The Drafter

Peri, you work with actors, she thought as she finished folding her coat and let it fall on the couch. And not lame ones, either, she added as Allen shuffled out behind Bill in his pajama bottoms and a white shirt, still rumpled and stubbly from sleep but very much awake.

“Peri,” he said darkly, rubbing his arm where she’d injected him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“My question exactly,” she said with a bold confidence she wasn’t sure she could back up. Maybe the medical office had called Bill, since he was the one who had set up the original appointment. “Should I be pissed at Allen or you about the butt bug?”

Bill’s smile widened as if it was a big joke. “Me. It was for your safety.”

“Bullshit.” Arms crossed, she sucked on her teeth, eyes flicking from one to the other as the men exchanged a silent look that screamed volumes. They were both in on it. She hadn’t been sure until just now. “Bill, can I have a private word?”

“Ah, hey …” Allen lurched forward only to be jerked to a halt by Bill’s raised hand.

“I think that is an excellent idea. Allen, make some coffee.”

“And keep the drugs out of it,” Peri added as she crossed the living room to the den, standing outside it as she pushed the door open with one arm and waited for Bill.

Clearing his throat, Bill rocked into motion. Peri’s eye twitched as he passed within inches of her, smelling of cologne and his breakfast. Pulse fast, she followed him, shutting the door and leaning back against it. Bill was standing with his rump resting on the edge of the desk. Reaching a foot out, Peri closed the lid to the laptop to prevent any easy eavesdropping.

Bill watched until her foot was back on the floor. Then he sighed, playing the part of the concerned boss. “You want to explain why you drugged Allen and took a walk?”

Peri pushed off the door and sat in the swivel chair across from the desk. Best to keep as much to the truth as she could. “Shopping. I want a new anchor. Today. I’ve tried working with that man and it’s not happening. He’s slow on locks. I’ve never seen him drive. He won’t spar with me, so I only have his word he’s good at unarmed combat. All he’s done is make waffles and plane reservations! His lousy recon put my memory in jeopardy last night. Forgive me if I didn’t want him with me when I picked out some new clothes, because what’s in my closet sucks. I don’t trust him, Bill. Something is wrong. I can feel it in my gut.”

Bold, demanding, and ticked off. It might work. It might not. A lot depended on how secure they thought their fake memories were.

Bill’s almost hidden worry began to dissolve and a knot in her began to relax. “Your unease is simply an artifact of your recent memory loss,” he said, pulling a tissue from the nearby box and coming closer.

“The one that Allen can’t bring back,” she muttered, forcing herself not to move when he leaned over her, his thick thumb wiping off her excessive eye makeup.

“You’ve always been slow on defragging your memory,” Bill said soothingly, doing first one eye, then the other. “Don’t put this black shit on yourself anymore. You have such a beautiful face. Such a long slender neck.”

“I can’t work with him, Bill,” she said, taking the tissue and finishing the job herself. “I drugged him with his own pharmaceuticals, for crying out loud. I don’t want him watching my back. He’s dangerous, and not in a good way. Who else do you have coming up in the ranks? Anyone who can make a decent cup of coffee? That’s a good start.”

Bill settled back into the second chair, the leather creaking. She could practically see him thinking What a bitch, but since that’s what she was going for, she didn’t care. Smiling fondly, he shook his head, his heavy hands laced over his middle. “You were able to bring him down because he trusted you,” he said, and she rolled her eyes. “I think you owe him an apology. But first, I want to know why you took the tracking device out.”

“Because I’m not a dog?” she said loudly. “If I find one again, I’m done. I’ve managed this long without a proper anchor.” Playing the wounded drafter, she put a hand to her mouth and stared at nothing. “Maybe I don’t need one,” she muttered.

She froze when Bill leaned forward and took her hand. Her pulse hammered, but she stayed carefully passive as he turned her hand palm up and rolled her fingers back. Her scrawl to return to Allen’s apartment hid Silas’s number. “Mmmm,” he questioned.

“I wanted to be sure I got home,” she said, sniffing as if embarrassed. “Working without an anchor isn’t an option.”

Her head tilted, and she didn’t need to fake her anger. “Then give me an anchor who knows his job!” she shouted, hoping Allen heard her. Bill arched his eyebrows. He was seemingly convinced, but about what she wasn’t sure. “I’ll talk to him.”

Exhaling, she tried to appear confident. “And no more butt bugs.”

“No more butt bugs,” he echoed, and her lips parted at his quick compliance.

“Really?”

Nodding at her disbelief, he reached behind his jacket to the inner pocket. “The alliance knows to look for them now,” he said as he extended a small baggie holding a capsule. “Welcome to the latest and greatest.”

Peri looked without reaching. “You want me to drop my pants and bend over?”

“I want you to swallow it,” he said stiffly. “It’s a low-dose radiation marker. It won’t harm you, but it will stay in your system for a year. We will know where you are and where you’ve been. Even those you’ve been in contact with, to a limited degree. It’s experimental, and only a team’s handler knows the signature.” He smiled. “You’re a ghost, Peri, the first Opti agent to get this. My best deserves the best.”