The Drafter (55 page)

“That's exactly what I said,” Silas said as she limped to the front of the garage, eyeing the midlife-crisis mobile through the first glass garage door. “No!” he shouted, hand raised as she lifted the Glock this time.

Teeth clenched, she did a controlled burst to take out the entire door. It crashed to the ground and shattered, missing the car. “And the rolling icon of testosterone is fine,” she said as Silas came up from his instinctive crouch. “Let's go.”

Taf's screams for help drew them on, and Peri limped fast, passing sleek cars on raised rugs and under spotlights. Someone was a car hog. “Let me go!” Taf howled, and Peri pushed into a controlled jog.
If we don't get her in the next thirty seconds . . .

As one, Silas and Peri swung around a decked-out Porsche to see Bill and Allen dragging Taf to a mundane service van.
I truly hate vans
. Peri raised her rifle.

“You might hit her,” Silas said, and she lowered it, agreeing, as she abandoned the car to inch closer.

“Shut her up,” Bill snarled as they reached the van and he shoved Taf at Allen as he went to open another garage door.

Peri lurched to fall against the next car, leg throbbing as she quietly used the hood to steady her aim. Silas scuffed to a halt beside her.

“My mother is going to be so pissed!” Taf shouted, and Allen knocked her up against the van, making her gasp in affront. “Hey!”

Peri shifted her aim to Allen. She hated him. Bill might be corrupt, but Allen had lied to her, tricked her, lulled her into complacency, stolen three years of her life. She exhaled, finger tightening.

“Shut up,” Allen threatened. “Or I'm going to hit you. Understand?”

“Yes,” Taf said, and then her jaw clenched and she punched him right in the gut.

Allen's face twisted in anger. Taf fought wildly, and Bill slammed her into the side of the van with an utter disregard for human frailty. Taf slumped, out cold.

Exhaling, Peri shifted her aim to Bill and pulled the trigger. Bill's eyes widened as the single slug buried itself in the van's side. “Go!” he shouted, manhandling the limp woman into the van and vaulting in after her. Peri turned her aim to Allen.

“No!” Silas knocked her arm so that it was only chipped cement that hit Allen as he crawled into the front seat of the van.

Frustrated, Peri stood as the engine roared to life. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Their wheels,” Silas said, white-faced. “Take out the wheels!”

“You going to let me shoot this time?” she said, using the Glock to take out the tires. She fired until it clicked to nothing; peeved, she tucked it in the back of her waistband. Swerving, the van ran into a pillar.

They weren't going anywhere, and having a moment, she rounded on Silas. “Why can't I kill Allen?”

Silas looked her straight in the eyes. “Allen is alliance.”

Jaw clenched, Peri pushed her rifle into Silas's chest. “Like hell he is!”

Silas looked at it, probably estimating his chances of getting it off him before she could pull the trigger as slim. Thick smoke drifted past the opening to the garage. She could hear the fire trucks called by the
house's automatic security. “Allen is alliance,” Silas said again, voice uncharacteristically soft. “Think about it. He's a lousy anchor, isn't he? What has he actually brought back for you? Anything?”

Taf cried out for help, struggling as Bill ousted her from the busted van and began dragging her to another car. Allen limped behind them, casting furtive glances at her and Silas.

Bullshit
. Peri took aim at Allen since Bill was hiding behind Taf. Silas shoved her arm, and the shot went wild.

“Will you stop doing that!” Peri shouted. She could hear men outside, but didn't know whose side they were on. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

Silas tried to take the rifle from her, but she wouldn't let go. A car door slammed shut, and an engine started. “Because the alliance thought you might turn him in if you knew,” he finally said. “They didn't trust you.”

Her grip on the weapon eased.
Allen is alliance?
But she wasn't buying it, and she struggled for control of the rifle.

“It was your idea,” Silas said in exasperation as he let go and she fell back with her weapon. “Damn it, they're getting away!” he exclaimed as the car's engine roared.

My idea?
Leg throbbing, she staggered after Silas as a black car bounced out into the sun. “I'll get Allen, you get Bill,” Peri said, halting in the open garage door and bringing the rifle up to her shoulder. Exhaling, she shot out those tires.

“Peri . . . ,” Silas warned, and she grinned at him as the car careened to a stop. From inside, she could hear Bill bellowing.

“Fine, I won't kill him. Just mess him up a little,” Peri said as she jogged painfully forward. “You coming or not?” she called over her shoulder.

Her heart thudded. Reaching the car, she yanked the passenger-side front door open. “Get out!” she demanded. Bill was behind the wheel. Allen held Taf before him like a shield. He looked pissed. Taf looked pissed and disoriented.
Allen is alliance?

“She said get out!” Silas exclaimed as he yanked the driver's-side door open.

Allen shoved Taf at Peri, using the sudden movement to escape. From the other side, Bill launched himself at Silas. Taf landed on Peri and they went down. Peri rolled her off, getting to a crouch with her weapon, searching out Allen. Bill was shouting into his phone, his voice going distant as he ran. What sounded like a dozen men began yelling amid more gunfire. A Black Hawk was back, thumping in the near distance. Peri didn't know who else was surrounding the vehicle, and she didn't care.

And then she saw Allen running after Bill's retreating backside.

Rolling to her stomach, Peri took aim—and pulled the trigger.

“No!” Silas shouted, and Allen jerked to a halt when the dirt sprayed up in front of him. Allen pulled his attention from Bill, the bigger man never slowing down as he ran behind the building toward the helicopter and was gone. Allen's eyes met hers, and she smiled at his white face. Screaming in anger, she scrambled up and lunged at him, bowling him over and straddling him.

“I should just kill you right now!” she shouted, the butt of the rifle pulled back to crush his throat, and he stared up at her, his face smudged and his glasses knocked askew.

“Allen, she knows!” Silas shouted. “She just doesn't believe it yet!”

Under her, Allen seemed to steady. His gaze fastened on her, and his fear seemed to vanish. “You won't kill me because I haven't killed you first,” he said, smiling though he was clearly in pain. “It's okay, Peri. It's over. All of it. You did good. Stand down.”

Peri's lips parted, and, shocked, she did nothing as they were suddenly surrounded by the alliance, all of them screaming at her to put the gun down and get off Allen. Allen waited, her weapon ready to end his life.

“Peri,” Silas called out. “Listen to your intuition. It's over.”

But her intuition was gone. All she had left was a need to trust someone. Anyone.

Her eyes met Silas's, and in a swift motion, she pulled the weapon away from Allen and clicked the safety on. She tried to toss it aside, but as soon as he was clear, someone plowed into her, knocking her
down. She didn't struggle, letting them pull her arms behind her. Her shot leg was in agony, and she blinked the dirt out of her eye as Taf and Silas protested that she was okay and to let her go. She didn't feel okay.
Allen is alliance? It was all my idea?
“I don't know my own life,” she whispered to herself in disbelief.

Fran appeared and said, “Let her up.” The weight on Peri was shoved away so she could breathe. “I said, let her up!”

“She doesn't remember anything,” a man said, his pistol pointed at her. “You can't let her go. She's been brainwashed!”

“She's not brainwashed, she's just forgotten,” Fran said bitingly. “The woman just brought in half the corrupt Opti agents for us and saved my daughter. How much more proof do you need that she's not gone native? She's one of us. Let Reed up!” Fran shouted, and Peri cautiously sat up, her leg throbbing as she looked at the weapons ringing her.

“Where's Bill?” she asked as Fran crouched beside her, looking odd in her tight dress, now torn and smeared with grease and dirt. Peri slapped the woman's hand away when she tried to look under the makeshift bandage, and weapons were brought to bear again.

“Will you all just relax?” Fran barked, and then to Peri, just as annoyed, “Out of your reach. One of his birds came back. He's gone.” Her expression shifted. “He didn't get Taf. Thank you.” Blinking fast, she beckoned for a med officer. “Get Agent Reed an ambulance. Today, maybe?”

Two men in fatigues with slung rifles ran to get a stretcher from an arriving ambulance. She would have protested, but her leg was throbbing and she felt sick. Her head hurt, too, and she looked at the weapons pointed at the ground, and then at the second ring around them pointing outward. The house was on fire, but several people were coming out of it. She recognized Howard, his shoulder under another man's as he helped him walk, and the horrid tightness in her face eased.

She hadn't found Jack's list, but it felt as if she'd found something vastly more important. She'd landed safely, and not just her, but the people she cared about. That she didn't remember why she cared
didn't matter. She was here, they were here, and no one was pointing a gun at her—mostly.

Maybe it would all be okay.

“Did we win?” Peri asked as she squinted up at them.

From beside a chuckling Taf, Silas laughed. “Hell if I know.”

P
eri pulled her coat tight across her shoulders, her spirit low and her shot leg throbbing as she sat at Overdraft's bar. The place was empty but for Allen banging around in the back room and Silas at the fireplace. He was trying to get a fire going to warm the place up, but Peri could tell he wasn't laying it right. All the heat from his matches and half-burned paper was not being trapped—wasted up the flue. A part of her wanted to slide from the stool and fix it. Another part, the indifferent, complacent part of her, didn't care. Her focus blurred when he swore under his breath, his words tickling something in her brain. She'd heard him swear at a fire before. Her memories had more holes than Swiss cheese. It could be anything.

“You'll never be rid of me,” Jack said as he tucked behind the bar and helped himself to a mug of beer. She knew he wasn't here. She knew he wasn't filling up a glass. She knew he wasn't downing it with his Adam's apple bobbing and a thin ribbon of beer escaping to run down his chin—but it sure looked as if he was.

Jack was a constant reminder of everything she hated about herself: her insecurity, her dependence on others, a show of strength that was just that—a show, nothing more. And she wanted him gone, even if that meant she'd never have a memory of what had happened that night. She'd killed the man she loved. Why would she want to remember that?

“You think
Allen
wiping that night will do any good?” Jack mocked as he leaned over the counter. The beer spilled onto the bar surface, and Peri wondered if she'd feel anything if she wiped her hand across it. “Opti is in you, babe. You liked it. You were powerful and that turned you on. Now you're nothing but a dangerous liability who can't remember shit. That's why you didn't tell the alliance they were coming. You
want
to go back.”

Peri's eyes flicked past him to Silas swearing over his fire. The government, embarrassed at the unfolding story, had granted the alliance control of Opti's shutdown, and at Fran's urging, Silas was taking up management of Overdraft, maintaining a way for Opti's anchors and drafters to come in without reprisal. “I can't get this stupid thing to light,” Silas grumped. “The instant this place starts making money, I'm ripping it out and putting in a gas burner.” He straightened, sighing when the gray smoke turned black and vanished.

Restless, Peri spun the stool, her disjointed attention landing on the oddest of things: one of the bulbs in the lotto kiosk was out, three of the tables had claw feet while the rest did not, and the wall-size gaming screen in the lounge was making an almost unheard squeal of faulty electronics. Her attention went to the clock on the microwave behind the bar, and at exactly noon, the at-table menus all reset—just as she knew they would.
Why do I know this stuff?

A thump from the back room made her jump, but it was just Allen, and he shouted he'd found a footstool. Silas stood dejectedly before his defunct fire, his hands on his narrow hips as he waited for something to happen. “Peri, you're better at this than me,” he complained as he wiped his ash-coated fingers on his jeans. “You want to take a go at it?”

“Sure.” Peri slid from the stool. Leaving her coat at the bar, she halted when she realized she'd not only drifted from her intended path, but that she couldn't bring her eyes to the dance floor.

Frowning, she forced herself to look at her feet, heart pounding as she inched them out farther. But her attention wandered. . . . A dark presence at her shoulder became Jack, insufferably confident as he looked at the same chunk of yellow floor, whispering, “You're never going to be rid of me. You
like
who Opti made you into, and I'm going
to haunt you until you accept that. You're bad, just like me, and without me, you're nothing.”

“Liar,” she breathed. Wavering, she stared at the floor. Her head throbbed, and Jack chuckled. Something had happened here. She knew this. She would remember it.

“Peri?”

She looked up, the world cycling outward in shock. Allen and Silas both looked at her in concern. Her hands were in fists, and she shook her fingers free. “Did I draft?” she asked, not remembering Allen coming back in, and Silas shook his head, clearly worried. Allen's weak smile was uneasy, and Jack, still holding his beer, snickered, brushing by her with arrogant confidence.