Dying Light (26 page)

“
You can’t send an email
with your shield thingy up. Hey, be careful,” Maisie
whines.

“
Right.” I frown at the
screen. “Show me your hands.”

“
What?”

“
Just do it.”

“
God, okay, weirdo. Don’t
spaz.”

Her hands are empty.

I consider my situation and decide
that warning Ally is worth the risk that this kid is secretly a
ninja and about to stab me or something. I drop my shield, count to
ten. Nothing happens. So I open a web browser and go to my
email.

It’s not a beautiful letter or
anything. It’s short and to the point, in case the computer blows
up in my face, or Caldwell pops up behind me with a
syringe.

In The Needle with Maisie
and Winston. Not harmed. Caldwell planning to blow up the city. Get
out NOW.

I hit send.

I don’t get any failure to deliver
message, so I exhale the breath I’m holding.

“
Okay,” I say with a
little optimism. “That went okay. Can I send another
email?”

Maisie shrugs. “Whatever.”

I pause in my typing. “Wait. How do we
have wifi but no cell service?”

Maisie shrugs. “Dad designed this
place. How should I know?”

I let it go and type up another email.
This one is for Lane.

We haven’t talked in a
long time. Should we?

As soon as the computer makes the
little whoosh sound, acknowledging my email has been sent, I sign
out and close the computer.

“
Who’s Lane? Is he your
boyfriend?” she asks with a vicious smile.

“
Wow, you really must be
my little sister. You’re sure annoying like one.”

She smiles bigger. “If he’s your
boyfriend, why hasn’t he called you or emailed or texted you? Why
isn’t he trying to rescue you?”

Her words sting. “First of all, I feel
like it’s important that you know girls don’t need to be saved by
boys. Secondly, mind your own business.”

She harrumphs and falls onto the sofa.
“Whatever. He’s probably ugly.”

“
He’s not ugly.” I get up
from the kitchen and join her on the sofa. “He’s gorgeous. He’s got
these sexy curls and blue eyes. Ocean blue, and when he wears this
button down blue shirt I got him, it kills me.”

“
Why’d you get it for him
if it kills you?”

“
It’s an expression. It’s
horrible. In a good way.”

She looks doubtful.

“
Anyway, for your
information, he’s really,
really
pretty.”

“
Tall? Dark and
handsome?”

“
That’s the
one.”

Winston jumps onto the sofa and
nuzzles between my legs. Maisie looks a little disappointed that it
wasn’t her lap he chose. I’m thrilled. Damn right he loves me
more.

“
He’s probably got a funny
looking nose or something.”

“
He does not.”

“
Whatever.”

“
Oh
geez-
zus
, I’ll
show you.” I scroll through my pictures on my phone, noting my low
battery. Without a charger it won’t last much longer, but I have
enough time to choose a suitable picture of Lane. He was stretched
out on the sofa, curled around Winston, looking up at me with come
hither eyes. Clothes on, totally PG. “Look. See? His nose is
great.”

Maisie reaches out and takes the
phone. Her face drops. “This is Lane?”

“
Gorgeous,
right?”

Her brow furrows. “This
guy?
This
is your
boyfriend?”

“
Don’t sound so
surprised.” My temper flares. “I’m not hideous.”

Maisie gives me back my phone, but the
confused look on her face lingers.

“
I’m going to bed,” she
says.

“
We just had
breakfast.”

“
I have a headache.” She
stands and marches toward her bedroom. Winston dutifully trots
after her, slipping through the crack in the door before she closes
it all the way.

I look down at the picture of Lane in
my hand. He looks fine. It’s a great picture.

I frown at the closed bedroom door.
“What the hell was that about?”

Ally

“T
hey’ll be here.” Gloria seems impervious to the cold, while I
stand shivering on a street corner.

I’ve buttoned my coat up to my chin,
tucking half of my face into the collar. It’s the wind. Chicago
wind cuts right through me.

“
Can we get a coffee? I
feel like I need a warm drink in my hands.”

“
Go get coffee.” Gloria
nods at the Starbucks across the street. “I’ll wait
here.”

I leave Gloria on the corner outside
the Art Institute, next to a homeless man holding a sign. I glance
back and see her giving money to the man with the cardboard sign.
He thanks her and hobbles away to find another patron.

The coffee shop is warm. I exhale and
unbutton my coat. I want the heat to soak into my bones and warm me
through and through. The windows have Christmas trees and
gingerbread men painted on the glass and holiday wishes written in
soap markers for all the customers to see.

Christmas music seeps through the
radio, some modern version of Jingle Bells, which is far sexier
than I think it was ever intended to be, sung by some young diva of
the hour. A man in a Starbucks apron is handing out samples of
biscotti, wearing a charming Santa hat.

Christmas.

I’d completely forgotten.
I haven’t been in any stores blaring Christmas tunes. I haven’t
been in front of a television advertising a thousand commercials
for what I should buy
this
holiday season. Even in Gloria’s car, the radio
is always tuned to an AM radio talk show.

I’ve seen the lights around town, and
acknowledged the holiday in my mind, but it didn’t hit me until now
that I have no plans. I haven’t sent my parents or brother or
friends holiday cards. I haven’t bought Jesse a gift. I haven’t
done a single thing to celebrate the Christmas season.

I don’t even know what Jesse wants for
Christmas.

I doubt she’s thought about it
either.

“
What would you like,
miss?”

I pull my wallet out of my pocket. “A
grande white hot chocolate, please.”

“
Name?”

“
Ally.”

“
$4.28.”

I hand her my card and turn at the
sound of the bell ringing. Gloria steps into the store with two
people in tow. A very tall guy, maybe Egyptian, with dark hair,
eyes, and skin. His beard is trimmed and as black as his glasses. A
girl with a sleek, stylish bob comes to stop beside him. She wears
a fuchsia coat that hits high on her thighs, an inch of lace
petticoat exposed beneath. She’s also wearing matching knee-high
boots. If her legs are cold, she doesn’t show it.

“
Ma’am, your
card?”

“
Oh, thank you.” I take
the card from the cashier and slip it back into my
wallet.

Instead of walking down the counter to
the where the drinks are retrieved, I go to the threesome. I must
say, this duo doesn’t look like backup.

The girl isn’t any bigger than me, and
the guy is a little on the scrawny side.

“
This is—”

“
Ah, no names,” the boy
says, in a crisp English accent. Not Egyptian then. And his voice
is much more masculine than I imagined. So he isn’t a boy at all.
“Not here.”

“
You know me, don’t you?”
the girl asks, leaning forward and taking my hand. “By reputation
if nothing else.”

She stares hard into my
eyes, a mischievous smile on her face. “Jessup and I have a past. I
took a little vacation and
voila
. Here I am.”

“
Ray—”

“
No names,” the boy says
again. “Honestly, if I have to black out another block in this
city, someone is going to notice.”

“
Yes,” the girl says with
a smile. “I knew you’d heard of me.”

Rachel. Oh I’ve heard of her, and I
know how she came to be Brinkley’s charge too. I don’t think Rachel
realizes how much I know about that. She might be embarrassed to
know how much Brinkley revealed about her in his
journal.

The image of Rachel tied to a bed
while she’s killed repeatedly for a snuff film burns the back of my
eyes. Then Rachel, first becoming a partis, sitting in her living
room floor, carving herself up.

Rachel holds up her wrist. “I kept the
bracelet though.”

She’s wearing a hospital band,
evidence of where she’s spent the last couple of years.

The man grabs her wrist and shoves it
down. “Low profile, darling. Do you know what that
means?”

Rachel huffs. “Buy me a
toffee latte,
Cariño.
Then I’ll promise to be a good girl.”

The guy slides past me to the counter
where he does just that.

“
He needs a bit of
training,” Rachel says with a grin. “But he is
awfully
cute.”

I have nothing to say to that. I walk
to the counter and retrieve my white hot chocolate
instead.

Gloria’s looking out the festive
window, surveying the street. “We need somewhere we can
talk.”

“
Cariño
has a place picked out.” Rachel turns her wrist
over. “We’ll go there in two minutes.”

I blow on my hot chocolate. “Why two
minutes?”

“
Changing of the guard,”
she says, as if I’m supposed to know what that means.

“
One toffee latte,” the
guy most certainly not named
Cariño
 
says. He slips a warm drink into Rachel’s hands and then
looks at
his watch, just as Rachel did.
“Ninety seconds, ladies. Are you ready for a little
stroll?”

Gloria adjusts her pack. “I’m
ready.”

“
And you?” he asks,
meeting my eyes.

I lift my hot chocolate. “I’m good for
a stroll.”

“
Seventy seconds,” he
says.

“
It’s so sexy when you
count down like that,” Rachel giggles into her latte, playfully
biting the plastic lid.

“
Sixty seconds,” he says,
his voice even more sultry than before.

I look at Gloria and am relieved to
see she is just as uncomfortable by this display of affection as I
am.

“
Fifty seconds,” Rachel
says, practically purring.

“
Forty-
five
.”

“
Thirty-eight.”

“
Twenty-two.”

I glance around the Starbucks to see
if anyone is watching us, listening to this bizarre dialogue fit
for a pornography film. Kids in the corner have big headphones on,
typing furiously on the keypads in front of them. Another woman in
a suit gesticulates wildly with someone on the phone while she
scribbles notes.

The biscotti guy is shuffling our
way.

“
Ten. Nine.
Eight…”

“
No thank you,” I say as
he pushes the little silver tongs at me.

“
Seven, Six,
Five…”

He turns to Gloria next. “No, I’m
fine.”

“
Three…Two…”

Rachel reaches forward and
grabs a handful of the biscotti off the man’s tray and with a wink
is out the door at the same moment
Cariño
says, “
one
.”

I take the last biscotti off the
stunned man’s tray as an afterthought. “Thank you.”

On the sidewalk, Rachel speaks to me
around a mouthful of biscotti without turning around. “Stay close
to us, all right? Don’t walk in front of me. Stay just behind me
and close, but not so freaking close you step on my heels. I hate
it when people do that.”

The man is holding a device in his
hand, making some kind of fine tuning adjustments with a big knob
as we walk. He doesn’t look up, yet manages not to plow into
anyone.

“
Eleven o’clock,
darling.”

Rachel looks up and to the left. “I
see it.”

I follow her gaze, but I don’t see
anything. Then I do. A small black camera is slowly turning our
way. Then it stops and begins to turn the opposite
direction.

“
How did you—?” I can’t
finish my sentence.

The man smiles. “Trade secret, love.
If I tell you, I’ll most certainly have to kill you.”

It goes on like this for ten city
blocks. The man calls out a position to Rachel. Rachel finds the
camera and no sooner than she finds it, it begins to turn away from
us.

“
Really, how
are
you doing that?” My
chocolate sits cooling in my hand. For now the heat is still
delicious.