Word and Breath (10 page)

“They’re too distinctive. And wear sunglasses or something. I don’t think you need a real disguise, but there’s no sense in tempting fate.”

To her surprise, he leaned down and gave her the same friendly kiss on the cheek he’d given Tava. “It’ll be all right. We’ll figure it out.”

Before she could reply, he’d left the apartment, gently closing the door behind him.

***

Captain Largan was having another bad day. The whole month had been a series of them. Now he was getting pressure from the President’s personal bodyguards to close down the entire downtown section of Newtown on the afternoon of the big speech.

It was a nightmare. He was getting flack already from local businesses about the unavoidable disruption to their commerce. The traffic issues alone were enough to make him sick.

Why he’d ever wanted to be the Director of Public Safety in a city as large as Newtown was beyond him.

He just wanted to do something meaningful. Something that mattered. At one point, it had seemed like the higher a position he held, the more his work would matter.

That wasn’t the case—it was becoming more and more clear. The restrictions and obligations of his job, as well as the politics involved, tied his hands so that he couldn’t do anything that was genuinely worthwhile.

When his secretary buzzed him and told him who was waiting to see him, Largan groaned out loud.

This could only mean his day was about to get even worse.

There was no use in putting him off though. Face him now, or the confrontation would be worse. So Largan said, “Send him in.”

Then he straightened up in his chair and tried to compose his face into a semblance of a welcoming expression.

Mikel strode in, looking annoyingly handsome, polished, and stylish. He had a way of making Largan feel even more rumpled and pudgy than normal.

Largan was the superior here, however, and he refused to reveal his feelings. “Have you finished your assignment?”

He knew Mikel hadn’t. If he had, he would have simply filed the report—not made a personal visit.

He only paid visits when he was angry about something.

“How am I supposed to finish my assignment when I’m subverted at every turn?” Mikel demanded. There was no heat in his voice—his tone, as always, was clipped and cool.

Not liking the way Mikel was looming over the desk, Largan stood up. He wasn’t quite as tall as the other man, but at least now he could look him in the eye. “In what ways have you been subverted?”

“Why didn’t someone tell me you were sending a team to pick up Riana Cole’s sister last night? I was making good progress, but this might throw her back into paranoia. She might never trust me enough for me to do my job.”

Largan studied the other man’s face, feeling a twinge of curiosity at the intensity of the black eyes. Then he said carefully, “I never sent a team to pick up the sister.”

“Someone did. Whether you own to it or not, it comes out as the same thing. I should have been told.”

“I’m sorry you feel uninformed.” That was saying little enough, Largan decided, while still making a gesture at conciliation. “Your role is isolated—as it has to be. I have every confidence you can still do what you need to do.”

Mikel’s lips tightened into a sneer. “I won’t do it all if you try to dupe me. You know my terms. They’ve always been the same.”

Largan felt a flash of urgency. It was very important the Union not lose Mikel as an asset. “Your terms will be met, and no one would be fool enough to try to dupe you.” In an attempt to shift the subject, he added, “So what progress have you made so far?”

Mikel glanced over toward the window thoughtfully. “She’s guarded and cynical, so it’s taking longer than I expected. But I’ll get it done—assuming this new development hasn’t set me back indefinitely. She’s starting to trust me.”

“Have you gotten any sense of her yet?”

“She’s innocent. That much is obvious already.”

Largan frowned, wishing that dealing with Soul-Breathers wasn’t always so frustrating. “What does that mean? I don’t care about her sexual experience, if that’s what you’re—”

“It’s not.” Mikel’s tone was more biting than normal. “I’m telling you she’s innocent. She’s genuine. It was the first note I read from her. There’s no way an elaborate deception is a significant part of her life. I think you might be on the wrong track.”

This conflicted so much with other information Largan had received from his own research that he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Mikel.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Mikel said, obviously having interpreted his expression. “But you’re paying me for my skills. I’ll continue and try to extract some specific information. But you should be prepared for the possibility that she’s not a secret subversive or the ringleader of a rebellion.”

That wasn’t what Largan thought of Riana Cole, and it wasn’t why he was now going to such lengths to find out what she knew and what her motives were. But he didn’t explain that to Mikel.

“The job hasn’t changed,” he said, pitching his voice as a dismissal. He had more of his very meaningful paper-pushing to get back to. “Continue with your original assignment. And report back to me as soon as you learn anything.”

Mikel gave a brisk nod. Then turned on his heel and walked out.

Largan was glad to see him go. He hoped they wouldn’t have another encounter until this whole thing had been sorted out.

***

It felt very strange to arrange her hair in something other than the two long braids she’d been wearing all her life. But, following Jenson’s suggestion, Riana coiled her hair at the nape of her neck in a tight knot instead.

Tava wouldn’t let her go back to her loft to get clothes, so she had to borrow another outfit. Tava’s fashion was much more trendy and stylish than Riana’s own, and she ended up in a pair of well-tailored chocolate brown pants and a pink fitted blouse.

They were snugger than she would have chosen, and she would be a lot more comfortable in her own clothes. She’d never put much stock in her appearance, though, so she forgot about her outfit shortly after she put it on.

At least, until Jenson arrived at 11:30 and stared at her in surprise, his blue eyes widening as he gave her a once-over.

Riana frowned and glanced down at herself. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“Oh no. It’s good. You look taller, though.”

Snorting, Riana pulled up the hem of one of her pant legs and showed him her three-inch heels. “Tava is taller than me. These shoes are the only way the pants fit.”

She put on her borrowed pair of tortoise-shell sunglasses as they left the building. “No troubles at work?”

“Nothing I could recognize. If they suspect me, they’re not letting on.”

“What happened with my absence?” Since she usually wore heels—although not quite as high as these—she was easily able to match his stride as they headed for Canning Square.

“It was noted but nobody claimed they knew the reason for it.”

Riana let out a huff of laughter. “It’s funny. Here I was thinking it would be a big thing, but nobody really cared. I guess I’m not as important as I thought.”

Jenson smiled appreciatively and reached out to squeeze her arm.

They walked in silence for the rest of the way, and Jenson led them to an empty table in the far corner of the open-air café. The café was bordered by a short wrought-iron fence, but it would be easy to step over it should they need to make a quick escape.

Canning Square was near the center of town, and during the day it was constantly busy. Business people, shoppers, runners, and loiterers crossed the square from street to street, a few pausing to admire the fountain and some pausing to let their dogs mark the bushes that lined the walk.

“Ten minutes early,” Riana commented unnecessarily.

“We have a guy watching the perimeter,” Jenson explained, staring idly at the fountain. “It’s best if we get in place early so he can better feel things out.”

“Wow.” She wanted to look around to see if she could spot the man but figured it wouldn’t be a good idea. “I hadn’t realized the Front was so well-organized and…and…”

Jenson cocked an eyebrow. “And what?”

“And big,” she admitted with a shrug. “I always thought of it as a few dozen rebel-types lurking in the seedy underbelly of the city.”

“That’s what the Union wants you to think.”

Jenson was still staring at the fountain, so Riana glanced over to look too. She’d seen the fountain before—a memorial to early Union heroes, water shooting out of the five muskets the soldiers were sporting.

“How did you get involved?”

He winced—so briefly she barely registered it. “Too hard to explain.”

He’d seemed pretty open about everything else so she wondered at his reticence now.

“Do most people who work for the Front have a grudge against the Union?”

“Some do.” Jenson turned to meet her eyes, his focus returning to her completely. “The woman we’re meeting now lost two of her three sons in a Union offensive. But not everyone joins out of vengeance.”

Riana sighed, trying to feel what other people might feel—something she hadn’t done in a really long time. “So why else? If not for vengeance, why else risk your life this way?”

“Ideals?” Jenson spread his hands, both the gesture and his tone making the word sound almost ironic, although the expression in his eyes was utterly serious. “I know it’s out of fashion to talk about such things—everyone wants to be cynical. And some people are just unhappy and want to embrace anything that might change the world for the better. But underlying everyone’s motivations is this implicit knowledge that the world
should
be better. That recognition leads a lot of people to fight for what they believe the world should look like. You’ve felt it too. Don’t tell me you haven’t.”

Riana shifted in her seat and looked down at her hands, glad her eyes were hidden by her sunglasses.

“Some people have talked themselves out of ideals completely, but some people are still looking for them. And others have always known them.” He gently touched her hand. “That’s you.”

She sucked in her breath and cut her eyes back up to his.

“Your grandfather taught you, didn’t he?” He paused and leaned forward toward her, as if he’d forgotten where they were and why they were there. “Don’t you want to know more about his work?”

Riana’s lips parted. “You know more?”

“I know more.”

Suddenly frightened by the intensity, Riana cleared her throat. Attempting to break the tension, she asked, “How do you know so much about me, anyway? Have you been spying on me?”

He laughed. “Not me. I just keep my eyes open. And we’ve been friends a long time, haven’t we?”

Riana blinked behind her sunglasses and her lips parted again.

Evidently seeing her surprise, Jenson drew his brows together. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she said, her cheeks reddening as she admitted, “I just hadn’t realized we were friends. Until now.”

Two days ago, she would have claimed she didn’t have any friends.

“Of course we are,” Jenson said, still looking confused. “What do you think a friend is?”

She’d thought Connor was her friend, but then he’d disappeared completely. Probably had forgotten all about her.

For just a moment, she was tempted to ask Jenson if he’d heard from Connor at all in the last three years. They were cousins, after all.

Then Jenson’s gaze shifted over her right shoulder. His face changed as he tensed up in his seat.

Riana assumed that meant the informant was approaching.

The informant was a woman who looked to be in her fifties. She had flyaway graying hair and a frazzled expression, and she sat down stiffly in the third chair at the table.

Jenson introduced her as Marina.

Riana immediately put aside all her other thoughts and reflections now that she was about to hear information about Jannie.

Yes, there was a lot going on, and Riana herself was going through a lot of emotional changes lately.

But her sister was what mattered most.

“So you’ve heard something that might help us?” Jenson asked, not wasting any time in small talk.

“Maybe.” Marina looked horribly uncomfortable. Almost as if she was in pain. “There has been some talk about a captured young woman.”

Riana gasped. “Jannie? What have you heard?”

Marina turned to look at her squarely for the first time. Her face twisted until it was ugly.

With a whimper, Marina then jerked her head back to Jenson. “I’m sorry,” she choked, barely getting the words out. “They threatened… they said they’d kill Brone—my last boy.”

Riana froze, a chill slicing through her, keeping her from breathing, moving, thinking. She couldn’t fully process what Marina meant, but she instinctively knew the implications.

Jenson made a rough sound in his throat and gave a sharp look around the café and the crowded square.