The Bloody City (33 page)

He touched her arm. “You’re not stepping on any toes. I told you, don’t apologize.”

Despite his voice being calm, it was also firm. She dropped the subject.

“Occam played his card,” she said. The sunlight stretched across the ceiling, and she was amazed at how the world went on, the sun shined, the sky was still blue. “He’s been playing me right into his arms.”

“Yet you’re still lying here in this bed, with me, in broad daylight.”

“He went through the same thing I’m going through, the food allergies. It gets worse, according to him. It’s what nearly killed him. He said it was terrible. It ate him away, and there was so much pain.” Her voice caught. “He’d nearly wasted away by the time the vampires took him.”

“It was a different time. I know Occam is old. He’s bragged about it.”

“That doesn’t mean there’s a cure now. They couldn’t cure Muse, could they?”

Sam didn’t respond.

“It’s my fate to die horribly, in pain. To have my guts eaten away.” She shook her head. “It’s not fair, not after all this.”

“You believe what he says?”

“He’s never lied to me. He’s many things, but he’s not a liar. He doesn’t need to be.”

“And so Occam has offered you vampirism as an alternative, I take it?”

“He says I’ll be a good soldier.” She blinked against tears. “I’ll be all the things I never wanted to be, all the things I never had to be until I came to this awful city.”

Sam lifted his head. He scooted closer, pushing his hair back behind his ear. He gazed down at her. “Do you want to be a vampire?”

She struggled with the answer, because it was more complicated than a simple “yes” or “no.” “I don’t want to die.” Her voice was strained. “That’s all I know.”

He stroked his fingers down her cheek. “Then we’ll find another way. Occam is taking too much delight in this. We won’t let him have his way.”

“He says I may have a while. I don’t know about that. I’ve had this my entire life, but it’s progressing faster now.”

Sam lowered his head and rested it on her shoulder, his fingers curled against her cheek.

“Sam. About last night—”

“Shh…” He placed a finger against her lips. “It’s all right to just leave some things the way they are. We don’t have to talk about everything.”

He sounded too much like Micha.

She convinced him he should get up and take a shower, that it would do him good. She’d make breakfast while he cleaned up. They needed some sustenance other than fast food and snacks.

“There are clothes here,” she said. “They’re in one of the other bedrooms. I’ll bring you some stuff.”

Sam was in his underwear, and she appreciated his sculpted body, despite all the other things in her brain fighting for attention. She had put her tank top and pants back on.

He glanced at his bloody shirt in a heap on the floor, next to the balcony door.

“I can get rid of it,” she said softly. “If you want me to. And your jeans.”

He nodded. “I think you should. I would be inclined to keep them, for no good reason. She’d tell me not to be so dramatic.”

She studied him—still so wounded and too real for her to be comfortable with, yet majestically beautiful, standing nearly naked in the sunlight. And hers? Maybe? Finally.

“Thank you,” he said. “For what you did for her, in those last moments.”

She picked up his shirt. “Go shower. I’ll make a breakfast better than anything we’ve had in a long time.”

Sam walked to the bathroom door.

She steeled herself. She had to know.

“Sam?”

He stopped.

“I just need to ask. Was she—your lover? Your girlfriend? I just want to know for my own peace of mind.” She held up a hand. “I’m not apologizing. But I’ve been here before, and I kinda want to know how big of a bitch I am.”

She held her breath, waiting for his response.

“We loved each other,” he said flatly. “It was just that. Love, of some sort. I don’t know what else to say. We loved each other, but we couldn’t be in love.”

He turned back to the bathroom. The answer didn’t make her feel any better.

“I will tell you one thing, though.” He turned back. “Every time Micha touched you, I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands.”

She bit her lip.

He gripped at the air. “Just grab him and—” He gritted his teeth.

She looked down, fighting a smile. She lost.

“Anyway.” He lowered his arms. “Yeah, I was jealous of him.”

She looked back up at him, smiling. “Go get your sexy ass in the shower. I’ll make waffles. I saw a waffle iron out there. Hopefully Aaron left some gluten-free waffle mix for me.”

“Not blueberry.”

“Not blueberry. I know you hate blueberries.” She knew a lot about him, actually.

He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door.

Cindy didn’t visit for three days. In that time, they didn’t hear a thing about Aaron and Micha turning themselves in, neither on TV nor online. The city was consumed with Robbie’s massacre.

Cindy finally showed up with her usual bustling air and several bags of groceries. June practically pounced on her.

“What the hell is going on?” June demanded, wearing an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boy shorts. “We haven’t heard a thing. Where have you been?”

Cindy dropped the bags on the island counter in the kitchen. “Aaron told me there was enough food and toiletries here for you to be comfortable for at least a week, so I didn’t think there was any rush. Also, I didn’t want to come until I actually had news.”

“You didn’t think we could use the company? Some contact with the outside world?”

“Why would you want contact with the outside world? I wish I could hide in here with you.” She glanced toward the kitchen doorway and lowered her voice. “How is he? Aaron put her to rest. That’s part of what I need to tell you. Is he all right?”

“He doesn’t talk much about it.”

“Sounds like him.”

June started unloading the bags. “I don’t want to push him. If he wants to talk about it, he will.”

“I don’t even know what to say to him. I miss her too.”

“I wouldn’t say anything if I were you. So what’s the news?”

“Get Sam in here. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

Sam walked into the kitchen. “I already heard you whispering about me. It’s quiet in here, you know.”

June slapped on a poker face. Sam wore a pair of black lounge pants, which fit except that they were struggling to cling to his hipbones. He was surprisingly shirtless—though June had seen him shirtless a shameful number of times in the past few days. He had his hair pulled back. He looked like he’d just come from the gym. The sexy gym.

Cindy blatantly stared at him.

He began rooting through the bags. “Did you get Nilla Wafers? You better have.”

“Yes, of course I did, Sam.” Cindy shifted. “Haven’t I, every time I bring groceries?”

Sam pulled the yellow box out with a flourish. “You forgot, that one time.”

“Yes, and I’ve apologized at least fifty times.” Cindy kept her gaze fixed on Sam as he wandered over to the sink and leaned against the counter. “So, uh…”

Cindy grew fidgety. Perhaps it was their lack of clothing, or the absolute reeking sin of what they’d gotten up to on the couch roughly an hour ago. June had made a list of things they needed the next time Cindy showed up—including condoms. June hoped she wouldn’t ask.

“Aaron buried her?” Sam asked, without emotion, as he tore into his wafer box. “He has her interred safely somewhere?”

“Yes,” Cindy said. “He wanted to do that before he turned himself in.”

“That’s why it’s taken him three days?” Sam opened a cupboard above the sink and pulled down a bottle of whiskey. “I’m assuming he just now did it, and that’s why you’re here.”

“Yes.” Cindy snatched the bottle from him as he held it out.

June rustled around in the groceries, not watching as Cindy chugged the whiskey, uncomfortable and more than a little unsettled by the reason she needed it. And maybe a little jealous.

Cindy finally seemed to breathe easy. She wiped her mouth. “He also had to get some things in order before they turned themselves in.”

“He’s a fool,” Sam said. “The serum information and Micha? Yes, they’ll be interested in that. But they think Aaron killed Eric Greerson. They won’t let him off the hook. We never discussed doing this.”

“That’s why he had to get things in order,” Cindy said.

“What do you mean?”

“He has something else. That’s why it took him three days. He had to talk to someone first.”

“Nice of him to keep me in the loop.” Sam popped a wafer in his mouth.

“You’ve been a bit preoccupied.” Cindy took another swig of whiskey, winced, and licked her lips. “Someone gave him evidence that will clear both of you.”

Sam stopped chewing. “Wuh?” he said around the mouthful.

“Someone he knows hacked into the Institute databases. Aaron has the real footage of what happened that night.” She nodded at June. “And the night you escaped.”

June widened her eyes.

“There’s a lot of other information in those databases,” Cindy said. “Stuff the FBI will also be very interested in.”

Sam finished chewing and swallowed. “Who the hell could get into the Institute databases? You would have to have some pretty high clearance for that.”

“He didn’t say a name.” Cindy set the bottle down. “But he told me to tell you something. He said you’d understand.”

“What’s that?”

“He said the old guard isn’t dead. They’re just in hiding.”

Sam stared at her, his brow furrowed. Then his face smoothed. His eyes popped wide, mouth falling open.

He dropped the wafer box, and it landed with a whack on the tile floor. “Holy shit!”

“Do you know what he’s talking about?” June asked.

Sam strode toward the island counter, gripping his head. “Michael Paulson.”

June frowned. “The first head of the Institute?” She was getting better with names.

“Aaron must have gotten in touch with him,” Sam said. “He’s not dead.” He slammed both hands on the counter. “That sneaky bastard.”

“Michael Paulson isn’t dead?” Cindy’s voice rose.

“It’s perfect.” Sam lifted his hands. “Of course Michael Paulson would be able to access their databases. He’d know where they hide their secrets. That’s why Aaron suddenly wanted to go to the FBI. His cards are in order.”

“Wait.” June frowned. “How could Michael Paulson still get in there? Wouldn’t they have changed the passwords and stuff?”

“Not if they thought he was dead. And even if they did change things, I’m sure he knew other ways in. It has to be him. The ‘old guard?’ Of course.”

“How did Aaron know he was alive?” Cindy asked. “Or where he was? Michael Paulson never exactly got along with the SNC. The SNC and the Institute were bitter rivals back in the day.”

“That’s how.” Sam snapped his fingers. “Aaron’s father would have had intelligence on Michael Paulson, kept close tabs on him. He would have known where he was.”

Cindy snorted. “You think Alan Jenkins knew Michael Paulson was still alive? And he let him live?”

“Alan died not too long after Michael Paulson vanished.” Sam winked at June. “You enjoying this history lesson?”

“If it keeps you out of prison, sure.”

Sam shook his fist triumphantly. “Aaron is going to the FBI with the intelligence I gave him and Micha and the footage showing we killed Eric in self defense. They’ll clear us and put the Institute under a very strong microscope.”

“God,” Cindy said. “This could all be over soon.”

June gripped the edge of the counter, afraid she might collapse in a sobbing puddle. The wave of emotion was painful, a mixture of soul-shaking relief and profound fear to hope.

“It could all be over,” June repeated. “Oh my God.”

“Not all of it,” Sam said. “I have to find Robbie.”

“Don’t put the cart before the horse.” Cindy shook her finger. “Even if everything works out, even if the FBI does everything you hope they will, it could take a while.”

She was right, of course. June still envisioned having her life back before the end of the year, all this suffering a distant nightmare by next summer, something she told her therapist about and drank to forget. Remember that one time Chicago tried to kill us?

Sam pushed back from the counter. “All we can do now is wait.”

Cindy snatched up the bottle. “And drink to the light at the end of the tunnel.” She took a deep drink and held the bottle out to Sam.

June was so happy to have even a spark of hope she didn’t balk at the exchange of backwash and took a drink when the bottle was passed to her. The burn cleared her head.

“I have something else.” Cindy dug into her massive purse. “For you, June.”

She pulled out a small box. A red ribbon graced it, knotted up in an elaborate bow.

“You didn’t have to bring me a present.” June took the box. “I forgive you now for leaving us in the dark the past three days.”

“It’s not from me.” Cindy grimaced. “Occam came into my bar last night, the creepy bastard. Like I need vampires visiting me at work.”

June frowned. “I didn’t know vampires liked the bar scene. I thought they preferred to practice their vices in their slovenly hovels?”

“He told me to give that to you.” Cindy pointed at the box. “He said if I opened it, he’d know and he’d send someone to pop my eyeballs out with a soup spoon.”

“Such a charmer.” June fingered the bow. “And really good at wrapping gifts, apparently.”

Sam walked over next to June. “There can’t be anything good in there.”

Her stomach tightened. Another Oracle?

Cindy took a step back. “Should we get a bomb dog to sniff it first?”

June tugged at the ribbon. “He wouldn’t hurt me. It’s probably just something obnoxious.” Maybe it was a bag of cocaine. Or a picture of him naked. Or a dead bird, like a cat trying to impress its owner.

She undid the ribbon and opened the box. Cindy and Sam inched closer.

On top was a folded piece of paper. June took it out. Beneath was a piece of thin gray velvet, hiding whatever was inside. She read the note first.

I can wait forever, but I don’t want to.
The note was signed “O.”