Xenofreak Nation (13 page)

Lupus’ face was unreadable, of course, but his body language as he refastened his pants was cocky enough to tell Scott it had been some kind of show, possibly to stake his claim over Padme. As if Scott needed a demonstration of Lupus’ domination over the girl to warn him off her. The truth was, Scott wouldn’t have been interested in her even if she weren’t so very off-limits. The circumstances that led her here may not have been her fault, but she’d become toxic in the process.

Padme sat up and adjusted her displaced clothing, ignored by Lupus, whose focus was all on Scott.

“Abel has been eliminated,” Lupus said.

Scott knew better than to voice his question, “In jail?” Abel had been a marked man the moment he’d been arrested. Probably, if Scott and Padme hadn't 'escaped,' there would have been an eventual attempt on their lives from inside, as well.

Lupus reached into his pocket and withdrew something that jangled metallically. He tossed a ring of keys to Scott.

“Abel’s office at the stadium,” he said. “It’s yours.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Bryn slept on Carla’s lumpy pull-out bed, with a musty-smelling quilt for a cover and a couch cushion with a spare pillowcase over it for a pillow. She’d apologized in advance for any damage her quills might cause, and sure enough, in the middle of the night she woke to find they’d pierced the cushion in several spots. After that, she slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares of being chased by some nebulous menace that may or may not have been her father.

By morning, the vignettes floating through her slumber had mellowed significantly; she drifted awake from a disturbingly erotic dream involving Scott and his furry fingers. Her new scalp felt funny, tight, like the skin had contracted. She reached up to discover the majority of her quills were flat to her head. Unbidden, a sentence from an article she’d read on porcupines came to her, “During coitus, porcupine skin tightens, perhaps involuntarily, to hold the quills down so the animals don’t injure each other.”

She sat up, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and glanced into the kitchenette, where Carla was quietly adding grounds to a small coffee maker.

“Oh, hey, sorry if I woke you,” Carla said. The halogen light from the ceiling cast dark shadows under her eyes. “I don’t sleep much. Bluto says I should have gotten owl feathers for a graft.”

“Who’s Bluto?”

“My boyfriend. He’s in prison for assault, but that was trumped-up. He was just protecting his livelihood, you know? He owns a restaurant on Coney Island—I work there. Anyway, he put all his money into buying the place and fixing it up and then some jerk comes along and tries to burn it down. Not like the cops care what happens out there anymore.”

“What time is it?” Bryn’s quills were relaxing as the physical effects of the dream on her body faded.

“Almost ten. You were wiped. I tried to stay in my room, but I needed my caffeine fix. Want some coffee?”

Bryn shook her head. She’d been uneasy ever since Carla revealed she was, in essence, a xenofreak. If the older woman thought it would seal some kind of bond with her houseguest, she was mistaken. If anything, Bryn felt less affinity for her mother’s best friend than ever before. She didn’t know if life had changed her or if Carla had always been so brash and brassy; it wasn’t something Bryn would have picked up on as a child.

“Are you hungry?” Carla opened the refrigerator. “I can scramble some eggs.”

Bryn’s stomach rebelled at the very thought of eating anything even though she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before. By now, her father would know she was gone, and she figured for sure the XIA agents would tell him where. She didn’t know exactly how he would react, other than being very angry, and the anticipation heightened her already high anxiety.

“You don’t have to feed me,” she said. “I’ll figure something out.”

Carla came into the living room and sat on the edge of the pull-out. Bryn couldn’t decide if she seemed younger or older without makeup. Carla looked her sternly in the eye and said, “You’re not a burden. Okay?”

Bryn let out a little laugh. “Okay. I just feel like I need to get my butt out there and find a job, like, yesterday.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any life insurance money left?”

Bryn’s already stressed-out stomach performed a remarkable flip-flop. “What?”

Carla took a breath. “Your dad probably spent it, but I know for a fact you were the beneficiary of your mom’s policy. We both worked for the same company when she got sick, and I remember her fighting with him to keep up on the premiums after she couldn’t work anymore.”

This was news to Bryn. Hesitantly, she said, “He must have spent it. I had no idea there was ever any money.”

Carla narrowed her eyes and jumped up to cross the room. Against the far wall sat a china cabinet that looked to be worth more than the curios Carla had on display on its shelves. She opened a set of doors in the bottom half of the unit and pulled out a cardboard box full of files. After a few minutes of riffling and muttering, she exclaimed, “Ah-ha!”

She brought a file back with her and sat with it in her lap. Bryn saw the title written in neat black letters on the tab, ‘Milladay Institute of Technology.’ She hadn’t thought about it in years, but her mother had been a counselor at the school. It was where she’d met Bryn’s dad; he’d been a student, several years younger than her and off-limits. Over the years, he’d told Bryn the story of how he’d persisted in his pursuit of Miranda McKim until he’d worn down her resistance, not only to their age difference, but to the danger of losing her job.

Carla had a different story to relate. She started talking as she thumbed through the documents in the file. “Your dad was a menace from the moment your mom met him. Honestly, she should have known better—she was a trained psychologist for crissakes! She should have seen him for what he was: a sociopath, and seen his behavior for what it was: stalking. But he was good, I’ll give him that. Very suave, always said the right thing, romantic to a fault. And it paid off because she married him six months to the day after he showed up in her office for counseling. You know why he was there that day? Cheating on a test. Which he denied. Big red flag if you ask me…oh, here it is.”

Carla read silently for a moment. “Alright, the life insurance company was called Provincial Mutual. Their offices are on West Trill Street. Do you want to stop by before I go to work this afternoon?”

Bryn opened her mouth to answer, but a loud, authoritative knock on the door stopped her. Her poor stomach reacted by cramping into a hard, painful ball. She met Carla’s eyes with a frightened look.

“Quick!” Carla hissed. “Get dressed!”

Bryn scrambled off the pull-out and frantically stripped off the borrowed sweat clothes while Carla went to the door and looked out the peephole. Carla rushed back to Bryn and whispered, “It’s your dad. He’s got some lady with him, and a cop. This doesn’t look good.”

In her underwear, Bryn tiptoed to the door as another knock sounded.

“Bryn!” Harry Vega shouted. “We know you’re in there!”

Bryn pressed her cheek to the door and peered out. Her dad’s distorted face was closest to the door, but behind him was an unknown police officer and, of all people, Dr. Finnegan. Bryn’s holo-psychiatrist was a real person after all. Every despairing word Bryn had said to the doctor came flooding back to her. She’d given them plenty of ammunition to use against her.

She looked frantically around the small apartment, feeling like a trapped animal. To Carla, she said quietly, “He’s got my psychiatrist with him. This is some kind of intervention and I’m guessing I’m going to end up with a snug white jacket before it’s over.”

“Over my dead body,” Carla muttered. “Finish getting dressed. I’ll stall them while you go down the fire escape.”

She went to the door and spoke through it. “Who’s there?”

Bryn pulled on her jeans as her father said, “Open the door, Carla. I’ve got an emergency warrant for a 72-hour psychiatric observation. Bryn is suicidal and you’re endangering her life by hiding her.”

Carla said loudly, “Who are you? What are you talking about?” Then she flapped her hands at Bryn to hurry.

Bryn finished dressing and slung her mother’s scarf over her head, but stopped cold when her father said, “Tell her I had her car towed. She’s got nowhere to go.”

As if to make up for her father’s callous statement, Dr. Finnegan said, “Bryn, dear, we just want what’s best for you. We’ll sit down and have a nice long chat.”

She’d barely finished speaking when the police officer banged on the door. “Police, Ma’am. Open up.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” Carla muttered. She ran into her bedroom on silent feet and returned with her purse, pulling out a wad of cash. “Here, take my tips from last night.” She also shoved the little gun Bryn had seen last night into Bryn’s hands. “You have to take the gun, too, because if I get caught with it, I’m history.”

Bryn didn’t have time to protest. Carla pushed her to the larger of the two windows in the apartment and opened it. Bryn stuffed the cash and the gun in the pocket of her leather jacket and climbed out.

“Go to Coney Island to Bluto’s place,” Carla said. “Catch Bus 79 two blocks east of us. It’s just about to arrive, so run. I’ll meet you there when I come in for work.”

Bryn descended the fire escape, trying not to let the heels of her boots clang on the iron grid and expecting at any moment to be caught. She was astonished that Agent Yang or one of the other XIA agents wasn’t waiting for her at the bottom. It occurred to her that just because she couldn’t see them didn’t mean they couldn’t see her.

When her feet hit the sidewalk, she took off. If there was one thing Bryn was good at, it was running.

Chapter Twenty-four

Lupus had hung around long enough to give Scott a specific task before leaving with Padme. That’s why Scott was confused when he woke up and saw Padme sitting across from him in the chair. He wondered what time it was; he must have overslept. There was no window in the room to allow daylight in, so other than the desk lamp, it still seemed dark. Padme had her usual scarf over her head, and her face was in the shadows.

Scott sat up and sheepishly rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Did I talk in my sleep again?”

Then he noticed the gun.

She turned her head so he could see her face. With evident relish in her tone, Bryn said, “This is better than all the therapy in the world.”

Scott didn’t for a minute believe Bryn was capable of shooting him. He decided to bide his time, let her point the dainty little gun at him and talk until she felt better. Then he’d wait until she was distracted, wait until the barrel was pointing elsewhere, and rush her.

“How’d you get in?”

“Door was open.”

It was just like Lupus to break in and then leave without locking up. “What do you want?”

“I want my hair back.”

“Look, I’m sorry you-”

“Shut up.” She kept the gun steadily directed at his midsection while she reached up to remove the scarf with her free hand. It got caught on a few of the porcupine quills that covered her head, but after a moment she worked it free and the scarf fell to her shoulders.

He tried to hide his astonishment. Gone was the wholesome beauty. In her place was a dark, punk, pissed-off pixie in a leather jacket. Before, she was pretty. Now, her green eyes under the fringe of sharp quills had a hard edge, like she’d kicked her own innocence to the curb. She was beautiful. He almost told her so, but bit back the words. She did not want to hear it.

“You aren’t sorry,” she snarled. “You don’t look sorry, you don’t sound sorry. I’m not an idiot.”

“No one said you were an idiot.”

She made a belligerent face at him. “No one cared.”

He realized by ‘no one,’ she meant him. “I had no choice. I do what I’m told. I’m an XBestia.”

She gestured to her head. “I guess this makes me one, too.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Scott said. “That and drug smuggling, arms trafficking, a little extortion now and then.”

“You forgot kidnapping.”

“I didn’t forget. Name a crime, the XBestia dabble in it. I know you won’t believe this, but I didn’t want to hurt you.”

She burst out in a derisive laugh. “Oh, lordy. Are you breaking up with me, Scott?”

He sighed. “Why are you here, anyway?”

She shook her head and the quills rustled quietly. Her expression went from caustic to distressed as her gaze drifted away. He considered making his move for the gun, but her eyes snapped back to his face. “I’m here because a series of bizarre events led me here. I’ve never been a terribly philosophical person, but it sure looks like someone up there wants me to get my revenge.”

“So you’re gonna kill me?” He kept his tone light.

“Maybe I’ll just kidnap you and pay someone to mess up your head.”

“I didn’t pay anyone to hurt you,” he said.

“No. My dad did.”

Scott didn’t bother to hide his surprise.

She said, “You didn’t know. I guess that makes sense. You’re just a…lackey.”