Then he made a second call. “You didn’t tell me everything I needed to know. Were you afraid I’d charge more if I knew precisely how dangerous the target was?”
A cool, inhuman voice replied; this Foundation drone gave Cale the creeps because he could discern neither emotion, nor gender. “Irrelevant now. You agreed to its terms.”
“You have information on some of their agents, yeah?”
“It has certain dossiers.”
“Then you’ll forward all that information to me. I need to know about anyone they may contact, anyone who might help them.”
“The intel will arrive presently. Is there anything else?” Cold as ice, that reply—
Don’t even think about backing out on me,
it said.
Cale suppressed a shiver, and it took a lot to unnerve him. He’d once stood in a drug baron’s compound and watched him slice a traitor’s eyelids off. “Do you have any other resources that might help me get the job done?”
A pause. They must have muted him because all the ambient noise went away as well. Frowning, he drummed his fingers on the desk. This whole outfit gave him the fucking creeps. But as long as they paid on time, he’d finish what he’d started. And then Fiji or maybe St. Croix.
Eventually the ungendered one came back on the line. “It has a girl. It uses her for tracking others. It is amenable to lending her for the duration of this task.”
Bloody sweet.
A feral grin curved his mouth. “Let’s set up a meet.”
Time to get some sleep, because when he woke, Hausen should have some data on the target, unless Electro had avoided the system entirely. Nobody managed that from birth in this day and age, unless they knew a world-class hacker willing to scrub for them. Therefore, his man would find a trail, however faint, and the girl would help him even more. The hunt could begin in earnest.
Cale would not make the same mistakes twice.
“A snowstorm,” Tanager
growled. “You gotta be shitting me.”
She had been so happy to hear she was getting off shadow detail. For the last several months, Mockingbird had her stalking their own. So far she hadn’t found anyone working for the Foundation, but his itchy feeling wasn’t going away. That had to be back-burnered, however.
New instructions had come in while she made her way toward Kansas. Instead of providing Gillie Flynn with an ID packet and taking charge of T-89, she was bringing the little healer into the fold. Hawk would have the honor of working with T since he was the only agent accustomed to doing so, thanks to the time Tan had spent with Hawk in limited partnership.
Mockingbird was going to be pissed; he wanted T-89 locked, loaded, and ready for the good fight as of yesterday. Not that she could help the weather. While she could find a driver or a pilot and make him take her where she wanted to go, she’d be an idiot to risk her own skin. And she hadn’t survived her life by being a dumbass.
Just because you
can
do something, it doesn’t mean you should.
Ordinarily she didn’t swing toward caution, but it was really coming down out there: fat white sticky-wet flakes that would bring a twinkle to the eyes of little children everywhere.
Instead of being in Kansas, she was stranded on the Iowa border.
That’ll teach you to screw around on those Midwestern gambling cruises.
It had been a mistake to stop in northern Indiana, though it was a barrel of fun, plenty of motherfuckers she could ask for their gambling money. She figured they were just gonna lose it anyway. It could serve much better in her pocket. Then, instead of getting on with her mission, she’d spent a day shopping the Magnificent Mile on Michigan Avenue. Okay, so maybe she hadn’t needed the hundred-dollar, tall red leather Doc Marten boots, but they were just so damn hot. And they went with her plaid leggings. She’d left Chicago too late that day, and the snowstorm hit with a vengeance, leaving her stranded. It should have been a simple matter to find a pilot willing to drop her off in bumfuck Kansas. Except for the weather.
She studied the brick building with the white trim, a duplexstyle condo. Tanager had been casing the place for the last hour. A divorced man lived here; the wife had left recently. Poor bastard looked tired. Overworked. Fucking perfect.
Tan strode up the walk, her boots leaving impressions that the swirling snow quickly filled. After ringing the bell, she propped herself against the side of the portico, wearing a wide smile. Tom Sweeney, according to the mailbox, answered the door, his expression even more hangdog than it had been through the frosted windowpanes.
Because he was still a man, even if a pitiful one, his gaze swept her from head to toe. “Can I help you, miss?”
“No. But I can help you. Have you noticed how tired you are lately, Tom? You should sleep. Eighteen hours ought to do it. Don’t worry. I’ll come in and look after the house for you. Make sure nobody robs the place, and the pipes don’t freeze. Wouldn’t it be nice to let me drive for a while?”
His eyes glazed over. “Yes. Come in. I’m going to lie down.”
She popped her cinnamon gum as she stepped over the threshold. No hotels for her, no sirree. Nice place, too. Mahogany floors, marble tile, cut-crystal in the fixtures overhead. No wonder he was weary; he had most likely bought this condo to impress the woman who had left him. Sad sack Tom.
Within five minutes, the sound of snoring filled the bi-level condo.
Fuck. If only I’d told him not to make any noise. Ah well, too late now.
Anyway, MB was a bit anal, so he liked to know when plans changed. She pinged him with a text and waited for him to call back. He also preferred to handle all calls between himself and agents; he always scrambled his own voice, which she thought was taking caution too far. Who the hell would ever try and get someone to ID him from how he sounded? Then again, maybe there was a special misfit out there who could do precisely that—find people based on their voices. It wasn’t so different from what Kestrel did, just a different form.
A few minutes later, her cell phone buzzed. The number came up blocked. They had one number to text, and MB always rang back on a different one. All so complicated, and it sucked they lived in a world where it was necessary, but the Foundation would latch on to any information they left behind and use it against them. They had done it to her sister, after all.
“Tan here,” she said brightly, forcing the memories down.
“Everything all right?” Even through the distortion, he sounded concerned.
Funny how he could do that. They had come together only virtually with him proving himself to her every step of the way.
Go to Chi-town, collect the gray backpack in the locker at Union Station. Use the money to open an account at Fifth Third. Identification will be provided for you.
In that way, he had earned her trust in baby steps when all the plans worked out just as he said they would. And only then had she been willing to use her ability to further his agenda. He’d never once failed to get her out of a tight spot, no matter how dangerous things were, where she was, or who was shooting at her. She’d do damn near anything for the sneaky son of a bitch, and he knew it. Most likely, the rest of his agents felt the same way.
“Small wrinkle. I’m stuck in Dubuque.”
Stern crackle of anger, unmistakable. She liked when he got all
you’re a very bad girl
on her. Made her think about disciplinary action. “What the hell are you doing there?”
“Waiting.” The smirk showed in her voice, even to Tan’s own ears.
“You had four days to get to the meet. What happened?”
“Snowstorm.”
“That was on the five-day weather forecast. Didn’t you plan for it?” She held her silence, knowing he’d remember who he was talking to. Sure enough, the sigh came a few seconds later. “Well, there’s nothing to be done now. I’ve got Hawk heading that way, too.”
She already knew that, thanks to their prior chat. Gillie calling to request they take her on, too—that move surprised her. Women didn’t usually sign on for revenge, unlike Tanager, who lived for it. They had other dreams, other goals, and working with Mockingbird was just a stepping stone toward them. Not her. She couldn’t ever imagine doing anything else.
“I miss the big guy. How’s he doing?”
They had been partners for a while, but once he got closure on all the victims who had passed away down in the Foundation’s Virginia facility, MB split them up. Tanager worked best alone anyway—she hated people telling her what to do and how to do it—but she’d gotten used to his face. And she’d found his devotion to his girlfriend oddly endearing. Juneau was a good sort, and she didn’t lead him around by his prick, at least.
There was a long silence, as if MB found her interest inappropriate. Damn, it wasn’t as if she fancied Hawk. She didn’t like men to be more colorful than herself.
“He’s fine. Helped wipe another facility, this one in Utah. Just imagine what he could do alongside T-89.”
Yeah, she could picture it. Tan gave a little shiver. The carnage would be . . . delicious. “I’m sure. He’s got quite the arsenal if it comes down to it.”
“No shit,” he said grimly. “I guess you didn’t hear about the drama in south Detroit.”
“I don’t watch the news. It’s always so fucking depressing.”
That surprised a laugh out of him. “Yeah. Well, T blew up half a city block getting away from Foundation bloodhounds. Pretty spectacular.”
“I like his style already.”
“Just sit tight and make the rendezvous when it’s safe. They’re not moving in this weather. That’ll give you some leeway.”
“You warned him not to power up, right?”
“Of course.”
“’Kay. Will Hawk get to the meet in time?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’ll ping you when I get there.” She disconnected.
No rush, right? Gotta wait for the weather to break.
That was also why she wasn’t worried about Kestrel. She wouldn’t be looking for Tan, and in this weather, she wouldn’t be able to deploy with any efficiency either.
After Tanager poked around the condo, made some food, and kicked back to watch cable TV, she fell asleep on Tom’s ivory leather sofa.
So the strike team caught her flat-footed when they hit, spraying the front room with bullets.
Shit. They are
not
interested in taking me alive.
Tanager vaulted over the back of the sofa as she took one in the back of the thigh.
Smothering the pain, she called, “Put down your weapons. You don’t want to hurt me.”
Silence. No sound of guns being dropped. Either they were all deaf or they’d gone with earplugs. Which meant they knew about her ability. They were here hunting
her
specifically.
How the hell did this happen?
Shots slammed into the sofa; sooner or later, one would push through and splatter her brains.
She had to fight, no other option. But she had no weapon, and she was already injured. The odds didn’t look good. Tanager ripped the flounce off her skirt and tied off the wound, reacting silently to the pain. While they went full auto on the furniture, she crawled toward the kitchen.
Each movement felt like a stab wound, and despite the makeshift bandage, she left a blood trail, visible against the blond hardwood floors. She inched to the kitchen while they closed in behind her. Thankfully they were methodical, securing the perimeter as they went and taking extreme caution because Hawk had taught the Foundation that resistance agents were dangerous.
The lights were off in here, which helped. Dubuque wasn’t Palestine; the neighbors would be calling the cops soon, which meant both she and the strike team needed to be quick. Tan pulled herself up on the counter and swallowed at the anguish burning her thigh. Dragging a dish towel behind her to mop up, she limped toward the walk-in pantry. The doors were wide enough for her to take a position to one side.
Need a weapon.
With shaking hands, she hefted a big-ass can of peaches. Then she remained still and quiet, listening for the approach. Most likely they would split up once they realized she was hiding.
Wonder if they’ll kill Tom. He’s sound asleep so there’s no need.
But with the Foundation, you could never tell.
Quiet footsteps. The tracker didn’t click the light on. Tanager tightened her grip on her makeshift weapon; she would only have one shot at this. The next thirty seconds would determine if she lived or died. He flung open the doors and she struck, slamming the can against his temple with a two-handed grip. Full strength.
The guy wavered and went down, dazed but not wholly unconscious. Her breath coming in terrified rasps, she bent and pulled the plugs from his ears. While he stared up at her blearily, she gave his instructions. “You will tell the others the kitchen is clear. When you find the rest of your team, you will kill them. They’re a threat to both of us. We can never be together as long as they’re alive. As soon as you can stand, go. I’m counting on you now. Don’t fail me.”
It didn’t matter that she’d powered up again. Kestrel—for it could be nobody else—had already tracked her here. She didn’t have the ability to triangulate room by room.