This Shattered World (29 page)

I CAN’T STOP WATCHING HER
body language as she talks to him, leaning in to drink in his every reaction, eyes locked on his. I don’t want to see it, but I can’t look away. Watching them, watching her, is a torture as unbearable as listening to my people fighting without me. She’s not alone anymore, surrounded by her platoon, her commander, her old captain. She’s found her way out.

But I still need her, and I hate myself for it.

She starts with the night we met and talks him through our attempt to find the vanished base, her escape, then Davin Quinn’s suicide. She’s quiet, objective—she gives me more credit than I expected, and she holds it together to give a military-style report. That is, until she catches up to the night I left the hospital and she ended up out in the swamps. Then her voice gives out, and I see an echo of her shell-shocked horror when she woke to find herself surrounded by death.

I can barely stand to hear her tell it, and I turn away, gripping the shelf I’m leaning against until my fingertips ache. The grief in her voice should help, should remind me she hasn’t forgotten; but all it does is make me long to touch her, to find stillness and quiet in the way our wounds mirror each other’s. She hasn’t been out of my mind the last few days. Hiding out in the swamps, holed up in town with Sofia, Jubilee’s been my constant companion.

I thought it would be better once I saw her, but it’s still here, this tug-of-war between wanting her, and just wanting her gone.

She stops trying to explain the massacre of my people and finishes abruptly. “And then Flynn helped me get back here. He’s been in hiding since then, because his own people will kill him for protecting me, and I’ve been here, trying to find some trace of what’s happening. That’s why I called you. Because you’re close to LaRoux Industries, and you’re the only one I know who won’t think I’ve simply cracked. You’re the only one I know who won’t kill him on sight.” She nods at me for that.

“He’s thinking about it.” I can hear the edge in my voice, sounding like everything I try not to be. Combative.
Like McBride.

He shrugs. “If you needed killing, Lee would have taken care of that.” He finds a crate to haul up and sit on. “All right, so the Fury is getting worse. Taking people like Lee, who used to be immune, and civilians, who were always safe before.”

“And we think it has something to do with LaRoux Industries.” Jubilee’s focused on Merendsen. “They shouldn’t have any interest in Avon, but they have a presence here for some reason. Or had, anyway. The ident chip I found won’t be enough proof for the higher-ups, but it’s enough for me.”

“You think the facility that Cormac saw was LRI? I wouldn’t put it past Monsieur LaRoux, he’s arrogant enough to think he’s untouchable. Mostly because he is.” Merendsen rakes his fingers through his hair. “God, what a mess. LaRoux is dangerous, Lee. You can’t go up against him alone.”

“That’s where I’m hoping you can help,” Jubilee admits. “Given your new connection.” I can tell by the way her jaw squares there’s more coming, and it looks like Tarver Merendsen knows her as well as I do, because he waits too. It shows up in one quick, short burst: “Why in God’s name are you marrying
Lilac LaRoux
?” She’s chagrined a moment later, but lifts her chin, defying him anyway.

Merendsen dissolves into laughter, holding up one hand to bid her wait as he recovers enough to talk. “Oh, I knew that was coming,” he mutters. “Because I like the cushy lifestyle, Lee. You know me, I like my luxuries. Why the hell do you
think
I’m marrying her?”

“I honestly don’t know, sir. I keep trying to…But it’s Lilac
LaRoux
, for God’s sake.” She spits the name, as though it’s an argument all on its own, like he’ll see his mistake if he hears it one more time. “She’s one of
them
.”

Merendsen just grins. “Because I’m in love with her, Captain. Because she’s stubborn, and kind and strong and smart, and I don’t want to go a day of my life without her, not ever again.”

Jubilee crosses over to where he’s seated on the crate, dropping to a crouch in front of him like a supplicant. “Tell me I haven’t lost you to them, Tarver.”

The first time Jubilee used my first name, I was betraying everyone I care for and realizing I was falling in love with the girl who killed my family. But now, his name rolls off her tongue with ease. I clench my jaw and avert my eyes, unable to watch her gazing up at him any longer.

Merendsen lets out a soft, slow breath. “Lee, I left what precious little time I have alone with Lilac and volunteered to get myself dropped on this ball of mud—no offense, Cormac—and here I am. Remember me?”

“Sorry, sir.” But she doesn’t sound sorry. I hear grief in her voice instead. “I’ve missed you.”

“I get that a lot,” he replies easily. “Now, my girl’s exactly who we need if we’re going to do a little digging. Where’s the most private comscreen we can access?”

“My quarters.” She pushes to her feet and seems to remember me, tilting her head to beckon me along behind them. “I’ll show you.”

Her former captain simply nods, and we both follow her out the door, me trailing behind the two of them. I can hear the sound of distant gunfire as we walk—the sound of my people fighting for their lives, without me.

The girl and the green-eyed boy are racing each other, sprinting through the alleys and byways of November. The girl slows just enough that the green-eyed boy will think he’s catching up, and then she darts up a side street. He slips while trying to follow her and goes crashing to the ground.

The girl hears him cry out and runs back to his side as fast as she can. He’s skinned both his knees, and blood is dripping onto the cracked pavement below. She tries to bandage the scrapes, but they won’t stop bleeding, no matter what she does; when she looks up, the boy’s face is draining of color.

“You did this to me,” he whispers, reaching toward her face. But before he can touch her, his fingertips crumble away into dust.

“No,” cries the girl. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t go.”

But the green-eyed boy has turned to ash, and she can’t touch him for fear he’ll shatter, and even the shape of who he was will be lost.

“Flynn—come back to me.”

MERENDSEN PRODUCES A HANDHELD DEVICE
from his pocket and presses a couple of switches, moving slowly around the confines of my room to check for bugs. He never had tech like that when I knew him. It’s only once we’re certain we won’t be overheard that he gestures for me to start up my computer. I’m acutely aware of both guys watching me as I type away at the console sunk into my desk.

I know Merendsen’s monitoring my efforts to secure this end of the channel—making sure there aren’t any keytrackers or recorders running and that the military call log software gets bypassed properly—but I can’t figure out why Flynn’s so intent. Though I can’t see him standing behind me, I feel his stare like a red-hot laser, burning into the back of my neck. Flynn won’t know anything about computers. He’s probably never used one; there certainly aren’t any comscreens with hypernet connections handed out to the rebels in the swamps. But his eyes stay on me anyway.

I shift uncomfortably, fingers fumbling and forcing me to backspace before I can summon Merendsen with a jerk of my chin. He inspects the screen, then bends down over my shoulder to key in Lilac LaRoux’s address. We’ve got the lights low in the hopes anyone passing by will think I’m grabbing some much-needed rest. Merendsen straightens and I get to my feet as the call starts connecting, letting him take the chair instead. Lilac LaRoux has no reason to talk to me—best let her fiancé handle this. I drift backward, clasping my hands behind me.

“Let’s hope she’s awake,” Merendsen murmurs, voice quickening.
Anticipation,
I think. He’s eager to see her, his whole body angling toward the screen. I glance over at Flynn, but his eyes are fixed on the monitor, his jaw clenched and his shoulders tense.

I sigh. “I just hope she’s not at one of her famous parties with a dozen of her chattiest friends.”

Merendsen exhales a laugh, speaking with a smile in his voice. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

Before I can ask him to elaborate, the call connects and the picture pops up. There’s a woman in the image—a girl my age, maybe younger. For a moment I don’t recognize her without the hair, the makeup, the glitzy dresses and jewelry. I find myself staring, trying to connect this sleepy-eyed, fuzzy-haired girl with the heiress to the LaRoux fortune. She’s pretty—beautiful, even—but nothing like the creature I think of when I think “Lilac LaRoux.”

“Tarver,” she mumbles, stifling a yawn and rubbing a bit of sleep out of the corner of her eye. She’s clearly been woken up; she’s wearing a silk robe over whatever she was sleeping in.

“Hi, beautiful.” His voice is soft in a way I’ve never heard from him before. “Am I off the hook for running out yet?”

She wakes up a little more, a smile lighting her features as she leans a little closer to the screen’s camera. “Tarver!” she repeats, more alert now. Her smile grows wry, amusement coloring her face. “Have any of the nasty swamp people shot at you yet?”

I have to stifle a protest, swallowing it down. It’s clear Lilac LaRoux can’t see me or Flynn standing in the background.

But Merendsen just snickers, as if she was joking. “No, but it’s still early days. How are things at home?”

“Good. I haven’t had a chance to try the bathtub yet.” Lilac’s leaning closer still, one hand appearing as she lifts it to trace the neckline of her robe. Coy, flirtatious, her movements graceful enough to make me strangely envious of that skill. I look at Flynn again, but this time he’s staring at the floor, keeping his eyes averted from the girl on the screen.

“Someone’s got to test out the new plumbing, make sure it all works.” Merendsen’s amused, his voice low and private.

“Do you have a little time? I could bring the comscreen with me. Show you how much I wish you were here.” Her finger pulls the neckline of her robe open a little.

I see just enough skin to realize she’s not wearing anything under it before I jerk my eyes away and stare intently at the ceiling. Too late, I get why Flynn’s watching the floor with such dedication.

“Oh, come on.” Tarver groans. “I said I was sorry for leaving, do you have to torture me? And, uh”—his voice turns a bit sheepish—“Lee’s here, so you might want to…” He trails off and glances over his shoulder at me.

Dammit, Merendsen.
I clear my throat and step forward, into the light cast by the screen.

Lilac gives a startled squawk, grabbing her robe closed up under her chin. “Tarver!” she gasps. “Why didn’t you say someone was there? Who the hell is this?” Her face is burning with embarrassment.

“This is Lee.” I can tell Merendsen’s aiming for bland, but he’s not hiding his amusement very well. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she was staring at the wall. She’s very discreet and she doesn’t believe in romance.”

I pull my eyes away from the girl on the screen, trying to offer her a little of her dignity to cling to. “The ceiling, sir,” I correct him.

There’s silence from the computer while Lilac stares at the picture on her own screen. Then, in a low, careful voice, she asks, “Lee is a
woman
?”

I have to choke back a sound of surprise. Merendsen didn’t tell his fiancée he was flying to the next system for a girl? I know it’s because he doesn’t see me like that—to him, he flew for a day and a half for one of his soldiers. I’d do the same for mine. But to Lilac LaRoux…

“I’ve never really noticed,” Merendsen replies, carefully not looking in my direction. “Lee’s friend is here too. Lilac, can you get us a secure line?”

She sobers, and all traces of the wounded, sulky bride-to-be vanish. She nods curtly. “Give me two seconds.”

And then she’s busy, typing away—doing as I did, not trusting the eye-tracker interface. She gets up, reaching for something behind the screen that we can’t see. It sounds like she’s flipping switches. I can’t understand what she’s doing. Whatever it is, it’s far more advanced than anything I did at my end. Merendsen couldn’t have taught her that.

Finally, Lilac settles back in her chair with a small device that, when she turns it on, sends a wave of static through the picture. It evens out after she starts making tiny adjustments to a dial on the device. Some kind of dampening field. I find my gaze creeping over toward Merendsen, wondering why they have such a need for secrecy.

“Okay, go.” It’s a completely different girl than the coy, flirty creature there a moment before. This Lilac is all business.

“This is Flynn Cormac,” Merendsen says, prompting Flynn to step forward into the light. “One of the rebels here.”

I half expect a dramatic exclamation from flighty Lilac LaRoux, some shallow declaration about how ridiculous he looks with his bleached hair. Instead she leans forward, inspecting him in her screen. “Goodness,” she says mildly. “This is one of the infamous Fianna? He isn’t exactly what I might have expected.”

Flynn speaks up, deadpan. “That’s why it works so well. It’s better if you don’t actually
look
infamous.” It’s an imitation of his usual humor, but there’s something different about it. A note that’s missing I didn’t know I’d learned to recognize until it was gone.