The Administration Series (254 page)

He thought about Sara, and the blue jumper packed in his bag. My flat, Toreth said to himself. My home. The words sounded wrong, because nowhere he'd ever lived had looked like this. At least nowhere recent, and certainly not anywhere he wanted to remember now.

'It must resonate for you'.

He should've come here earlier, when it was still a mess.

"It all looks good," Toreth said with an effort.

Warrick touched his elbow. "So — now you've finally made it here, we should celebrate."

"
Celebrate
?" Toreth looked sharply over his shoulder. "After what happened at I&I?"

"Yes. Close your eyes."

Obediently, Toreth closed them, and the strangeness of the new flat went away, or at least part of it. The background noises were new too, he noticed now. The flat management system hummed quietly at a subtly different pitch, and somewhere in the building water tapped through distant pipes for a few seconds before stopping.

Warrick put his hands on Toreth's hips and turned him so that his back was to the sofa, then moved even closer, right up against him. His hair brushed Toreth's cheek as he leaned in.

"We should celebrate," Warrick murmured against the side of his neck. "Because I could still be there, but I'm not. I'm here and so are you. That seems like an excellent reason for celebration. And a practical demonstration of gratitude."

"What — " He stopped as Warrick dealt effortlessly with the fastenings on his trousers, sliding down the zip and spreading back the fabric. Unfair distraction.

"Mm." Now Warrick was touching bare skin, exploring. "Well, this is
very
interesting."

"I ran out of clean underwear at Sara's. I meant to come here tonight anyway to pick up some more — fuck." He tried desperately to ignore the hand slipping down between his legs. "Warrick, I talked to Dillian. You were arrested at the airport."

Warrick withdrew his hand. A joint popped as he lowered himself to his knees, steadying himself with his hands on Toreth's thighs. "Ouch. All that unpacking did me no good at all. You need to get me back in the gym regularly."

Toreth took a deep breath, but he couldn't seem to open his eyes. "Did you see him in Strasbourg?"

"Shh." Warrick licked his cock once, slow and wet. "Later."

He was hard already. Of course he was, because it was Warrick touching him — Warrick, who knew exactly what he wanted and how he liked it. But he had to know how much of the truth Carnac had told. "Did you talk to him?"

"Yes, I did. It doesn't matter. He's not important."

And just for the moment Toreth was willing to believe him. He gripped the soft upholstery of the sofa and let his head fall back, and gave up thinking about anything.

Toreth sprawled on the sofa, waiting for Warrick to bring him a drink. If anything, the new furniture was even more comfortable than the old. Amazing how much more homey the place felt after a stellar blowjob.

A mug appeared above him and he reached up for it.

"Whisky and water," Warrick said. "Sorry about the service, but I haven't unwrapped any of the crystal yet. The dining room furniture won't be here until tomorrow, and it didn't make sense to put everything away only to move it again."

Toreth took a mouthful. "Tastes the same whatever you drink it out of."

"Technically untrue." Warrick sat beside him. "The shape of the vessel affects the concentrations of organic volatiles over the surface. That alters the smell, which in turn changes the flavour."

Toreth stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa behind Warrick. "The sim?"

"Indeed. Modelling scent is technically challenging, to put it mildly. And very important, since it's one of the most evocative senses."

Warrick leaned in and pressed his nose into the hollow of Toreth's collarbone, inhaling deeply.

I wanted to kill him, Toreth reminded himself. His arm slipped down off the smooth new fabric and ended up over Warrick's shoulders.

"We'll have to eat in the kitchen, I'm afraid," Warrick said, his voice muffled but his breath hot through Toreth's shirt. "As the dining room is out of commission."

"Let's order a takeaway Chinese and eat it in bed."

Warrick looked up at him, smiling quizzically. "In bed?" Before Toreth could reply, his smile broadened. "Why not?"

There was something incredibly comforting about sitting naked on a bed, with a naked Warrick, and opening takeaway cartons. True, there was a double-folded tablecloth on the bed, and a tray to hold the bowls and chopsticks, and coasters on the bedside table for drinks they hadn't even brought up yet. Even so, eating in bed was something they had done far more in his old flat than in Warrick's.

"Do you still want to hear about Strasbourg?" Warrick asked as he carefully folded back the last flaps.

"I don't know. Do I?"

"Carnac's new office might provide you with a certain amount of schadenfreude."

"Small?" Toreth asked hopefully.

"Tiny and incredibly cramped. He looked like a corporate refugee. His entire staff consists of his sister — Socioanalysis have thrown him out."

Toreth couldn't help grinning. "Serves the bastard right."

"I imagine they don't want to get a reputation for bringing up traitors."

"Yeah. You'd think brainwashing him from the age of five they'd do a better job of it. Cunt." He picked out a sticky tangle of deep-fried meat, chewed it thoroughly, and swallowed. "Did you get anything from him?"

Warrick seemed to be concentrating on his chopsticks, holding them together as if checking the lengths matched. "A lot of warnings, once he worked out what I wanted and what I was planning to do."

"Nothing else?" Thank God for that. "Not that you could trust anything the bastard did tell you."

"He's not unreliable, within his limits. Like all of us."

Some more limited than others. Was he imagining the suggestion of that in Warrick's voice? Hard as he tried, Toreth couldn't avoid the memory of Carnac's farewell speech.

'I know the details of the diagnosis in your psych file'.

Toreth honestly tried to keep his voice light. "So, did you two have fun?"

"I went there to ask him about Tarin," he said carefully. "Nothing more. I'd far rather never see Carnac again."

"But you did go to see him, didn't you? You went. You talked to the bastard."

"
Talked
, yes. And that was all. After what he did, and tried to do, I would have to be drugged unconscious before he could lay a finger on me."

As if a bastard like Carnac would balk at that. "So you say."

"If you want to check with Rob McLean, he was there with us almost all the time."

Pathetic, stupid . . . then his control was gone. "And McLean'll say what? Whatever the fuck you tell him to say. Why don't you just show me the script?"

"Do I make a habit of lying to you? Or asking my employees to do so?" Somehow he had the nerve to sound shirty about that. "Perhaps McLean isn't quite as reliable as independent professional surveillance — "

Not that, not now. "I promised — "

"But I think he makes a more convincing witness than, say, Sara." Every syllable rang clear. "Remind me, how many times have you called on her services to provide a cover story? If you can remember."

"It's — " It's not the same, because Carnac
mattered
.

'Not that I imagine that makes you feel any less insecure or afraid of the idea of my being alone with Keir'.

At the remembered words, his stomach tightened with still-fresh humiliation. Fuck it, he could feel his cheeks getting hot. McLean had been with them 'almost all the time'. Which meant not all the time, and it was so easy to imagine them together. He could tell himself a thousand fucking times that Warrick would never willingly touch Carnac, but if Warrick had wanted the information badly enough . . .

Oh, Jesus, yes. The P&P at work might have been cut down, but this could turn into a level eight argument.

"Do you want a drink?" Toreth asked. Without waiting for an answer, he slid off the bed, almost upsetting a couple of cartons. "I'll get beer. Something."

The longer trip down the stairs and the unfamiliarity of the kitchen gave him an excuse to take his time. He kept his mind blank — as blank as he could manage — because there was no way of thinking about Carnac that didn't leave him homicidal. There was beer in the fridge, and he took one bottle to roll over his neck and face. He stood in front of the open door, ignoring the warnings from the system, feeling the slide of cool air over his skin until the last of the flush had gone and he started to shiver.

He put the warmed beer back, picked up two cold ones and closed the door. Find the glasses, open the bottles, pour. Nothing to worry about. Nothing. He kept the mantra up all the way back upstairs.

Warrick was waiting on the bed. He didn't look to have moved at all, or eaten anything, although he was still holding the chopsticks loosely in one hand. He was staring at the stained glass window, expression distant and thoughtful. He looked round, though, and raised an eyebrow.

"Here you are." Toreth handed over the beers and climbed back onto the bed more carefully than he'd left.

"Thanks." Warrick didn't say any more. He simply sat and watched Toreth warily.

Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. "How did things go at SimTech?"

Warrick looked relieved to drop the topic of Strasbourg. "Lew and Asher were somewhere between delighted to see me and furious. I couldn't explain quite why I'd been arrested, but when we're feeling the financial squeeze it's the last thing SimTech needs."

"And news will be spreading."

"Of course. The corporate gossip network is terrifyingly efficient. The speed of my release will help."

"You are going to leave it alone now, aren't you?"

Warrick hunted through a carton and produced a straw mushroom, delicately pincered in the chopsticks. "I certainly won't risk the Cit Surveillance systems again."

"Another arrest would really fuck up SimTech."

His eyes narrowed. "I know perfectly well what's at stake. Not just SimTech — there's the rest of the family. You."

Me. Too fucking right, me. But Warrick's reply hadn't been a no. "But?"

"Everything I said before is still true. I owe it to Tar. I cannot let anything else happen to him."

"
Why
, for God's sake?"

"I've thought about that a lot lately. And . . . there are a number of reasons." He looked at the mushroom for a moment, then ate it. Toreth waited, but that was apparently it.

"Well, do I get to hear any of them?"

"Of course. The main reason . . . I knew for years, Toreth." Warrick shook his head. "I knew what Kate was, I knew what she was doing to him, and I let it go on because I was
afraid
. Oh, not just for myself — I did it for Jen and Dillian. For Philly, later, and then for Valeria. There were always plenty of justifications and excuses."

What the hell was he talking about? "What could you have done?" Toreth asked. "How old were you when you found out? Seventeen? She'd been running him for years, even then."

"I never tried." His voice was harsh with self-recrimination. "I never let myself even start to wonder if there was something I
could
do. Sins of omission."

"Sorry?"

"Something someone said to me. I'm sorry, Toreth, but I can't let this go."

"Carnac called me this morning."

Warrick frowned sharply. "He
what
?"

"Called me at the office. Mostly because he's a prick, and he wanted to let me know where you'd been. Which, yeah, I have to hand it to him, that was a surprise, since
you
didn't fucking tell me where you were."

"Toreth, nothing — "

"But
also
because he wanted to know if I knew you were fucking about with Cit." Toreth took a deep breath. "Warrick, I think it's a bad idea, Carnac thinks it's a bad idea — why are you the only one who won't see that you're being suicidally stupid?"

"I made a mistake. It won't happen again. You have my word that I'll be more circumspect."

His voice had an icy determination that made Toreth's heart sink. It also left Toreth with only one option, unpleasant as it was. "I think I have a lead on him."

"Really?" Warrick sounded surprised. "How long have you had it?"

"Not long. That's what the message I left yesterday was about, except that I couldn't leave anything explicit. I've got some names — still nothing certain, but a start."

"I don't expect any help," Warrick said. "This has nothing to do with you, I appreciate that. If you give me the names, I'll take it from there."

"No. You'll just go right back to fucking around with systems you don't understand and if you get into hot water, I'll end up boiling right in there with you. Give me a few days. And while I look,
you
won't touch any fucking systems. Not Cit Surveillance, not the Data Division.
Nothing
. Okay?"

Warrick set down the carton and leaned back on his hands, examining Toreth assessingly. "Where did you obtain this new information?"

Justice's computer security wouldn't be as good as Cit Surveillance's, but Toreth didn't feel like taking chances offering them as a target. Being caught once didn't seem to have dented Warrick's self-confidence. "There was a witness at the school, and out of that I got hold of a couple of dozen names to check out. Can't tell you any more."

There was a brief pause. "You didn't say anything about a witness before."

"Yeah, well." He didn't have a justification beyond the obvious, so he didn't bother. "Look, I promise it's real information, and I promise it's a real chance to find him. But I need more time."

Now Warrick looked outright sceptical. "And if it gets nowhere, you'll tell me, of course. Just as you told me about the picture."

Fuck. "Of course. This time I'll tell you as soon as I know anything." Maybe.

This time the silence was longer, leaving the room quiet enough for Toreth to hear his beer fizzing quietly when he swirled the glass. Finally, Warrick grimaced.