The Operator

Peri hesitated, wanting to run but needing what they had more. Not in a cell? Not yet. Not until they got what they wanted. Then they’d incarcerate her for the rest of her life, using Bill’s wonder drug as both their carrot and their stick.

Bitter, she ran a hand over her hair, thinking she needed to cut it. Jack was gone, and it made her feel abandoned. “Sounds like it’s the same offer Bill gave me,” she said.

Beaming sarcastically, Harmony gestured again. “That’s what I told them.”

She had little choice, and Peri smiled insincerely. “Looks like I’m your girl.”

“Ahhh, shit,” Harmony swore softly, and Peri strode forward, the suits at the outskirts scrambling to get to the car before she did.

Fantabulous. Just effin’ fantabulous. She was working for the God-blessed government again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The air was on—the air was always on in Atlanta—and chilled, Peri settled deeper into the white leather couch, feeling forgotten in the informal, glassed-in meeting area between the CIA labs and their adjoining offices. Harried interns hustled amid the low-partitioned office space. On the other side were three labs, only one of which was lit. The central area where she waited was a cross between a lounge and a conference room, and being three stories down, it had direct access to the parking garage through the nearby elevator.

So far, everyone was ignoring her. Impatient, Peri rubbed the soft swelling on her jaw where Michael had struck her. The entire area had the open layout of an Opti facility, and she wondered whether her master password would work.

Her new glass-technology, WEFT-supplied phone hummed with an incoming call, and she cautiously picked it up off the low coffee table. She’d given WEFT one of her alternate, low-use phone numbers to rebuild her account. Until today, only two people had known that particular exchange—her mother’s care facility and her bank—and her pulse quickened at the unfamiliar number. Bill? she thought as she answered the call with a hesitant “Yes?”

“Peri?” came a soft-spoken, masculine voice, and she had to think twice.

“Cam?” she finally guessed, mystified. “Where did you get this number?”

“From your cat’s collar,” he said, and Peri’s eyes closed in a slow blink. And Carnac. “Are you okay? I found him outside your shop. You’re not open today, bu-u-u-ut you probably know that.”

A crash from the lab jerked her attention up. “Are you trying to kill her?” Silas shouted, neck red as he fronted a belligerent man in a lab coat. “The residues will build up on her synapses and give her MS!”

The chemist in question dramatically dropped his tablet on the counter and stalked out. Uneasy, Peri held the phone closer as the unknown doctor hit the elevator button hard and turned his back on her while he waited. “Um, what are you doing with my cat?” she asked Cam.

“Feeding him,” Cam said, and she swore she could hear Carnac purring. “He was still there when I went back after lunch, so I picked him up. He looked hungry. Are you okay?”

Peri glanced into the lab where Silas was still reaming out some poor tech, blurry behind a huge holographic wave screen detailing what looked like a neurological pathway. “No, but I will be. Hey, could you do me a favor? Two favors?”

“Sure. What?”

The elevator dinged cheerfully, and the slighted chemist stalked inside and hammered at the button to close the door. “Could you watch Carnac for me for a few days, ah, weeks?”

“He’s housebroke, right?”

“Of course he is,” she said, then added, “As long as you give him a cat pan.”

“Mmmm,” Cam muttered. “And two?”

“Could you forget you have this number?”

“Peri, whatever trouble you’re in, I can help.”

“Um,” she stammered, embarrassed now. “It’s really sweet of you, but I’m okay. I’ll tell you about it when I pick up Carnac. Okay?”

“Yea-a-ah,” he hedged. “You’re coming back, right?” he asked, clearly not believing her.

She was silent, thinking of how long it would take Silas to reverse-engineer the Evocane. “Sure,” she said, hoping she was telling the truth. “Of course. Thanks. I owe you big. Bye.”

She ended the call before he could say anything more, staring at the empty screen and trying to decide whether she was going to keep it or not; it was likely bugged.

Foreboding crept through her, and she wasn’t surprised when the elevator dinged and Jack got out of it, looking so good in his Armani suit and day-old stubble that she didn’t care that the elevator hadn’t truly opened and the happy eighties music filtering out from it was all in her mind. Something had flagged her subconscious that a threat was looming, and Jack had come to warn her. Either that, or one of her old boyfriends worked at the CIA and was on his way down.

The illusion pretended to shoot her with his finger before he sat beside her, his shirt untucked and top button undone. He looked fabulous, and she harbored a growing sensation she’d seen him like that before, probably with a glass of wine in his hand after a successful task. She understood the wine now. It probably hadn’t been easy lying to her day after day that their jobs were legit.

Nah, she thought as the hallucination gave her a sideways grin. He just liked his wine.

“Why are you here?” she whispered so whoever was behind the camera in the corner wouldn’t think she was talking to herself.