Chapter 21 #2
“Nope. Goddamn good to have you back. Price, I have some printouts I want you to look over, and I wanted to ask you something.” Henderson pulled out the third chair at the table, glanced back at Yoshi, whose tension had begun to stain the air now that the crisis was over.
Yosh stretched, exhaled hard, and went back to tapping at his keyboard.
“Sure.” What on earth would you want to ask me? Justin’s back. Her head twinged, the bursts of pain less frequent now. “How are you feeling, General?”
He granted a tight smile. “Screwed six ways from Sunday, girl. Glad we didn’t lose you.”
Give in. Give in. Give in to me, let me IN. Memory rose, a vise clamping her temples, something invisible working in, burrowing. She was still tender, mentally bruised from the blind man’s attack.
Rowan shuddered, returned to herself with a jolt. “I’m glad too.”
“Was it Carson? What’s his status?” He looked at Justin, steely eyes glinting, and Rowan was suddenly, utterly, relieved.
Being Henderson’s second was more stress than she needed, mostly because she was always afraid of screwing up and costing someone their life. Thankfully, it hadn’t happened yet—unless she counted everyone at the old Headquarters.
And Justin himself.
“I hope he’s dead.” Justin leaned back in his chair, eyes bright and mouth curling up in a familiar, unamused half-smile.
He moved easily inside his rig, as if glad to have its familiar weight on his shoulders.
Just didn’t look right without a couple of guns hanging on him; Rowan supposed it was habit.
She touched the butt of her own Glock, a familiar weight under her left arm.
Henderson reached over for a carafe almost buried under the topos, poured them both a fresh jolt. “You need sugar, Ro?” She shook her head no, so he returned attention to Justin. “You hope he’s dead?”
“I hit him with everything I had and sank a knife in his throat, boss. If he’s still breathing it’s not for lack of effort on my part.”
Oh, God, I hope he’s dead, too. Rowan wrapped her fingers around the mug, grateful for the scorching. “Should I go and—”
“No, I need you here. What’s your estimation of Carson’s status?”
Give in. Give in. Give in to me, let me IN. She shuddered again. Why did it have to sound as if he was still whispering in her head, the squirming maggot-voice tender and waxen-white?
“Creepy.” Her voice threatened to break. Tears rose behind her eyes. “Filthy. Very, very bad.”
Justin’s knee bumped hers under the table. Henderson ran his hands through his hair.
Why was it so hard to concentrate? She must be more tired than she’d thought. “What?”
“Do you think he survived?” the General persisted.
“I wish I’d had time to shoot him once or twice more,” Justin muttered. His knee bumped again. He was trying to comfort her, she realized.
“I don’t know.” She shivered again, coffee splashing.
It was hot and strong, and she wanted a whole gallon of it, anything to clear her head of the persistent, soft, maggoty voice.
Gooseflesh spilled down her back, hackles rising.
“I hope not. Justin pushed him. He also had a knife in his throat. If he survives…”
“He’s survived worse, the old bastard.” Henderson stared at the table. “Goddamn it.”
It was so unlike him Rowan’s eyebrows threatened to nest in her hairline. “General?”
“He was my handler.” He spread his hands on the table. “Just after the wind-down of MK Ultra—the real wind-down, not the recorded one. A bastard even then. Anyway, let’s hope he’s out of commission for a while. How far did he get inside your head, Ro?”
Give in. Give in to me, let me IN.
“Not very far,” she whispered, staring at the table and her almost-empty bowl. “Far enough to hurt.”
“He didn’t get anything of value,” Justin interrupted. “I made sure of that.”
“You know how dangerous he is. We have to be sure.” The older man glanced at Rowan. “Are you absolutely certain?”
“Absolutely.” Justin’s certainty was warm and reassuring, a flood of sunshine cleaning away the remaining filth.
But something skittered away, burrowing under the surface of her conscious mind; she found it suddenly difficult to think.
One realization swam slowly to the top, as if swimming through molasses.
“You think he can track me if he’s still alive,” Rowan said, slowly. “I’m putting everyone in danger.”
Justin’s fingers tightened on her bruised wrist. “Stop it. You’re clean; if you weren’t, I wouldn’t have brought you in. I’d have holed up somewhere until you were all right. Then Yoshi scanned us both; we’re both clear.”
She nodded, biting her lower lip, staring at the table. But if it hadn’t been for me, none of this would have happened.
A sudden wave of self-loathing swept over her. She blinked back tears, pushed up to her feet. “Excuse me,” she said politely. “I’m very tired. I’m going to take the dishes back down and go get some more sleep. Unless you have something you need me to do.”
Henderson and Justin exchanged a long, telling look. What it meant she couldn’t decipher. Was Henderson asking if she was truly safe? And Justin making that small gesture—a tiny shrug, face expressionless, eyes dark—was perhaps defending her.
How could he be so sure she was clean? What if the slime-drenched mindbreaker had inserted some flaw into her, something Sigs could use to track her down like they had last time?
I don’t think I’m ever going to feel clean again.
She wished with sudden vengeance that she could take a scrub brush, not to mention bleach and hot water, to the inner corridors of her mind, cleaning out contamination.
It wasn’t just the blind man. It was the whole fantastic chain of events, from meeting Justin outside the abandoned house to the fall of Headquarters to this latest debacle.
The Society would get along so much better without her.
“Ro?” Now his fingertips were gentle on the back of her hand. “I’ll go with you. I could use a little more sleep myself.”
Tears threatened to spill. She tore away, shutting her mind with a clenching physical effort, stacked the bowls, and grabbed her coffee cup.
“No. Stay with Henderson, he needs you.” Boy, does he ever. And if I’m infected with something that will draw Sigs…
They hadn’t had a moment’s peace since she’d joined the Society. Justin practically had to twist her arm to snap her out of it and start training to be an operative. Although, to be perfectly fair, he hadn’t. He’d left it up to her.
“Don’t care.” Justin’s fingers blurred, loosely braceleted her wrist. “You okay?”
No, I’m not. I won’t be for a long, long time. “Fine. Look, catch up with Henderson.” I’m talking about him as if he isn’t sitting right here. “I just need to rest. That was a hard hit, and I think I’m still a little woozy.”
“Sounds good. It can wait.” Henderson’s eyes were on her, kind and utterly ruthless. “Go get some more shut-eye. I’ll need you soon.”
Need me? Like you need a hole in the head, maybe. “Sure,” she mumbled, twisting her wrist free of Justin’s grip. “I’ll see you later.”
She carried the bowls away and heard Henderson murmur a question. A worried one, to judge by the tone. If I’m dangerous to the Society, you should just tell me outright. It’d be a lot easier than all this pussyfooting around.
When she reached the kitchen Tamara wasn’t anywhere in sight, so she put the bowls in the large industrial sink for dirty dishes, then leaned against the counter.
Rowan held up her hands.
Her fingers trembled, as did her palms. She watched them distantly, as if they belonged to someone else. The pain vanished as her mind latched onto the single undeniable conclusion, the only course of action she could possibly take.
“Calm down,” she told herself. “You know what you have to do.”
She might never have another chance. They called him Rowan’s shadow for a reason.
Kitbag, she thought, suddenly glad to have something to focus on. I’ll need my duffel. And a car. Can I get out without anyone seeing me? I can do that. This is the Society, after all. They trust me.
Which is exactly why I have to get away from them. I’m the danger. I’m the bad-luck charm, the reason nothing’s going right. God, how could I have been so stupid?
Time to get going, before Justin decided otherwise. It wasn’t like him to leave her alone, but maybe he was having second thoughts about her now as well. She had, after all, brought him nothing but trouble.
She peeled herself away from the counter and set her shoulders, striding quickly, purposefully.
She needed a map, too. Fortunately, she could access the Headquarters intranet with her clearance and get any of Henderson’s maps that Yoshi had loaded.
She was sure one of them would show Sig Zero-Fifteen.
Forty-five minutes later, her duffel and bag safely stowed in the passenger seat, Rowan crossed the state line and pressed the accelerator.
She knew where she had to go next.