Part 5 (2/2)

She waited, the call blurring as her concentration faded. Nothing. If he was there, he wasn't answering.

Why? If he had been there while she was running for her life, where was he now?

She sent out one more wistful call. Please. I miss you.

Nothing.

She sighed, laid the shoulder holster on the bed, and slipped the gun free. It was loaded, a baby Glock with a full clip and one in the chamber, functioning perfectly. She set it on the nightstand and stripped down to her T-s.h.i.+rt and panties, breathing a sigh of relief when she unsnapped and struggled out of her bra under the s.h.i.+rt. Given Cath's habit of stripping down, she shouldn't worry about being modest, but old habits died hard, if at all.

The sheets were clean, smelling of bleach and industrial fabric softener. Rowan lay still, feeling the strain of exhaustion weigh on her, 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. Just like sitting with her back against Justin's, feeling his brain s.h.i.+ft into the smoothness of alpha waves and doing her best to follow. Finding that magic s.p.a.ce, sinking into a timeless eternity. It was like meditating with Yos.h.i.+, 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.

Just 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 looked at the laptop's blue screen. ”We're going to hit the Venetian first. I feel a little bad about this.”

Cath shrugged, leaning back on the bed. She checked the automatic's slide and racked a clip in, the sound loud in the room's hush. ”Why? They have more than enough.”

You don't get it, do you? Cath was not overly given to deep a.n.a.lysis. Maybe it was her age. Was I ever this oblivious? ”It's not our money. We're basically stealing.”

Cath chambered a round and slid the gun into the holster under her left armpit. Next went a pair of stilettos up her sleeves. Her fair, round face was serious, set in its childish lines, her 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 h.e.l.l's wrong with you?” Her hair, damp and slick from the shower, lay seal-sleek against her head.

”I just feel bad, that's all.” Rowan finished the last string and looked at the results. Code flashed; she barely saw it anymore. The message was clear. ”Looks like Yos.h.i.+'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 him 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 s.h.i.+mmer of acid yellow fear.

Rowan wondered if this was what having children was like. She was just as nervous as Cath but hiding it better. If she went off the rails Catherine 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 the goth-pale skin of her arms as she rolled her shoulders back. Her holster would chafe if she insisted on wearing just a tank top and the light overjacket. 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 and looked around the room.

If all went well, she would never have to see this room again. They would find another hotel for tonight and be well out of town tomorrow night, after they finished 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 beginning to send spears of light through the cracks. There was a narrow strip of light under the door, too. Just the thing for scorpions to scuttle through, she thought, and s.h.i.+vered a little. She set the sleek black deck aside and unplugged the telephone cord, wrapping it deftly and stowing it in the larger kitbag. Then she busied herself getting her own gear on. She was going to sweat today; there was no way around it.The clicking sound of clips 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 had been 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 knife work. Sometimes the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.ds even forget they have guns.

Finally, she shrugged into the cream-colored linen suit jacket Yos.h.i.+ had given her. 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 her daze of apathetic fear.

”I learned,” Rowan replied, crossing the cheap brown carpet and peering out into the bright floodlight of a Vegas morning. ”Just like you did, just like he did.” The parking lot already s.h.i.+mmered with heat above the pavement, the freshness of morning boiled away by a merciless sun. ”s.h.i.+t, we're going to sweat today. We should have gotten up earlier.”

”We'd be conspicuous. There'll be a good crowd there 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. She could feel the lopsided smile. ”So much simpler than going to a salon.”

”Clairol for Psions.” Cath grinned, the 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 gleamed under the a.s.sault of sun and dust, their dashboards almost visibly popping with heat. The glare of light refracting off winds.h.i.+eld gla.s.s left a green-gold veil over Rowan's eyes as she blinked and looked 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 clean.”

”We look clean, cute, and harmless. Curse of my life. Got your game face on?”

”Absolutely. Wish us luck.” With the pre-job jitters we're getting, it will be a miracle if we pull this off. And my neck is p.r.i.c.kling again. I think we're going to have some trouble. Please, G.o.d, let there be no trouble, what do you say?

Cath gave her a thumb's up and a wide smile, seeming to shake nervousness aside like a dog shakes off water. ”Luck. Let's hope we don't need it.”

Chapter Twelve.

Delgado found the pay phone, fed in quarters and dialed. No answer. Tried another number. It was only a vanis.h.i.+ng possibility, but one he had to explore.

The truck stop lay under a coat of thick dust and evening blur. The Taurus he'd paid cash for in Flagstaff-a necessary indulgence-hunched tired and green under a street lamp. Its paint job was suffering, but the engine was good, and the little tingle in Del's hands told him it would go until its heart gave out.

Kind of like him. He'd always liked mechanical things. They were far less messy and judgmental than people.

And then, miracle of miracles, the phone was picked up. No sound, not even breathing.

”Delgado,” he said. ”Code in alpha-zulu-henry-bravo, 31142.”

”Jesus Christ!”

He recognized the voice. Wanted to smile, dispelled the urge. ”Hey, Yosh. How are you?”

A click, while Yos.h.i.+ scanned for traces. Del could almost see the slim man's fingers tapping over a computer keyboard, his face bathed in monitor glow. ”I thought you'd call in. Rowan swore you were alive.”

His heart gave one shattering leap and started pounding hard enough to burst. He leaned against the side of the phone booth, blinking the omnipresent dust out of his eyes. ”Did she? Good girl. Takes more than Sigma to keep me down.” His arm burned, reminding him he would need more Zed soon. The back of his throat was slick and dry. ”Thought you'd like to know they're bringing in Carson to hunt my girl. I'm tracking right now, going to do all I can to throw him off.”

”Ah.” Another click. ”The line's clean.”

Good boy. Yos.h.i.+ wasn't committing to anything. He had no way of knowing if Del was talking with a gun to his head, or looped out on Zed and going to report every bit of information to Sigma handlers.

But the mistrust still hurt a little, even though it was what Del would have done himself. ”Of course it's clean. I've slipped the leash again. If they catch me they'll kill me for sure, not just hook me on Zed and give me some love taps.”

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