“See a man in trouble, look no farther than the woman beside him,” she said, saluting him with her water bottle.
“No. It was Silas,” Howard added as he shook the crumbs from his chip bag into his palm. “I was a tutor in college, and I met Silas when he came over to pick up one of my clients. We found we liked the same football team, started hanging out, watching the games. He got drunk one night, staggering drunk over a girl I’d never heard him talk about before. I took him home.” Howard crumpled the chip bag and threw it away. “The entire ride he debated with himself the moral responsibilities of how much someone should sacrifice for their beliefs and the responsibility of those who love them. He told me this fantastic story about what if people could jump back a few seconds and rewrite a mistake but in the doing, forgot it.”
Peri met his eyes, glad it was dark. “Drafters.”
He pushed his crumbs into a tiny pile. “I found out about anchors and drafters. Found out that Opti was a for-hire service. The rich get richer, the poor get cheese off a truck. The alliance was my chance to be more than I am, I suppose. Put my actions where my mouth is. You don’t always have to have a reason other than the need to do what’s right. And it was exciting to know that there really are people who can do what you do and to be a part of that.” He shrugged. “Why does anyone do anything?”
A smile crossed Peri’s face. Why indeed?
“How about you?” Howard asked, and she reached to pluck a chip off his starched white shirt.
“I fell off a swing,” she said, not wanting to talk about it. “Would you mind if I sat across the aisle to catch a few z’s?”
“No, go on,” he said, gaze falling to her untouched sandwich. “Are you going to eat that?”
She shook her head, smiling as he shifted it to his tray. “Wake me up before we get there, okay?” she asked, and when he nodded, she took her water and moved to the other side of the bus.
The seat was cool as she settled into it, but it wasn’t the temperature or the cold window she rested her head upon that made her shiver. Eyes open, she stared at the passing lights, her mind full as she weighed the last couple of days against what she’d known her entire adult life. She wasn’t sure if remembering those three missing years would make any difference.
Opti was both more and less than she had thought: more involved and insidious than she had believed, and less moral and transparent than she had ever imagined. The alliance couldn’t be as ineffective and laughable as she had been told—not if it attracted people like Howard, people risking their lives not for revenge or money, but because it was the right thing to do.
Peri shivered again, pressed against the side of the cold bus.
She couldn’t believe Opti was entirely corrupt—because if it was, it meant she was, too.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Peri stepped off the charter bus, the ugly blue coat over her arm as she blinked in the clear, early sun. Howard was tight behind her, almost running into her as he took her elbow and edged her out of the way of the excited passengers. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath to push out the lingering, mild paranoia of being trapped in a bus with women who did not shut up.
Silas was being lied to about her, and that bothered her more than she’d like to admit. Exhaling, she opened her eyes. People dressed with an overdone flair mingled with those in jeans and tees in a noisy throng, all walking the paved path to Churchill Downs. The track was closed for the season, but the venue could apparently still be rented out, and Peri squinted at the woman on the blond horse welcoming everyone to the Run for the Hearts charity race.
An announcer blared over the noise of the leaving bus, and the woman wheeled her horse around, making it prance in place as the crowd before her cheered. A small jet roared nearby in takeoff, and Peri noted it. Not far away. Not far at all. Mid-sky, several low-Q news drones hummed over the track getting footage, and she lowered her head as one buzzed the parking lot for a shot of the arriving fans. Black cars lined the shade at the outskirts of the lot, their drivers catching a smoke or clustered around tablets. Most of the vehicles were late-model—probably rentals with drivers—but there were enough real cars to make her run a hand over her rumpled sweater. She’d fit in better with a big hat and jewelry. Black pearls, she thought, not knowing why. It was an odd mix of wealth and commonality bound together by the love of horses. That Howard’s contact was among the throng wasn’t encouraging.