Grimacing, she held her hand out. “And this is my fault?”
He swiped through his tablet’s apps, shrugging as he pulled up the right one and set the blood-draw film on the softly glowing box. “Bringing Michael in will be the easy part. Convincing Steiner you did it regardless of the carrot he’s holding is harder. Okay. Little poke.”
She steeled herself for it, eyeing the crimson drop before pressing it to the blood-draw film, the tablet recording her fingerprint for identification at the same time the film accepted her sample. “This is a waste of time,” she muttered.
“Not if it makes Steiner feel better,” he said, and Peri snorted as she took the sterile pad Silas handed her. He really was an odd mix of iron-pumping, lab-coat-wearing, PhD-holding psychologist. “Go get Michael. I’ll pick the Evocane apart. If it’s not safe, I’ll make it safe. Promise.”
He always makes it sound so easy. “Thank you.” Rising up on tiptoe, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, finding a compliment in his suddenly tight expression. “Wish me luck.”
Without a single glance behind her, she walked out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I have this, Swift. Go sit. I’ll show you both when it’s all compiled. Okay?”
Peri looked up from her phone as Allen dramatically dropped the CIA-issued tablet onto the tiny cocktail table Harmony had settled herself at. Motion oddly unsteady for the athletic man, he wobbled his way to the front of the jet and all but fell into the scarred, leather-bound chair across from her.
“And I thought you were a control freak,” he muttered, making Peri smile as she rested the flats of her arms on the much wider conference table.
The jet had once shuttled VIPs in the early 2000s, still serviceable but its luxuries faded. Its leather was scarred with age and there was a noticeable lack of USB outlets. The lavatory was more spacious than she was used to, and a universal etherball kept them in contact with the web throughout the flight. Made up to seat twelve comfortably, it was still a nice little jet despite its age, everything that had once made it special now outdated even if it was still functional.
Sort of like me, Peri thought as she picked at the tacky-bottomed tray of desiccated cheese and crackers across the table from Allen. She’d changed into her upscale black suit less than an hour ago, going further to cut her hair to a functional ear length, and she brushed the black strands back, her guilt rising almost as fast as her anticipation. She’d taken pains to distance herself from this—the clothes, the haircut, the sensation of rising tension—and the same patterns she was resurrecting to keep her alive now felt like a trap.
Frustrated, Peri set her phone aside and put her forehead on the table. Her new felt-tip pen pendant swung out to clink on the faded wood, discolored from a thousand spilled martinis. Her breath came back hot and stale, and she turned her head. Out the oval window across the aisle, the sky had faded from deep blue to a black nothing, thick clouds blocking the ground.
Her open satchel sat on the wide leather seat under the window, the corner of her journal showing past her carefully folded street clothes. Frowning, Peri leaned across the aisle to pull the entire bag to her. Bringing her diary hadn’t been a stellar idea, but leaving it in a CIA locker where anyone could find it was even worse, and besides, Silas’s comments in the lab were bugging her.
She glanced at Allen pretending to read his latest rock-climbing magazine, his tablet making his face glow. She hadn’t remembered that he didn’t like to fly. It was unexpected from the adrenaline junkie who liked his bikes off-road and his sports extreme, and she smiled as she settled back with her diary, thumbing past the slow progression of tests, exams, and trials of the first trimester until she got to where she’d left off.
Allen rented a skiff today, and we went out on Lake St. Clair. Big twenty-footer, with a tiny kitchen and a bed in the bow. Toward sunset, Allen spilled wine all over the cockpit, then fell in while getting a bucket of water to rinse it off. I think he did it so I’d come in after him and I’d have to choose between wet clothes and wrapping myself in a beach towel for the sail in, but Silas cut the dinghy loose and we sailed on, leaving him sputtering and swearing. We went back to get him about an hour after it got dark. He was pissed, but honestly, it was the only time out there that didn’t have Allen flapping his lips about something or other, usually about how we could beat everyone else in the next trial. The man never stops thinking. Plotting, Silas says, but I have to admit between Allen’s underhanded strategies and Silas’s tech innovations that make them work, we’re staying ahead of the curve.
We’re not winning any friends, but our supervisors are running this last year in training as if it’s a freaking island where people are getting voted off, and I intend to be standing on the beach when this is over. I want that task. Silas needs it or he’s going to kill himself with guilt. Allen . . . I can’t tell if Allen wants it because he believes in bringing down the corrupt faction of Opti, or if he’s looking for the job security that will come from this one task. I don’t care. If he can keep doing what he’s doing, we have a chance.
Silas and I watched the sun set behind Detroit, not saying a word. I think he appreciated the silence. I am such a chicken squirt. I should’ve done something other than put my head on his shoulder, but I was afraid I’d screw it up, and it’s nice to see Silas doing better. He still has his moods, but he’ll let himself enjoy something occasionally now. I love his laugh. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sound of it, mixing with the waves and slapping sails when Allen dragged himself into the dinghy and we just kept going.