The Color of Courage (24 page)

“This corner here?” Adam pointed at corner nearest us. The one with no windows and no doors for the entire length and width of the building.

“Unfortunately.”

“Any ideas on how to get in?” Spike shaded his eyes against the glare of the lowering sun. “Maybe the roof?”

“That would be AC access,” Adam said, “and very noisy.”

“Front door, then?”

Adam nodded at Spike, then turned to me. “You stay here.”

I didn’t argue. My confidence was still reeling from its earlier blows. I watched them walk down the road, cross the parking lot, and open the main doors. Then I jumped into the truck and moved it closer, so we could get away as soon as they ran out. I debated pulling into the lot, but there was a spike rail at the entrance. Someone could trigger that from inside, and we’d blow all our tires getting out. I idled just out of the line of sight of the entryway, and waited. And waited.

After ten minutes had passed, I thought to check the auras again. Sure enough, I spotted Adam and Spike immediately, and marveled that I had never realized I could do this. Maybe it was because I’d been working on different ways to use it, or maybe it was because Charles had stripped it all out of me, forcing me to start over. How far it could go, how much more could I do?

That reminded me creepily of how Charles had tried to turn me, and I shoved it all to the side. While I “watched” Adam and Spike make their way through the building, they stopped a few times, probably hiding as people went by. They finally reached the corner where Kirby was. I saw multiple auras merging and separating, with two of them going horizontal. Kirby didn’t move, and I feared she’d been drugged or physically harmed, or maybe held in another stasis beam. While Spike took care of the last CASE person, Adam did something with Kirby, and the three of them started out of the building.

They did okay until they neared the exit. Four new figures approached them, and they paused. I hit my com, telling myself at this point it didn’t matter if Charles could listen in. But I got silence again. I flipped to person-to-person and keyed Adam’s code, which should give me Spike’s com. I blew out a relieved breath when I heard his voice. He was trying to convince whoever was confronting them that they were CASE and Hurley had told them to move Kirby.

I wasn’t sure I could help from here, but I thought I’d try. I conjured confusion and trust and sent them across the vast side lawn to the building, then enveloped the four people with it. I couldn’t tell if it was working—everything they said was muffled and didn’t come across the com clearly—but a moment later, the auras had moved aside and Adam, Spike, and Kirby hurried out.

I leaned to open the rear passenger door, then put the truck in gear as they appeared on the walkway. The two men ran, carrying a half-conscious Kirby, but no one followed. As soon as they hit the truck, I slammed my foot on the gas, roaring down the road and following the circle out of the industrial park.

My eyes met Adam’s in the rearview mirror. “Too easy?”

“Too easy.” He worked to get Kirby’s jacket off. “But maybe it was just unexpected. They think we’re all incapacitated. They were disappointed to be losing Kirby.”

“What did they do to her?” I reached the main entrance and turned right on red. I needed to go in the other direction but refused to sit at the light, vulnerable. I drove about half a mile, then turned around and headed back to the highway.

Eventually, Kirby spoke. “They just drugged me and knocked me around a bit.” Her words were slurred, but she sat up without support and didn’t appear to be in pain. “They were keeping me as insurance, in case Charles wanted to lure you again.”

“I wondered why he left me there.” I pressed down on the accelerator to merge onto the highway back to the city.

“Where are Trace and Evan and Summer?” Kirby asked, looking around the truck as if they might be hiding.

I used driving as an excuse to say nothing, and my heart, which I’d thought destroyed already, cracked when I heard her soft sobbing after Adam gave her the news.

It’s my fault
, I wanted to scream, but she’d know that. If she didn’t figure it out herself, she’d know eventually. I didn’t care what they did to me in the future, but I had to be part of this now. I had to help vanquish Charles.

“What next?” I asked Adam. “Trace?”

He nodded. “You think we should bail Evan out, too?”

I was a coward. “Not yet.”

Adam didn’t argue.

We went back to the bar and tracked Trace again. He was still moving south and apparently hadn’t received my message. It would take us hours to retrieve him, but we didn’t have much choice. We needed all the power we could get.

Adam drove this time. I sat in the back with Kirby, who drank and ate to rebuild her strength and purge the drugs from her system. I stared out the window, thinking. Adam would no doubt have a plan by the time we retrieved Trace and got back to the city. He’d modify it when we figured out where Charles was and how much of a fortress he’d surrounded himself with. But I had a feeling that would all be for naught. We couldn’t prevent the same kind of scenario from happening again. Sure, Spike could block the stasis beams, and we wouldn’t be on the defensive with no idea what we were facing. But Charles still had his powers and intimate knowledge of our weaknesses.

I didn’t think we stood a chance.

“We’re coming up on his position.”

Kirby had managed to transfer the software to her own laptop. That was the only way we’d be able to find him, since he was still on the move.

“We should have visual about . . .” She looked up and waited as we followed a curve in the road past a large building. “Now.”

And there he was. Running as effortlessly as if he’d just started, about eight feet behind a figure in a red jogging suit. Nothing to arouse suspicion from casual onlookers, except that Trace was wearing his gloves and flexi-shield in the middle of summer.

Adam pulled alongside and put down his window. He kept the truck rolling at Trace’s running pace.

“Trace.”

He didn’t respond. He stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the robot that looked like a shapely woman. His arms and legs pumped in rhythm. He looked like a robot, himself.

“Adam, I think he’s in a trance.” I closed my eyes. Trace had no aura, and neither did the robot. Not that I expected her to have one, but I thought Trace would at least have a . . . well, a trace.

“Trace.” Adam reached out and snagged his sleeve.

Trace didn’t falter in his rhythm and almost pulled Adam out of the truck. The vehicle swerved. Spike caught the wheel before we ran Trace over.

But we’d caught the attention of the robot. She turned, jogging backward, and her life-like face shifted. Her eyes glowed.

“Adam, get out!”

He leapt out immediately, putting himself in front of Trace, who ran into him. The robot sent not a pulse of energy, as I’d expected, but two solid bullets out of her eyes. They hit Adam in the chest. He didn’t flinch.

In the meantime, Spike had struggled into the driver’s seat and slammed on the brakes. I jumped out and ran around to the back of the truck to lift the hatch. Adam heaved Trace in, with my help, and I climbed in after him, expecting Adam to follow.

“Go!” I yelled at Spike, and he did.

But Adam
hadn’t
followed. He’d gone back to deal with the robot.

“Stop!”

Spike slammed on the brakes again, and Trace slid forward, hitting his head against the back of the seat. He groaned.

“Kirby, take him.” I dropped off the tailgate as she slithered over the back seat to attend to Trace.

I didn’t know what I’d do against a robot, but as I ran to them, I saw Adam wasn’t doing very well on his own. I patted my hip, looking for my asp, which I’d attached to a Velcro loop on my jacket instead of storing in my utility pack. The robot fought with Adam, striking and blocking him and taking blows without even a recoil. She was obviously programmed for one main task—running—and one secondary—fighting what she was luring. She didn’t notice me. So when I flicked out my baton and stuck it between her legs as Adam dealt a blow to her chin, she wasn’t ready for it and tumbled backward. I leapt onto her torso when she hit the ground and smashed the asp into her neck. It didn’t sever her head, but sparks and the sudden drop of her arms and legs to the ground told me I’d hit something vital.

Just to be safe I hit again, then crouched and yanked at her head until it tore partway off. By this point, her circuitry and the fakeness of her skin were obvious. Close up, she’d never have passed for human. Still, I felt a pang of squeamishness when Adam held her body and helped me remove the rest of her head. We found a nearby Dumpster and tossed her in.

“I hope that’s good enough,” I muttered, dusting off my hands as we headed back to the truck.

“This isn’t the movies, and she’s not our nemesis,” Adam reminded me. “She’s not going to come to life and start killing people with her bullet eyes while she searches for us, holding her head under her arm.”

“Dammit.” I started to turn back. “We should remove the bullets.”

Adam stuck his open hand in front of me, cartridges filling his palm.

“Good thinking.”

He offered a weak smile, and my heart rolled over in my chest. For a second I wished we could hit a reset button and start over. Or fast-forward the movie. Or wake up from the dream. But this was not only real, it was reality. Our new normal. We had to keep going.

Trace was still groggy when we got to HQ over an hour later. Adam and Spike left us there so I could administer to both Kirby and Trace and try to get them back up to speed while they pulled the equipment from the bar. I had my misgivings. Charles had given it all to us, after all. But Evan had found no bugs or trackers when it had all been delivered, and we needed its sophistication if Kirby was to find Charles for us.

“I can’t believe I was so stupid.” Trace shook his head while I pressed a bottle of water into his hand, then checked his feet for blisters or sores. “I saw this one getting away and took off after her. I don’t remember running so long. It was, like, minutes ago that everything went FUBAR at the memorial.”

I must have cringed, because he pushed my hair back so he could see my face.

“What am I missing?”

I bandaged the blister on his heel and replaced his sock, then sat on the infirmary bed next to him.

“You missed a lot, actually.” I told him about Adam’s capture, the fight on the steps, Evan getting hauled away, Kirby getting lured . . . and then how Charles had manipulated Summer’s emotions. How I’d tried to stop him, and killed her.

Shock filled his eyes and his aura, but when I tried to stand, he grabbed my wrist. “Daley. It’s not your fault.”

I should have let it stay there, but I couldn’t.

“I killed her, Trace. I—” Her image, screaming, falling, cracking her head on the floor. Staring. I couldn’t speak. But Trace took my face between his hands and forced me to look at him.

“It wasn’t your fault. Auberginois’ manipulations pushed her further than she could handle.”

“But maybe it was
me
that pushed her over the edge. Maybe what I did—”

“Yeah, okay, maybe it did. But Daley, it doesn’t matter. She was going to die right there, no matter what you did. If you hadn’t tried, he might have tortured her longer.”

“We can’t know that,” I whispered.

He stroked my hair. “No. Not for sure. But
I
know it.” He pulled me into a hug, and I fought tears. How could they not blame me for this?

Maybe because I blamed myself more than enough.

Chapter 21

I expected Kirby to work her magic in a few hours, and then we’d be off and running again. So I played nurse to her and Trace, checked all our equipment, and helped Adam repack our utility packs and the truck. We found and removed the trackers in our suits, so Charles couldn’t find us. I also sent Spike home before Mom totally freaked. He made me promise to call him before we went after Charles, but I crossed my fingers behind my back. He’d never know.

Adam found me alone in the locker room, brushing down and hanging our suits. He leaned against the bank of lockers and folded his arms. His aura swam with a deep, dark blue-gray, intense sorrow.

“I called Tom to find out Summer’s status,” he told me in a low voice.

I nodded and checked the fastening of Trace’s flexi-shield to his suit collar.

“She’s being prepped for an autopsy.”

“They won’t find anything.” I brushed dust off the back of the jacket and hung it on a hook. “What killed her wouldn’t leave a physical trace.”

“Daley—”

I didn’t want to hear his reassurances. Or worse, the falseness they might ring with. “When will they release her body to her family?”

“At least a few days, since it’s being investigated as a homicide.”

The pants fell out of my hands. I bent to retrieve them, but they were shaking, and suddenly my whole body trembled and tears welled in my eyes. I sat hard on the bench, and Adam was there, his hands firm on my shoulders before he straddled the wood and gathered me against his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay, Daley.”

I didn’t deserve comfort. Or grief. I’d
murdered
my best friend. I sobbed once, twice, and then yanked myself out of his arms, retreating a few steps.

“Don’t. I can’t—” I held up a hand to ward him off.
It’s my fault
throbbed in my head, but I didn’t want to say it. If I forced him to admit that, he’d sideline me, and I couldn’t let him. I had to finish this, stop Charles before he succeeded in destroying us all.

But I didn’t have to say it for him to know it was what I was thinking. “You aren’t to blame, Daley.” Then, as if he’d heard the caveat in the words, he rephrased them. “We don’t blame you.”

Maybe, somehow, he didn’t. Maybe, like Trace and Kirby, he could forgive my failure that simply, and believe that I hadn’t caused it to happen. But his belief didn’t make it fact.

“Where’s Evan?” Adam had made sure Summer’s brother was released from jail. They hadn’t held him long, but he hadn’t come to HQ.

“His organization recalled him.”

“Did you tell him what happened to his sister?” I knew how dark and murky Evan’s aura would have been when he heard the news. How was he going to survive this?

“He knew.” His voice rasped.

I nodded and bent to get Trace’s pants, shaking them out and hanging them before closing his locker. Behind me, the air grew heavy with things I imagined Adam wanted to say but couldn’t. I’d added to the pile of reasons he could never be with me. I might have even killed the feelings he’d revealed that day in the park.

That was okay. I didn’t deserve those, either.

When I’d ignored him long enough, he left me to my work, which I stretched out for as long as I could. Kirby hadn’t found anything by the end of the day, so I ensured we all got a good night’s sleep and fed everyone a protein-packed, high-energy breakfast fresh from a restaurant a block from HQ, then did laundry so we all had comfortable clothes to wear under the suits I aired out and dusted off.

The second day was about waiting. We hovered over Kirby until she screamed at us to leave her alone, then went to the gym for light workouts. I could only stay for a few minutes, reminded too harshly of Summer and her cheerful, pointed lessons. I spent the rest of the afternoon brooding.

On the third day, Kirby inundated us with paper to keep us busy. We all knew we were unlikely to find anything that way, that her skills and the tools on the computer would be our access. But we were grateful for something to do, even if it was only pretend.

“You’re searching for charges, right?” I asked her on the fifth day, for probably the seventh time. God love her, she didn’t get sarcastic with me or hand me a roll of duct tape for my mouth.

“I am, but it’s not likely the credit would be in his name. He has plenty of minions, not to mention legitimate staff.”

“Where does he live?”

“He wouldn’t be there.”

“I know, but where does he live?”

She rattled off an address. I wrote it down and stared at it off and on for hours. We’d agreed he wouldn’t be stupid enough to go home, not when we knew where that home was. He was no longer operating behind a wall. Adam had met with the city’s leaders and law enforcement, and all of us had given statements. No one was treating us like we were lying. Enough people had seen Charles standing on those steps, laughing, and some had been sensitive enough to feel my attempts to stop him. They’d known their emotions weren’t their own and were gunning for the man who’d caused three civilian and two officer deaths. Charles would know that. He wouldn’t risk getting arrested or killed.

But I couldn’t sit here and do nothing. I thought there was a slim chance he’d know we’d think he wouldn’t go there, and that he’d go anyway. He might have rooms hidden from the main house, and even a search wouldn’t reveal his location.

But I’d find it. He’d guarded his emotions from me in the restaurant so I couldn’t read them accurately, but he couldn’t turn them off completely. I’d see his location in the building.

I wanted to leap up, head over there and attack, so sure I was right in my speculation. But impulsiveness wasn’t smart. So I sat and thought.

Attacking Charles’ hideout wouldn’t work. He’d know we were coming, and he knew our weaknesses. Worse, he’d created a new weakness that he could exploit in everyone. He’d use our grief over Summer and our fury and helplessness against us, turning us on each other until we tore HQ completely apart. He wouldn’t relent until we’d killed each other.

I couldn’t lead my friends into that battle.

My own vulnerability, I believed, was no longer a problem. Charles had not only damaged my protective shields, he’d compelled me to confront all the emotions I routinely blocked off. He’d tortured me with their pain, but he’d also performed a quick healing that I didn’t think he was aware of.

Negative emotions, and even some positive ones, hurt until they’re purged. I’d been burying them deep for some time, and facing them on my own would have taken months, maybe years. He’d purged them in one intense, raw surge. I didn’t recommend the method for anyone, but found myself almost grateful for it.

I could protect myself from Charles. I
might
be able to protect others, but I didn’t want to risk it. Not after what he’d done to Summer.

I wrote a note so if I didn’t come back they’d know what happened to me and left it sticking out the side of my locker. It was a place where they wouldn’t find it too soon, but wouldn’t be buried forever. I poked my head into Adam’s office, where Kirby worked. Adam, luckily, wasn’t in there. He would know something was up.

“I’m getting some air.”

“Um-hm.” Kirby didn’t look up. “If you pass Au Bon Pain, grab me a croissant, will ya?”

“Sure.”

I wasn’t lying. There was no Au Bon Pain between HQ and Charles’ house. I went outside and strolled away from the building. When I got around the corner, I considered my options. The Metro didn’t go very close to Charles’ place, but the bus would take forever. I didn’t have a car and wouldn’t take Kirby’s or they’d figure out what I was doing.

“Screw it, I’ll take a cab.” Saving money wouldn’t matter if I died.

I had the driver drop me a block away from Charles’ house, a more modest affair than I would have expected, but still lurking behind a gated fence and treed lot. The house was visible from the street, but thick bushes covered the windows of the one-story home.

The neighborhood was an active one, with people pushing toddlers in strollers and others washing cars or mowing lawns. I couldn’t believe so many were around. It must be a weekend. I’d completely lost track. I noticed flags attached to mailboxes and a ‘Happy Fourth!’ poster in a window, and realized it was a holiday weekend. Fourth of July. Which meant the family picnic was upon me, and I wasn’t ready.

I wasn’t sure which looming confrontation was scarier. I laughed at my melodrama and nodded at an older man jogging past me.

The normalcy of my surroundings gave me comfort, despite the additional dangers all these civilians presented. Charles wouldn’t hesitate to use them if he could. I just had to make sure he didn’t get the chance.

I walked slowly past the house and cast my net toward it, seeking auras. Three in the front of the building, maybe a great room or parlor. They were calm, in good moods. I couldn’t tell anything more about them. Two more were stationary in the back of the house, not near each other, so probably in separate rooms. There was no second floor, but the neighborhood was a high-square-footage area so the house either extended far back, or went down. I wasn’t close enough to see either. I couldn’t climb the fence, not because I was incapable, but because of all the people around. They wouldn’t hesitate to call the police.

I kept walking, studying the houses around his. The one next door had a more open lot, with no fence or gate. It looked deserted, with no cars in the driveway and no activity in the yard. I glanced around and slipped along the fence until I was deep in shadow from huge oak trees on the property line. It was a perfect spot. I scaled the seven-foot fence and dropped onto the other side, hoping there weren’t dogs. I waited a few minutes to see if I’d triggered any alarm or been spotted on cameras I couldn’t see, but no one came out.

This side of the house was covered with bushes, too. I squeezed between them to get to the wall. No windows on this side, but I didn’t need them, and it meant no one could see me, either. I closed my eyes and concentrated. The back of the house didn’t extend as far as I expected, and there was no one else inside. I sought downward, and sure enough, there were three auras. Two regular ones. And Charles.

He was even easier to recognize than Kirby. But he’d left more than a signature. Fear and rage welled up as soon as I found his aura. I tried to mold it, contain it enough to not alert him to my presence without dampening it completely. It would both feed me and serve as a shield.

Now, I had to get inside. I briefly considered calling HQ. They had equipment I hadn’t brought with me. But the danger was still there, and I couldn’t put them in harm’s way again.

Figuring the obvious was too often disregarded, I worked my way to the back of the house and a French door on the deck. No one saw me, or at least no one tried to stop me. Sure enough, the door was unlocked. I eased it open on silent hinges and closed it behind me. The sunny gathering area with tile floors and indoor/outdoor furniture was empty.

Too normal. Too quiet. I didn’t believe Charles was this careless, especially when so many people would be after him. There were two possibilities—he was overconfident, which would work very well in my favor but I doubted was the case, or he was expecting me.

All five of the original auras were now at the front of the house. I glanced around the sunroom, but it had windows on three sides and a wide arch into the kitchen, with solid tile floor. No way the basement access was in here.

The kitchen was more likely. I eased open three doors, finding a pantry, a storage closet, and stairs going up to what I assumed was attic crawl space. I didn’t see anything obvious in any of the three spaces, so I went out into the hall and checked those doors. A coat closet and a powder room. The coat closet was full, the shelf, rack, and floor all covered with clothes and shoes and the usual front-closet items. I didn’t bother inspecting it. The basement entry might be hidden, but it would be easier access than this.

I went back into the kitchen pantry and searched it. It didn’t take long to find the panel on the back wall. I pressed. It clicked and then came off, exposing a door that was also unsecured.

He was definitely expecting me.

I checked auras again. The two non-Charleses were in the far corner of the basement space. Charles was a few feet from the base of whatever I’d have to use to get downstairs. I prepared myself, knowing he was waiting for me and would likely attack as soon as I got down there. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door. A ladder clung to cinder block behind it. Instead of taking the slow, vulnerable way down, I covered my hands with my sleeves, grabbed the outside rail, placed my feet on the sides, and slid down as fast as I could.

I hit the ground, turned, and took a punch to the jaw so hard I slammed back against the ladder. I was dazed, but had enough presence of mind to duck the second, inevitable, blow and do a tuck roll forward. My vision still glittered with stars when I came to my feet. I shook my head and blinked, trying to clear it, then stopped.
Stupid
. I didn’t need to be able to see to fight.

The two who’d been in the far corner had apparently hurried up when I started down the ladder. I hadn’t been concentrating on them and lost track. They came at me simultaneously from my left and right. I wasn’t the only one who was stupid.

I rolled forward again and heard a grunt of impact behind me. Vision restored, I spun in time to see one large man reeling from the punch of another. The puncher turned toward me before his comrade recovered and lunged, his hands out as if to throttle me. I tried to dodge, but he anticipated my move and caught me around the neck.

My breath started to wheeze as he squeezed, and I automatically scrabbled at his hands, panicking. I’d been ridiculously dumb. I hadn’t anticipated a physical fight. I thought Charles and I would do empathic battle. I was prepared for that. But not for this. Though I wore my suit, I hadn’t bothered with gloves or a flexi-shield. Charles knew the limitations of my protection. Maybe this was how he wanted it. He might consider it poetic that I died in such a mundane way.