And wasn’t that a bitch and a half? Shawn and his group of quiet, scarred, diffident men who had taken their few weeks of adding professional training to Dan’s group so very seriously. She’d thought about signing up with them for good, but they were Catholic and took a dim view of girls getting in the way.
Story of her life. Of course, maybe she could be grateful, since just last winter they’d run across a really powerful biter and got wasted in a parking garage, of all things. The footage from that, as well as the autopsy reports, made for some nightmare viewing.
Everything did, nowadays.
“We did.” Pete no longer soundedentirelydubious, justmostly. It was a nice change.
The car veered again; they were getting close to base. The few active storefronts along this street were closed, locked, and bearing metal grilles across their doors; the abandoned ones were boarded up. Both types ignored anything happening before their shuttered gazes.
“I’m telling you I recognized him. We should’ve aborted.” The undeniable, atavistic sense of being watched was really giving her ‘the wiggins’. Nowtherewas a Suze-ism.
Poor Suze. Poor Shawn. Poor everyone.
“And wait how long for another chance at that Griskov bastard? Where are we gonna find the funding, huh?” Dan’s hands were tight on the steering wheel, knuckles pale, and Layla was suddenly very aware of her bare, bruised shoulders, naked knees, the thin material of the dress. “Fuck.Fuck. The asshole we were after was supposed tobethere. He was supposed to be leaving at two, just like always!”
I’m sure he’s checking his day planner right now. She swallowed the observation, just as bitter as stale coffee or leftover adrenaline. “Well, if he got word Nemesis was paying a visit, he’s probably long gone. We’re lucky to be alive, Danny.”
Maybe her tone wasn’t exactly as soft or forgiving as it could be, but honestly, did she have to be the voice of reason all the damn time? Managing every single man’s emotional state as well as his laundry pile was a thankless goddamn occupation, and she was tired.
So, so goddamn tired.
“For fuck’s sake.” Now Dan glanced in the rearview, and if looks could kill she’d be bleeding in the backseat. “Can you try not to call me that,Lay?”
Why do I like you so much, again?She was asking herself the question more and more these days. Her back was positively crawling with gooseflesh; Layla found she was also hugging herself despite the heat and the sweat, fingers slipping against bruised, aching upper arms.
All of her was throbbing like a bad tooth. “Sure thing,” she muttered, and settled to stare out the window. Maybe Pete was now watching her in the side mirror; the sense of being looked at only intensified.
She’d thought the night couldn’t get worse, but it just had to go and surprise her.
Base was an abandoned, boarded-up machinist’s shop out on LaGranda Boulevard, its interior jammed with detritus and a few ‘rooms’ excavated for their use. Ack had jury-rigged the electricity and Ben, for all his flaws, was a dab hand at guerrilla plumbing, so at least there was a little bit of wash-up before debriefing. Layla could jam herself into jeans and a pink V-neck T-shirt—neither piece too fresh, since she was the only one who did any cleaning at all plus funds were scarce—and tell herselfthe persistent feeling of being stared at was just post-operation letdown.
She pressed a folded, dribble-soaked washcloth against her nape, ignoring the sharp smell of mildew. Any temporary illusion of coolness was well worth the hassle. “That’s him.”
The trestle table in what Steve called ‘the ready room’ held four piles of intel paper and several neatly arranged weapons; at least Steve and Ack spent time tidyingthoseup. The rest of the place looked like a bomb had gone off, but the stacked walls of crap helped shield them from outside scrutiny and would slow down cops if any came calling to check for harmless, houseless folk just trying to find some shelter.
NEMESIS, the manila file proclaimed on its tab, sprawled open under a tensor lamp. The grainy 8x10 photo was just as she remembered, and seeing the biter again, even in 2D, was unpleasant at best.Alias: Nemesis Name: Unk. Age: Unk. Range: Unk.
Lots of unknowns, but the listed sightings were thought-provoking. Ifoh God that’s terrifyingqualified asprovoking, that was. The biter had been all over the continent in steadily widening loops since at least the late 1800s.
Shawn’s intel guy Mike had taught Layla how to use shorthand and cross-reference in the particular way real demimonde investigators found most useful. Even he had looked a little green going over some of the reports from Nemesis sightings, and their group had been about as hardcore as it got—fancy new ceramic armor, chain gorgets to guard against bites, crucifix tattoos, Vatican funding, the whole nine.
Fat lot of good it had done.
“You’re absolutely sure?” Pete persisted, rubbing his knuckles like he always did when really bad news hit.
“He looked right at me. Of course I’m fucking sure.” She couldn’t suppress a shiver, carefully laying the washcloth on thetable’s edge. “I mean, on the bright side, he’s probably done for the Blue Moon biter. Maybe we can turn in the kill and get the bounty?” The idea of going back to that particular mobster watering-hold and asking for money just made her more tired. Christ knew she’d probably be the one doing the actual work of gathering a package of gruesome proof.
“Good luck with that.” Tall, blue-eyed Ben rubbed at his cheeks, callused palms scraping stubble, and let out a massive beery belch. He’d apparently stopped for a case of suds on the way back to base, which would’ve gotten anyone else a chewing out from Dan—both for the expenseandfor showing up on a gas-station camera or two. “If we don’t have actual footage of the kill, they won’t put out. Fucking bastards.”
The kill, as if he did this every day of the week. Sure, he’d been part of that terrible two-fer, the baby biters which so far represented their group’s only success—albeit more luck than anything else, but still. Layla restrained the urge to roll her eyes.
Which took serious effort. All she could do was wait to see how Dan was going to deal with this.
Their leader just sat in a camp chair, an open Coors can in his hand, staring bleakly at a nearby wall made entirely of stacked, shadowed garbage.
“I only saw the back of his head.” Wiry, buzzcut Ackerman had helped himself to a can as well, but he wasn’t drinking, just rolling the damp aluminum across his forehead. There were shadows under his bright hazel eyes, and his baggy fatigues had seen much better days. He’d already cleaned his rifle twice and kept glancing nervously in Dan’s direction. Now, however, he tipped his chin in Ben’s general direction. “Then genius here started shooting.”
“Early bird gets the worm.” Ben grinned, lifting his beer can, clearly not chastened in the slightest. “We popped some of the hypnotized fucks, at least.”
