Just Like a Man (8 page)

And now he stood, as he had so many times before, in the shadows, a tall yet indistinct figure leaning against Michael's car. And it occurred to Michael with uncharacteristic whimsy as he observed him that this was the first time he'd actually ever
seen
Adrian at work. Because Adrian was most assuredly working, there was no question about that. Adrian never stopped working. There had been times when Michael had wondered if he even knew how.

"Raptor," Adrian said by way of a greeting when he drew within earshot.

"Sorcerer," Michael greeted him just as succinctly.

He came to a halt just shy of swinging distance, though whether that was because he feared Adrian might punch him, or he might pop Adrian, he wasn't entirely sure. He only knew he didn't want to get too close. Not now. Not ever again.

"You can't touch me, you know," Adrian said without preamble. "You, OPUS, none of you. Because I haven't done anything wrong."

"We won't touch you," Michael agreed. But he qualified, "Because we
can't prove
you did anything wrong. Big difference, Adrian. But that's about to change."

"I sincerely doubt it. I am, after all, a law-abiding citizen now, a working stiff just trying to make my way in the world."

Michael smiled sarcastically and echoed, "I sincerely doubt it."

"And now you're an accountant," Adrian added, intoning the final word as if he were voicing the name of God Himself. "Among other things," he added with a grin.

Michael let that go. "Yeah, so I know what it really is to be a law-abiding citizen and a working stiff. If you think I'll buy that crap coming from you, you're out of your mind."

Adrian's smile grew broader, but he said nothing more about that. "I suppose I should have realized you'd show up sooner or later," he continued. "I must be losing my touch to have been surprised by your presence here tonight. Really, the only thing that should be surprising is that it took you this long."

Michael feigned shock. "What? Doubting yourself? That's not like you, Adrian."

Adrian smiled. "Not doubting myself," he said. "Just reminding myself that I shouldn't get too complacent."

"Oh, go ahead," Michael told him. "Get complacent."

Now Adrian's smile grew feral. "What, and make your job easier? Not bloody likely."

"My job?" Michael echoed blandly. "What does the fact that I'm an accountant have to do with anything?"

Adrian chuckled in response, and there was something rabid in the sound. "Oh, right. Like I'm supposed to believe you've really become an accountant? You? Crunching numbers for a living?"

Michael shoved his hands carelessly into his pockets and shrugged. "Well, I did major in accounting, after all. And it isn't so different from what I did before."

Adrian leveled a dubious gaze on him. "It's entirely different from what you did before."

Michael shook his head. "No, it's different from what
you
did before. But then, you were always different, weren't you, Adrian? You always wanted something the rest of us didn't. And you could never understand why we didn't want it, too."

"Not anymore," Adrian replied cryptically.

Michael eyed him narrowly. "What?" he said. "You understand now? Or you don't want it anymore?" He grinned cynically. "Or am I supposed to believe you're not different anymore? That you're just like the rest of the world now?"

"I am like the rest of the world," Adrian stated with all confidence. "I've always been like the rest of the world. You, Michael, you're the one who was always different. You're the one who actually believed good would always triumph over evil. That the average human being was inherently decent. Do you still? After everything that happened, do you still believe that?"

Michael ground his teeth together hard. "Yeah, Adrian. I do still believe that. In spite of everything. Because I still think you're the aberration."

"Well, Tatiana rather liked me, didn't she?"

Michael waited for the white-hot rage that should have come with the other man's remark, and was surprised to find it was only a little bubble of irritation now. Wow. Time really did rub away the rough edges. Because what else could have explained why he no longer cared that much about what had happened between Adrian and his wife? "Yeah, well, I guess there's no accounting for taste, is there?" he said.

"Mm," Adrian replied. "But then, if you'll recall, Tatiana tasted—"

"Button it," Michael said before he could finish. "You won't get a rise out of me. Not this time. Not anymore. What's done is done, and frankly, all things considered, I'm glad it worked out the way it did." He could tell by Adrian's expression that he didn't believe him. But hell, Michael didn't care. "Alex and I have a good life here," he continued. "And everything that's in the past? That's where I left it."

"Until now," Adrian said.

Michael remained silent.

"And now OPUS has you dancing to their tune again, don't they?"

It was useless to deny it. Adrian knew how OPUS worked. He knew the rules. He knew the ropes. He knew the ties that bind. Nevertheless, Michael still said nothing.

"You're wasting your time," Adrian told him. "You, OPUS, all of you. I know you're watching me, but there's no reason to. I'm a law-abiding citizen now. A scion of the local business community. A hometown boy made good."

Somehow Michael refrained from rolling his eyes. "You're a pain in the ass, Adrian, that's what you are. It's what you've always been. Nothing more."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because of a number of developments that add up to trouble," Michael said. "You in Indianapolis. A presidential debate in Indianapolis. Not a good combination, I'm thinking."

Adrian smiled again, that vaguely predatory smile. "What on earth would I have to do with a presidential debate?" he asked.

"That's what I'd like to know," Michael told him. "Just a shot in the dark here, but it probably has something to do with the fact that you've always wanted to rule the world."

Adrian laughed out loud at that, a full, uninhibited laugh that probably carried all the way to Bitsy and Cornelius's back forty. "Oh, I love how you say that. 'Rule the world.' It makes me sound like a comic book villain."

"Well, you were always pretty cartoonish," Michael said. "In any event, it didn't take long for OPUS to put two and two together."

"No, it didn't," Adrian agreed. "I'm just not sure you got the right answer when you did."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that, as always, OPUS can't see the trees for the forest."

"And what's
that
supposed to mean?"

Adrian continued to smile. "Figuring out what it all means was
your
job, Michael. Assimilate, evaluate, articulate. Remember?"

Of course Michael remembered. He remembered his three-word job classification too well.

"And after you do all those things," Adrian added, "you can penetrate it where the sun don't shine."

"Ah, go fornicate yourself, Adrian," Michael retorted blandly.

"I don't want to take away
all
your fun by telling you everything right off the bat," Adrian said, ignoring his comment. "But you're a smart boy, Michael. You always were. You'll figure it out. Eventually. One can only hope it won't be too late when you finally do."

And before Michael had a chance to say another word, Adrian had turned away to fade into the darkness.

The very place that had spawned him to begin with.

There was nothing worse, in Michael's opinion, than Monday mornings. Unless maybe it was cold, rainy Monday mornings.

Cold, rainy Monday mornings when he overslept, then had to rely on lousy drive-thru coffee, because he was in a big hurry. Cold, rainy Monday mornings when he overslept, and then had to rely on lousy drive-thru coffee because he was in a big hurry to commit a felony.

Yeah, it was gonna be one of those days. As he sipped his lousy drive-thru coffee, it occurred to Michael that this was the kind of day that reminded him why he had left his previous job behind. Yet here he was, back in the saddle again. Or, to be more specific, in the driver's seat of a generic white utility van, dressed in generic navy blue coveralls. Of course, there was no
back
or
again
in this situation, since he'd rarely worked in the field before. Still, what he was about to do came as naturally to him as anything else he'd ever done. Only this time, he didn't feel natural doing it. Because where before he'd never had much of a personal stake in the job he was performing, this time it was most definitely personal.

But it wasn't Adrian he was thinking about then. It was the woman who owned the house a half block up from where Michael had parked the van, the woman who should have already left said house for work, the woman who evidently had also overslept that morning and would have to make do with lousy drive-thru coffee, just as Michael had. The big difference in their situations was that he was reasonably certain Hannah Frost was
not
on her way to commit a felony. No, Hannah would just be doing her job.

But then, that was what Michael was doing, too, wasn't it? The fact that it was work he'd sworn he'd never return to again was immaterial. He'd known the job was dangerous when he took it, and in spite of what he'd told his superior that late spring day in Washington, he'd known, too, that nobody ever left it completely behind. Which was why he shouldn't be surprised to find himself in this position.

Gee. Hindsight really was twenty-twenty.

He was lifting the cardboard cup to his mouth again when, through the streaks of rain glazing his windshield, he noticed movement at Hannah's house. He hit the wiper handle once, to clear the windshield only long enough for a clear view, and saw the garage door slowly rolling upward. Another quick flick of the wiper handle, and he saw Hannah's blue sedan rolling backward from that garage and into the street. Her taillights flashed red as she halted and threw the car into gear, and then she drove off in the direction opposite from where Michael had parked.

He continued to sip his coffee for another ten minutes, just to make sure she didn't return for anything she may have forgotten, and when he was confident she was gone for the day, he hiked up the collar of his coveralls, grabbed what looked to the casual observer like a garden-variety toolbox, and exited the van.

A trench coat would have been nice about now, he thought as he climbed out, even if it would have been
such
a cliche. Though how that cliche had come about, Michael still didn't know. In all the years he'd worked for OPUS, not once had he seen an agent in a trench coat. Not even when it was raining.

It was still early enough in the morning to be semi-dark, something which, added to the rain, made his job infinitely easier. Though that wasn't saying much, seeing as how it had been years since he'd performed a job like this. Still, he supposed, there were some things people learned that never left them, no matter how long they went without practicing. Riding a bicycle, for instance. Swimming. Driving a car. Shooting pool. Playing chess.

Breaking and entering.