had refused to share with her, even though she’d asked.
Don’t, Rowan. He’d stroked her back, his fingers gentle, kissed her temple and hugged her tighter.
You don’t want to. You don’t need to see that.
The old pain rose, and the old rage with it. She stared at the lights, spread her hand against chill glass. Mist outlined her fingers, living warmth meeting cold hardness.
Justin was alive. She had hoped, prayed, thought… but not known. Now she did. And if he was alive, was he following them? Had he already made contact with Henderson?
The strangeness nagged at her. Who the hell are you?
As if he didn’t know, or didn’t remember.
Had Sigma done something to him, made him forget?
It was ridiculous, but… perhaps. If she could touch him without hurting them both, someone else might be able to.
If that someone was a Sigma operative, they might well try to strip him of every memory he possessed of her, both to try to catch her and to break any emotional attachment he might have.
It was standard in Sigma to break up relationships that didn’t serve the purposes of the handlers and higher-ups, psions moved around like human chess pieces, manipulated like puppets.
Cath sighed from the bed. “Room’s clear,” she said, in the heavy slurred voice of exhaustion. “Get some shut-eye. Tomorrow’s a busy day.”
Yeah, we have to score a few hundred thousand and get out of the city without anyone noticing. Her eyes burned with fatigue. At least her shoulder wasn’t throbbing. No, the only thing hurting was her chest.
Or to be more specific, her heart. It was a fresh pain, one she thought she’d left behind months ago when she had finally accepted Justin wasn’t returning.
That Sigma had stolen him too.
“Go to sleep,” she told Cath. “I’ll be up for a little bit.”
The girl was already asleep, her breathing soft and rhythmic.
Rowan had learned not to like sleeping alone. It was nice to have the sense of another psion near. If she pretended hard enough, she might be able to believe it was Justin for a few moments.
Rowan sighed, eased out of her jacket, unbuckled the shoulder holster.
Tomorrow she’d wear a full rig. It would cost her in energy to keep the bulges hidden from the crowd of deadheads and security cameras, but it well worth the effort if trouble occurred.
The way her nape and upper arms were prickling, trouble was a definite possibility.
This trip should fund them through the next critical period as well as finishing the remodeling of the new Headquarters.
By the time that was accomplished, the rest of Henderson’s preparations should be in place—for tapping into the reserves the Society had left.
Slow going, since they had to make sure Sigma hadn’t trapped or frozen the financials from records acquired at the wreck of the old Headquarters.
The safeguards had probably protected most, but Henderson wanted to be sure before he drew on the funds and possibly brought a whole house of cards down.
Rowan rubbed at the back of her neck. She should be sleeping. If anything untoward happened tomorrow, she was going to need every scrap of energy she possessed.
She couldn’t help it. She gathered herself, sent a thread-thin call through the city, subtle as a single gold thread buried in wool carpet. There was only one other mind who could find that call, one other mind that would possibly answer her. Are you there?
Nothing. Her hook slid through dark waters, not a nibble. No bite.
Please, if you’re there, if you’ve followed me, please talk to me. I miss you.
She waited, the call blurring as her concentration faded. Nothing. If he was there, he wasn’t answering.
Why? If she hadn’t imagined it while running for her life, where was he now?
She sent out one more wistful call. Please. I miss you so much.
Nothing.
She sighed, laid the shoulder holster on the bed, and slipped the gun free.
Loaded, a baby Glock with a full mag and one in the chamber, functioning perfectly.
She set it on the nightstand and stripped down to T-shirt and panties, breathing a sigh of relief when she unsnapped and struggled out of her bra under the shirt.
Given Cath’s habit of stripping down, she shouldn’t worry about being modest, but old habits died hard, if at all.
At least the sheets were clean, smelling of bleach and industrial fabric softener.
Rowan lay still, muscles unwilling to let go of wakefulness.
There was a certain point of nervous endurance past which it was almost impossible to fall asleep.
She closed her eyes and began to breathe long, deep breaths, just like meditation.
Like sitting with her back against Justin’s, feeling his brain shift into the smoothness of alpha waves and doing her best to follow.
Finding that magic space, sinking into a timeless eternity.
It was like meditating with Yoshi, too, only with the absolute safety of Justin’s attention closed around her.
Even while he slept he never lost track of her, his mind never quite slipping free of the borders of hers.
Rowan exhaled, peace loosening her muscles. She drifted closer to sleep, closer, closer.
Just before she went over the edge, she seemed to feel a brush against her cheek. Gentle fingers, callused from practice, skating over her cheekbone.
Rest, angel. Comfort wrapping around her, a familiar touch. She would have tried to wake up, but she was tipped into the black well of unconsciousness before she could protest.
Rowan gazed at the laptop screen. “Okay. We’re hitting the Venetian first. I feel a little bad about this.”
“Why?” Cath checked the automatic’s slide and racked a mag, the sound loud in the room’s hush. “They have more than enough.”
You don’t get it, do you? The girl was not overly given to deep analysis; maybe it was her age. Was I ever this oblivious? “It’s not our money. We’re basically stealing.”
Cath chambered a round, slid the gun into the holster under her left armpit.
Next were a pair of stilettos, up her sleeves.
Her fair, round face was serious, set in its childish lines, soft mouth drawn tight.
She’d taken out her nose piercings, her tongue stud, her eyebrow ring, and most of her earrings as well.
“You’re right, we are. But people come here to throw their money away.
We need some of it to fight Sigma. What the hell’s wrong with you?
” Her hair, damp from the shower, lay seal-sleek.
“I just feel bad, that’s all.” Rowan finished the last string, looked at the results.
Code flashed; she barely saw it anymore since the message was clear.
“Looks like Yoshi’s worked his magic, as usual.
They’re all fine.” And Henderson’s getting ready for a run on a Sigma installation.
Wonderful. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the man was suicidal.
“Good. Now worry about us.” Cath sounded uncharacteristically nervous. When Rowan glanced over, she saw pale cheeks and tasted a shimmer of acid yellow fear.
Rowan wondered if this was what having children was like. She was just as nervous, but hiding it far better. If she went off the rails, the younger woman would go nuts.
“I am worrying about us, porcupine girl. Relax. This is going to go like clockwork. All you have to do is tickle the little roulette ball and let me worry about the rest. We’ll hit a couple of casinos and make up the rest at the track this afternoon and tomorrow.”
“I hate horse races.” Cath’s mouth pulled tighter.
Muscle moved under goth-pale skin as she rolled her shoulders back.
Her holster would chafe if she insisted on wearing just a tank top and the light jacket.
Then again, this was a desert town. It was going to be a scorcher.
“You sure you’re okay, Ro? I got a bad feeling about all this. ”
“Just nervousness. Everything’s going to go fine.” Rowan closed the laptop. If all went well, she would never have to see this room again. They would find a motel for tonight and be well out of town tomorrow night, after finishing at the track.
Moving around was the best way to avoid unwanted attention.
The curtains were pulled tight, but the desert morning outside was already sending spears of light through the cracks.
There was a bright, narrow strip under the door, too.
Just the thing for scorpions to scuttle through.
She set the sleek black deck aside, unplugged the cord, wrapping deftly and stowing gear in the larger kitbag.
She was going to sweat today too; there was no way around it.
The clicking sound of mags checked and slid in, rounds chambered, and the soft sliding sound of each knife’s action tested were all familiar, comforting. She was getting better at throwing knives, due to Brew’s patient tutelage.
Still, she would have felt better if Justin were here.
He was an acknowledged master of making a blade do things it shouldn’t theoretically be able to do.
A slight side-effect of Sigma training, he’d once remarked wryly to her, working a knife out of a block of wood.
When you want quiet, quick, and dirty, it’s knifework.
Sometimes the poor bastards even forget they have guns.
Finally, she shrugged into the cream-colored linen suit jacket Yoshi had found somewhere. Very Miami Vice. All I need is stubble and loafers with no socks. I am so not ready for this. “As ready as I can be,” she muttered, and looked up to find Cath watching.
The younger woman’s eyes were wide. “I remember when you came in. You didn’t even know what end of a gun to hold. I used to think Del was crazy, trying to teach you the way around a sparring match.”
Me too. It had taken Rowan months to snap out of the daze of apathetic fear.
“I learned.” Rowan crossed cheap brown carpet and peered out at the floodlit glare of a Vegas morning.
“Just like you did, just like he did.” The parking lot already shimmered with heat above pavement, the freshness of morning boiled away by a merciless sun.
“Shit, we’re going to sweat today. We should have gotten up earlier. ”
“We’d be conspicuous. There’ll be a good crowd by now to hide us.” Cath levered herself off the bed. “You look nice. Wish you’d let me dye your hair.”
“Everyone today is going to swear I’m a brunette, and the tapes will be scrambled anyway once we leave.” The corner of Rowan’s mouth tilted up, a lopsided smile. “So much simpler than going to a salon.”
“Clairol for Psions.” Cath grinned, tension breaking and peeling away. “Only for you, I’d pick a nice deep purple. Or mahogany, seeing as how you’re such a straight-arrow.”
Rowan heaved a mental sigh of relief. If Cath got nervous in a casino, they would have a harder time doing this.
“My reputation precedeth me.” One final check of the parking lot.
Ranks of cars gleaming under the assault of sun and dust, dashboards almost visibly popping with heat.
The glare refracting off glass left a green-gold veil over Rowan’s eyes as she blinked and glanced back into the suddenly-dim cave of the room.
“Looks clear. And I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up, so we’re probably all right. ”
“We look clean, cute, and harmless. Curse of my life. Got your game face on?”
“Absolutely. Wish us luck.” With the pre-job jitters, it will be a miracle if we pull this off. And my neck is prickling; I think we’re going to have some trouble. Please, God, let there be none, what do you say?
Cath gave her a thumb’s up and a wide smile, shaking nervousness aside like a dog shedding water. “Luck. Let’s hope we don’t need it.”