Reflex (47 page)

Doctor Sullivan said, "For extreme atropine intoxication—yes. But that would mean he was in a coma or extreme delirium, perhaps with tachycardic arrhythmia. But physostigmine is a
nasty
drug. The atropine metabolizes quickly on its own. He'll be symptom-free by the time we've moved him to a regular bed—two or three hours, tops."

Davy locked eyes with Millie. She nodded and said, "Yes, I know."

The doctor blinked. "Know what?"

That there's no way we're staying here a minute longer than necessary.
To the doctor, Davy just smiled and shook his head.

"You guys don't read minds as well, do you? I mean, then you'd know why I came back just now?"

Millie laughed at the man's expression. "No, Doctor. Just married ten years, you know? The one talent is more than enough to deal with."

Sullivan's look of mild alarm faded. "I came in here to tell you that some men from the National Security Agency want to talk to you. I've put them off. I thought for a moment that they were going to force their way back here anyway, but the FBI showed up and the two groups started arguing."

Davy saw Millie's eyes narrow and the corners of her mouth turn down. Then she smiled. "Thanks, Doctor Sullivan. For everything. Tell accounting I'll drop payment by soon."

Realization dawned on the doctor immediately. "Ah. Well, you're welcome. It's been... surreal. Watch the drain—it could get infected easily. You need to have it pulled in, oh, two days, after the reservoir stops collecting fluid. We can do it, but so could any clinic."

Davy held out his hand and shook Doctor Sullivan's. "Don't let the Feds push you around."

"Do you want me to stall them?"

Davy shook his head. "Doesn't matter. We're going
now."

He didn't bother getting up. One moment he was on the hospital bed, the next he was in his own bed in the Aerie. It was cool and dark and comfortable. But though he lay back against the pillow, his body tensed and anxiety clawed at him.

Then Millie appeared, over by the counter, and the tension dropped away from him like water flowing off a hillside.
Like seawater draining from a room.

When Davy awoke, light was filtering in through the windows. His chest hurt and his eyes didn't. There was a creaking sound that he realized he'd been aware of for some time, a constant through the slow journey to consciousness. Millie was sitting beside the bed, in the rocker. He looked around.

"Where's Sojee?"

"I put her in a hotel in Baltimore under a fictional name and left her five thousand dollars. She's going to buy some clothes and rest and when she's ready, she'll go see her sister in the 'burbs. It was her choice."

Davy licked his parched lips. "You think they'll go after her?"

She handed him a glass of water. "I don't know. I said I'd check on her daily. I offered to let her stay here, but she's had enough with being under the control of others."

Davy winced. "I know that one. Tell me about
that."
He pointed at the gauze pad on the side of Millie's head.

She blushed. "It was Simons."

Davy raised his eyebrows.

"He, er, shot at me."

Davy took a deep breath and held it.

Something about his expression alarmed Millie. She said quickly, "It's just a graze. I kicked him right after that and he let go of the banister and fell two stories, washed through the side of the house in that weird flood of seawater. What
was
that, by the way?"

Davy exhaled. "He shot you. During the flood. Perhaps you should begin at the beginning."

Millie tilted her head to one side. "Perhaps we
both
should."

Catching up, even in summary, took them through breakfast and most of the way until lunch.

He told her everything up to and including Nigeria. He hesitated then and his mouth twisted. Then, in a rush, he told her about Hyacinth, about the moment after Nigeria, when he'd almost succumbed and why he hadn't.

Millie stared over his head for a moment, gaze focused a million miles away.

"I'm sorry!" he blurted. "It was just—."

She put her hand over his mouth. "Shhh. I'm not angry at
you.
Under those circumstances—well, I won't say it wouldn't hurt, but I wouldn't have blamed you."

He looked away, blinking water from his eyes.

She hugged him, pulling his head into her shoulder. Then, she told him about her dealings in D.C. and in Stillwater with the NSA and Padgett.

Davy said, "The bastards!"

And later. "So, we've got prisoners?"

"Yes," said Millie. "They were all asleep, this morning, when I dropped off a bunch of happy meals. Most of them still have weapons, but I took Hyacinth's to shoot the chain off your shackle. It's a wonder I didn't shoot myself. It was set to full auto."

"That
gun. Yeah." Davy blinked. "Do you still have it?"

"I left it in the mansion. It's under the dresser."

He pursed his lips. "Shit. It's probably the weapon that killed Brian Cox."

Millie vanished.

Davy swore and gathered the tubing and suction reservoir to him, but she appeared again, holding the gun, before he jumped. "Don't
do
that!"

She put the gun carefully on the top of the refrigerator. "It's okay. They cleared out last night. When I went back after Simons, after we got home, they were all gone."

"You didn't tell me you'd gone back after Simons!"

"We hadn't got that far. We'd just gotten to the prisoners, remember?" She looked at the coiled tubing and the reservoir in his hand. "Were you going to come after me
naked?"

He lay back, his heart pounding. "I'm not sure I can take being married to a teleport."

She lowered her head and looked at him over her glasses. "So now you know what it's like."

"Oh, shut up and get over here."

Then, "Glad to see you're not blond
everywhere."

"You've lost too much weight."

"You, too. Is it true? Do blondes have more fun?"

"Shut up," she explained.

When they dressed, two hours later, they both felt better than they had in a very long time.

Davy squirmed on the ledge. He had wound the tubing behind him and tucked the suction reservoir into the inner pocket of his black leather jacket but movement still tugged at the spot where it exited his skin. Below them, in the pit, the fire had died to coals and most of the prisoners were sleeping. Thug Two—Planck, was it?—was trying to get mesquite branches off the brush without impaling himself on the thorns.

Davy whispered, "I've got his right side."

"Just like we practiced," said Millie.

"Three, two, one—"

They each took one of Thug Two's arms and jumped again, into blinding floodlights. Millie and Davy simply stepped away as the man recoiled away from the light and their grasp.

The FBI agents waiting were not so easy to avoid. They threw him against the wall and cuffed his hands behind his back. They were wearing latex gloves and had evidence bags standing by for the gun they removed from his belt holster.

"One down, four to go," Becca said.

Davy rubbed his eyes. "Don't forget Simons."

Becca said, "We won't. He's back in his New York townhouse. He flew by private jet from the Vineyard. We lost him for a while but it was because he popped into Mt. Sinai. Seems he's got a broken arm."

Millie and Davy looked at each other, then both smiled.

Davy said, "You da man."

"Why don't you pick him up?" asked Millie.

"I don't dare move on him until we've got evidence." Millie started to speak, but Becca said, "I know, Davy will testify, but Simons is political dynamite. He makes one phone call and the White House Chief of Staff calls the Attorney General and the Director of the FBI and they come down on me like a ton of bricks. The evidence has to be hard, irrefutable, and the right people have to be briefed before we take him into custody."

Becca jerked her thumb toward the prisoner, now on his feet and still being frisked. Peripheral bleeding from his broken nose had blacked both eyes and now, in the second day, the discoloring looked like sunset over Newark. "One of your birdies might sing."

Davy said, "But you better pull their implants first."

"There's a legal issue. If they won't consent to the surgery..."

Millie said, "But you could pull it to save their lives, right? If the damn things were triggered and your prisoners were unable to refuse consent?"

Becca nodded.

"In that case, I wouldn't ask them a single question until you have a prepped medical staff standing by," Millie said. "Otherwise, they're all going to be dead."

They saved Hyacinth for last. When they'd taken the chef, he'd yelled, waking Hyacinth to find all four of her companions gone. Now she paced back and forth across the island, nervous as a cat. Davy remained still and watched from the shadows, well away from the dying flames of the fire.

A light appeared on the other side of the island, a battered electric lantern perched on a rock. Millie sat there on the green plastic chair, hands held down in the glow of the light, polishing the surfaces of Hyacinth's Glock eighteen with a soft cotton cloth.

Hyacinth slowly stood, straightening from a crouch, but her shoulders remained rounded and she was still hunched over. She shuffled toward the lantern like someone who is pulled in two directions. Hyacinth was ten feet short of the light when Millie spoke.

"I'm afraid I dropped it in salt water." Millie held up the gun and peered at it. "It's rusting a bit." She rubbed at a spot on the trigger guard with the rag again.

Hyacinth spoke slowly, reluctantly. "What did you do... with the others?"

Millie looked up from the gun. She had the coldest expression in her eyes, one that didn't go at all with the little smile on her lips. "They have been... dealt with."

Davy blinked. He had no idea his wife could be such a hardass. He knew she was faking, that is, he
thought
she was faking. Well, he
hoped
she was faking.

Hyacinth looked less sure of herself than any time Davy had seen her. "Dealt with how?"

Millie just smiled and kept polishing at the gun.

Hyacinth turned away. "I won't talk, you know. I can't."

Millie blinked. "Who wants you to? Though I suppose I could do a spot of interrogation—just recreational. Eventually your implant will kick in, I'm sure, just like poor Padgett. Poetic justice, really."

Hyacinth turned back again. "So, it's revenge, is it?"

Millie, holding the grip of the Glock with the cloth, sighted down the barrel toward the lamp. She worked the slide and one cartridge flew through the air. "Oh. There was a round in the chamber already." She picked it up and threw it out into the darkness. A wet ker-plunk reverberated from stone wall to stone wall.

Davy knew that had been the only round in the gun. He'd worked with Millie over and over until she could work the slide naturally, with authority. Davy hated guns as much as Millie but he'd handled more of the damn things over the years.

Hyacinth backed up a pace.

Davy didn't blame her. He would've jumped away himself, especially since Millie was untrained in their use.

"I had Padgett on this island for seventy-two hours.
He
died in the ER when his implant detonated." Millie extended the gun toward the ground between Hyacinth and herself, and sighted down the barrel. "Bad enough that you kidnap Davy, that you put that device in his chest, that you tortured and beat him."

Hyacinth clenched her teeth together. Then, with an effort, she said, "Now I get it.
You're jealous!"

Millie laughed. "Of Miss Damaged Goods? He saw right through you from the beginning. Dating tip: When trying to establish a rapport with someone, don't kill their friends in front of them." She sneered. "You might've worn him down, eventually—Davy's only human—but it would've been just because he was tired. It would've been like throwing a bone to a yapping dog to get it to
shut up."

Hyacinth's eyes narrowed and when she spoke Davy could tell the fear was gone, washed away by anger. "Oh, really? Didn't seem like that when his hands were all over me!"

Millie smiled. "Yes. Right before he found your scars, yes? Are you going to tell me he found that a turn-on?"

Hyacinth looked away.

"Exactly," Millie said. She teleported the fifteen feet between them and stuck the gun right in Hyacinth's face.

Hyacinth reacted as Davy had said she would, an initial flinch, then going for the disarm. She swept the barrel offline and grabbed Millie's wrist, going for the arm bar but Millie jumped away before her elbow locked, leaving the gun in Hyacinth's hands.

Hyacinth swiveled about, both hands holding the gun extended, always pointing it in the direction she faced.

But unable to see anything.

The dim light from the lantern only served to make the rest of the island darker, an almost palpable blackness surrounding the faint puddle of light by the dying coals of the fire.

Davy jumped back to the Aerie where Millie was waiting, pulling and twisting at the polishing cloth. "What a piece of work!"

"She's all of that," Davy said. "You okay?"

Millie shuddered. "Couldn't we interrogate her
just a little?"

Davy felt a wave of nausea at the thought. "I'd sooner kill her."

Millie's eyes widened. "But you don't—"

"Of course not," he said. "I could've killed her a hundred times over. If I didn't do it then, I won't now. Did you leave any prints on the gun?"

"No. I was holding it with the cloth. She didn't really notice. The only prints on it now are hers."

"Right, then." He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and threaded his fingers together to push the plastic all the way down over his fingers. "Shall we?"

Millie took a deep breath and threw the cloth down on the counter. "Sooner done, sooner over."

Back in the pit, Davy took the gun from Hyacinth, a twisting motion that took the barrel back in toward her stomach and bent the wrist, forcing her fingers open. When Hyacinth lashed out with her foot, he was gone, but Millie wasn't. She reached out from behind Hyacinth and jerked down on the woman's shoulders. Hyacinth hit the ground hard.