The Drafter

Nodding, Silas took the pen from his breast pocket and clicked it open. He reached for her hand, and she let him take it. Even though she’d thought to do the same thing to herself, it still felt degrading when he wrote CAR DEALERSHIP on her palm. It both tickled and hurt, and she made a fist to hide it when he let go.

“Brilliant,” she said sarcastically as she left her hat and coat on the back of the chair.

Silas hunched over the dirty plates. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

“I can’t outfit myself in ten minutes. I can barely buy underwear in ten minutes, and I need a new coat, pair of pants. And a sweater, apparently.”

“Fine!” His brow furrowed as he began piling the remnants of dinner on top of each other. “Take my ten minutes as well. I don’t need anything like Ms. Princess does.”

“Yeah? You see those shoes falling?” she said in a huff, but her eyes jerked to Silas’s. Why had she said that? He seemed as surprised as she was, but then he shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his mood clearly soured. “It’s a, ah … Jack thing.”

He was lying, about what she couldn’t tell. “A Jack thing?” she said, hand on the table.

Avoiding her, he focused on the arcade behind her. “The asthma comment means you don’t remember crap but it’s easier to say that than ‘I don’t know.’ Shoes falling is probably you warning me that it’s not over yet. Like waiting for the second shoe to drop?”

“A Jack thing,” she said flatly, and when he stayed silent, she grabbed that ugly hat of hers and walked away. She’d spent the last three years with Jack. She knew she’d loved him. How long was it going to hurt when things like that kept popping out of her mouth? I hate psychologists, she thought as she shoved the man’s hat in the trash and continued on.

Feeling Silas’s eyes on her, she put a little extra wiggle in her step, not wanting him to know how shaken she was, but when she looked back, he was on the phone, arguing with someone—probably about her. Peri’s steps slowed as her anger faltered. Despite the difficulty he’d had this afternoon simply getting her to relax, he was one of the most talented anchors she’d worked with, Opti’s best trainers included. Cavana had taken almost a month to rebuild a draft he hadn’t seen; Silas had done it in one session.

But we both knew what we were doing, she thought, wondering if that was the difference as she glanced at her palm and Silas’s cramped, somehow familiar handwriting. Every passing moment made her less prone to forget where they were going to meet. She had six hundred bucks in her pocket and a serious lack of wardrobe. Easy peasy.

The next twenty minutes spent in retail therapy went almost as far as dinner in restoring her mood, and using the 3-D image simulator to try on six outfits and a new coat simultaneously made it painless. It took longer to find a manager to accept the cash payment, and after waving good-bye to the bemused but happy salesclerks, Peri trundled her new carry-on filled with a week’s clothes back into the corridor. Her boots clunked, and her fingers played with her new felt pen on a necklace. It was made of plastic and chintzy, but it felt right and gave her a sense of security.

Her smile faded when she saw Silas stand up from a nearby bench and make a slow, hands-in-pockets beeline for her. Peri’s fingers twitched for a knife that wasn’t there. Heart pounding, she scanned the mall, seeing only kids wandering around not buying anything.

“You bought a roller bag?” he asked, lips quirked as he eyed it.

“You said light,” she snipped back, but it was obvious something was up. “What is it?” she said as he came even with her.

Saying nothing, he took her new coat from her, and then the roller bag. She let it go by force of habit before mentally kicking herself. “I can pull a roller bag,” she said, reaching for it, but he shifted it smoothly to his other hand, out of her reach.

“Opti has a field force here,” he said.

Peri’s breath hissed in, habit keeping her moving forward, not a bobble in her pace, not one furtive look behind her. “No,” she breathed. “Bill?” she asked, smiling as if nothing was wrong. If Opti was here, they were watching them this very instant.

Silas looped an arm in hers and slowed her even more. “Not that I’ve seen. Just Allen. Him and about half a dozen operatives dressed like salesmen and secretaries. I’ve been watching them watch you. I should have known you’re chipped.”

A slimy feeling slipped down her spine. “Excuse you! I’m not chipped like a dog.”

“Then how did they find you so fast?”

“Maybe you called them?” she said, knowing it was untrue, and he snorted. Somehow she managed to keep her free hand swinging lightly, her gaze fixed on the macaroon shop at the end of the hall as she went through her assets to find she had almost nothing. I’m chipped? My own people chipped me?

“They knew exactly where you were when they rolled in,” Silas said. “The mall cops are gone, but I think Opti would rather collect us in the parking lot. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

Us. He said us. The fish and rice sat heavy in her. Opti was after her, and she was relying on a man who wanted to see the end of everything she found any worth in, who was helping her only until he got what he needed to end Opti. Who was going to shut down the cyberterrorists if Opti was gone? Find the lost planes? Kill the sadistic dictators?

But right now, he was all she had. “Thank you,” she whispered, shoving her panic down. “Don’t let me leave my luggage behind in the fight. It cost more than the rest of my clothes put together. If we go far enough, fast enough, they will lose time zeroing in on me.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">