Trance (19 page)

He nodded, unconvinced. Something indecipherable played in his speckled eyes. “Can I buy a lady dinner?”

I grinned. “Aren’t you supposed to do that before you sleep with me?”

“I’m a nonconformist.”

“Think Dr. Seward will let you out of bed?”

“He will if I don’t tell him.”

“Then, let’s do dinner.”

Marco, Renee, and William were halfway through their meals by the time we arrived. I’d had trouble finding clean
clothes for Gage, so I ran back to his room for something less revealing than his open-backed gown. I also took a few minutes to brush my hair, my teeth, wash my face, and change my clothes. A long, hot shower was definitely in my near future.

I sat down while Gage fetched twin plates from the room’s food counter. It looked like sandwiches and hot soup. Strange meal until I looked at the clock on the wall and realized it was almost midnight. I’d slept longer than I thought.

Marco picked at the crusts of his sandwich, his glowing green eyes dulled. Pain, maybe, or painkillers. Red blisters left an angry trail down the left side of his face; both hands were still wrapped in white gauze, and three fingers on his left hand were taped together and splinted. Some leader I was, napping away while he and Ethan were in Medical.

Gage deposited my plate and sat down beside me. I stirred my soup. Guilt had stolen my appetite.

“Any news on Ethan?” I asked.

“Sedated, but stronger,” William said. “I checked on him as soon as we got back. He’s tough for a skinny Irishman.”

Renee dipped a crust of bread into her tomato soup. “We also took a look at the battle site.” Her wan smile reiterated her earlier sentiment—it sucked ass. “Your powers acting up again?”

“They’re fine.”

Gage fisted his fork; he knew I was lying. Oh well. I was not elaborating on the problem—not when we were one man down and unsure when or where Specter might strike next.

“How about you guys?” I asked. “Any luck figuring out
how the wrong person was kept imprisoned for fifteen years, while Specter was running loose?”

William shook his head. “According to the guards, they don’t do sight checks unless one of the collars malfunctions. After Specter’s collar was checked in that first day, he became persona incognita. His collar never malfunctioned, so no one thought a thing of it. About forty of the prisoners weren’t seen until recently, when they did spot checks on everyone.”

“Spot checks weren’t done regularly?” Gage asked, incredulity arching his eyebrows and some measure of accusation in his tone. Accusation toward whom, I didn’t know. Certainly couldn’t be William.

“Manhattan Island is huge,” Renee replied before William could. “As long as they stayed quietly among themselves, the guards didn’t want to bother with them.”

Gage grunted, unmollified by the response. “And the guy impersonating Specter? What’s his story?” he asked, directing the question at William.

“He doesn’t have one,” William said. “Someone cut his tongue out years ago. They kept him fed, only he’s mentally not together. He doesn’t know his own name, so I don’t think he’d pick anyone out as the person or persons who kept him.”

“That’s damned convenient.”

It was, but that was hardly William’s fault, as Gage seemed hell bent on assigning blame in that direction. What was the cliché? Don’t shoot the messenger. “So someone else on the island knew Specter was out,” I said. “And they deliberately kept up the ruse that he was there.”

“There’s another possibility, you know,” William said. “It’s
possible someone from the MHC knows he was never arrested. And I don’t just mean the dead guy who collared him.”

“You mean someone with influence.” The possibility hadn’t directly crossed my mind until now, and I felt stupid for not entertaining it sooner. I looked at William. “You don’t trust McNally or Grayson, do you?”

“Right this minute?” He shook his head. “Except for Ethan, I don’t trust any person not sitting at this table.”

Renee reached out and squeezed his hand. Their eyes met. A moment passed between them, something spoken with silence and a look. They’d bonded during their trip east. Maybe more if Renee’s playful nature had shined through. I glanced at Gage, who was staring at them with a queer expression—something warring between amusement and … jealousy?

He caught me looking and cleared his throat. “So what would the ATF, or anyone else for that matter, have to gain by keeping Specter out of jail?” Gage asked.

I pointed my spoon at him. “Precisely.”

“Does anyone even know his real name?” Renee asked. “Anything at all about him other than he’s a damned coward who attacks through others, instead of showing his own face?”

I shook my head. “No, that just about covers it, Renee.”

“And Specter’s real name is not on record,” William said. “At least nothing I could find. Even the Banes they questioned in Manhattan didn’t know who he was.”

“Or wouldn’t admit it,” Renee said.

“Knowing he’s still out there is a good incentive to keep your mouth shut.”

“Good points,” I said. “Nothing Specter has done so far is random. He’s had a long time to plan this. He knew enough to find most of us, and kill some of us before we could even assemble. It’s like he’s feeling us out, getting an idea of our threat level. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Specter knew something about why we all got our powers back.”

Four sets of eyes stared at me. “What?” I asked. “It’s not so big a leap.”

“No, it’s not,” William said. He pushed his plate away and folded his meaty hands on top of the table. “Look, I didn’t get shipped across the country like you guys. They fostered me to a big family out in Long Beach, so I’ve been around the city my whole life. Watching it change and shrink and die, get minutely better and infinitely worse. I’ve watched everything around this HQ go to shit, while it never changed. Doesn’t it bother you guys how good a shape this entire facility was still in when we got here?”

The question drove home things that had niggled at the back of my mind since our arrival. Sure, some of the hallways were dusty and the rooms not up to code, but the medical equipment was first rate, the food healthy, and the sheets clean. Two days after reactivation, and the HQ ran better than it should have for an organization left to rot for fifteen years.

“I am sure they had a caretaker or two, no?” Marco asked.

“Or twenty,” Gage said. “It certainly makes you wonder if they knew that our power loss was temporary. That we’d need the HQ again some day, so they kept it in good shape, made sure protocols existed in case what happened last week
happened. There’s a hell of a lot about our own pasts that we really don’t know.”

“We could just ask, you know,” Renee said. The high-pitched voice of reason. “It’s not like Dr. Seward has lied to any of us.”

“Seward isn’t the one running things,” I said. “The Bureau funds us, remember? If we want answers, we need to ask Agent McNally.”

Gage tilted his head and gave me a small smile. “I thought you believed she was on our side.”

“I do, Gage, which is why I think she’ll answer our questions. She was more straightforward than Grayson, that’s for sure. I don’t think she would lie to us outright.”

“Maybe not, but she still has her own agenda. Her answers were controlled, Teresa.”

“I know that, but obfuscation isn’t the same as lying.” I blew out an exasperated breath. “She was up there, while Ethan was in surgery. She does care what happens to us, and given our state of near-crisis, I think she’ll talk.”

“Now’s your chance to ask,” Gage said.

Our heads swiveled toward the door in perfect unison, and two beats later, McNally walked into the cafeteria. She paused, her piercing gaze sweeping around the table.

“Good evening,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

“Of course not,” I replied.

She took her time filling a coffee mug, carefully stirring in two packets of sugar and a bit of milk. Each movement made with precision. She sat down in the only empty chair at
the table, between Gage and Renee. “I’d heard you were back, and I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” she said to the blue woman on her left.

After the prerequisite introductions, McNally sipped her coffee and got right to the point. “This morning’s rescue is getting a lot of airtime,” she said. “As is the impromptu interview Trance gave. Every pollster we’ve ever worked with is scrambling to put together new information for us, and the early results have been far more positive than I expected.”

“How positive is more positive?” I asked.

“Thirty percent of respondents, when asked if the new Rangers will be a positive influence on the world today, said yes.”

“Which means seventy percent think we’ll destroy the world?”

“Actually, fifty percent replied they were undecided. But again, these are preliminary numbers, from average citizens. On the other side of things, the news media is clamoring for more information and more interviews.”

“We’re not a sideshow, Agent McNally,” Gage said. “And in case you’ve forgotten, one of our friends is dead and another is critically injured. Posing for publicity photos isn’t high on our priority list.”

“I’m certainly not saying it should be, but you do need public support, which you are starting to get. You also need to control your public image, or you’ll lose what little support you already have. One or two anchors are saying some rather negative things about Trance simply from the way she ended the interview. If we don’t correct them, the damage may be irreversible.”

I twirled my spoon between my fingers. “Do you really think I care what the public thinks of me?”

She nodded. “I know you do, Trance. You care about this team, and you don’t want to worry about Joe Citizen taking potshots at you while you’re trying to mount a rescue.”

The spoon fell from my fingers, and I glared. She had to know how my mom died. Using that against me was cruel. And brilliant, because she was right. Specter was about all we could handle in terms of enemies right now.

“The instant celebrity status can be beneficial to you,” she continued, “but if you don’t control the flow of information, it could devastate your public support. Do you remember the negative publicity your elders received during the final year of the War?”

Adults whispering behind closed doors, hiding the daily newspapers. My father set the television stations to news-free networks only, and didn’t let the other grown-ups talk about it when I was around. I knew things were going badly, but he shielded me from most of it. Something I now regretted.

“I do,” Marco said. He said something in Spanish and, judging by Gage’s raised eyebrows, it was laced with profanity. “What is the phrase? From hero to zero in one headline. My mentor was criticized in an article, because an apartment building burned down while he was battling two Banes.
No importa
—never mind he saved the lives of everyone who lived there. The press called him an arsonist.”

“That’s exactly my point, Onyx,” McNally said. “You don’t have to do profiles and cover spreads. That’s not what I want. Just a short interview on one morning show, to speak your
peace, answer a few questions, and make sure everyone knows we will do everything we can to keep things from escalating again.”

“In theory it’s a good idea,” I said. “But I don’t want to put all of us in one room, on live television, and give Specter the perfect target.”

McNally drummed her fingers against the side of her mug. “Then, we do it pretaped. We give the studio one hour advance notice, go in quietly, tape the interview, and then leave. Simple, sweet, and a much smaller audience.”

“Can we preapprove the questions?” I asked.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“It’s a deal-breaker.”

“Then, I’ll make certain of it. Anything else?”

I took a moment to study my team. Gauge their reactions. William and Marco listened attentively, giving no nonverbal cues as to their thoughts. Gage kept picking at his sandwich with a half-frown on his face; I wanted to reassure him this was a good idea—as soon as I convinced myself.

Renee alone showed keen interest in the interview. She watched McNally with what I could only describe as fascination. Maybe a little bit of awe, as if she couldn’t believe someone would go to these lengths for us. Perhaps she was simply contemplating her fifteen minutes of fame.

“I want the girl from the site,” I said. If she refused, we’d be off the hook. “The blonde from the newspaper. Dahlia something?”

“Why her?” McNally asked.

“Because she was intimidated by us. She won’t be tempted
to go off on a tangent, or manipulate the questions. If we’re boosting our own credibility, might as well boost someone else while we’re at it.”

“So, ten minutes, pretaped, you write the questions, and she asks them. That’s the deal?”

A round of nods from the others sealed my answer: “Yes.”

“Then, I’ll see what I can put together.” McNally’s chair scraped as she stood up. “I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve made arrangements.”

“I can’t wait.” Beneath the table, Gage’s foot kicked mine. “What? That wasn’t all sarcasm.”

McNally chuckled and left with her coffee.

“Well, that was quite rude,” Renee said. The annoyance in her voice caught my attention, but amusement danced in her eyes. “Can she just take our coffee mugs like that?”

William wadded up his napkin and threw it at her head. He chuckled, Renee giggled, and I sighed with relief. I bit into the turkey sandwich, and my appetite ignited like a spark to gas. I polished it off quickly, along with my soup and some crackers Renee didn’t want. I was about to go get a second helping when Marco stood up—leaving.

The food could wait.

“Can I walk you out?” I asked, standing too quickly and knocking my chair over. Gage caught it with one hand and set it upright.

Marco nodded. I followed him to the disposal, and we dropped our plates. Awkward silence accompanied us into the corridor. He turned toward the elevator bank. I zipped past to cut him off before he could press the button.

“How are you?” I asked, and fixed the wounded shapeshifter with my sternest stare. “Really, Marco, how are you doing?”