“I love how you think I care,” I snap.
His heels hit the floor, his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. It’s been, what? A half hour? What the hell happened in—” He stops, hand pressing the back of his neck. “The Brinkers?”
Lord, he’s smart. No one should be that smart.
“No, of course not.” I inch back. He follows. “Why would you think that?” My back hits wood. His hand flattens on the wall beside my head.
“They threaten you?” His mouth flatlines with his eyebrows, both drained of light. “Where are they?”
“Nowhere. There were no Brinkers.”
He’s close enough to kiss, whole body leaning in. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a really shitty liar?”
I swallow. “Once or twice.”
“What did the Brinkers want?”
“Not a damn thing.”
“Kit.” Dark. The kind of dark that’d go on the hunt for scary people, who would then land him dead in a ditch.
“Niles.” Dark and just as edged. He has to give this up. “You’re scaring me.”
That pulls him back, a full three paces as his fingers press to his nose, then run through his hair. “When did they grab you?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine. Let it go, okay?”
“Nothing about this is fine!”
“Well, yelling about it won’t make it better.”
“I’m not yelling!” The words bounce off the ceiling, echo down the hall.
We stare at each other.
He scrubs his face. “Fine. I’m an asshole. A loud asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole.”
He looks ready to kick something. “Did they hurt you?”
“No, I told you. They weren’t even here.”
“Kit—”
I hold up my hand and he stops, hands knots at his sides. I move to the stairwell.
“You can’t just—”
But I’m gone.
The last address I have for Dee lands me in the heart of East 5th, between a skeletal flightwing dock and a shoptower of greasy takeout and hot sex. There’s a sign.
Dee’s tower sags in broken balconies and busted windows. No security or intercoms. I walk right into the lobby without a pass. Multilegged things skitter across the patchwork floor and up gray walls that might have had patterns once. Maybe still do, under the dirt.
Last I knew Dee had hooked up with some high-end dealer, who’d set her up with her own suite. It was all she could talk about, how Yonni’s place couldn’t compare.
She couldn’t have meant here.
If Yonni saw this, she wouldn’t have banned Dee from her suite—even after Greg’s fiasco with Missa’s meds.
Or maybe not. Maybe Yonni would have considered it justice.
The elevator doesn’t work. The narrow stairwell winds under spitting lights and empties into a de-carpeted hall. The carpet lies rolled in a corner. Door 210 sits under one of three busted lights, absorbing the dark between black wood and gray handles. I knock, soft knuckled.
No one answers.
Skip this. I should just turn around and go.
Except, without my transaction card, I won’t make any headway with Decker.
I need that bracelet.
I knock harder. “Dee, it’s Kit.”
Low swears filter through, followed by muffled thuds.
“I’m not joking, Dee,” I say. “Open the door or I’ll pop it.”
And considering I got that particular skill from her son, she knows I’ll make good. The door opens like magic.
Dee, pink-nailed, fluffy-haired, and grinning like she’s happy to see me.
So Greg’s here, then.
“Kit!” Bright and cheery, all Lady of the Tower. “What a happy surprise!”
“I bet.” I push past her. The suite’s even worse than the hall. Apparently, there was a reason for pulling the carpet. What’s left in here is black and crunches with my steps. So would the walls if I touched them. They’re crusted.
I bite my cheek.
Don’t get sidetracked, Kit. Not now.
“Come on out, Greg,” I tell the only other door in the place. Probably to the bathroom. Not a bedroom, because the bed sits next to the kitchen. If a rolling cart, a sink, and a fridge count as a kitchen.
Dee folds her arms. “Greg isn’t here.”
I cross the room and open the lone door. Greg tumbles to the carpet, hands and knees buried in whatever is growing on the floor.
“Dammit, Kit!” He scrambles, and my gut blackens with his fingers. He wipes his hands on his shirt—a new, crisp shirt that hasn’t spent the last week glued to his frame.
I’m going to be sick.
“I didn’t know what to do, okay?” he says, palms out, and I swear some of the dirt slithers. “Gerry’s kicking me out of the boarding tower and those kids swore they just wanted to talk to you. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.”
“You dosed me, Greg.”
“And obviously, you’re fine.” Dee jacks a cigarette pack from her back pocket and bounces one out with shaking fingers. “He’s trying to stay out of Feverfed.”