Read Online Die Run Hide by P. M. Kavanaugh - Free Book Online

confirmed the safety catch was on, removed the magazine, cleared the chamber, set the safety catch to “fire,” and squeezed the trigger. A satisfying snap told her the gun was in good working order. She thumbed the safety catch back on and re-loaded the magazine. The gun tucked neatly inside a swath of stretchy material that she wrapped around her waist.
    She finished dressing, adjusted the wig and cap, and made a final visual inspection. The blocker had relaxed the lines of pain around her eyes and between her brows. Her limbs had mellowed, too, with her thigh mumbling a grumpy protest and her wrist, a mild complaint.
    Only one task was left. She pulled out a locator. Gianni had tried giving it to her at the solo briefing. Or what she had thought would be the solo. When she had refused to take it, he had seemed to accept her decision.
    Now she gripped the blue rectangle no longer than her little finger until its edges dug into her flesh. She should have known he wouldn’t acquiesce so easily. But finding her wasn’t part of the plan. As far as he was concerned, she was dead. What they had or might have had was dead, too. She smashed the device with a stomp of her boot and tossed the pieces down the waste chute.
    Inside the diner, the harsh light seemed to drain the interior of most of its color. Anika scanned the patrons, room layout, and egress points. A dozen civilians. Plus the service droid, now behind the bar. Two dozen tables. No egress other than the door she had just entered.
    She walked over to the food and drink dispensers that stood against the wall. Most of the selections were out, except for the day’s special of beef-substitute in congealed gravy and a side order of mysteriously named “carbo medley.”
    So much for real food. She punched in her order, set it on the tray, and grabbed a pouch of water.
    Two men, in baseball caps, wool plaid shirts, jeans, and work boots watched an aeroball game on the wall monitor. The backs of their jackets were stamped with the Globe Transport logo. The trucker on the left refilled his friend’s glass from the pitcher of beer on the counter, then topped off his own. The droid removed an already empty pitcher and set down a bottle of Dry Out.
    The bearded one on the right gave Anika an appraising look as she passed by. His friend shouted a profanity at the screen. A few heads turned, then reverted to their own business.
    The all-news monitor farther down the bar flashed images of charred rubble, a ’bot clean-up crew, and a pretty brunette newscaster.
    Anika quick stepped to a corner table, set down her tray and slipped into the bench seat. She plugged in earphones just as Jackson Palmer, the pseudo-legitimate businessman, came on screen.
    “It’s outrageous,” Palmer said. “Clearly the work of disturbed minds. Probably terrorists.”
    Lying nukebag . Anika’s lips twisted into a grimace.
    Over the shoulder of the on-site reporter, a dozen autobots swept through the rubble while their human handlers directed them from the perimeter of the cordoned-off area.
    Anika’s fingers tightened around the edges of the tray.
    Would her image come up next alongside false information about her past? Like what had happened with Olszewski when he had gone rogue after a mission, prompting U.N.I.T. to deliver a trumped-up history of terrorist activity to the local and national authorities? That was six months ago. No operative had tried running since.
    The news switched to the latest tensions in Sudan.
    Anika released a slow breath and stretched out her fingers. So U.N.I.T. wasn’t treating her escape as unauthorized. Either that, or Gianni had taken care of her tracking chip and the agency thought her dead.
    She took a bite of the lukewarm food and scouted the room for a ride.
    The two truckers ordered another pitcher from the droid. Their voices had grown louder. She ruled them out.
    Another group of truckers, with different logos on their jackets than the pair at the bar, sat