Zade looked almost scared. “I’ve never seen you like this. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you OK? Do I need to call—”
“No.” Noah waved his hand in negation. “I’m just . . .” He broke off, rubbed his mouth. “It’s the AVP. And stress hormones. The combat program is kicking my ass.”
“Oh.” Zade studied him intently. “So. What about the Ice Maiden?”
Noah frowned at him blankly. “Who?”
Zade rolled his eyes, disgusted. “Your fiancée? Simone? She doesn’t deserve this kind of shit, you two-timing pig.”
“We broke up,” Noah said.
Zade’s eyebrows shot up. “Say what? Did she cry?”
“No,” Noah said, uncomfortably. “She dumped me. Gave me back the ring. Told me I was a prick, not in those exact words. That was it.”
“Wow. And your rebound is Mark’s fugitive ex? You’re keeping it interesting, I’ll say that much for you.”
“Don’t call her that,” Noah snapped. “She’s not Mark’s ex.”
Zade’s own unique design of augmented sensory processing, with different brain stim and implants, made him as good at reading people as Noah, in his own way. It felt strange, being observed so intently. Not that he had any goddamn right to complain.
“So what now?” Zade said finally.
“You’d better up your game, for one,” Noah said. “She saw you twice and remembered every detail. She thinks you’re a hit man for Mark, with good reason. She’s skipping town because of you. Mark’s trying to destroy her, but she wouldn’t tell me a goddamn thing.”
Zade grunted. “She saw me, huh? Sharp eyes, for an unmod.”
“And you dress to impress.”
“Now is not the time for cracks about my personal style,” Zade said. “You practically broke my ribs on that wall, dude.”
“Boo hoo, poor you. Go check yourself into the hospital.”
Zade snorted. “So, what’s the deal? Why bring her back to this dump at all? You could have sent one of us to get her things.”
“I’m not taking her anywhere right now,” Noah said. “She threw me out of her place.”
“Ah.” Zade looked puzzled. “That sucks. I’m, ah, almost afraid to ask—”
“So don’t.”
Zade didn’t, for about three seconds. Then he cleared his throat, and did. “For twelve years you’ve been kicking our asses, pushing us around. You can wrangle a bunch of crazy mutant freaks, but you can’t lay down the law with a pussycat artist? Just be the man! Tell her how it is!”
Zade had a point, but still. Pushing Caro around might keep her alive, but it would kill something else, something he treasured. But he didn’t know how to say that in a way that Zade could understand.
“I put a locator tag in her coat,” he admitted.
Zade shook his head, bewildered. “Hope she doesn’t take it to the cleaners. Did you get her story?”
“No,” he said bleakly. “None. Best I could do was guess at some of it.”
“You rock, secret agent. So did you take out the lenses and do the scary glowing eyes thing?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “All night long.”
“And she still didn’t talk? That gonzo yellow cat stare would make me confess to anything.”
He was too miserable to tell Zade to get stuffed. “Didn’t have much of an effect on her,” he said. “She wouldn’t spill a goddamn thing.”
Zade whistled. “She’s tougher than she looks. What signal did you plant?”
“The tile Sisko put on my Delaunay painting. I’ll tail her myself, today.”
“Did Mark hurt her? Can we kill him now?” Zade’s eyes gleamed.
“She wouldn’t tell me. But she has knife scars, and probably PTSD or something like it. Whatever happened, she barely got away with her life. I’m giving her some breathing room for now.”
A grin split Zade’s lean face. “You know, I’ve never seen you like this.”
Noah was irritated. “Like what?”
“All turned on. Fired up, but not AVP freak-out mode. Not deep-freeze robot-king either. This one’s new. Hey, I think maybe you annoy me a little less this way.”
Noah tapped data into his phone to monitor her locator tag. “You’re making me all soft and warm inside. Stop it, before I get confused about who I am.”
“Awww,” Zade crooned. “Am I emasculating you, Noah? I’m so sorry.”
“Get lost,” Noah said. “Go have some tacos and beer.”
“Too late, asshole. But thanks.” Zade strode away without looking back.
*
Mark peered through the chilly mist of the autumn morning. His phone burbled in his pocket. He checked the display. It was the leader of his Seattle team.
“Carrerra”, he said. “Give me good news.”
“You got it, boss. We’re following her. She’s on a bus. We’re behind it.”
“Good,” he said, circling the mud puddles. “Gareth Wickham gave you her address?”
“He knew her street address, but not the apartment number. Pain in the ass.”