Before she really gets pissed, Peri thought, shoving Silas to the door.
“You involved Taffy?” Silas grimaced over his shoulder at her. “She’s just a girl!”
“The woman’s name is Taf, and she’s rescuing us,” Peri said. “And shooting at people. At the same time.” He stared at her, and she gestured to the stairs. “Who do you think planned my escape? Listen to the woman with the rifle and move your ass!”
Silas fell into motion. Allen stared at them as they limped down the stairs. Howard gestured for them to hurry, half hidden by a pallet of freight. This was so messed up. How many people did it take to rescue one man?
“Howard?” Silas exclaimed in shock. “What are you doing here?”
Peri sighed, wondering the same thing. Her feet hit the concrete in a last lurch, the jarring sensation traveling all the way up to her skull. Hunched, she waved Taf to join them. Taf jogged forward, yelling at her mother to stay where she was, but Fran was still in shock, torn between yelling at her daughter and seeing if Allen was okay. Ashen, Allen held his bloody foot, silent as he watched them flee.
“You okay?” Taf said, eyes bright as she held Allen’s Glock out to her. “Silas?”
“He can move.” Frustrated, Peri took the handgun and pushed Taf toward the back door. Howard had tucked his shoulder under Silas’s arm, and Taf walked backward to make sure her mom didn’t follow.
“Don’t believe her, Silas,” Allen shouted, his voice holding equal amounts of anger and pain. “You’ll never know the truth! She doesn’t even know it herself. I read her diary. I know how easy it’s become for her to kill.”
Peri’s face went cold, her pace faltering. He saw my diary?
“We will find you!” Allen called out, still on the floor, a small puddle of blood around his foot. “We know everything you’ll do, Peri. We trained you!”
This was going to give her nightmares. Taf walked backward beside Peri, the young woman’s long coat furling like the heroine’s in a sci-fi flick, her rifle pointed at the floor, but neither Allen nor her mom was moving.
“You trust her?” Peri heard Silas ask Howard, and her jaw clenched.
“I don’t know,” Howard said. “But coming back for you was her idea.”
“Taf, you are cut off! You hear me?” Fran exclaimed.
“Yeah, I know,” Taf said, a hint of the depth of her bitterness showing.
“Taf!” Fran shouted as they got to the back door and light spilled in.
Peri stood a shaky watch with Taf as Howard got Silas to the truck. Silas wasn’t moving well, his wide shoulders hunched in pain, and Peri was worried.
“You first,” Taf said, motioning for Peri to go. Silas was already in the truck, pained and crunched into the door. Behind her, the security door slammed. Taf stomped past her, the young woman’s head down and the rifle held in a white-knuckled grip. A frustrated female cry echoed in the hangar.
And even though she couldn’t stand the woman, Peri knew exactly how Fran felt.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
The small room was warm from body heat, and the reek of Howard’s solder overpowered the scent of the hot chocolate Silas had brought back for her from the nearby coffeehouse—along with something for everyone—when he’d gone in search of an honest-to-God paper newspaper. Nose wrinkled, Peri sipped at the cooling drink, levering herself out of the faded chair to nuke it in the microwave. Silas looked up from where he was kneeling over the coffee table with Howard. Styrofoam and plastic bags littered the floor, and Silas gave her a quick smile before Howard recaptured his attention with a request to hold something.
The large man was clearly glad she’d relaxed enough to finally eat. She hadn’t let them stop except for gas and snacks on the drive back to Detroit, eager to get to a safe house—one that wasn’t tied to Opti or the alliance.
Peri set the hot chocolate in the microwave, started it up, and waited beside the small efficiency sink while it spun. The bachelor apartment was a welcome spot of security. Even Opti didn’t know she had it, Peri having bought the entire building on her eighteenth birthday during the great exodus for five hundred bucks and a promise to renovate. Which she had. It was in someone else’s name and attached to an offshore bank account that paid expenses accrued. The rent from the comic book shop downstairs kept everything even with inflation. It had been almost five years since the last visit—that she remembered—but Joe downstairs had been glad to see her, selling her a couple of rare Superwoman comics she’d been looking for to round out her collection. She was a good landlord, easy on the rent, and quick to upgrade the technology that let Joe stay competitive.
It was supposed to have been an investment, but she’d bought it because it was set right downtown in a neighborhood that had never undergone the modernization the rest of the city enjoyed. That, and she liked comics. Here, Detroit showed her past with stone and steel, bad parking, authentic ethnic restaurants, beggar musicians on corners, and shopfronts pushed right up to the street. It was noisy and cramped, and Peri felt good that she’d helped save it, even if it was only a few blocks long and there were more electric Sity bikes than cars now.
There was only one window that overlooked a parking lot and the adjacent street. The old rug did little to cover the scratched floorboards, and the muted voices filtering up from below were comforting in their predominantly male tenor. The furnishings were worn and mismatched, and Peri smiled as she remembered buying them at a secondhand shop simply because it would irritate her mother. Smile widening, Peri looked at her bright red fingernails as she dried her hands. She’d done a lot back then simply because her mother wouldn’t like it. Still did, apparently.