it.
‘OK.’ I pulled in a deep breath and tried to put the anger aside. ‘Now you’ve got David out of the way. When do I go?’ Paul looked up, startled, frowning, as if I knew something I shouldn’t. ‘Hello? Vegas? Meet and greet with Teen Psycho?’
Paul didn’t answer me. Marion said softly, ‘Kevin doesn’t want you, Joanne. He has no reason to trust you. You can’t negotiate with him on our behalf.’
My mind went blank. ‘Then why all this—’
To get David. To get David away from me, to play us against each other.
I had a sudden premonition of disaster even before Paul said, ‘You’re going home, Jo. Now.’
‘Like hell!’ I rounded on Marion, on the case where she’d put David.
And I heard Paul say flatly, ‘Marion, take her.’
Chapter Three
I had a couple of choices – one, I could fight like hell and trash the hotel and probably kill a whole lot of people, or two, I could give up and see where it took me.
I didn’t like option two, but I liked option one even less, and when Marion moved towards me, power at the ready, I just stood still for it.
‘Easy,’ she whispered to me, and wrapped something around my wrists behind my back that felt thick and organic. At her touch it stirred, writhed, and tightened into something tough and flexible. It couldn’t cut me, but I wasn’t likely to be breaking loose from it, either. Wind and water don’t do much against the power of living things. It was probably some sort of vine she’d cultivated for times like these. ‘Nobody’s going to hurt you, Joanne. Please trust me.’
I’d never been able to trust her. Ever. I liked her, but her agendas and mine just didn’t match andnever had. Her hand rested lightly on my shoulder for a second, then pressed harder, guiding me to a chair. She sat me down, took out another vine from her pocket, and bound my ankles.
‘Done?’ Paul asked. She nodded and stepped back. Paul – my friend – got down on one knee next to the chair and looked me right in the eyes. ‘Go ahead. Ask.’
‘OK,’ I said. I kept my voice low and calm, even though I wanted to scream at him – it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good, and I might need a good screaming voice later. Right now, they were in control. Wait for an opportunity . ‘Use your heads. I can help you; you know I can. You can’t afford to ignore the opportunity here. C’mon, guys. Wise up.’
He was sweating, I noticed. Paul, the iceman, was sweating bullets, and there were dark patches under the arms of his nice, neat golf shirt.
‘This goes way beyond personal feelings. Sorry, babe, but we don’t have a choice here. We thought we could contain the kid, but things are too serious now. We need to deal, and with Jonathan on his side, he’ll know if we’re not playing straight. So you go home. This gets done without you.’
‘Who had that brilliant idea?’ I shot back.
‘I did.’ A new voice, coming from the corner. Paul looked over his shoulder, and I saw someone step out of the shadows from beneath the stairs.
It was old-home week at the Holiday Inn. I looked up into the tired, drawn face of Lewis Levander Orwell, my friend, once upon a time my lover, and saw the bleak, black acknowledgement of just how fucked-up all this was. And then I really saw, because he wasn’t walking on his own. He had a cane, a fancy carved affair that had dragons running up the sides. Extra long, because he was pretty damned tall.
He’d lost more weight, gone from lanky to thin and fragile. His skin had a translucent ivory cast to it, as if he were fading away like a Djinn.
It was an effort for him to walk the four short steps to the chair across from me. No one tried to help him, but I could feel the weight of their attention, their concern. He sank into the plush brown velour with a sigh, propped the cane against the arm, and folded his hands together as he looked at me.
‘You look like shit,’ I said bluntly. I surprised a thin smile out of
‘OK.’ I pulled in a deep breath and tried to put the anger aside. ‘Now you’ve got David out of the way. When do I go?’ Paul looked up, startled, frowning, as if I knew something I shouldn’t. ‘Hello? Vegas? Meet and greet with Teen Psycho?’
Paul didn’t answer me. Marion said softly, ‘Kevin doesn’t want you, Joanne. He has no reason to trust you. You can’t negotiate with him on our behalf.’
My mind went blank. ‘Then why all this—’
To get David. To get David away from me, to play us against each other.
I had a sudden premonition of disaster even before Paul said, ‘You’re going home, Jo. Now.’
‘Like hell!’ I rounded on Marion, on the case where she’d put David.
And I heard Paul say flatly, ‘Marion, take her.’
Chapter Three
I had a couple of choices – one, I could fight like hell and trash the hotel and probably kill a whole lot of people, or two, I could give up and see where it took me.
I didn’t like option two, but I liked option one even less, and when Marion moved towards me, power at the ready, I just stood still for it.
‘Easy,’ she whispered to me, and wrapped something around my wrists behind my back that felt thick and organic. At her touch it stirred, writhed, and tightened into something tough and flexible. It couldn’t cut me, but I wasn’t likely to be breaking loose from it, either. Wind and water don’t do much against the power of living things. It was probably some sort of vine she’d cultivated for times like these. ‘Nobody’s going to hurt you, Joanne. Please trust me.’
I’d never been able to trust her. Ever. I liked her, but her agendas and mine just didn’t match andnever had. Her hand rested lightly on my shoulder for a second, then pressed harder, guiding me to a chair. She sat me down, took out another vine from her pocket, and bound my ankles.
‘Done?’ Paul asked. She nodded and stepped back. Paul – my friend – got down on one knee next to the chair and looked me right in the eyes. ‘Go ahead. Ask.’
‘OK,’ I said. I kept my voice low and calm, even though I wanted to scream at him – it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good, and I might need a good screaming voice later. Right now, they were in control. Wait for an opportunity . ‘Use your heads. I can help you; you know I can. You can’t afford to ignore the opportunity here. C’mon, guys. Wise up.’
He was sweating, I noticed. Paul, the iceman, was sweating bullets, and there were dark patches under the arms of his nice, neat golf shirt.
‘This goes way beyond personal feelings. Sorry, babe, but we don’t have a choice here. We thought we could contain the kid, but things are too serious now. We need to deal, and with Jonathan on his side, he’ll know if we’re not playing straight. So you go home. This gets done without you.’
‘Who had that brilliant idea?’ I shot back.
‘I did.’ A new voice, coming from the corner. Paul looked over his shoulder, and I saw someone step out of the shadows from beneath the stairs.
It was old-home week at the Holiday Inn. I looked up into the tired, drawn face of Lewis Levander Orwell, my friend, once upon a time my lover, and saw the bleak, black acknowledgement of just how fucked-up all this was. And then I really saw, because he wasn’t walking on his own. He had a cane, a fancy carved affair that had dragons running up the sides. Extra long, because he was pretty damned tall.
He’d lost more weight, gone from lanky to thin and fragile. His skin had a translucent ivory cast to it, as if he were fading away like a Djinn.
It was an effort for him to walk the four short steps to the chair across from me. No one tried to help him, but I could feel the weight of their attention, their concern. He sank into the plush brown velour with a sigh, propped the cane against the arm, and folded his hands together as he looked at me.
‘You look like shit,’ I said bluntly. I surprised a thin smile out of
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