Pack of Lies (22 page)

*feel that?*

*yeah* My flesh was still prickling from the wash of current that had just shot through us; too strong to just be a stray tendril off someone's core.

Pinging each other was automatic by now: J might think it was slapdash and sloppy of the younger generation, but when you were in a situation where you didn't want anyone else to know a conversation was going on, it was damned useful. And the better we got to know each other, the easier it became.

*hostile?*

My feeling was that anything that made us freeze in our
tracks like that was not friendly, at best. I sent that, not in words, but a wash of “what do you think?” sarcasm.

*us, or someone else?* Someone else, by implication, Mercy. We'd been in close contact with her, used current on her; we'd feel an attack on her, at least for a little while after.

A fair question. I didn't know.

Then the current-wave came back, strong enough to make me stagger, and I knew. Us. Definitely us.

*keep walking. don't stop*

The sound of our heels on the pavement was way louder than they really could have been, but I could hear each step clearly over the traffic next to us, and the rattle of the elevated subway pulling in to the station overhead. I focused on it, letting my breathing match the
tap-tap
of our steps, until my entire body was focused on that noise, my awareness hyperalert to anything and everything around us in a way that wasn't fugue-state, but felt like it. The current-wave was gone, but I could still feel it on my skin, like piskie-size spears jabbing into my skin, looking for the lethal spot.

“Breathe, Bonnie. It's okay.”

I nodded, but didn't let myself break the pattern, even as we climbed up the metal steps to the subway, and waited for a train. Not until we actually were in the car, and the doors shut, enveloping us in a comforting metal embrace, the sensation of being pricked to death fading, did I let go.

I took a near-normal breath, then another. “Who do you think that was? Was it related to Mercy?”

Sharon gave me a look that would have wilted a Mack truck. “Whoever threatened her doesn't want her talking to anyone else, either. We were being warned off.”

“Yeah.” That had been my take, too. “Didn't work, though.”

A small, perfectly vicious smile curved Sharon's lips, the smile that made us forgive all the ways she occasionally drove us crazy. “No,” she agreed. “It didn't.”

 

“Will you sit down?”

Venec didn't sit down, but he did pause in his pacing. “They should have been back by now.”

“The 1 train's been screwed seven ways from Sunday and twice more during rush hour, all week. Relax, Ben.”

His partner snorted: you didn't get to hire a guy because of his obsessive-possessive paranoid tendencies and then get to tell him to relax. Ian's brain was clearly elsewhere. Or he wasn't taking their missing pups seriously.

“If they were in trouble they would have let us know.” Ian gave his partner a long, assessing look. “Why are you worried? What aren't you telling me?”

He couldn't say. There was an itch, or a twitch, or something in his skin that made him jumpy, like live wires stroking his core, feeding him too much dirty current. He had been on edge for days now, and while he wanted to chalk it up to the uncomfortable convergence of events, case and his own research, he knew there was more to it. The under-his-skin feeling had all started with that snap-crackle-pop with Torres, with that damned exchange they'd had that he still didn't understand.

Be damned if he was going to say anything about that to Ian, though.

“I don't like this case. I didn't like it when you brought it in, and I like it even less now. Someone's playing us.”

Ian stretched his legs out and clasped his arms behind his head, willing to be distracted onto this older argument. “God, you'd think you were a cloistered nun before you came here. Someone's always going to be playing us, Ben. Especially the Council, bless their overcomplicated souls. They think they can use us, for their own ends.” He smiled, a smug little smile that annoyed the hell out of most people. “And we will let them…so long as it allows us to do what we need to do.”

Ian had always been a cocky bastard. “What happens when their game and our needs don't coincide—or come into conflict?”

“Let me handle that, Ben.”

Cocky bastard. “I hate it when you say that.”

Ian didn't laugh—he never did—but that smile grew a little warmer.

Ben started to pace again, prowling the confines of the small office.

“Someone tried to Push me, last night.”

That wiped the smile off Ian's face, but he looked thoughtful, not surprised. “Was last night the first you felt it?”

“Yes. Why?” He looked at his partner. “Did someone try you, too?”

Ian shrugged, a surprisingly graceless move, considering how elegant he could be when he wanted. “You know I can't tell things like that.” It was a weakness in his skill set, and one that had to rankle, not that he ever let it show. “But now that you mention it…doubt, and annoyance?”

“Self-doubt, yes. Someone trying to make me feel insecure about my decisions.”

Ian snorted, knowing how well that had probably gone over. “Then yes, about, mmm, two days ago, for me. Interesting. Good to know that it's external. Do you think it's related to this case?”

“No,” Ben said, then added, “Maybe. Bonnie had a kenning, at the beginning of all this, something related to the case, but not directly, coming down the pike, not right away. If she was sensing this, then it will affect the team, too, so probably case-related.”

“Kenning isn't precog, we can't make assumptions. She might have been sensing the fatae problem you're chasing, too. That connection would tie it into the case enough for her to feel the tremor.”

Ben grunted, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, then went to the door, his hand lifting to the knob. “They're back. I'll round everyone up.”

Ian held up a hand to stop him, his expression changing from mild consideration to active interest. “I thought you set the door downstairs to Automatic?”

He paused. “I did.” Once the team had signed on, he'd set elementals, tiny creatures that lived in the current stream, to watch for each of them, and activate the electric lock when they approached. That way they didn't have to carry keys, or worry about someone in the office buzzing them in. It also gave them a little extra security, in case their hands were full…or they were being followed. No chance for someone to attack while they were waiting for the door to be opened.

“Then how did you know they were back?” Ian asked, reasonably enough.

Ben opened the door, willing himself not to turn and look back at his suddenly intently observant partner. “I don't know. But I did.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Boss!”

Anything else Ian might have been planning to say was drowned out by Nifty's yell down the hallway.

“Is he talking to you, or to me?” Ian wondered, distracted from his earlier question.

“I think it's a singular plural. Come on, let's see what our girls have come back with.”

“Better not let them hear you call them that,” Ian murmured, but got up and followed his partner down the hallway.

The team had already gathered in the main conference room, ranging themselves around the table. Mendelssohn and Lawrence anchored each end, left and right, with Shune and Torres separating them. Ben paused and focused, and saw Cholis sitting next to Shune.

Pietr noticed Ben looking directly at him,
seeing
him, and smiled; it was an almost shy grin that caused an involuntary smile in return, before Ben tamped it back down into his normal stoic expression. But Pietr saw it.

And so had Torres. He knew that even before he turned to look at her.

He knew she was there. Knew where she was, knew the moment she had come back into the building. The information hadn't been intrusive, and not at all disturbing, which
bothered him more than if it had been disturbing. Awareness of her return had slid into the back of his brain without fanfare, the way you knew a lover lying next to you had woken up even when your eyes were still closed.

That wasn't normal; if he had wanted to be aware of someone coming in, he could have set the elementals to alert him. But he hadn't. And neither of the girls—hell, none of the pups—were good enough to slip under his guard like that. Nothing got into his brain except what he brought in. His control was better than that, even when he was distracted.

Ben let Ian stride past him to open the meeting, and took a seat at the far end of the table, where he could monitor everyone's reactions, as usual. Whatever had happened between them, whyever it had happened, it had opened a channel he didn't control, and he was going to figure out what it was, and shut it down.

Later. When they had time.

 

I felt Venec's gaze pass over me, and shivered; thankfully, he looked away, and I had time to get my nerve endings back under control. Stosser didn't waste any time with pleasantries, as usual, grabbing a chair and opening the meeting. “All right, people, it's been a busy morning, things to discuss.”

Nick took advantage of everyone's attention being focused on the boss to lean in and whisper in my ear. “I see your fatae buddy got you home safe.”

I snapped the pencil I'd been playing with in two in surprise. What the hell?

“What the hell is your problem, ferret-boy?”

For once the words didn't come out of my mouth, but
Sharon's, who had picked up his words, even though they were meant to be quiet.

“Didn't you hear? She's got her own personal fatae bodyguard to keep her safe.”

Oh, we were not going there. Abso-damn-lutely not, and I didn't care how bad his hangover was or how annoyed Stosser got at a sideline conversation happening during his meeting. “Are you more pissed off at the fact that you didn't get to play drunken Sir Galahad last night, or the fact that Bobo isn't human?”

“A bodyguard?” Sharon looked at me, and I shrugged, refusing to listen to Nick's splutters, aware that we now had everyone's attention. Great.

“My mentor called in a favor or two. Bobo's large but sweet—sort of like Nifty with hair, and he's the one who got us in to see the Gather, so I'd say he's more than justified his presence, not that I have to justify a damned thing in my life to you, Shune. Or anyone.” I glared around the table, daring anyone to say anything. I might be annoyed at J's presumption in arranging a bodyguard but I'd be damned if anyone else was going to say a word against him—or Bobo, for that matter, who was becoming a friend.

“Yeah, but a fatae? With everything that's going on in the city?” Nick made a face. “You're trusting yourself with—”

“With what?” I don't have a temper, but I was tired and frayed and between the interview with Mercy and the weirdness with Venec, and my general ickiness about this case, things were starting to get hot in my core. “With what, Nicky-boy?”

He leaned forward to respond, but anything he might have said was cut off before it left his throat.

“Enough!”

Stosser, using the Big Dog voice. “Nick, reconsider your words and then deal with your damn issues, whatever they are.”

Nick winced, the bellow making his hangover come back to haunt him, and I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“And you, Torres.” I cringed. “This Bobo. He's the one who took you to the Gather?”

“Yessir.”

“And he's on your mentor's payroll?”

“Yessir. Only after-hours, when he doesn't think it's safe for me to be out alone.” That was what J had said, anyway. I got the feeling Bobo was reinterpreting the guidelines, since he'd shown up not only during daylight, but also when I was with coworkers, and was taking an indirect but active interest in what we were doing.

“Useful,” Ian said, and it was clear that we were done with the topic.

Venec was glaring at me like I'd done something wrong, but his mood swings—and my reaction to them—were the least of my problems right now. I sat back, still fuming over Nicky's behavior, and let Sharon give the report; she enjoyed getting up in front of everyone more than I did. As per her background, she was concise and precise, right up to where we were magically accosted on the street.

“You both felt this…malice?”

“Oh, yeah.” I answered Ian before Sharon could take offense at having her word questioned. “Someone was
definitely watching, and wanting us to know that they were watching.”

“Who?” Venec asked, and I could feel how tense he was, even across the table.

Sharon looked at me once, as though to confirm her own impressions, then answered. “Talent, obviously. More than that, I don't think I could say. There wasn't enough flavor to the sensation to even tell male or female.”

I raised an eyebrow. She could tell that? Color me humbled.

“They were pretty high-res, to make us both react so strongly without giving anything away, and definitely not friendly…although I didn't get a sense that we were in specific danger, just…being warned away.”

“By whoever threatened the victim,” Venec said.

Sharon looked at me, and I nodded.

“I want everyone to be careful,” Venec said, giving everyone the two-second intense glare thing he did so well, each in turn. “If what Torres and Mendelssohn felt was from the same people who threatened the girl, any one of us could be their next target. If this is the same group that has been targeting the fatae, we know they don't hesitate at physical violence, so just watch yourselves.”

“None of us have the kind of connection the girl did,” Nifty objected.

“Mercy.” Sharon glared at him. “Her name is Mercy.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Nifty leaned back in his chair, his body language showing he was raising a point, not picking a fight. “It doesn't change the fact that none of us have that kind
of associations, none of us hang with the fatae—excepting Bonnie—”