Part 19 (2/2)

Rowan, the book bag dangling from her slim fingers, closed the door quietly. They'd taken this small, light-filled apartment not for economy's sake, but because a house wasn't safe. He'd been feeling a little antsy for a while now, and Rowan had started to look pale and drawn again, no matter how many bookstores or lectures they visited. Her nightmares had gotten progressively worse, too. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in two months.

Of course, the fact that he liked to calm her down the old-fas.h.i.+oned way probably had something to do with that. Oh, well. Anything for the cause.

He pulled the hammer back, knowing the click would resonate through the man's skull. Tall, dark-haired, reasonably fit and experienced, the intruder still had no chance against him. Sigma had simply trained Del too well.

Besides, the agent on the floor, whoever he was, was a normal. He couldn't sneak up on two psions.

Here in the entryway, a small table lay on its side, the day's mail scattered over the floor from the quick, vicious fight. The man gasped, probably winded from the shot to the solar plexus. Justin wondered how their visitor had gotten in. Probably the kitchen window.

He better not have knocked over the African violet, Del thought. Rowan loves that plant.

”Unarmed! I'm unarmed!” The man almost squealed with fear. A quick, thorough search proved this to be true, and five minutes later their new visitor was trussed with duct tape to a solid kitchen chair. Dark hair, leather bomber jacket, jeans, and a pair of good boots-he looked like miserably out of place here.

n.o.body in Montreal wore a bomber jacket, for Christ's sake. Not at this season.

Del saw with relief that the African violet was still on the windowsill, but the window had been jimmied.

The kitchen lay under a gloom of gray light, the blue dishtowels set just so, the breakfast dishes drip-drying in the rack. Rowan hugged herself near the door, staring at the man with wide luminous eyes under a short, chic cap of sleek dark hair. She was still fragile and jumpy. If this sonuvab.i.t.c.h had set her back Del was going to have to see if he could get a little creative.

Del tossed her the man's wallet. She caught it with a sweet, natural grace and flipped it open. ”Barry Holgrave, NSA. Looks real.” She tossed her head slightly, still not used to short hair. I look completely different, she'd said mournfully, staring into the mirror.

That's the point, he'd replied, and kissed her. A good memory, one he liked. ”What's the NSA doing here?” He looked down at the man, aching to wrap his fingers in the intruder's hair and pistol-whip him a little. ”You've got thirty seconds to convince me I shouldn't kill you.”Barry was old enough to have been in the spy game awhile. His eyes widened, fine fans of wrinkles spreading out from the corners. His haircut was too butch. He was making a shoddy job of undercover.

His Adam's apple bounced as he swallowed, wincing when Del tightened his hold on his hair.

Rowan's hand dropped, weighted with the wallet. ”It's about Sigma,” she said softly, and shook her head, her hair swinging to touch her cheeks. The green wool sweater she wore made her skin seem even paler, and the blue scarf loose around her pretty throat heightened the contrast. Water still clung to her hair and shoulders, little jewels of rain. She had largely lost the circles under her eyes and the nervous small tremble in her expressive hands. Sometimes she even laughed. ”Loosen up on him a little, sweetie.”

You make a great good cop, you know, he told her privately, and watched the gleam of amus.e.m.e.nt touch her eyes, but not her solemn, beautiful mouth. She'd put on a little weight, but not nearly enough. ”I think we should kill him.” He used the soft pleasant tone he knew was the most terrifying.

Mmh. And you make a good bad cop. The amus.e.m.e.nt in her tone was tight and thin, a veneer over adrenaline and the sudden plunging of her heart.

Easy, sweetheart. We didn't mark anyone on the street outside. We've got plenty of room to jump if we have to. He felt her take a deep breath and reach for rea.s.surance, answered her silently with all the comfort he could.

”They've shut it down.” Holgrave almost choked in his eagerness to talk. ”Sigma's shut down. There were closed Congressional hearings, and Anton's at a maximum security prison for the criminally insane.

He's totally f.u.c.king nuts. All sorts of s.h.i.+t about what he was doing with the agency started to come out and everyone clamped down, from the top down to the lower echelons. It was a G.o.dd.a.m.n mess, still not sorted out.” He took a deep, racking breath. ”In the living room there's a briefcase. It's got doc.u.ments.

Proof.”

”What does this have to do with us?” Del eased up a little on the man's hair.

Rowan tilted her head. No activity outside, nothing I can feel. Want me to go check?

Her heart was pounding; he could feel it in his own chest. No, I want you to stay right where I can see you, angel. Not letting you out of my sight, remember?

Oh yeah. This time she did smile. He had to swallow dryly, though his attention didn't waver. d.a.m.n, the woman was dangerous to his self-control.

”Rehabilitated,” Holgrave swallowed so hard his throat actually clicked. ”You're rehabilitated, your ident.i.ties wiped clean. We want you to work for us, legitimately. No Zed, no electroshock, no torture.”

”And if we don't want to?” Del felt his entire body go cold. It had to be a trick. Had to be.

”Then you're free. As long as you don't make waves or work for a foreign power, you're free as birds.

That's the deal. It's all in the briefcase.”

Barry's eyes were as round as plates. He wasn't trying to struggle, but he did crane his neck to look at Rowan, pleading. He thinks she might stop me if I get crazy and decide to kill him.

”It's true,” Barry said suddenly, s.h.i.+fting in the chair. Del hadn't been gentle in taping him down.

Del unc.o.c.ked the hammer. ”Ro?”

He's telling the truth, and I don't think he's been tampered with. A faint line was etched between hereyebrows.

”What's the catch?” And don't lie to me, he thought privately, keeping it from her with an effort. He paced back to Rowan at the door, took the wallet, and glanced through it. If it was a fake, it was better than any other fake he'd seen. Lie to me and not even your own mother will recognize you.

”Some of the Sigma infrastructure is still operating, lots of the operatives were taken by the private sector. We want you to hunt down whoever bought them. We're recruiting Daniel Henderson, too. We want you to work with us.”

I doubt Henderson would give these guys the time of day, Del thought, not bothering to s.h.i.+eld the thought from her. He dropped the wallet on the floor, dispelling the urge to strip the cash from it. They weren't hard-up yet. And if they ever were, a few nights in the underside of any city, a few drug dealers relieved of their bankrolls, and they could move on to the next town. Rowan didn't like it ... but she wasn't the naive idealist she used to be either. Get what you want, angel. We're leaving.

Her shoulders slumped. I'm so tired of this. ”So now everything's supposed to be all right?” she asked, softly. ”Now that you need us, that is. Where were you when Sigma was killing innocent people and turning others into animals?”

Holgrave didn't even have the grace to look ashamed. He simply blinked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language. ”I wasn't a part of it, ma'am. I didn't know.”

I'll deal with this, Del reminded her. Go on, sweetheart. He crossed the black-and-white squares of the kitchen linoleum, eyed the man, and heard Rowan padding away behind him. She would get the bags they'd packed for emergencies, but probably not the briefcase. The risk was just too high. She moved very quietly, and he reminded himself she was armed and well-trained-as well-trained as he could make her in such a short time. Besides, her mind was linked to his. If she ran across anything he would know.

”We'll see if what you're saying is true,” he said finally, tearing off another strip of duct tape. Holgrave's eyes widened. ”We'll even call the cops to come rescue you from your little throne there. You can tell them whatever you want, but you take this message back to whoever you run for, dog. If I even sense another one of you behind us there won't be any warning. Clear?”

”What are you going to-”

Del smoothed the duct tape over the man's mouth. ”You can breathe?”

Holgrave nodded frantically. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the rank smell of fear was suddenly overwhelming. Fear, and a sweet chemical scent he recognized. Idiot deadhead, thinking he could sneak up on them. Just as idiotic to wear Aramis on a job like this.

”Now, do you f.u.c.king understand what I told you? Don't send anyone else unless you intend to lose 'em.

Clear?” Delgado smiled into the man's face, a hard delighted smile that didn't reach his eyes. ”'Cause I want it clear as crystal.”

More frantic nodding. Delgado nodded back reflectively, studying the man. Holman obviously thought he was contemplating murder, because the agent shook his head, sweat rolling down his face. The pale gray light from the window fell over the entire kitchen, the dishes Rowan had bought, and a copy of Leaves of Gra.s.s lying open on the table where she had been reading before leaving the apartment this morning.

Justin? Let's go. She sounded sad.

He took the time to pick up the African violet from the windowsill. It might not survive the trip, but hewanted Rowan to have it. And if anyone could keep it alive, she could. When he got to the entry hall, stepping around the knocked-over table, he saw the two duffels. Rowan ducked through the strap of her kitbag and settled it on her hip, then pulled on her gloves. Set near the door was a neat leather briefcase with gold clasps.

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