Seven
“His apartment was empty, but there was blood in the bathroom. His, not Shen’s,” Liv said into her phone, one boot propped on my dashboard. “We think he was hired. Someone wired a big chunk of cash to his checking account last week.”
Anne spoke during the pause, but I couldn’t hear much of what she said over the traffic noise as I turned onto Third Street, the main drag and the heart of Tower’s empire.
“Not yet. Cam thinks he knows someone who can trace the account, but for now, we’re still trying to sniff him out the hard way. Any idea why someone might want Shen dead? Something to do with his work, maybe?”
Anne spoke again, and I nodded through the window to one of Tower’s men on the street, his four rust-colored chain lengths showing beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his T-shirt. He nodded back, then glanced at Liv in my passenger’s seat. If he recognized her I saw no sign, but being seen with her was good enough. It was proof that I wasn’t trying to hide anything. And that she wasn’t, either.
“Okay, just let us know if you think of anything,” Liv said, and a second later, she flipped her phone closed.
“How is she?” I asked, cruising slowly down the street toward the next checkpoint four blocks away. Tower’s eyes were everywhere, and hiding from them would look like guilt.
Liv shrugged and brushed long brown hair off her shoulder. “Fine, considering. I think Hadley was in the room though, ’cause she didn’t say very much. It’s like she doesn’t have the luxury of truly mourning, with the kid around.”
“She sounds like a good mother.” Though it was hard for me to picture Annika as anything other than the twenty-two-year-old small-town free spirit she’d been when I’d met her. Back then, she’d been more committed to vegetarianism than to any man she’d ever met—holding on to a relationship must have been hard for someone who could taste every lie—but I hadn’t seen her since the night Liv dumped me. In the middle of that damned party. It’s amazing how much can change in six years.
And how much stays the same.
“How did she get in touch with you?” Liv asked, sliding her phone into her pocket. “If she couldn’t find me, how did she find you?”
I exhaled slowly. “I still have the same phone number.” Because I wanted it to be easy for Olivia to get in touch with me, should she ever decide to.
Liv suddenly gripped the armrest built into the passenger’s side door, as if she hadn’t even heard me. “Is this Third Street?”
“Yeah. You still like Greek? There’s this great gyro stand on the corner, about a mile—”
Her gaze hardened. “You’re headed west. Deeper into Tower’s side of town.”
“That’s where the gyro stand is….” I began, but she wasn’t buying it. And she didn’t miss my nod to the next sentinel, on the corner.
“You’re parading me down the fucking gauntlet.”
“I’m taking preemptive measures,” I insisted. “If they think I’m hiding you, they’ll assume you have something to hide, and you’re going to be checked for a mark by every initiate we run into.” And if we ran into anyone with more than three chain links, I wouldn’t be able to prevent a more thorough search, and we both knew Liv wasn’t going to simply submit to one, either. Her trigger finger was looking a little twitchy.
“Which is why we should be heading to the south fork,” she said. Toward the only neutral-controlled part of town. Which was where she both lived and worked, in spite of the higher rent.
“Olivia, Hunter lives on the west side, and so does my computer guru. I don’t think any of the leads are going to pull us toward the south today,” I said, but she looked unconvinced. “What’s the big deal? You’re unbound, and you must’ve done work on this side before.”
“Yeah, back when I worked for Rawlinson, but I haven’t been here since… Since I quit.”
“Well, that’s too bad, ’cause the gyros are awesome.” I pulled into the last available spot at the curb and shifted into Park. “Let’s just relax and have some lunch while I track Van down.”
“Fine,” she said, one hand on the door handle. “But you owe me some answers, and unless you want to give them here, we need to find someplace more private to eat.”
I couldn’t argue with that, so I texted Van from the line in front of the gyro cart: Got a minute? I need some help.
The response came a minute later, as Liv stepped up to the cart to order: Yr place, 1 hr.
Fifteen minutes later, I parked in a covered space in front of my apartment building and snatched the bulging white paper sack from Liv’s lap. She glanced at me in amusement—a good look for her. “What, you don’t trust me with the food?”
“Sorry. I’m starving.”
She laughed. “I couldn’t tell from the four gyros you ordered.”
“Don’t forget the dolmades.” I swung my car door shut and led Liv toward the exterior staircase. “They’re the best in the city. Trucked in daily from some restaurant on the east side.”
“Yeah. Karagas. The owner’s mother makes them every morning. They’re best fresh.”
I tried on a grin as we walked up the stairs. “What, you won’t set foot on the west side, but you’ll have lunch in Cavazos’s backyard? No wonder people are talking.”
Liv scowled. “People are talking because someone’s started a smear campaign. The rumors are malicious, and evidently aimed at the west side of the city. Someone’s put a target on my head. My guess is Travis Spencer. He’s had it out for me ever since I found the governor’s missing mistress.”
I nearly choked on my own surprise. “That was you?” It hadn’t made the local news, of course. Officially, no one was supposed to know that governor was getting some on the side. But Trackers had been rabid over that job, and I’d never heard who finally found the target.
“Yeah. Paid for two whole months’ worth of office space. But evidently it also earned me some enemies. Stupid rumor-spreading bastards.”
“Relax, Liv. It’s just a bunch of idiots talking, and all you have to do to prove them wrong is wear short sleeves.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’d go to Karagas for lunch every day if I didn’t value my life just a bit higher than good Greek food.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t signed over your free will in exchange for a paycheck, you could enjoy both your life and your lunch wherever the hell you want. Then you could be a part of the solution, rather than the problem. Wasn’t that the plan?”
“Plans change.” I kicked the door closed and dropped my keys on the coffee table, and when I met Liv’s gaze, I was almost bowled over by the pain and power of my own memories. This part of her hadn’t changed—this fiery temper threaded with innate goodwill. She would have been one hell of a lawyer, or a child advocate, or a…superhero.
“What happened to the FBI, Cam?” She took the bag from me and pulled out two cartons of dolmades.
I shrugged and took two plates down from the cabinet over the bar, avoiding her gaze. “Last I heard, they’re still out there fighting crime. Catching murderers and foiling terrorists.”
“And you’re here, wasting a degree in criminal justice so you can track losers for a Mafia boss.”
“Yeah, well, it turns out the FBI can hold its own without me.” I pulled two forks from the drawer to my right and gave her one while I used the other to slide three dolmades onto my plate.
“What happened to the interview? Did you even go?”
“No, Liv, I didn’t go. Okay?” I dropped my fork on my plate, and the clang of metal against glass was louder than I’d intended. “I didn’t go on the fucking interview. I didn’t join the FBI. I don’t fight on the side of truth and justice, and frankly, having been out in the real world for a while now, I can say with some measure of certainty that it was a dumb idea in the first place. Just the stupid dream of a stupid, idealistic kid with a shiny diploma and no clue how the world really works.”
At twenty-two, I’d thought I was going to change the world. Or, at the very least, I was going to clean it up. I was going to join the FBI and use my Skill—secretly, of course—to track serial killers and pedophiles, and make the world a better place, one conviction at a time.
“It wasn’t dumb,” Liv insisted. “A little naive, maybe, but you could have pulled it off. You should have pulled it off.” She pushed one of the bar stools out with her foot and sat. “So what happened? How did you get tangled up with Tower instead?”
“I got shot.”
“What?” Her fork hovered over the open carton.
“I got shot. The week I moved here.” I took my first bite while she stared, obviously trying to decide what to ask first.
“How? What happened?”
I shrugged and swallowed, my favorite food suddenly tasteless with the memory. “I don’t know. I was walking down Hyacinth, about four nights after I got here, all farm-fresh and clueless—”
Liv frowned. “Hyacinth. That was in my neighborhood.”
“I know.”
She stabbed a dolma with her fork and the leaf started to come unwrapped as she gestured with it. “Do I even want to know what you were doing two blocks from my apartment?”
“Tracking you. You owed me an explanation—and, frankly, an apology—and I’d come prepared to demand both. But obviously, I didn’t find you.” Not that night, anyway. “I found the business end of a bullet instead.” I stood and pulled up my shirt to expose the small, round puckered scar just to the right of my navel. “I never saw the shooter or the gun. I was just walking down the street one minute, then flat on my back the next, lying in a pool of my own blood. I was trying to hold my guts in with one hand and dig my phone out of my pocket with the other when these guys just showed up out of nowhere.”
“Tower’s men?” she asked, her food untouched.
“Yeah.”
Her brows rose in challenge. “You do know they’re probably the ones who shot you.”
“Probably.” I certainly couldn’t prove otherwise. “All I know for sure is that they’re the ones who saved me. They took me to one of their doctors and paid the bill. They destroyed all the blood I spilled. Then, when I was released, they took me to Adler’s house—he’s my direct supervisor now. His wife put me in their guest room and took care of me for weeks, while I recovered. After that, how could I not sign with Tower? I’d come to town with nothing, spent more than I had on a hotel room I never actually checked out of. By the time I was able to get out of bed, I was flat-ass broke, unemployed and—”
“And you didn’t have a friend in the world to turn to,” Liv interrupted. “Because I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” I insisted.
“But we both know it’s true.”
I couldn’t argue. “Anyway, it was only supposed to be for one term. Five years. They’d lost their best Tracker and I needed a job—”
“Convenient…” she noted, peeling the foil back from the first gyro.
“At the time, yeah,” I admitted. “It seemed pretty damned convenient.” Fortuitous, even.
Liv swallowed her first bite and stared at me with her brows drawn low over those big blue eyes. “You know they set you up, right? They didn’t save you. They found you, assessed your potential, then shot you.”
“Liv…” I began, but she spoke over me—it almost felt like old times.
“By that point, they had you right where they wanted you. You were incapacitated and in their debt, and they had a fucking huge sample of your blood, which is probably on file in a room full of sensitive information somewhere. You didn’t really think they destroyed all of it, did you? Please tell me you’re not that gullible.”
“Of course not.” But wasn’t I? Liv was sitting in my kitchen, inches away, telling me what a fool I was, and all I could think of was how badly I wanted to kiss her—and not just to shut her up, though that benefit would not go unappreciated.
“It was a win-win for Tower from the beginning,” she insisted, dropping her gyro onto her plate so she could tick off points on her fingers. “He has you shot. If you die, at least you can’t sign on with the competition. If you live, he has a chance to recruit you, albeit through pretty damn vicious means. If you sign on voluntarily, he has one hell of a new Tracker. If you don’t, he has enough of your blood to bind you without your consent, at least for a while. Either way, you’re his, for the cost of a bullet, some gauze and a round of antibiotics.” She leaned on the counter with both elbows, eyeing me with the first sign of amusement I’d seen from her in hours. “You always were a cheap date.”
I laughed. “You’re one to talk.” On our first date, sophomore year in college, we’d split a carnival hot dog and a cherry slushy—which she’d then vomited all over us both on the Tilt-A-Whirl.
“Yeah, I guess I am.” Her nostalgic smile lasted as long as it took for me to pull two Coronas from the fridge. “Greek food, Mexican beer. Interesting combination.” She reached across the counter to pull the bottle opener/magnet from the side of my fridge, then popped the top off her bottle.
I watched her take a long draft, and when she set the bottle down, she eyed me pensively. Almost reluctantly. “Please tell me you already knew all that. About Tower’s unconventional recruiting methods. Because I thought that was just an urban legend until about ten minutes ago….”
“At the time, I didn’t know,” I admitted, popping the top off my own bottle. Suddenly I wished I’d poured something stronger. “But it didn’t take long to figure out. And it’s no urban legend.” Since my first binding mark, I’d seen two other Skilled members netted the same way, and rumor had it that syndicates in other major cities had caught on to the same recruiting techniques. Certain Skills—and the most talented in any Skill set—were in demand, and there was nothing those in power wouldn’t do to secure the services they wanted.
Liv took another drink, then stared at me through the half-empty bottle, as if the beer-bottle filter might reveal something she hadn’t seen in me before. “So, if you figured it out, why’d you re-up? How’d you get those second and third chain links so fast?”
I studied her for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she wanted the truth. “It’s not that bad, you know,” I said finally, and she looked at me as if I’d just put a knife through the Easter Bunny’s heart.
“It’s blood money, Cam,” she spat, slamming her bottle down on the counter, and my own temper sparked, part indignation, part denial. “How does it feel to know that your rent is paid with blood money?”
“You tell me,” I snapped, without thinking it through. But words can’t be unspoken—if I’d learned anything from swearing loyalty to Jake Tower, that was it. “You may not be bound to Cavazos, but you take commissions from him. What do you think he does with the people you find for him? You think he pats them on the head and sends them off to summer camp?”
“I don’t…” she stammered, and I’d had enough of her hypocrisy.
“Yes, you do!” I shouted, and some small part of me enjoyed her shock for that instant before it bled into anger. “You work for him, and you take his money, and you use it to pay absurdly high rent on an apartment in the fucking ghetto, just to stand on principle. But you’re paying for your principals with the same blood money that pays for this apartment. The only difference is that I can walk down the street without getting shot or mugged.”
She stood, practically shaking with fury, and I knew I’d made my point. “The difference,” she said through clenched teeth, her voice low and sharp enough to cut glass, “is that you signed on for this voluntarily, but I don’t have any choice.”
“What does that mean? Why don’t you have a choice?” I asked, and her face went as pale as my white Formica countertop.
“I…” Liv blinked, as if she’d confused herself. Or said more than she’d meant to. Then she grabbed her bottle and chugged the rest of it. “I just meant that I have to take whatever work I can get. I’m not exactly rolling in commissions since I left Rawlinson, and yes, I’ve done some jobs for Cavazos, but that doesn’t make me his bitch, or his whore, or anything else.”
“I never said it did.” But she was already backing across my living room, headed straight for the coffee table on her way to a dramatic exit fueled by something I didn’t understand. “Liv, wait,” I called, already rounding the countertop into the living room when the back of her leg hit the corner of the coffee table. She went down on one hip, and her bottle smashed against the side of the table, spraying her jacket with the last droplets.
“Shit.” She started picking up the sticky pieces of glass and I knelt next to her to help.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
I shrugged. “It’s just a little glass.”
“I meant about…that whole thing. It’s none of my business what you do for a living.”
But I wanted it to be. “They offered me a step promotion,” I said, dumping the glass I’d gathered onto the coffee table.
“What?”
“When my five years were up. Tower called me in the week my mark would have gone dead, and I would have been free, and he told me I’d become very important to the operation. He said I had two choices—I could sign on for another five years, or I could leave the organization. As incentive to stay, he offered me a step promotion—two chain links for the price of one. Instant seniority.” I’d since learned that that offer was seldom extended, and even more seldom refused. “But if I opted out, I’d have to leave the city entirely.”
“Was that in your contract? Part of the noncompetition clause?” she asked, staring into my eyes from inches away, and I realized I hadn’t been that close to her in years. She hadn’t let me get that close….
“No. But he wouldn’t have had any trouble enforcing it.”
“You signed an extension so you could stay in the city?” she said, and I could only nod. “Because of me?”
“There were other factors….” Other people I didn’t want to leave behind. “But yeah.”
“Cam…” Her voice was more breath than sound, and it echoed in every cell of my body. And suddenly the memories were too much to fight. She was right there, after so many years, and she wasn’t pushing me away.
So I kissed her, and she kissed me back, and for several seconds, it was as if she’d never left at all.
Then pain slammed into my chest and I fell backward on my ass. By the time I realized she’d shoved me, she was on her feet, staring down at me. Glaring at me.
“Don’t. Touch me.” Her voice shook, and she couldn’t hide the tremor in her hands, even when she shoved them into her pockets. “This isn’t what it used to be. We can’t… We can’t ever go back to that.” She jogged toward the hall, pulling her jacket off as she went, and I only recovered enough to stand when I heard water running in the bathroom.
Anger warred with something else inside me. Something deeper and older. Something that bruised me from the inside out every single time I heard her name, either out loud or in my own head. I followed her down the hall and stopped outside my own bathroom, where she stood with her jacket spread across the counter, trying to scrub drops of beer out of the leather.
“This is bullshit, Olivia.”
But she just scrubbed harder, so I snatched the cloth from her and she turned on me, eyes blazing with some dizzying combination of anger and…regret. “Don’t do this, Cam. This isn’t the time to open old wounds.”
“There’s never going to be a time, is there?” I pulled the cloth back when she reached for it. “Every time I see you, you tell me to go away, but you look like you want to cry when you say it. You don’t mean it, and we both know that.”
“I mean it….” she insisted.
“No, you don’t!” I shouted, and this time she didn’t argue. “What happened, Liv? Why are you lying to me? Why are you lying to yourself?”
She blinked up at me, eyes damp, in spite of the stoic set of her jaw, and I was nearly knocked off balance by the storm of conflicting urges raging inside me. How could I be so furious with her, yet so in love with her at the same time? How could she be so maddeningly closed-off, yet so obviously vulnerable beneath her shield of denial?
With one breath, I wanted to shake some badly needed sense into her, but by the next, I needed to protect her. To hide her away from whatever had put that bruised look in her eyes. And suddenly I couldn’t resist.
I stepped so close I could smell her shampoo and feel her warmth through my clothes. She sucked in a shaky breath and her fingers curled around a handful of my shirt, clutching at it, as if she wasn’t sure whether to pull me closer or push me away. Her forehead fell against my collarbone and in that moment, her defenses failed. She stood there with me, leaning against me, exposed, her heart so raw and wounded I wondered how it could possibly keep beating.
I slid one hand past her jaw to cradle the back of her head, and she held her breath when I leaned down to whisper into her ear. “Why can’t you just admit that you still want me? We both know it’s true.”
She took one more uneven breath, and her grip on my shirt tightened. “Because what I want doesn’t matter. Maybe it never did.”
Her defenses dropped back into place with a thud that jarred my entire existence. She pulled the rag from my hand and bent over her jacket again, and that’s when I noticed the words tattooed in an arc just below her neck and above her collar, bared by the hair she’d swept over one shoulder.
Cedo nulli. Latin for “I yield to no one.” It was the motto of the independents—not a binding mark, but a promise made to one’s self, and a fitting summary of Olivia’s entire life. Or maybe it was her battle cry.
Was that the problem? She couldn’t be with me because I was bound to Tower? But she’d pushed me away long before I accepted my first mark. No matter what else happened, before the day was over, I was going to know the truth.