Wired (23 page)

She grinned. “Let's go.”

I woke up the following morning to more complete and total normalcy. Nobody was trying to get me to do anything. I turned on my computer and went downstairs while it booted up. Kitty was dressed, making herself a bag lunch to take to work.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning.” The coffee was already made and I poured myself a nice big mugful, then leaned against the counter and watched her wrap three conjoined pieces of pizza into a tinfoil triangle.

“That stuff's going to kill you one of these days,” I said.

“I stopped ordering extra cheese, remember?”

It was just like college again.

“Any messages?” I asked.

“Nope.”

I went back upstairs to the window and looked out through the sliver not covered by the drapes; nobody was sleeping in their car. Nobody was trying to get me to do anything illegal or trying to persuade
me to believe the impossible. Maybe it would be a good day.

I went back downstairs to the kitchen. Kitty stuck a paper towel and an apple in her bag, gently lowered in the tinfoiled triangle, and folded the top of the bag over. I followed her to the door, not quite knowing what to do with myself.

“I'll see you later,” she said. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned to look at me, her blond hair swinging out. “You okay?”

“Everything's great,” I said. “Have a fabulous day at work.”

“You too,” she said, and slipped out the door.

I took a swig of coffee, then went back upstairs and settled in at the computer.

It had been a while since I'd really “been to work,” but it wasn't like I was getting phone calls asking where any projects were. Should I be at an office? I looked through the files in the holder on my desk, suddenly wondering if I had any outstanding projects in this version of reality. How had reality changed this time? Had it changed yet again while I was sleeping? The last few days had been impossible to plan for. A mishmash of convoluted memories were little help.

I had several freelance folders relating to the agency. I opened them up and scanned the documents. Nothing seemed new or out of place. I'd wrapped up my old projects and apparently hadn't signed on for any new ones. There was an e-mail printout from the agency asking me if I was done with my vacation, which, of course, made me snort coffee out of my nose. My time with Mason and Leo
wasn't anything I'd call a vacation, but I guess someone had set up an excuse on my behalf. Maybe it had been me.

I surfed the Web for a while, but quickly tired of it. I tapped my fingers on my desk and rearranged the magnetic words on my date board. I put the mug of coffee down and went to the closet, rummaged around, and found the high-heeled-shoe box. The shoes were gone, of course, but the gun was still there, along with the ammunition.

I pushed hangers around until I found the dress. Thanks to Kitty, it was in a plastic wrapper with a dry-cleaning stub hanging off it. I pulled up the plastic. Technically, the garment was clean, but it hung limp, looking like it had been through hell and back. I almost laughed to imagine what Kitty must have been thinking upon seeing the perfect dress she'd picked out completely trashed after my “date” with Leonardo. But in quintessential Kitty style, she'd kept her mouth shut and pretended it was completely normal.

But I
couldn't
laugh. I remembered how good Mason and I looked the first time I'd ever worn that dress. That one night. It hurt to think of all the question marks I had about him, about us. And though it had been a pain in the ass and I'd flip-flopped about believing in Mason a million times, there was only one thought on my mind as I pulled the garment down again. Now that I was being left completely alone, I had to wonder: Had Mason stopped trying? Did he give up? And was I asking these questions because I cared about his work agenda or his feelings for me?

For that matter, where was Leo? He'd worked so hard to keep me in sight, to take care of me after the spying incident. And he'd seemed like he was flirting because he wanted to and not because he wanted me to do something for him. Leo had touched his lips to my skin in a more tender way than before, and though he was clearly a professional lady-killer and I couldn't trust him, there was something in him that seemed new. Different. Something I responded to.

And yet, neither man was here.

I didn't feel like working, even if I'd known what to do. All I wanted was to watch one of my movies while I stuffed my face full of popcorn and chocolate, trying not to think about Mason or Leo and me at all.

I grabbed my messenger bag, jacket, and keys and slipped out the door, heading for the 7-Eleven to purchase some sorely needed comfort food. Halfway there, almost to the place where it had all started, I stopped in my tracks. I had never considered myself a superstitious person, but I nevertheless added an extra block to the trip by heading around the back way, planning to cut through the parking lot behind the store.

I guess I picked the wrong avoidance tactic, because parked in the lot was a crappy, boxy rental car with a guy leaning against it. The guy with the two last names.

Seeing Mason under these circumstances was more of a shock than I'd anticipated. Flustered, I forgot Leo and the past few days. I forgot I wasn't supposed
to care about Mason or his transportation anymore, and I almost made a friendly joke. Until I remembered what it felt like to watch him look me in the eye while he pulled the trigger and shot me.

I wanted an explanation.

Mason stood up straight and dropped his arms but didn't move toward me. He just waited next to his car, and there was something in his body language I didn't recognize.

“You shot me,” I said uncertainly, my voice cracking. “I opened the door and you looked me in the eye and you shot me.”

He frowned and kicked the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Yeah, well . . . what really sucks about this is that I know how it looks. It ain't good. Leo's one of the best.”

It was a subtle play; he knew he had a baseline from which to work. He knew that he'd made me care about him, and he was trying to use that against me.

“So was that you?”
Was the Mason standing in my doorway pulling the trigger the
real
you?

“Was what me?”

I knew him too well. “You're stalling,” I whispered, feeling a kind of horror come over me. I needed to know: “Did you shoot me, Mason? Did you try to kill me? And was it the same when you meant to bury me alive so I wouldn't put that disk back?” It all sounded even more horrific coming out of my mouth.

Mason grabbed at the back of his neck and looked down at the ground, his face the very picture of grim. “It's not that black-and-white. It sort of depends.”

“It doesn't depend,” I said incredulously. “It's yes or no. Answer me straight; no joking. Was that you crossing the wires knowing I would die?”

I have to confess that the fact that he was so uncomfortable answering the question, that he had such a difficult time giving me any answer, in and of itself brought a measure of sympathy and even a little bit of doubt of his crimes. In his eyes was true pain.

“I didn't
know
you would die,” he said. “In fact, I think we can both be assured of that, given that you're standing right here.”

Oh, you're stalling, Mason
. “Did you act,” I whispered, “knowing I could die?”

He dropped his hands to his sides and murmured a resigned, “Yes.” The word sounded soft coming out, but it flew across the six feet between us like another bullet.

I stepped back, unsteady. It didn't matter whether or not he felt bad about this. If I'd needed proof of who was bad and who was good, who was my villain and who was my hero, I'd just gotten it.

He reached out to me; I leaped back out of reach. “Leonardo never tried to hurt me,” I said.

“He pushed us under a truck trying to get the code, Roxy. You could have died then, too. Did you forget?”

“I didn't forget. But he explained it was an accident. He wasn't driving. I never saw who was driving. You were the one who told me it was Leonardo.”

“Number one, if he wasn't driving, but he had ‘his people' chase you down, what difference would that really make?”

“He couldn't have known the lengths to which his people would go,” I said a little desperately. “And you not only shot me in cold blood, but you admitted it and also tried to bury me alive.”

“I wasn't
trying
to bury you alive. Not like you think. And yeah, I admitted it,” he said, disbelieving laughter bursting from his mouth. “But that's because I'm the one who's being straight with you. Do you really understand who Leonardo Kaysar is?”

“As much as I understand who you are,” I muttered.

Mason shook his head. “Remember to think of it this way. Leonardo pulls the genie out of the bottle; I try to put the genie back. I believe that what was meant to be, should be.”

“But then I wouldn't be friends with Kitty again.”

“Maybe you were always meant to be friends with Kitty. And if that turned out not to be the case, at least you wouldn't know. You wouldn't miss her.”

“I missed Naveed's daughter. I haven't forgotten about that.”

“Yes, that's weird. But we already know you're an unusually aware Major. When we get to the end of this thing and your reality locks in, that will probably start to fade. And you gotta understand, there was nothing I could do to keep from losing Naveed's daughter. Leonardo had already set that outcome in motion. He tried to cross wires to reset the fight over you we had that night. He was trying for another chance to win first possession of you. I countered his play to keep the status quo, and Naveed's daughter was a random casualty of the move—a casualty on a
list I do everything in my power to keep as short as possible.”

He sighed and, after a moment, glanced at my face. His eyes were sorrowful. “I do what I can, but sometimes you just have to be a little . . . ruthless. It's tough at first. It's easier to screw something up than to fix it and restore it to the way it once was. But it's better to make the hard choice with the right outcome as soon as possible. Fewer repercussions.”

Anger filled me. “And if some poor sap who has nothing to do with anything happens to be in the way, well, so be it.”

“Look, Rox, I don't like people disappearing either.”

“But you're saying it's a necessary outcome,” I said bitterly. “And you also said that Leo disappeared your girlfriend. You couldn't bring her back?”

He winced. “That's a tough one, Rox. Believe me. For one thing, if you
do
bring them back, it's rare that the relationship between the disappeared and his or her friends is the way it was before. And you have to do it in a way that doesn't substantially change fate. It's tricky.”

I felt a pang of sympathy—just before jealousy and anger crowded the feeling back out. “You did manage to bring her back, but she didn't know you, did she?”

“Right,” he agreed.

“You and Leo became enemies because of it.”

He nodded. “It wasn't the only reason, but she's a big one. Look, this girlfriend thing. Rox, I think you need—”

I put my palm up. I didn't want to hear any more about some chick he loved more than anything in the universe, blah, blah, blah. I just wasn't up to it. The idea of it made me jealous and miserable, and the last thing I wanted was for Mason to see that.

“Aren't you supposed to be off anticipating Leo's next move?” I asked numbly.

Mason shrugged, a weariness evident in his entire being. “There isn't a next move, and I give Leo another ten minutes to come to that conclusion. He's a little slow in the head sometimes.”

“There's no next move? So, what do you plan to do?”

“I'm not sure,” Mason said bitterly, “which I think you should know is more dangerous than anything.”

As if on cue, the squeal of brakes shot through the parking lot as a car pulled into an empty spot. Leo jumped out and made a beeline for me. “Roxanne!” He put his hand out protectively and gently ushered me away from Mason, who just looked at him with weary amusement.

Mason and Leonardo stood there facing each other. I waited for one of them to throw the first punch. No punch. I waited for someone to pull a gun. No gun. I waited for something,
anything
, any kind of action to match the intensity of my heartbeat, but though the two men faced off, there seemed to be a stunning lack of aggression.

“Is Mason going on with his sob story again? It's always his last-ditch effort. Shows an appalling lack of creativity.”

“Which sob story?”

“The one about how I supposedly disappeared his girlfriend.”

“Did you?”

“I told you. No. Mason's just a mercenary. He'd say or do anything to get what he wants. He loves to bring her up again at the most critical point.”

So,
this
was the most critical point? “Okay, okay, whoa, there.” I stretched out my arms to keep the two men apart. I looked at both. “What I want to understand is, if each of you is the bane of the other's existence, and if this is a critical juncture, why aren't you trying to kill each other? Why are we all suddenly acting like there's all the time in the world?”

Leonardo glanced at his reader. “Actually, time is running out. But then, I like a challenge,” he said cryptically.

“Likewise,” Mason growled.

“Stalemate is it then?” Leonardo asked him, distaste dripping from his words. He looked like he'd rather be shooting his pistol instead of talking.

Mason folded his arms across his chest. “Yup. Stalemate. I guess you could say we're back to square one.” He nodded, looking as grim as I'd ever seen him.