But she was. She’d never felt so alone.
“What do you think?” Peri heard Liz say as she hesitated at the door by the CLOSED banner, out of their sight and not yet in the hallway.
“I think you need to lighten up,” the man said. “And I think that Silas needs to get over it and do his job.”
“His job?” Liz scoffed. “What do you expect? He hates drafters.”
“He does not hate drafters,” came Squirrel’s quick, angry answer. “That woman is half starved and emotionally ready to crack, and much of it’s his fault. He knows the barriers to self-sufficiency that Opti instills in their drafters, and him trying to force her to break them when she has no resources isn’t helping anyone, least of all her. He has a job to do, and if he doesn’t start doing it, we’re going to lose everything, Peri included.”
Her back against the wall, Peri froze, caught between two worlds on the threshold of a scummy bathroom, Opti on one side, the alliance on the other, both of them lying to her. Instilled barriers to self-sufficiency? Was he saying she’d been conditioned to think she needed someone else to survive? It was undeniable that she was used to being part of a team, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t function alone!
But then she thought of Silas’s giving her money, buying her food, his room where she’d recuperated. Even worse, the possible MEP that lurked after every traumatic draft if she didn’t have someone to fill in the holes. Heart pounding, she gripped her borrowed nylon coat close about her. If Opti was here, she’d never get into that upstairs office. She had to know what had happened that night, not look at a cleaned-up crime scene. She had to find the button she’d seen in her memory of Jack. It was a talisman, and it held a memory. It held the truth.
“This is our best shot in five years at bringing Opti down, and he’s blowing it because he doesn’t want to buy her dinner?” the man said, and Peri felt the blood rush to her face. “That’s a load. Tell Silas to suck it up and do his job. He can do this for the week it’s going to take.”
Angry, Peri pulled the CLOSED banner down, letting it fall to the floor as she left. Head high, she strode quickly into the mall, ignoring everything and everyone. She didn’t see Silas as she passed the Opti personnel more intent on a vid screen and chip than what was in front of their faces. It was a mistake they wouldn’t make twice.
Her hand was in a fist, hiding the words that would bring them together in case she forgot. She wasn’t going to the dealership.
She was going home.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
Silas reclined against the hard mall bench, his long legs stretched out and his ankles crossed as he waited for Peri. His head was thrown back, and his hat covered most of his face, allowing him to watch the rest-room and front entry without looking obvious about it. It had been only a few minutes, but they all felt like hours.
Fidgeting, he pulled himself out of his slouch when he saw Liz mince into the bathroom. The three suits pretending to catch a smoke in the vestibule began discussing their options, and his eyes flicked to the arcade, drawn by a burst of realistic gunplay. Hurry up, Howard, he thought, twitching his coat tighter about his shoulders. It might take his old friend longer to get Peri to trust him than for him to take the chip out. Trust was going to make or break everything, and everything was screaming for him to move and move fast.
Fran had called him while Peri was shopping, tracking him down through his request for Howard, the alliance’s cleaner. The shortsighted woman had told him to cut Peri loose so Opti could pick her up, scrub her down, and start the game again. But the information was there in Peri’s head. All he had to do was convince Peri to let him see it. Fran had given him one more chance, but if this failed, it was done, and Silas’s worry deepened as more agents gathered in ones and twos, pulled in from the outskirts. They were getting ready for a push. Time was up.
“Thank God,” he whispered when he spotted Peri from the corner of his eye. She was almost unrecognizable in that blue nylon coat and Liz’s white-and-blue-striped knit hat pulled down over her head. She looked smaller, more vulnerable, in the more casual clothes. He could tell she was shaken; every ounce of her usual confidence was gone. The grace, though, remained, and he wondered what might have happened if she had never fallen from that playground swing and had become the dancer she had intended.
But she is a dancer, he reminded himself. She danced with death, and if she didn’t keep up, the bastard would win.