The Drafter

The woman dismounted, graceful from practice. Taking off her hat and gloves, she handed them to one of the men. “Howard,” she said, eyes bright and color in her cheeks that makeup couldn’t hide. Her riding boots, unlike everything else, were well worn, and Peri looked for a whip, thinking it wouldn’t be out of place. “Your text was nebulous, to say the least. You’d better have a good explanation. This isn’t a good time.”

“Is it ever?” he said, shaking hands with her, but the woman never took her eyes off Peri.

Taf had shifted to make room, ultimately ending closer to Peri than to her mother. “Mother, this is Peri Reed,” she said formally, a stilted smile in place, and Peri shifted her coat to stick her hand out. “Peri, this is my mother, Fran Jacquard.”

“Pleasure,” Fran said, motioning her security forward.

“Hey!” Peri exclaimed when one took her hat and coat, and the other patted her down.

“Seriously?” Taf complained. “Howard wouldn’t bring her here if she wasn’t clean.”

“Mistakes happen.” Sculpted eyebrows high, Fran waved off the guard when he showed her the jackknife she’d taken from that beat two-door car she’d hot-wired.

“Peri is clean,” Howard grumped as the security guys dropped back. “It’s what I do.”

“Good, then.” Fran stood before Peri, her sharp attention making Peri stiffen. So she was dirty and smelled like a bus. She’d been working three days straight. “I understand you have something for us?” Fran prompted, and Howard shifted from foot to foot, making the beads in his dreadlocks clink.

“Ah, actually …,” he hedged, “we don’t quite have it yet. That’s why we’re here.”

Fran turned to him, but Peri was wondering what the it was they were talking about. Taf, too, looked out of the loop. “It what?” Peri asked, feeling ignored.

Fran leaned toward Howard, her expression twisting up in irritation. “Howard,” she said softly. “What is she doing here if she doesn’t have what we need to close Opti down?”

Oh, that it, Peri thought. “Mrs. Jacquard, Opti has Silas Denier. He works for you, yes?”

Fran’s attention shifted. “And you do not,” Fran said as Howard exhaled in relief.

Peri’s eyes slitted. Pulse fast, she scanned the area for a fast way out. The horse had been led away, and the nearby golf carts might or might not be faster than someone running. They couldn’t outrun bullets, though. Coming here suddenly felt like a mistake, but she’d never left a man behind before, and she wasn’t going to start now—even if it was Silas.

“Peri thinks Silas can bring back a memory that proves Opti is corrupt,” Howard pleaded.

“And prove I’m not,” Peri added.

“Opti is corrupt,” Fran said, motioning for her security to back off. “All of it.”

“I’m not corrupt,” Peri said, working to keep her temper. Pissing off her alliance contact wouldn’t help. “And I’m not a scapegoat,” she added, feeling vulnerable under the woman’s accusing eye. “Silas can help me remember what happened at Global Genetics.” What if I remember more? What if he brings it all back? Do I want to remember Jack’s death?

Asking for things was not unusual for Peri. She did it all the time and usually got what she wanted. But asking a group that was hell-bent on destroying everything she believed in was chancy—even if her success might mean a realization of everything they wanted. At this point, it was hard to argue that Opti was not rife with corruption. All she wanted was to clear her name.

And yet, Fran’s expression as she stared at Peri made her feel … guilty.

“This is counterproductive,” Peri said, trying for a firmer tone. “Every moment spent talking this over makes it harder to retrieve Silas. I need him to reconstruct what happened up in that office. You want to know who’s corrupt? So do I. But it isn’t me. Silas can bring it back.”

“An anchor can’t defragment a memory he or she didn’t witness,” Fran said quickly.

“Yes they can.” Peri warmed as she recalled Silas’s hotel room, his cool thoughts in hers.

Howard inched closer, his knitted vest looking tired next to Fran’s high style. “I talked to Silas yesterday. He’s been working with her,” he said, and Peri wondered at the emphasis he put on the word. “He’s already had some success bringing back her past anchor. If he can do that—”

“The one she killed, right?” Fran interrupted, and Taf’s lips parted in surprise.

“Why are we still talking about this?” Peri said in disbelief. “I’m trying to help.”

“To help yourself.” Fran frowned, clearly undecided. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I’m here because I need to know the truth,” Peri said, her pulse quickening.

Fran sighed. “Don’t we all,” she said, then jumped when the phone on her hip vibrated. “How nice. Their plane came in early,” she said sourly as she took a look. “I have to go, but you are coming with me. You can explain on the way.”

Peri didn’t move, gaze sliding from her dirty clothes to Taf’s understated elegance. Howard, too, looked uncomfortable, and he scrubbed a hand over his thick bristles making a dark shadow on his face. “Ahh, I know half-beards are in these days, but I could really use a shower before going to your box, Fran.” 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">