Two Can Play (Entangled Ignite) (24 page)

“What can he prove, right?” Rena said. “There’s nothing wrong with Electrique or the tattoo ink, so he’ll learn nothing, right?”

“Nothing stops a liar from lying,” Maya said. “We’ll seek legal remedies to prevent him selling his lies anywhere.”

“So we’re safe?” The twist in Rena’s stomach eased a little, but she still burned with what she’d done.

“I intend to make certain,” Maya said firmly. Her eyes flashed fire-bright green. Maya could be a force when she needed to be.

“I believed him about his sister, Maya. He did make me wonder. He did.”

Maya sighed. “It’s not your fault. The man has antisocial personality disorder. In the old days, we’d call him a sociopath. That means he has no conscience. Sociopaths prey on people like you who have trust issues.”

“I should have known better.” Worse, she’d slept with him, felt close to him, thought he’d
understood
her. God. She cringed inside, completely humiliated.

“You’re human, Rena. We can’t rise above that, as much as we’d like to. Not yet anyway.” She smiled faintly. “That’s why what we’ve built here is so vital, especially for people like you, who are vulnerable to con artists, exploiters, and abusers. We’ve created a place where you can trust everyone.” She leaned forward to squeeze Rena’s knees. “That’s why we have to protect ourselves.”

Beneath her guilt and shame, her anger and sense of betrayal, Rena felt something else. Doubt. It trickled through her being, icy and unavoidable. Gage might be a liar, but some things he’d said had lodged in her heart, demanding answers. If the Life was true and good, it could stand to be questioned.

She took a deep breath. “There was one more thing, Maya. Gage claimed he visited Cassie at a homeless shelter. He wanted me to go see her, too. Of course I told him that Cassie was in rehab…” She held her breath, watching Maya’s face.

Maya blinked, then looked down.

Rena’s blood ran cold. “What is it?”

Maya lifted her head. “I’m so very sorry, Rena. I didn’t want to tell you yet. Not until things were settled for you…”

“Tell me what?” she asked, digging her nails into her palms. Alarm arrowed to her heart.

“It’s wrong to put off the truth. I just worry about you so much.” She leaned in again, patting Rena’s arms, giving her that poor-girl pity look Rena hated from anyone, but especially Maya.

“What happened?” The trickle of ice became a bucket filling up her chest so it felt wrapped in thick bands, unable to expand for the air she desperately needed.

“Cassie never checked into the rehab place,” Maya said softly. “I wanted to give you some peace because of all you’d achieved, so I spoke too soon. It was wrong of me, but I was looking out for you.”

“Where is she then?” Her heart dropped lower still. “In the shelter?”

Maya’s eyes shone with tears. “Rena…”

Rena’s throat closed so tight her words were a whisper. “What happened to Cassie, Maya?”

“She killed herself.” Maya gripped Rena’s hands, her mood ring now an inky black with gray and navy streaks. “With drugs. An injection. She left us a voice mail saying she couldn’t go on any longer. She said this was her karma for her crimes against the Life, that she wanted peace at last.”

“She’s dead? Cassie’s dead?” The ice inside Rena melted in a rush of frigid water, making her shake, making her want to slide to the floor in a cold heap. “She’s gone?”

“Can you forgive me? I weighed the fib against your tender heart and chose to protect your heart.” Maya hugged her, but Rena felt assaulted, not comforted, as if Maya were squeezing something out of her.

Maya released her. “You’ll grieve, I know, but realize you will be stronger for this suffering. Even on dark days, all is unfolding as it should, as Naomi says. Pain means growth.”

Rena couldn’t speak. Her mind did a slow turn, like a spinout in
Grand Theft Auto
, dreamlike and surreal, finally sticking on what Maya had said Cassie had said: that it was “her karma for her crimes against the Life.”

Cassie despised the word “karma.” And she would never admit to a crime against the Life. Maybe Maya had restated Cassie’s message in her own words, but still…

Maya touched her arm. “Stay with me now. Don’t float away on a sea of grief.”

Rena lifted her face to Maya’s, trying to comply, but her mind was still making that dreamy carousel turn, working out what was true and what was a lie.

“Cassie was ashamed of what she’d done, Rena. Her death redeems her.”

Rena’s mind stopped dead.
She would never call it karma
.

“So now we move forward as best we can,” Maya said. Her ring gleamed yellow now, with streaks of red. “Gage will reach out to you, no doubt. Refuse his calls, delete his messages unheard. His ID badge will be invalidated and he’ll receive a letter banishing him. He shouldn’t trouble you again.”

“That’s good,” Rena said, but she wasn’t listening any more. Her tattoo itched fiercely. Cassie was dead. Her best friend had been erased.
A suicide?
Was Maya lying? If so, was she lying to protect Rena or herself? Numb and uneasy, Rena left Maya for her Quarters.

She’d barely stepped inside when her phone vibrated. It was Gage. She held the lit-up device in her hand until the message envelope appeared just below the crack in the display. Then she deleted it. He called every fifteen minutes for three hours, finally stopping at eleven that night. She ignored each call, deleted each message, all the while playing back her conversation with Maya in her head.

She killed herself, Rena. With drugs. An injection.
Surely, Cassie hadn’t actually said the word “injection” in the message. How did Maya know that was how she’d done it? A drug OD was how Gage’s sister had died. If there really was an L.E. Pearl. If she actually was Gage’s sister. Rena did not know what to believe—or who—anymore.

She longed for the days before Gage, before her Quest, when everything about the Life made sense and gave her peace.

Peace seemed miles away. Years.

Very late, she awoke in the dark to a buzzing phone. Reaching for it, she knocked it to the floor. The battery cover rattled against the tile and she pulled the phone up by its charger cord. Groggily, she opened it, blinking against the bright light. There was a photo of Cassie, her eyes closed, her leopard spots like gray bruises against pale skin.
Dead.
It was obvious. The display-screen crack made her look more horrible, fragile, and broken. Gage’s text message said Roland had killed her with a hot shot. He’d finished the text with
Help me make this right.

After that, memories kept Rena awake, scrolling like a movie in her head. Cassie in the Dome battling and laughing…Cassie grabbing the doorjamb begging Rena to save her…Gage, drunk and muddy, falling onto her bed in despair over his dead sister…Rena puking outside the manager van when she tried to stop drinking E…then Cassie’s dead face with Gage’s message:
Help me make this right
.

She’d barely dozed off when her alarm rang. Stumbling through her shower, a can of E, and the drive to the clinic, Rena felt like she was on hold, waiting for a clear truth, a certainty, an action she knew she had to take.

The health-center waiting room barely held three chairs and a battered end table with gamer zines. Yolanda, the tech, looked up from a fashion rag, as irritated as before. “Doctor P’s not here yet.” She flipped a few pages, then sighed. “I can do the draw, I guess.”

Rena dropped into the blood-test chair in the lab, which was small, but held lots of fancy equipment. Yolanda grabbed a file from a shelf against the back wall. The folders were color-coded in rainbow order like Lifer Levels. Interesting. The one Yolanda tossed on the desk was dark orange—Rena’s new level. Their folders matched their Lifer Level? Hers had a phone message slip clipped to it. Upside down, she could read it was from Maya.

Yolanda obviously hadn’t been hired for her finesse with the needle. This stick hurt worse than the last one. To distract herself, Rena kept her eyes on the shelf of folders. Toward the back there were some black ones. What level was black? Maybe those folders were for other things—like the report Gage’s sister had stolen?

“Done,” Yolanda said, snapping off the rubber tie as though she was being timed in a race. “Follow me. Doctor P will be here in a jiff.” She led Rena to a cramped office, dropped Rena’s folder onto the doctor’s desk, and left.

Behind the doctor’s desk was a shelf of medical books. The wall held framed certificates. The desk was clear except for a family photo, a computer, Rena’s file, and a manila one marked “Urgent.”

What was in that folder? She’d bet Gage would love to know.

Taking the single chair, Rena turned her own folder around so she could read Maya’s message. “Re: Crucial test,” it said, then, “Confirm not black. Poss. caused by triple ink app./low E ingest. Rec: IV E. Note: Rescue essential.”

Rescue essential
? What did that mean? And
Confirm not black
? As in black folders? She was about to read inside her file when she heard footsteps. She spun the folder back in place and leaned back in the chair.

The doctor breezed in wearing a lab coat, greeted her, sank into her chair, and folded her hands over Rena’s folder. “You’ve had some negative symptoms, I understand. Nausea, fever, a burning sensation under your skin?” Maya hadn’t mentioned Rena’s symptoms over the phone, so she’d obviously heard the complaint before. “Anything else?”

“That’s it, I think.”

“Any loss of consciousness? Unexplained bruising?”

She shook her head.

“Good. That’s good.” Yolanda entered to hand the doctor a printout. Her blood test, Rena assumed. “Okay…” Dr. P scanned the report, then told Yolanda to set up an IV.

The doctor stood and held the door, smiling at Rena. “Sounds like a slight imbalance. We’ll fix you up as good as new.”

Yolanda led her to a recliner in the tiny exam room next room, where she stabbed Rena with an IV needle—God, that girl needed lessons—handed her a
Gamer
magazine, said “Enjoy,” and disappeared.

“Rec: IV E” in Maya’s note must have meant
recommend an IV of Electrique
. Soon, Rena felt a warm, smeary feeling and her tension faded. Before long, she wondered how she’d ever been upset about anything Gage said. Maya had rushed her here to be cared for. So sweet…like a loving sister. What had been bothering her again?

Her thoughts flitted like flies or dust motes, difficult to catch, impossible to hold. Cassie was dead and that was somehow wrong. Gage had lied to her. He had no conscience, one of those antisocial people. Yeah. No wonder she fell for his lies. She was only human. Forget that.

She shook her head, feeling better and better. Worry, guilt, and doubt dissolved like ice in hot, hot tea. It was all good. The Life was good. Nigel and Naomi were proud of her. She was golden. In the distance, clouds rumbled darkly in her mind, but for now it was all good.

Chapter Fifteen

Gage arrived at the Lounge at 7:00 a.m. to try to catch Rena before she started work. She’d obviously blocked his calls. No way would she ignore that photo of Cassie. He parked his bike in the usual spot, then headed for the back employee entrance, the morning sun already making him sweat. He’d ditch his jacket any day now. Semis rumbled through the business park, kicking out fumes. He slid his ID card down the slot in the security box, but the light stayed red. What the hell? He tried again, praying it was a readout error, but no luck.

He beat on the door until a guy looked out the square window, then opened the door a crack so Gage could explain, then pass through his card. Thirty seconds later, the guy handed out an envelope, shutting the door without a word.

The letter inside the envelope informed Gage he’d been let go and was banned from any Lounge anywhere forever and ever.

Rena had reported him.
He was outside the Life now. Frustrated, he paced the sidewalk swearing the air blue, while a bunch of new hires stared as they passed him to key themselves into the building.

After that, he spent two hours smelling burned coffee at Phoenix PD headquarters waiting to talk to his detective contact, Rick Warner, who only confirmed what Gage suspected—there wasn’t enough probable cause for any kind of warrant.

As a favor, Warner promised to ask the county ME’s office to do a search on dead bodies with pale tattoos, but the request would be a low priority, and the cop clearly thought Gage was losing it. His appearance didn’t help, he knew. His eyes were red and frantic and his clothes rumpled and smelly from sleeping in them.

Next, he drove across town to score some Electrique from Nardo’s stash, making sure he got cans with dots, then took the can and the dregs of tattoo ink Gage had taken from Day-Day to the ASU biotech institute, where the professor listened carefully to Gage’s story, taking copious notes and asking many questions.

At least in academia they gave credence to wild-ass conspiracy theories. If the tests went well, Gage would hear back in two days. In the meantime, the professor suggested Gage check scientific journal databases for any research that might be linked to anyone from NiGo.

No hits came up on Maya Wozinsky, even with three different spellings of her last name. Nothing on Nigel Blackstone or Naomi Blackstone. On a hunch, he tried Naomi’s maiden name and hit the jackpot.

N. Takai had authored an article that argued for the use of prisoners as subjects in mood management tests of new drugs as skin implants.
Like tattoos?

Switching to LexisNexis, he tried her name in a news search and found she’d been quoted in an early gaming magazine for research reporting mood elevation in players of action-adventure video games.

Most significant of all, he got a hit on a news story in an Albuquerque, New Mexico, paper about Dr. Naomi Takai assisting in putting out a small fire at a biotech lab engaged in military research. Among those rescued was a chemist named Nigel Brimstone. Obviously a misspelling of Blackstone, which was why Gage had missed the reference on earlier searches.

Nigel had been a
chemist
, not an
engineer
. Had he lied for street cred among game designers? Or was he hiding his true talents?

Finished with his searches, Gage pushed up from his table, rubbing a cramp in his neck. The air was stuffy in his trailer. He’d have to kick on the AC soon, as higher temps burned away the spring’s cool. He stepped outside to catch what breeze there was. No sweet citrus blossoms out here, but desert plants gave off a subtle scent of new growth. The quarter moon was low on the horizon, hidden by the hills, turning the leaves on the mesquite trees into black lace against the gray sky. He blew out a breath, hands on his hips, and looked straight up at the stars, far above human strife. There was Orion, there Andromeda. He thought of Rena lying in his arms, trusting him to talk her through her fear of the dark.

Rena, dammit, you have to hear me
.

He’d tried her all day, but she never took a call. He had plenty to show her if he could just get her to talk to him. He was bone tired, his clothes stiff with sweat, but he couldn’t give up on her.

He would go to the front entrance of the Lounge, slip past the Watchers, and find her. It would be almost nine, a busy time. If he was lucky, he’d slide in undetected.

It almost worked. Bull was flirting with two girls when Gage tried easing in the front entrance with some gamers, but he ran straight into Zeke, who grabbed an arm. “You’re out of here, chief.”

“I have to talk to Rena,” he said, shaking him off. “It’s vital.”

“Don’t make this hard,” Zeke said. “Those guys would be happy to pound on you.” He nodded at four goons striding his way, gazes hot to deliver pain.

Gage might be able to take Zeke but not the whole crew. “Okay. All right.” He raised his arms and backed toward the door.

Zeke followed him out. “Don’t try that again,” he said.

“Tell Rena it’s about Cassie. She has to hear me out.”

Zeke walked away, waving an arm back at him.

“Tell her to come to my place,” he yelled. “I’ll wait for her there.”

Shit. A wasted trip, but he’d had to try. He made one last call telling Rena what he’d learned, begging her to come to his place, then threw a leg over the Commando, kicked it on, heading back to his place to clean up and wait for her. It was all he could do.

He drove too fast, frustration a burning ball in his gut. How much could he do from the outside? How much time did he have? If Rena had tipped them to Gage’s suspicions, they’d be busy hiding the evidence.

He’d taken the dirt turnoff to his place when he became aware of a vehicle riding his ass. Checking his mirror, he saw it was a light-colored van. From the Lounge? When the vehicle surged closer, he saw he was right. The driver, a big guy, probably a guard, seemed intent on driving him off the road.
NiGo wanted him dead
. Adrenaline washed through him and he poured on speed, the Commando giving all it could, the wheels easily grabbing the soft ground. There was a handgun in his trailer, but Gage would be roadkill long before he made it there.

He had mere seconds to save himself. His gaze darted side to side as he made the next turn. He was coming up on the wash. A controlled crash into the tangle of brush on the downhill slope might work. It was worth a try.

He slowed so the van would be close enough for the driver to see him catch air off the shoulder. He planned to push off from the bike, tuck into a ball, and hope the brush would cushion his fall. If not, he’d snap his neck. At least it would be quick.

He sped around the turn, grateful for the perfection of his bike’s handling. Steadying his nerves and his breathing, he tightened his muscles and braced on the pegs, visualizing the move. It was Rena’s tumbling trick, he realized. His life depended on how well he’d absorbed her instructions.

If he survived the fall, he had to hope the driver would be too lazy to take the steep slope through dense tangle to verify the kill. With a flash of regret over the damage to his bike, Gage veered for the shoulder and as the bike left the ground, he pushed to his feet and jumped out. Just as he tucked, his cell phone went off. If it was Rena, she was too damn late.

He caught the flash of the van headlights, heard his bike hit the trees. Something snapped, the pain was insane, and everything went black.

…

By the end of her Dome shift at six, Rena’s hazy calm from the IV of Electrique had faded, leaving her with a hellish hangover. She felt like a rag doll someone had emptied of stuffing, shaky and hollow, with a throbbing head. The only good news was that her thinking had cleared.

Confirm not black… Rescue essential
. What the hell had Maya meant? Rescue from what? From Cassie’s fate. Death? From a drug overdose? Or the chemicals she’d consumed in all the Electrique she’d drunk?

That couldn’t be true. No. She pictured Nigel’s baby-fine hair, his bald spot, the way he held her hand in both of his. She saw Naomi’s loving smile. They couldn’t be behind anything so terrible. What about Maya? Maya looked out for her. She’d lied about Cassie’s rehab, but only for Rena’s own good.

Gage’s words rang in her brain.
Trust me, Rena. Trust yourself. Trust what happened between us. That was real. Trust that.

But how could she? Which was the real Gage? The grief-stricken brother desperate for justice? The sleazy reporter who’d twisted Rena’s mind until she doubted all she knew? Or the man who’d held her close in the dark woods, pointing out Orion’s belt, listening to her story, making her feel cared-for and safe?

Rena pressed her temples with her palms, feeling like her skull might burst like a water balloon, her brain pressured into liquid.

She headed for Blood Electric to be with people, to hear music, to focus on what was good and right in the Life—anything not to be alone with her thoughts. Inside the bar, she spotted Leland Thomas in a back booth. On impulse, she joined him. “Leland,” she said.

“Rena.” His eyes were wet, his lids drooping.
Drunk. Just great
. She needed someone who could talk straight, not slur and fog out on her.

“What’s wrong, Leland?” she asked, thinking about more than what had caused him to toss back too much liquor.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I think I do,” she said. Did he know Cassie was dead? “I think I have to know.”

Before he could speak again, their waitress arrived. It was Holly. Rena greeted her.

“Guess what?” Holly said, eyes bright with excitement. “I’m up a level. I go for my Level Three tattoo soon. Yellow. I love yellow. So sunshiny!”

“That’s great, Holly. You earned it.”

“What can I get you?” She was so perky. How much of that was due to Electrique? Rena looked around the room. Every Lifer in the arena was under the influence. And not by accident. When Rena had tried to cut back, they’d quickly topped her off with an IV of the stuff.

Leland ordered another V-Trique.

“Just E,” Rena said, forcing a smile. She wanted to lick her addiction, but wasn’t sure when or how to start. Watching Holly bounce away, Rena said, “I used to feel that way—excited about every bit of progress.”

“Not anymore?” He slanted her a glance. “What changed?”

“It’s hard to talk about.” She wasn’t sure she could trust him, but she had to start somewhere. He might know things that would help her figure this out. She began with a test. “I heard Cassie is in rehab.”

He snorted and shook his head. “Rehab? Like the farm where Daddy took the dog that kept peeing on the Persian? You bet. Cassie’s in rehab.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t listen to me. I’m drunk enough to say too much.” He knew. He definitely knew. Now what?

Their drinks arrived and Leland clicked his glass against hers. “To the greater good,” he said, then laughed bitterly. “I’m just a bean counter. What do I know?” He gulped most of his drink in one swallow.

“I think you know plenty,” she said. “You know that Cassie’s dead, for one thing. Maya told me, too.”

“She told you?” His gaze shot to hers, his booziness instantly erased.

“She said Cassie killed herself.”

“You believe that?” Leland’s eyes dug in.

“No,” she whispered, relieved to say it out loud. “She told me Cassie took a bribe not to talk about whoever was stealing gamer money.” Rena’s mouth was so dry her lips stuck together. Each word betrayed the Life.

Leland shook his head, slow and steady. “You know her better than that. Cassie didn’t care about money.” He pushed the dregs of his drink away.

“She was my best friend and I evicted her. I sent her to her death.” Emotion welled up, turning her nerves to flames beneath her skin. She tightened every muscle against the pain. Saying it out loud made it real.

“You followed orders. You had no idea what you were doing.”

“I need to know what’s going on. Tell me what you know.”

“I can’t.” He began shredding his napkin with short jerks. “I don’t want you on my conscience, too.”

“Then answer my questions.” She checked their vicinity for eavesdroppers. “Did anyone get fired over the gamer theft?”

“Fired?” He gave a short laugh. “They got promoted. There are people whose whole job is to lure deviants into the game, then blackmail them.”

“It’s a job?” Her heart sank. Her whole body seemed weighted down. She didn’t want to know this. It ruined everything she loved.

“We pull in a hundred K a month that way. NiGo is in deep weeds. If the new game doesn’t double subscribers, we’ll go bankrupt.”

The news crushed her, but at least she was hearing the truth at last. “Who’s in charge of it? Mason?”

“No doubt. In the nineties, he was CFO of a big investment firm that scammed retirement funds. He weaseled out of an indictment somehow.”

“Does Nigel know what’s going on? Or Naomi?” She had that much hope. That her heroes were innocent of such ugly acts.

“Who knows? Mason does what he wants. He has free rein. If I didn’t have kids in college, I’d quit today. Hell, they might fire me. Mason yanked my people off the Scrip Banque in the middle of the patch they came up with and put in this twerp who’s supposed to be a hot-shit hacker.”

Rena’s mind spun. Leland’s story fit easily into Gage’s accusations.

“Hey, I’ve upset you,” Leland said. “I’m drunk and bitter and babbling. Go about your business, Rena. It’s too soon for you to worry. Maybe we’ll pull out of the dive. The new game’s supposed to rock.”

“I want to fix what’s wrong.” Gage had been right about her. She did want to know that what she believed in was right and true.

“Stay out of it, Rena. Mason’s got eyes and ears everywhere. Those Watchers he hired are up to a bunch of clandestine crap.” He reached for his drink, then stopped. “I’m not a drunk. And neither was Cassie.”

“I was,” she said. “Maya brought me into the Life and I got straight.”

“That’s good. That’s what appealed to me about the job—the way NiGo helped kids in trouble. I thought we were doing good. Jesus.” He shook his head.