Delirium (3 page)

Fleight had to have noticed his sudden bad mood, but she didn’t seem to care.

“My daughter’s killers will be found and brought to justice,” she said, passing him a slip of paper. Seemed she’d had it in hand from the beginning.

He glanced down to find it held the coordinates for him to connect with the contractor, along with a time stamp.

“I did the all the work,” she said. “Chimera will claim the arrest.”

She
did the work? Funny lady. She’d made more work.

Harlen would be
warning
Mirren and Vince. If they knew they were being tailed, they could take care of themselves. Mirren Lambert could do some freaky shit with Scrape sand. And no one wanted to face a maniac like Vince Blackman in a fight.

He stood and pocketed the slip of paper. “I’ve got a busy night.” The senator could take whatever meaning she wanted from that.

“Certainly,” she said, smiling.

Director Bright stood, as well. “We’ll let you know if there are any developments.”

“You mean
when
,” Fleight said.

“No,” Bright told her.
“If.”

That helped to settle Harlen’s temper. At least he and Bright were on the same page. It seemed, at the moment, Director Bright wasn’t necessarily going to war with Senator Fleight—thus far their only avowed “supporter”—but Bright wasn’t going to allow Chimera to be told what to do, either.

The situation still sucked. He’d have to figure out how to handle this so-called contractor. And worst of all, no Sera. The promise of her had been the only thing that had gotten him through this total crap day, and now he’d have to spend the night putting this merc out of business.

CHAPTER TWO

Sera almost dropped her phone when it rang, but she managed to flip the suddenly slippery thing over to see that, yes, it was Harlen. She swallowed the day’s anxiety and tried to sound upbeat. “Hey, you.”

Eleanor had looked up from her laptop where she’d been showing Sera the new mockups for the jewelry website update. Sera had
ooh
ed and
ahh
ed, trapped for the forty-five minutes following the end of the hearing. There’d been no way his mom was going to let her leave until they’d heard from him.

“Hey, Chef.” His nickname for her. “I’ve only got a minute before another meeting.”

Sounded like he was moving, and then a car door closed.

“Everything okay?” she asked him.

Eleanor was watching her with a studied expression. Learning her tells, probably, like a cardsharp.

“Well, I miss you,” Harlen said.

So, not okay, or he would have said yes straight-out. Maybe flirted a little. Tried to make her blush.

“He’s good. Meetings all day,” Sera told his mom and turned away.

“Ma giving you a hard time?” Harlen asked, laughter in his voice.

“I miss you, too,” Sera answered with her own nonanswer. She slid open the glass door to step out onto the deck. The day was crystal blue, the air cold and grasping. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“She’ll cave eventually,” he said.

“When?”

“Soon,” he told her.

Sera had tried everything. Except vows, that is, and even then… Maybe if she gave her a couple of grandbabies? Well, she and Harlen weren’t ready for that.

“I don’t have much time,” he told her. “But I wanted to let you know I miss your cooking. Missed lunch altogether, in fact.” The grumble in his tone went beyond low blood sugar.

A full-body chill shook Sera, lifting the hair on her arms, and it had nothing to do with the weather. He’d just initiated their code. His first day and already something was wrong. And yet, they couldn’t risk speaking openly over their mobile lines for him to tell her exactly what.

“Anything in particular you’re in the mood for?” she asked to give him an opening. Her voice was a little too high but that couldn’t be helped. She kicked halfheartedly at a knot in the wood of the deck.

She wanted him home. He could quit Chimera and she’d hire him to work the line in her restaurant. The man might seem oafish with fine ingredients, but he could learn.

“Ravioli would be good,” he said.
Ravioli
meant Malcolm Rook, ex-Chimera tracker.

“You want me to make some?”
Contact him?

“Yeah, Ravioli would be perfect. Dying for it actually. Wish I could have it tonight.”

Her heart rate picked up. Harlen wanted to speak with Rook tonight on a matter of urgency. Okay…

“I think I can handle that,” she told him. She just had to make a call Harlen couldn’t. Let Rook know. “Our romantic little place?” she asked.
Maze City.
“Say nine o’clock?” That’d be midnight on the east coast.

“Perfect. Lights dimmed low. Just ravioli and moonlight.”

Just Rook
, which pissed her off. Harlen didn’t want her there. She’d been sitting around all day worried, dodging his mom’s glares, and now something was wrong, and he wanted her to sit around some more. She probably wouldn’t even see him Darkside at all tonight.

Not his fault
, she reminded herself.
He doesn’t want this, either.

“I’ll make it happen,” she told him, albeit unsteadily and with a lump in her throat. Besides, it was past time for her to get to the restaurant to make sure prep was going well and run through the specials with the sous chef. She’d make the call, then hear the news when it was safe. Or maybe she wouldn’t hear the news. There were things Harlen wasn’t going to be able to tell her. She had to come to terms with that.

Loving Harlen was going to drive her crazy. She glanced back to find his mom watching her through the sliding doors. Was already driving her crazy.

“I’ll call back as soon as I can,” he said.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Waiting.

***

Malcolm Rook crouched low against the wall of the brothel, a low-end black market Rêve in which people indulged in acts they’d never contemplate in the waking world. There were so many revelers packed in the space that he figured he’d be just one more body, albeit one not writhing in the mass of limbs and thrusts. The air was heavy with a sticky-sweet pheromone that affected weaker minds. The augmentations some had made to themselves were all kinds of zoo-freak-fetish. The goat thing in particular was totally unnecessary.

Rook had seen worse as a teen living on the street—participated in worse, too—so he did his best to focus his attention on the Rêve jammed up against this one, where someone was alone in a dream. He wouldn’t enter until the reveler was finished or he’d lose Viv a client’s money. And the whole point was to take her up on her job offer.

When the Rêve finally became empty, he crossed and took his first breath of good, cold air. Vivienne Kennedy’s Echo Rêve was just like it had been his last visit: a chilly, null space, but one specially designed to access a reveler’s memories and reproduce what he or she most wanted. An Echo was where a reveler went to remember and, in so doing, relive the past. These Rêves didn’t make new memories, however; the reveler left with a ghost in their heart, haunted, if they didn’t or couldn’t have the real thing in the waking world. Viv collected a whopping fee for the service.

Rook knew to block himself so his girl, Jordan, wouldn’t show up naked in his Echo Rêve again. What
he
wanted most was alive and well. Sure, he had a past, but it didn’t haunt him like it used to.

“Knock knock,” he called out.

Viv appeared before him. She had that tight twist in her silver hair, but today she wore a slim red suit and pearls—all business. “Well, if it isn’t my darling Malcolm. I was so hoping you’d return.”

He took her hands and they kissed cheeks, a Viv kind of hello. “I hate to interrupt your schedule,” he said. “Have a minute?”

“Always for you,” she said, but he knew she’d hurt him if he put her income in jeopardy. “Did your other business get resolved?”

Last time he’d been by Viv’s Rêve, that nightmare Mirren Lambert had been forcing him to do a job. “Yes, mostly. Darkside business is a little…ambiguous these days.”

“It’s always been ambiguous,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

Rook shifted his weight, nervous. It’d been a long time since he’d done this. “You mentioned before you might have a job.”

He used to be a tracker for Chimera and he might’ve been able to go back, but he would’ve had to submit to a memory scan. Doing so would put his friends in danger. Maze City itself would even be at risk, and he couldn’t allow that. Nevertheless, he needed a paycheck and the black market would allow him to live invisibly in the waking world, money under the table. And Viv was his first choice of employers.

She didn’t play games. She was direct and her operation was clean. That’s why he was here, even if he didn’t like Echoes. He could respect
her
, and that’s what mattered.

She smiled widely, as if he’d brought her flowers. “Why, yes, I can still use some help.”

A contradictory emotion was coming off her into the dreamwaters, and it tingled at the edge of his awareness like acid. He did her the courtesy of ignoring it. Emotions were tangible Darkside, and it was often inconvenient and too intimate.

“You should know I have other obligations, too,” he said. “People who depend on me.”

“The woman you love.” She meant Jordan.

“Yes, her,” Rook said, “but others, too. I need work, but there will be times that I can’t be here. And I might have to leave suddenly. Sometimes I might not show up at all.”

Viv’s smile stayed put, but her eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me you’re not dependable, when dependability is what I require most.”

The acidic emotion in the water accumulated enough for him to identify it: fear. Viv was afraid, and it was burning her. But he didn’t think she was afraid of him. She knew what to fear.

“No,” he said. “
Dependable
would be nice. These days we’re all taking what we can get, hopefully from people who won’t cross us. And I won’t cross you.”

Half her smile dropped. She had incredible control to work every day in the black market alone, with nightmares scraping at her Rêve’s walls.

“I’ve seen the nightmares,” he went on. “Fought one hand to hand. My girl was with me; she fought like hell, too.” Viv would know he was telling the truth. Lies felt sour in the waters. “It’s worse than you know, Viv. In fact, the smartest thing you could do is stay in the waking world and your own dreamscape for a while. Dream your own dreams. Nothing is worth the risk of doing business here right now.”

“I have to work,” she told him. “I have obligations, too.”

“Well, then, some protection is better than none. At least use me until you find someone else.”

Viv sighed, and the fear dissipated a little. “You give the worst interview of anybody I ever knew.”

“Probably because I tell the truth.”

She waved dismissively. “Five hundred euros per ten-hour stretch.”

He’d done his homework. Knew what he could get. “A thousand.”

“Eight hundred. I know others will offer you more,” she said, raising a hand to halt their bargaining. “But it’s what I can afford.”

Rook backed off. Fair enough. “And what will you have me do?”

“Just keep the nightmares out and your mouth shut about what you see of my revelers’ Echoes. Occasionally, the memories are very ugly. I can’t have you anonymously reporting them to Chimera. I have no interest in justice.”

Bullshit. “We’ll probably argue about that one.”

Her face went sharp. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

He lifted a smile at her when the lie reached him. She knew what he was worth or the conversation would’ve been over.

“Can you at least start today?” she asked.

“I can start right now.”

***

Prep was underway for the evening’s dinner service at Marina de Sel. The cioppino was stewing, the aroma of spicy tomato broth and briny seafood hanging in the air. Music thumped through a speaker. Sera was low on scallops, so the waitstaff was going to push the spot prawns. The new line cook was working out—maybe a little too well. The sexual tension between him and Natalia was going to ignite any day now; Sera just hoped the crash wasn’t as spectacular.

Sera checked the clock and added three hours to make Harlen’s time in DC. She’d done her best. Called Rook three times. Neither he nor his girlfriend, Jordan, had answered. The alternative was Steve Coll—code name Cannoli—but he was still MIA in the Scrape, hopefully alive and finding out who or what the Sandman was, and how he could be stopped.

Finally, she texted Harlen back.

Ravioli not happening. You can have spaghetti.

She knew he wouldn’t go for it—he’d been adamant about keeping her out of the trouble fermenting Darkside—but she watched her mobile for the three dots from hell, then breathed more deeply when they came up. He was typing.