The Operator

The door pad was a neutral green, but someone would eventually come investigate the noise of six men dying in gunfire. Tired, Bill set the bottle back among the books and gathered his thoughts. If Peri was on the warpath, he should take the fight to where he wanted it. Michael, though, would never agree to what would sound like retreat, not the careful plan it was.

“Jack tells me she’s rabbiting,” he said, wanting to stick as close to the truth as he could. “This story of her coming in was a ploy to get you reacting. Get you to kill me for her.” He looked at Michael from under his lowered brow. “Which you obliged her.”

Michael brushed the gunpowder off his rifle. “What are you griping for, old man? I brought you back.”

The memory of gasping his life out on the carpet shuddered through him, and he hid it behind a last swallow. You are a wild boar, Michael, and you will be culled. “As you say.” Resolute, Bill reluctantly set his empty glass down, feeling as if he’d failed Michael in some way. “Peri won’t leave ends this time.”

Eyebrows high, Michael waited. “And?” he prompted.

It was looser than he liked. There were too many variables. But Michael was still the best option he had. “I think we need to talk to Helen. See about taking Peri out of the program and putting you in her place.”

Michael chuckled. “It’s about fucking time.”

And that would get him to Newport. Peri would follow. Tension trickled through him, a warm wash that rebounded at his toes and settled in his groin. “Are you hungry? Have you had breakfast? It will take the flight crew at least four hours to get themselves in order.”

“Breakfast sounds good.” Michael snickered. “You want to get dressed first?”

Bill stopped short and looked down. “Indeed.”

“I’ll pull my car around,” Michael said as he walked to the door, treading around the fallen men as if they didn’t matter.

But in the grand scheme of things, Bill thought as he strode to his bedroom, they don’t.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The scent of eggs and sausage tickled the edge of her awareness. Concentrating on the softly glowing screen, Peri ignored it, even as her stomach rumbled. Feet on the worn coffee table, she propped the screen against the rise of her knees, her fingers moving rapidly over the icons and keyboard as she searched for evidence of Bill. She’d borrowed the tablet from the guys downstairs, and she couldn’t help but wonder whether she wasn’t charging enough rent. It was this year’s model, but even that was frustratingly slow compared to her old Opti tablet.

Waiting for the search to finish, Peri carefully rubbed her sore knee through her torn slacks, skirting the ragged, bloodied edges. She hadn’t been keen on the idea of showing Jack her safe house, but the way Jack was maneuvering about her kitchen making breakfast led her to believe he’d been here before, and if Jack knew about it, it was a good bet Bill did. She couldn’t stay here. As soon as she got a bead on Bill, she was gone.

The aroma of sausage became stronger, and she flicked a glance at Jack standing before the small efficiency stove, his hair damp from a shower, the sleeves of his once-white shirt rolled up, and his filthy suit coat carefully folded over the back of the kitchen chair. Under the musty staleness of the couch was the faint hint of someone familiar. Not Jack, but a man nevertheless.

Finally the page to her financial house loaded, and she typed in her password. It was the same thing she did to check every well-lined patron who came into her coffeehouse. This time, though, she was going to go a step further outside the law to use it to infiltrate Bill’s financial house. From there, she could track him—see where he had been spending money. Impatient, she put in Bill’s phone number. If he was using his p-cash, she’d find him.

The domestic sounds of breakfast cooking were incredibly soothing. “Where did you get the food?” she said softly as the program searched. It would take some time.

All smiles, Jack turned halfway around. “The sausage was in the freezer next to some crusty black-cherry ice cream and five boxes of Thin Mint cookies. The eggs were in the fridge. They’re good for a year if they’re kept right. And they were. No coffee, though. Sorry.”

He looked good there, comfortable, and not liking that fact, Peri prodded her knee to estimate the damage. She hadn’t taken any of the meds she’d found in the tiny bathroom cabinet lest she medicate herself into a nondrafting state. Her knee was sore, but all it needed was a hot bath and some stretching. A shower would be a good second, but leaving Jack alone again wasn’t an option. That she had fallen asleep for a few hours was bad enough.

I can’t believe I fell asleep. Eyes rising from her knee, she looked over the small one-room apartment in the light of day. The blinds were closed and the room was shadowed, her shelves of treasures dark. The furnishings were comfortable, worn, and mismatched. The rug, too, was old, doing little to cover the scratched floorboards. A forgotten project bag with yarn and a half-unraveled scarf was tucked in a corner.

Don’t I ever finish anything? she wondered, even as a weird peace was growing in her, far greater than the coming breakfast warranted. She couldn’t tell whether it was from Jack, that she was free of authority again, or just that she wasn’t alone.

The page dinged for her attention. Leaning over it, she felt a quiver of excitement. There was a charge on Bill’s security system early this morning. He’d had a ping and dismissed it. Even better, there had been an enormous influx of funds last week. Most had been parceled out, but it was enough to fund a small country for a year. Everblue? she wondered. His backer?