Working Stiff (Revivalist #1)

Working Stiff (Revivalist #1) Page 54

She envied them all, so strongly that it hurt. Somehow, without ever meaning to, she’d become an alien, stranded in a strange yet achingly familiar landscape.

“Bryn?”

“What?”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Joe said. “My family’s stuck somewhere halfway across the country, if not outside the country, and I don’t know when or if I’ll ever see them again. Deal with your shit and don’t wallow in it.”

“You—” She bit back her angry retort, and took a deep breath. “I am. I will. I just feel—”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, more gently. “Lost. There’s a lot of that going around.”

A phone was ringing somewhere, a harsh distant buzzing sound that brought Bryn up out of a restless light sleep in a strange bed. Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment she didn’t know where she was—a darkened room, with streetlights casting slanted shadows across the carpet through the blinds. The place smelled stale and unlived-in, and she finally remembered that she was in the safe house, a nondescript ranch house with a pathetic straggly lawn and secondhand furniture in the run-down rooms.

The phone was ringing down the hall, where Joe Fideli was sleeping. She heard him answer it, although she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Exhaustion pinned her flat to the bed until she heard a light knock on her closed bedroom door, and she rolled out to swing it open.

“You’re dressed,” he said. He sounded surprised, although he was still in his clothes, too.

“Yeah, I figured we’d better be ready for anything.” That, and being dressed made her feel less vulnerable. She’d spent way too much time in that paper jumpsuit. “You got a call.”

“McCallister.” Fideli didn’t sound thrilled, and that made her muscles tense in anticipation of the bad news. “Listen, I think you’d better sit down, Bryn.”

That really didn’t sound good. She backed up without thinking about it, and eased down onto the bed. He stayed where he was, talking from the doorway. “He’s been tracking down your mysterious supplier, and he says he found him.”

“So … that’s good news, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Who is it?”

“Some guy named Mercer. Jonathan Mercer. Sound familiar?”

It didn’t, but then it did. She remembered, far back at the beginning of this nightmare, that McCallister had mentioned the name Mercer…. “Mercer and Sams,” she said.

“They … created the drug. Right?”

“Sams offed himself after Pharmadene started the Returné trials; couldn’t take the guilt. Mercer’s been quietly working like a good beaver ever since, until about a week ago when he went on vacation.” That last was said with air quotes. “He dropped off of Pharmadene’s radar. Translation: he had a heads-up that the big conversion push was coming from Harte, and he didn’t want to end up strapped onto a table with a bag over his head. So he bailed, and they’ve been ripping up streets looking for him ever since. That’s stirred up a lot of information, including the fact that apparently Mercer had been quietly setting up his own production line for Returné.”

“He could ruin everything for them.”

“The only reason he hasn’t so far is that it’s in his interest to keep this thing a black-market enterprise. They need to shut him down hard and fast. Mercer’s a bigger threat to them than any of us are, but he’s also damn smart; we all checked him out and found nothing on him until he bolted.”

“Joe,” she said. Her fists clenched where they rested on her thighs. “Why am I sitting down? What are you not telling me?”

“Mercer wants to make a deal,” Joe said. “McCallister’s full resources and protection of his fledgling operation, in exchange for keeping you supplied with the drug.”

That wasn’t so bad. It was for McCallister, obviously, but … “What else?”

This time, Joe just gave up and said it. “He has leverage,” he said. “He has your sister Annie. She never made it to the airport when she left your apartment, and he says he’s going to kill her if we don’t take a meeting and make a deal. We’ve got just under two hours. He wants you there.”

Annie. Bryn sat frozen; she’d expected … Well, she didn’t know what she’d expected. She hadn’t thought they’d go after her family. She was used to thinking of her people as safely distant, away from all this … but Annalie had walked into the middle of it. Made herself a target.

And Bryn hadn’t seen it coming.

“Bryn? Still with me?”

“Yes.” She stood up, feeling unnaturally calm and focused. “When do we leave?”

Joe cleared his throat. “That’s just it. We don’t. McCallister says it’s better to keep you out of—”

“Give me the phone, Joe.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Joe.” She held her hand out, staring into his eyes. “She’s my sister. Give me the phone.”

He shook his head and handed it over. “His number’s in the call list.”

Bryn dialed, listened as it rang on the other end, and heard McCallister’s voice say, “Bryn. I thought you’d call.”

He sounded tense, but there was a kind of animal comfort to hearing him again, hearing him say her name. She shoved all that aside and said, “I’m going to the meeting.”

“You can’t do that. He’s already got too much leverage over—”

“He asked for me, specifically. You know him; you know how ruthless he is. If I don’t show up, I’m signing Annie’s death warrant,” she said. “I’m getting her back, one way or another.”

“You’re emotionally involved. Let me negotiate this. He will work with me. He doesn’t have a choice.” He paused for a bare second, and then continued. “You have to trust me to handle this for you. He could be setting us up, and I can’t have you complicating things.”

“I do trust you,” Bryn said. “But I’m still going. Either you tell Joe to drive me or I will find a way to contact Mercer myself. I’m not letting you shield me anymore, McCallister. Not from this.”

That brought an even longer silence, and finally, “Put Joe back on the phone.”

“No. You tell me where this meeting is. If I let you talk to him, you’ll probably tell him to drive me around for a while and knock me out when I’m not looking.”

McCallister’s laugh was dry and humorless. “You know me too well already. All right. Here’s the address.” He read it to her, and she burned it into her memory; no chance she’d ever forget it. “Leave Joe out of it. He’s putting on a good front, but he’s hurting, and I don’t want to be responsible for landing him back in the hospital. Or the morgue.”

“Just you and me, then,” she said. “That sounds right.”

“Bryn?”

“Yes?”

He was quiet for so long that she thought she’d lost the connection, and then he said, “I wanted to get you out of there myself. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” she said. All the fight went out of her, and she clutched the phone hard, wishing she could see his face. “You told him to kill me if it went wrong. Thank you.”

“I keep my word, Bryn. Always. And I promise, we’ll get your sister back.”

She hung up the phone and slipped it into her pocket, then held out her hand, palm out. “Keys, please,” she said. “You’re staying here. If you don’t believe me, call him back and ask.”

Fideli looked at her for a few seconds, clearly trying to decide whether or not she was insane, and then fished the keys out of his pocket and handed them over. “Go in heavy, and go in hot,” he said. “You understand what I’m talking about?”

She remembered the same conversation, back on a sweltering afternoon as she labored under the weight of body armor, ballistic helmet, weapons, and the stare of her commanding officer. We’re going in hot. It hadn’t ended well that day. Too many IEDs, too many snipers on the rooftops taking out their supply convoy. She could almost taste the grit of blown sand. “I understand,” she said. “Rest. I’ll be back.”

He reached in his pocket and took out a silver tube. “Don’t forget this,” he said. “This one’s not coded to a particular administrator. You can give it to yourself if you need to.”

“Thanks.”

She saw him at the window as she drove away into the night, and wondered whether she’d ever see Joe Fideli again. Wondered whether he’d ever see his family, too.

So much had been torn apart, and she still had so far to go.

Going in hot and heavy.

That pretty much described her entire relationship so far with Patrick McCallister, come to think of it.

Chapter 12

Bryn made a fast circuit of the immediate area around the address McCallister had given her; it was a residential area, which made her worry. She’d thought these types of potentially explosive things went on in deserted buildings, vacant warehouses, open lots … not on a street with brightly colored playhouses and Big Wheels parked in yards.

There was no sign of McCallister, and she had a horrified thought…. What if he’d deliberately given her the wrong address? And she’d been dumb enough to fall for it? No, he wouldn’t do that. He’d known I was serious. And that I needed to do this.

Parking the van behind a closed convenience store two blocks away seemed the best option; Bryn locked it and stepped out into the cool predawn darkness. It was misting, and threatening to rain, but the hoodie that Pansy had given her was enough to counter that. The thin shoes were a pain, though. It was hard to feel badass in Payless.

At least she had the gun she’d stolen from Pharmadene, and a supply of ammunition, thanks to Joe. Not as well stocked as Manny Glickman in his fortress, wherever it was now, but it would do …