Skin Dive (17 page)
“Fine,” the man growled. “I’ll do it myself.”
Footsteps came closer. He downed the last of the Mad Dog and braced for an attack. His fingers tightened on the bottle. If he broke it quick enough, he could turn it into a weapon. They wouldn’t take him. They wouldn’t. Not like they’d taken the others.
Everyone thought he was crazy. They called him . . . He couldn’t remember the word. But it wasn’t happening to him. He wasn’t going to disappear in the dark.
“Look. You gotta move on. Don’t make me call the cops.”
Around him, other homeless men and women gathered their belongings. Headlights down the other end of the alley highlighted their drawn, hopeless faces, etched with weariness and despair. He looked just like that; he had no doubt. Best place to hide. They’d never look here.
But before he could decide what to do, the guy laid hands on him.
Don’t touch, don’t touch. Don’t. Touch.
His leg lashed out, slamming into the man’s crotch. He doubled over, moaning in pain, but it was just for show, trying to make him sorry and drop his guard. He was one of
them
. He followed with a blow to the face and the man went down. Another voice cried out in distress. The homeless who offered perfect camouflage melted away in the rain.
Don’t touch, don’t touch. Don’t. Touch.
His leg lashed out, slamming into the man’s crotch. He doubled over, moaning in pain, but it was just for show, trying to make him sorry and drop his guard. He was one of
them
. He followed with a blow to the face and the man went down. Another voice cried out in distress. The homeless who offered perfect camouflage melted away in the rain.
Cold, cold rain.
In the distance, he heard footsteps running. He stared at the man at his feet, seeing him for the first time. He was short and middle-aged, inadequately dressed for the weather. His dress shirt was plastered to his back, his slacks stained with the alley’s filth.
He’s not one of them. You’re crazy.
He’s not one of them. You’re crazy.
When he saw the red and blue lights flashing down at the other end of the alley, when the men in uniform came for him, he didn’t resist. The bottle dropped from his hand, shattered into diamond-bright shards at his feet. He raised his arms slowly, as instructed, and put them behind his.
Let them take you. You’ll be safer in prison.
Let them take you. You’ll be safer in prison.
Taye awoke with a shudder; Gillie slept on, oblivious, beside him. In the faint starlight, he traced the blue tat on his arm. Prison ink? He guessed it must be, though he couldn’t remember serving time. He didn’t even remember what had happened in that dream. It felt like watching someone else’s life, someone else’s insanity.
Still trembling, he gathered her close and she rolled toward him with a sleepy murmur of pleasure.
No. You don’t know who I am. You can’t. Because I don’t.
He held her like that until dawn lit the sky; he couldn’t let her go just yet. Not when his greedy heart craved her closeness. The parting would come soon enough.
CHAPTER 12No. You don’t know who I am. You can’t. Because I don’t.
He held her like that until dawn lit the sky; he couldn’t let her go just yet. Not when his greedy heart craved her closeness. The parting would come soon enough.
The next morning,
Gillie woke with a strange female perched on the side of the bed. Taye was nowhere to be found, so she could only presume this was their contact. She was small, slight, and had spiky platinum hair. Though it couldn’t be very late according to the slant of the sun, she also wore heavy eye makeup and black lipstick. Her bouncing had woken Gillie.
Gillie woke with a strange female perched on the side of the bed. Taye was nowhere to be found, so she could only presume this was their contact. She was small, slight, and had spiky platinum hair. Though it couldn’t be very late according to the slant of the sun, she also wore heavy eye makeup and black lipstick. Her bouncing had woken Gillie.
“So you’re the Miracle Girl.” Low voice, touch of a Boston accent, but not so thick as some she’d heard.
“I guess.”
“I hear you’re joining us.”
Grateful she hadn’t gone to bed naked last night, she sat up, groggily rubbing her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be much of an asset in the field. So what will I be doing?”
“Mockingbird gave me your assignment, and we’ll get to that in time. How does T-89 feel about your recruitment?”
She shrugged. “He didn’t ask my opinion of his master plan. I figure I have the same right as he does.”
“So you’re willing to work?”
A flash memory of being led down the hall to the treatment room. Of siphoning the sickness out of someone else’s body and then the unearthly pain while it was drained out of her by a dialysis machine. Gillie puffed out a long breath; this was it, no backing out after this point.
She made herself speak the words aloud, just as she had on the phone. “I’m willing to do whatever you need. The Foundation has to pay.”
The woman drummed her painted-black nails on the mattress. “Can you heal injuries or just diseases?”
An excellent question. Thank God Rowan never asked it.
“Honestly, I’m not sure. There was no cause for me to treat wounds down there. Only the diseases and syndromes of people who could afford me.”
“We’ll need to test that, then.”
“Right now?”
Her eyes widened with dismay. It was morning; the sun was shining, shifting some of the snow, so that icicles formed as it melted off the roof, and then refroze because the temperature must still be below freezing. And she did not want to find out whether she could close a gash in someone else’s flesh. There wouldn’t be awful poisoned waste, she suspected, like with a disease, but she feared what the consequences might be.
“Forget it,” Taye said from the doorway. “Leave her alone.”
Tanager flashed him a scornful look. “Ah, men, always the last to know. I guess you didn’t tell him you called Mockingbird, huh? This should be fun.”
“I’m sorry,” she said to Taye.
Doubtless he’d thought she was kidding about signing on, using it as a way to poke at him. But he didn’t know her if he thought she would passively permit him to arrange her future. She couldn’t permit him to make all the decisions like Rowan had. If these people wanted her, she’d pay her own way.
“Is this for real?” he asked Tanager.
“Oh, it’s happening,” the other woman answered.
Gillie slid from the bed. “Did you want to run some kind of test now?”
“Not yet. I’ve given Crow—you’d be best served to forget any other name—his first mission. He’s supposed to be on his way already, in fact. Hawk’s downstairs waiting for him.”
A knot formed in her stomach. While they were working in Detroit, not a day had passed when she hadn’t seen Taye; living together had been the practical solution. And maybe that was a sign she’d grown
too
dependent. It was time for her to find her own path.
too
dependent. It was time for her to find her own path.
“Christ, Tanager. I was going to ease her into it.”
“Yeah, ’cos peeling the bandage off slowly works so much better.” She got up and sauntered toward the door. “I’ll give you guys five minutes. Then I expect
you
to head out, and for her to come with me.”
you
to head out, and for her to come with me.”
“No problem,” Gillie said.
Was this why he didn’t want to sleep with me? Well, have sex.
They’d slept together plenty over the past months.
They’d slept together plenty over the past months.
Tanager walked out, quiet treads carrying her down the stairs. That left Taye—or should she call him Crow, now?—watching her in silence. She recalled they weren’t supposed to use given names. Generally, nobody in the resistance even knew them. But special circumstances and all.
“Hawk is Silas,” he told her, like she cared about that. “I didn’t expect to see him again . . . but he got here a couple of hours before Tanager. When she arrived, I guess I should’ve wondered why they sent two contacts for one recruit.”
“I knew if I told you, we’d spend our last day together arguing or with you sulking at me. That’s not how I wanted this to go.”
“Better we should drink wine and play Truth or Dare.” But there was no recrimination in his tone, only tender regret. “I don’t want to say good-bye to you.”
“It’s not forever. Is it?” Surely he wouldn’t agree to those terms.
“I don’t make the rules. Mockingbird does.” His voice sounded strange. “I go where he sends me. That’s the deal.”
It hurt more than she could have ever imagined. The world, however unfamiliar, never frightened her until this moment because she knew he was nearby. She wondered if a baby bird, poised at the edge of a great height, knew such an instant of disorienting terror, or if it was simply all instinct and the need to fly overwhelmed everything else.
“Me, too,” she replied. “But I didn’t escape to trade one prison for another. I don’t want to be wrapped in cotton and protected like a glass figurine. I’m going to work for them. And
live
.”
live
.”
“That’s all I ever wanted for you, Gillie-girl.”
“Oh, God.” She put out her hands, and he took them, drawing her in.
For a moment, she leaned her head against his chest. His hands sifted into her bed-tousled hair, seeking the nape of her neck. As always, his touch roused the most delicious shivers. And then she ached because she didn’t know if she would ever see him again. The reality of it might break her heart.
“Can I kiss you?”
Sometimes the man could be such an idiot. There was nothing he needed to ask her for; it was all his for the taking, but she wasn’t bold enough to say so aloud. If he hadn’t gotten the message by now, then he was a fool. So she merely nodded and lifted her face.
When his mouth touched hers, it held layers of bittersweet—all gentle farewell and
I wish it could be different.
That was when she understood. He did not expect to see her again. His lips clung and clung, but did not claim. Tears started in her eyes, but she didn’t permit them to fall.
I wish it could be different.
That was when she understood. He did not expect to see her again. His lips clung and clung, but did not claim. Tears started in her eyes, but she didn’t permit them to fall.
“Someday.” It was a promise, the only one she could offer.
Someday when
I
have the power, when the bastards are all dead—
I
have the power, when the bastards are all dead—
He offered a twist of a half smile and then turned. Gillie closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see him walk away. Long moments later, she heard Tanager return, smelled her distinctive perfume, notes of orange blossom, honey, and vanilla. It was a more delicate scent than she would have associated with the woman’s visual presence.
“I’m not sure if you know, but we maintain a pretty strict policy of noncontact between agents. If you don’t know where any of them are, you can’t tell.”
“So you don’t know how to get in touch with anyone at all?” That sounded scary, but she would be damned if she’d let the unknown intimidate her. At this point almost everything was unknown. Except Taye.
Outside an engine started. Silas must be taking charge of Taye. But she wouldn’t get to find out where they were going. The less she knew, the less she could betray.
“Just Mockingbird. He didn’t used to be so rigid about it, but there were . . . casualties.” Her eyes darkened, remembered pain twisting the painted curve of her mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well. Shit happens, people die, and the world turns.”
Despite such nihilism, Gillie couldn’t help going to the window, seeking one last glimpse of him. She spied an SUV pulling out of the drive they’d shoveled together. Dark. Plates obscured by snow. It shouldn’t hurt this much; it felt like dying.
“He’s gone,” Tanager said. “Off to mission impossible.”
“Will it be that bad?”
The other woman shrugged. “Not for you to worry about. Do you need to pack?”
“No. I didn’t manage to bring anything with me.”
Not that I had much to start with.
“Where are we going from here?”
Not that I had much to start with.
“Where are we going from here?”
“Wichita. It’s big enough for you to blend in.”
“You don’t think people will recognize me from the news?”
“Are you kidding? The only picture of you the Foundation could scrounge up was years old, and grainy to boot. We’ll dye your hair, get some contacts, and nobody will look twice.”
She hadn’t focused on the quality of the picture on the tape, only what the newscaster was saying. “I’m glad I don’t have to change my face.”
“Blonde or brunette, then?”
Much as she hated to dye her red curls, it was better than the alternative. “Brunette.”
“I have disposable contacts in green or brown. Which?”
“Green.”
“’Kay. We’ll do the makeover here before we head out.”
To Gillie’s bemusement, Tanager took charge of her, leading her to the bathroom downstairs. “You have the hair stuff with you already?”
“I come prepared, Cardinal.”
“Is that my new name?” She didn’t hate it. In fact, when she paired them together mentally, she kind of liked Cardinal and Crow.
“Yep. Mockingbird assigns all the names. Don’t ask me how or why. I’m just the minion.” But from her cocky grin, Tanager didn’t believe that. “Now cop a squat on the toilet and let me do my thing.”
Gillie did. First, the other woman drew out scissors and went snip, snip, snip. Just as well she couldn’t see how bad it was. Based on Tan’s own do, it might be terrifying. Red curls dropped to the floor, and she squeezed her eyes shut. But when Tan aimed her at the mirror, she saw it was pretty nice. She’d taken it off at the shoulders and given her some flirty layers.
“I like it.”
Tan smirked. “I’ll notify the queen.” She rummaged in her bag and found a box of color in chocolate brown. “I’m gonna wrap some of your strands, so they don’t get covered. The rest will go brown, and the red will look like highlights that you’ve put in. Nobody would ever suspect a natural redhead of going plain brown.”
“You’re good at this. Do you have training?”
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