The Administration Series (258 page)

At least Warrick had taken it okay, or pretended to do so. His bloody patience again, or maybe Warrick had been having doubts too, and he was relieved not to have to be the one to say something. The idea that Warrick might
not
want it — want him — made the anger stir again.

He found himself clenching his jaw, anger souring the taste of the drink. What irked him most was the fear that he'd really backed out because of Dillian, and even if he hadn't, that she would
think
he had. God, she'd be happy about that.

That on its own was almost enough to make him tell Warrick he'd changed his mind. Except that if he then changed it back, he'd look even more like an idiot. And what if Warrick didn't want him to stay there anyway? What if —

Forget it. He finished the drink and looked round for Sara, finding her talking to Chevril. Looked as if her earlier prey had made his escape. He worked his way over, summoning up a smile.

The next evening, Toreth stretched out on Sara's sofa bed, finding the edges with his fingers and heels.

Cracks. There were lots of cracks in Sara's living room ceiling, Toreth noted. Cracks and spiderwebs. The cracks were pretty evenly distributed, but the spiderwebs were in the corners. It all looked a very long way away and very close at the same time. If he reached out . . . of course, he couldn't touch anything. Arm raised, he traced a crack along through the air with his index finger. If he moved his hand quickly enough, there was a very slight blurring effect.

Fun, possibly, in a very low-key and mellow way. It had been a long time since he'd taken any drugs that didn't make him want to fuck.

"Sara, what the hell is this stuff?" Toreth asked aloud.

"I don't know." Sara's voice sounded muffled, either because she was in the kitchen or because his ears were as fucked up as his eyes. "Why don't you ask her?"

The duvet was piled in a heap on the floor by the bed, and Daedra lay curled on it. She looked rather spidery, come to think of it, with her thin arms wrapped round her knees. Her plaits had slipped forward, covering her face in a faintly disturbing tangle, like thin bleached snakes.

Bastard lay stretched out beside her, displaying scruffy folds of belly fur and looking as stoned as Toreth felt. He was purring, his lids almost closed, although Toreth could
feel
him watching. Daedra snored quietly in counterpoint.

"Can't," Toreth said. "She's asleep. But I feel weird."

"Weird?" Sara's voice sharpened suddenly. "Good weird, bad weird, sick weird or paramedic weird?"

He looked round. She was peering anxiously round the kitchen door. "Good, I think."

"Mmm. Me too." Apparently reassured that he wasn't about to go into fits or throw up on any of her new furniture, she vanished again. Toreth blinked, watching her faint ghost fading out.

"What are you doing in there?" he asked.

"Looking for a drink."

"Get me something, would you?"

While he waited, he turned his head the other way and studied the vaporiser on the table. The oil in the clear bowl shimmered, currents curling round in it, driven by the heater below. He took a deep breath, trying to catch the smell, but like working on the interrogation levels, exposure had blunted awareness. Nothing sickly, though — it was spicy, with a hint of citrus, and he wondered if Daedra had scented the oil.

He hadn't forgotten the deal with Sable. On the table beside the burner lay a bag with wrapped injectors holding an antidote that Daedra swore would cancel out the effects in a few minutes. Without that, he wouldn't have agreed to the session, which would have made Sara as suspicious as hell. He couldn't recall the last time he'd turned down one of Daedra's special offers.

And it was a huge fucking relief to turn his brain off for a while and destress, even if the relaxation was purely chemical. Sable, Tarin — everything was still there, but he didn't give a shit any more. He vaguely remembered when his whole life had felt like that, but even that idea didn't cause any pain. Good stuff.

"I could put another drop in, if you like."

Under normal circumstances, he would have been startled by the closeness of Sara's voice. On the other hand, under normal circumstances he would have heard her approach. By the time he'd registered her presence and looked round, she was sitting on the bed beside his head, resting her elbow on the arm of the sofa. On a sudden whim, he wriggled round until he could put his head in her lap.

She grinned. "Role reversal. Can I have your salary too?"

He took the offered glass and raised his head to sniff cautiously. "What is it?"

"Citrus cordial. Lots of vitamin C."

"Thanks." He downed half the tart drink. "Ahh. What did you say when you came in?"

"I could put another drop in. In the burner. Or a couple."

What had Daedra told them? He couldn't remember the details. "She said the dosage was important. Something per cubic whatever per hour. I wouldn't fuck with it if I were you."

"Okay." Sara sipped her drink, then took a deep breath. "Nice of her to come up with something relaxing."

"Yeah." He waved vaguely. "It's even sorted out that fucking cat. You should keep some in a spray can and dose the bastard every morning."

For some reason, that seemed terribly funny. He was still laughing when Sara punched him in the ribs. Unfortunately, she caught him right in the last tender spot from the revolt.

"Ow. Jesus, watch what you're doing."

"Sorry." She rubbed his ribs gently. "Hey, I forgot to say welcome back. I'm going to have to start charging you rent."

"Yeah." That seemed funny too. He grinned up at her, enjoying the novel view of her breasts. "You didn't even fold the bed up."

"I didn't get round to it. You've only been gone a couple of days."

He grunted agreement.

"And, well, okay, I did wonder if you'd be back."

"Huh?"

"With the house-warming yesterday. That seemed like a good time. I mean, if you were going to . . . well, you know. Bottle it."

"Bottle . . . " Even through the cotton wool haze, the suggestion smarted a bit. What the hell was she talking about? "I didn't bottle anything. Couldn't. I never bottle."

"Of course not. So, just out of curiosity, why're you here while Warrick's sleeping all on his lonesome?"

Sound point. He did have to wonder about that, because while the drug wasn't revving his libido his body liked the idea of another blowjob. Blowjobs always feel good — hadn't he said that to someone recently? Maybe Warrick would be awake when Toreth got home.

Something touched his hair, and he thought of spiders. However, it was Sara, gazing down at him expectantly.

"I don't have to spend every fucking minute of my life with him," Toreth said.

"Sure," she said. "Course not. Never said you did. But your suitcase is in the corner because . . . ?"

Shit. He really had walked out that morning, hadn't he? He'd almost forgotten. But when he checked, the suitcase was indisputably there — the same one he'd taken from Warrick's months ago. And as he looked at it, everything came back. Warrick had been his usual patient self, which had only made it worse because by the time Toreth had finished packing he'd been back to feeling that if Warrick asked him to stay he would.

No. He was better off out of there. Much better. A few days away, then Warrick would be settled in the flat and everything would be back to normal. All the ridiculous 'our flat' rubbish would be ancient history.

"I didn't
bottle
it," he said firmly. "I just decided it was a lousy idea. We'd drive each other mad in a month. If that long. Why wait until he throws me out?"

Sara was running strands of his hair through her fingers. "He puts up with an unbelievable amount of shit from you already. What could you possibly do that would be
worse
?"

"Well . . . " He stared at the cracked ceiling. "I could wait until bloody Dillian comes round one day, drug her stupid, then fuck her in front of him."

She snorted. "Yeah, okay, that would do it. But, I mean, really. What's going to go wrong?"

He didn't know and he didn't want to think about it. "Anything and everything."

"I think you should give it more of a try. Living with someone isn't
that
difficult. I've done it. And, um, okay, none of them lasted, but it was never the living together that screwed things up. I even stayed friends with them after." She frowned thoughtfully. "'Cept for the one who was a total jerk and stole stuff too. Nick. Do you remember him?"

"Uh-huh." He certainly remembered holding the creep by the throat and bending him backwards out of Sara's flat window prior to extracting financial compensation from him.

"Should never have given
him
the door code in the first place," Sara continued. "Everyone said that.
Everyone
. But he was just so incredibly gorgeous that he sort of made my brain go stupid while I was looking at him. And God, he was so good in bed." She sighed. "Screwed like an
angel
. Hey, do you think that's maybe Warrick's problem?"

"What? Screwing like an angel? That's not a
problem
."

She giggled. "
No
. I mean, his problem with
you
. You make him go stupid." The idea seemed to please her. "You know, that explains it
all
, 'cause if I were him — "

"Sara," he interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"I appreciate it, really. Whatever the fuck it is you're trying to do. But just shut the fuck up, huh?"

"Okay." She smiled and smoothed his hair into place. "You can stay as long as you like."

Not seeing Warrick for a while turned out to be a good idea on more than one level.

On Monday lunchtime, Toreth took his team out for lunch. Andrew Morehen had returned, with only a slight limp to show that his right leg from below his knee had been grown in a lab and grafted on. Everyone had crowded round him that morning, eager to greet him. And not just Toreth's team either, but what seemed like half the General Criminal office. The revolt was still a sharp enough memory that people were grateful for any sign that its legacy was diminishing.

Toreth didn't like the idea of leaving the office, but he had no highly active cases and it would've been out of character not to take the excuse for a lunch off the Int-Sec site. He did make sure that his comm was on, and on his way out he asked Kel to call him if anyone came looking for him.

As they walked across to the new and more solid security fence surrounding the Int-Sec complex, Toreth couldn't stop himself thinking about the plan.

How long would it take Sable to act? More importantly, how long would Warrick be willing to keep his promise? Toreth didn't doubt that Warrick had meant it, but suppose he discovered some new piece of information, or came up with another insane plan to do with Sable?

He'd chosen a brilliant time to leave Warrick's flat. Once Tarin's friends started to be arrested, Toreth would be grateful not to be there when Warrick found out. On the other hand, without supervision, Warrick could be doing anything. Right this moment he could be inventing some bullshit corporate-lawyer justification for breaking his promise. If he were arrested again, Toreth might well not be able to help him. And that was still a more optimistic outcome than if Warrick messed with Cit directly.

Toreth forced his attention back to the conversations going on around him. Usually, on a celebratory trip, people would still be talking about the completed case. On this occasion, with no case and no one particularly wanting to talk about limb grafts on the way to lunch, conversations had wandered.

Behind him, Nagra was talking to B-C and Mistry. "People aren't
all
idiots. Recruitment for the interrogation courses won't be back up for years, if ever. Who on Earth would even think about joining I&I right now?"

Nothing new in that debate. He already knew she was edgy because the juniors were being pushed to take on more interrogation work and she didn't want to end up on the lower levels full-time. Nothing he could do about it, except what he was doing which was fight to keep his team together and functioning as an investigative unit.