The Drafter

It was the woman from the parking lot, and Peri refused to retreat as the horse shied. “I’ve never seen a horse that color before,” she said, thinking it had almost a metallic sheen.

 

Taf eased up beside her, so close Peri could smell her expensive perfume. “It’s an Akhal-Teke gold. I think she spent more on it than on my entire education.”

 

“She’s our contact!” Peri blurted, eyeing the woman in her velvet blazer and vibrant cravat. The dappled light caught the diamond-encrusted broach of a horse head, and her short, blond hair was bound up under a small but eye-catching derby hat. She looked like a politician’s wife with too much money and not enough to do. But then Peri spotted the security men behind the RV coming forward. An unsettled feeling crept into her, curling around twice before settling into the pit of her soul like a bad dog.

 

The woman dismounted, graceful from practice. Taking off her hat and gloves, she handed them to one of the men. “Howard,” she said, eyes bright and color in her cheeks that makeup couldn’t hide. Her riding boots, unlike everything else, were well worn, and Peri looked for a whip, thinking it wouldn’t be out of place. “Your text was nebulous, to say the least. You’d better have a good explanation. This isn’t a good time.”

 

“Is it ever?” he said, shaking hands with her, but the woman never took her eyes off Peri.

 

Taf had shifted to make room, ultimately ending closer to Peri than to her mother. “Mother, this is Peri Reed,” she said formally, a stilted smile in place, and Peri shifted her coat to stick her hand out. “Peri, this is my mother, Fran Jacquard.”

 

“Pleasure,” Fran said, motioning her security forward.

 

“Hey!” Peri exclaimed when one took her hat and coat, and the other patted her down.

 

“Seriously?” Taf complained. “Howard wouldn’t bring her here if she wasn’t clean.”

 

“Mistakes happen.” Sculpted eyebrows high, Fran waved off the guard when he showed her the jackknife she’d taken from that beat two-door car she’d hot-wired.

 

“Peri is clean,” Howard grumped as the security guys dropped back. “It’s what I do.”

 

“Good, then.” Fran stood before Peri, her sharp attention making Peri stiffen. So she was dirty and smelled like a bus. She’d been working three days straight. “I understand you have something for us?” Fran prompted, and Howard shifted from foot to foot, making the beads in his dreadlocks clink.

 

“Ah, actually …,” he hedged, “we don’t quite have it yet. That’s why we’re here.”

 

Fran turned to him, but Peri was wondering what the it was they were talking about. Taf, too, looked out of the loop. “It what?” Peri asked, feeling ignored.

 

Fran leaned toward Howard, her expression twisting up in irritation. “Howard,” she said softly. “What is she doing here if she doesn’t have what we need to close Opti down?”

 

Oh, that it, Peri thought. “Mrs. Jacquard, Opti has Silas Denier. He works for you, yes?”

 

Fran’s attention shifted. “And you do not,” Fran said as Howard exhaled in relief.

 

Peri’s eyes slitted. Pulse fast, she scanned the area for a fast way out. The horse had been led away, and the nearby golf carts might or might not be faster than someone running. They couldn’t outrun bullets, though. Coming here suddenly felt like a mistake, but she’d never left a man behind before, and she wasn’t going to start now—even if it was Silas.

 

“Peri thinks Silas can bring back a memory that proves Opti is corrupt,” Howard pleaded.

 

“And prove I’m not,” Peri added.

 

“Opti is corrupt,” Fran said, motioning for her security to back off. “All of it.”

 

“I’m not corrupt,” Peri said, working to keep her temper. Pissing off her alliance contact wouldn’t help. “And I’m not a scapegoat,” she added, feeling vulnerable under the woman’s accusing eye. “Silas can help me remember what happened at Global Genetics.” What if I remember more? What if he brings it all back? Do I want to remember Jack’s death?

 

Asking for things was not unusual for Peri. She did it all the time and usually got what she wanted. But asking a group that was hell-bent on destroying everything she believed in was chancy—even if her success might mean a realization of everything they wanted. At this point, it was hard to argue that Opti was not rife with corruption. All she wanted was to clear her name.

 

And yet, Fran’s expression as she stared at Peri made her feel … guilty.

 

“This is counterproductive,” Peri said, trying for a firmer tone. “Every moment spent talking this over makes it harder to retrieve Silas. I need him to reconstruct what happened up in that office. You want to know who’s corrupt? So do I. But it isn’t me. Silas can bring it back.”

 

“An anchor can’t defragment a memory he or she didn’t witness,” Fran said quickly.