The Dangerous Edge of Things

CHAPTER 9

As it turned out, Trey wasn’t at the Ritz. I didn’t find him until the next morning, when I showed up at Phoenix. Yvonne escorted me to a different room this time.

“In there?” I said. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, then handed me a new VISITOR pass. Her eyes glittered sharply. “Don’t lose this one. And leave that here.”

I gave her the Krispy Kreme bag—it only had a tiny greasy scrap of donut left inside anyway—and stepped into the room. Yvonne closed the door behind me. It was dark and narrow, with a bright projection screen at one end. There I saw Trey silhouetted against the clear white light, standing with his back to me. He had a gun, but I knew from his lack of protective gear that it wasn’t a real one. His attention was concentrated on a body target projected on the screen.

I felt a little thrill from knowing what this was—a training simulation room, and a fine one at that. All Bluetooth technology, no wire or tethers to destroy the illusion that you were pumping hot lead into someone. Such set-ups were all the rage, my gun aficionado magazines reported, and very very expensive.

Trey pulled the trigger three times fast, and the gun kicked in his hands. He lowered it and examined the results—a definite kill shot, with nice tight grouping.

I moved beside him and clapped softly. Trey kept his eyes on the target. He wasn’t going to make this easy.

“I accidentally took this with me yesterday,” I said, pulling the MRI from my bag and handing it to him. I’d spiffed it up with a new manila folder, to show that even though I might be a thief, I was a conscientious one.

Trey gave it a quick glance, then looked at me, hard. “How did you get this?”

“I could tell you I was looking for a pen, but you’d know that was a lie, wouldn’t you?”

He placed the folder on the table and picked up the gun again. His eyes never left the target.

“I saw Garrity yesterday,” I said. “He explained some things.”

Still no reply. No reaction.

“Like that you really can tell if people are lying. Micro-emotive readings, he said. Is that true?”

He sighted along the barrel. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

He fired off one more shot, then turned to face me. His eyes met mine, moving to my mouth and lingering there before meeting my gaze again. It reminded me of how he’d looked at me the night we’d met, at the Ritz, and I realized he’d been sizing me up even then.

Say it again, he’d said.

Say what?

That you’re not a murderer.

I made my expression as blank as possible. “I have mace in my tote bag. I had pancakes for breakfast. Which is the lie?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “The second one.”

“Okay, that was too easy. Do it again. I was elected prom queen in high school. I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Both of those are lies.”

“How about this one, true or false?” I took one step closer, just enough to breach his personal space. “I don’t usually let strange men escort me to my hotel room.”

He tilted his head, then shook it slowly. “Technically true, but deliberately evasive.”

I decided it was as accurate a judgment as any. Which meant I was going to have to be real careful with this man. I gestured toward the gun in his hand. “Can I have a try? Or is that against some rule?”

“There no rule about that.”

He handed over the gun and stepped back. It was a Glock, a 9 mm. I was surprised at how realistic it felt, with the heft and balance of the real thing.

Trey moved to a computer station and tapped out a key sequence while I took some deep breaths. Thanks to my recent marksmanship lessons, I’d learned that I enjoyed shooting. It was like yoga, only with weapons. Breathe in, breathe out, focus on the still point between.

The target appeared again, and I pumped it full of holes, amazed at the realism of the mock pistol, right down to the simulated recoil.

“You’re good,” Trey said.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am. You’ve only been taking lessons for a month.”

“The guy teaching it says I have natural talent.” And then it hit me. “Wait a minute, how did you know that?”

“It was in your dossier.”

“I have a dossier?”

“Just basic background—residence, employment history. Several university transcripts, no degrees. Two speeding tickets, no other criminal record. Concealed carry permit still in process. Identifying marks include a recent tattoo on your left bicep and an appendectomy scar. No birthmarks.”

He’d missed a tattoo, an old one, in a very private place. This information pleased me.

“Why do I have a dossier? Because you’re my bodyguard?”

“No. Phoenix always runs background on job applicants. It’s standard operating procedure.”

“I didn’t apply for a job here. Who told you I did?”

Trey took the gun over to the pneumatic refill and pumped it full of air again. “Your brother.”

I fumed. Eric. Once again meddling in my life, trying to make it into something more along the lines of his life.

“I don’t want to talk about my dossier, I want to talk about Eric. The cops think my brother is involved with this murder, or maybe they think I’m involved with this murder. Either way this is not good news for my burgeoning career as liberal feminist gun shop owner. And then there’s you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Garrity says if I’m gonna make any headway here, I’ve got learn how to work with you, and that means I have to trust you.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“Why should I?”

“There are several reasons.” He slipped into his jacket. “I’ve got an excellent record, with good references. I’m proficient with firearms and most small weapons. I’m Krav Maga trained, other self-defense too, including judo. Special certification in security risk assessment and management.”

I studied him. “So you’d take a bullet for me?”

He straightened his tie. “Of course.”

“That was a joke.”

“Oh.”

“But that’s not the kind of trust I’m talking about. I’m talking about the kind where you don’t lie to me, deceive me, withhold information from me. I found a corpse yesterday, and it’s been downhill ever since. I need to know you’re on my side.”

“Is this why you looked in my desk without asking me?”

I suppressed the burn of shame. “I’m sorry about that. It’s an old habit. Won’t happen again.”

“Okay.” He cocked his head. “I’m sorry if I’ve seemed untrustworthy. Garrity explained that part, didn’t he? Because I don’t want you to think that I’m…I’m looking for a word.”

“Devious,” I offered. “Shifty. Underhanded.”

His eyes did this funny little crinkle. “Yes, any of those. I’m not any of those. I’m not good at them anymore.”

Behind him the screen was blank, but I remembered the target. Shot after shot clustered around the heart, kill shot after kill shot, expertly and coolly delivered. I looked up at him. His eyes weren’t empty, just impassive, like the ocean.

“Were you serious about taking a bullet for me?”

“Are you still joking?”

“No.”

A pause. “Yes, I would. It’s part of my job.” Another pause. “Does that make you trust me?”

“Not yet. But we’re getting closer.”

He nodded, then headed for the door. “The conference call begins in eight minutes. Landon’s office is this way.”