Living with the Dead Part 31

Stop thinking! Just The door swung open.

Colm twisted out of the way.

"Wait!"

A woman's voice. He glanced over to see the Indian girl standing by the open door, her hands up, genuine fear on her face. Fear that he'd jump off the roof and her boss would punish her for losing a clairvoyant slave.

"It's okay." She took a measured step toward him. "It's just me, okay? I only want to talk to you."

They kept saying that, as if by repeating it enough, they'd eventually hit the right note of conviction.

She took another step from the door, her hands still raised. Then she stopped. "I'm going to stay right here, okay? I'll keep my hands up. You can see I'm not armed. Now, I know you're scared..."

He bristled at that, shoulders squaring.

"You're nervous," she amended. "Concerned about your friend, Adele. She's okay."

So they did have her.

"I mean We She got away. Yes, we were following her. But she drove off, so we came back to talk to you."

Couldn't these people open their mouths without lying?

"She parked at the McDonald's a block south of the bookstore plaza, right? In the side lot, near the patio tables. We followed her trail that far, but she was already..." She trailed off, eyes studying his. "Look, I know you don't believe me. I don't blame you. You don't know me and you're sca worried. But people have died. Maybe Adele has a good reason. I'm sure she thinks she does and I'm not saying she doesn't. But we need to stop it or we risk exposing all of us. You understand that, right?"

Oh, he understood. Understood that she'd talk and talk until she wore him down. Brainwashed him, like the rest of the Cabal slaves. Like she'd been brainwashed.

"We're not " She stopped herself and eased back. "My name is Hope Adams. I work for the interracial council. Do you know what that is?"

He glanced around. If he could lure her away from that door before the werewolf found them...

"Do you want to talk downstairs? Or maybe at that McDonald's?" She took a step and he tensed, but she was moving sideways, away from the door. She squinted over her shoulder. "I think the cops are gone. They didn't stay very long."

She craned to see over the edge, but it was too far, so she took another step. Then another. Moving away from the door... He sent up a silent thank-you to the G.o.ds.

"I need to be sure," he said.

She started, as if surprised to hear him speak.

He cleared his throat, lowering his pitch a notch, hoping it made him sound older, more confident. "I'll go downstairs, but I need to be sure the cops are gone. Do you see any?"

"Hold on."

She headed for the edge. He counted her steps. At five, he'd run. Two, three...

He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself to bolt for the door. An image flashed. The werewolf. Leaning against that exit door, hand on the k.n.o.b, face tense with strain as he listened.

Colm backpedaled. The girl wheeled, hands flying up again.

"It's okay," she said. "I was just checking..."

He saw her lips keep moving, but the sound didn't penetrate. He was trapped. Well and truly trapped, and a fool for thinking otherwise. A coward, desperately trying to avoid the unavoidable.

He glanced toward the edge of the roof and he knew what he had to do. What the k.u.mpania would want him to do. What Adele would expect him to do.

Take action. Be a man.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl's face paling, her eyes going wide, mouth opening in a shout. He wheeled and ran.

He heard her then, a wordless shout, her shoes crackling in the gravel. He saw the edge of the roof, saw it, and threw himself forward.

Then... nothing. There was nothing under his feet.

His heart seized, shock ramming into his throat as he realized what he'd done. He twisted, arms flying out, praying he could stop this, that she'd save him. He didn't care if that made him a coward. This wasn't what he really wanted.

He saw a figure flying over the edge after him. Not the girl, but the werewolf. Colm reached out, flailing for the man's outstretched hands. His fingers made contact, skin brushing skin. And then...

And then nothing.

HOPE.

She knew the boy was going to jump.

Hope saw him look at the edge. She felt his terror. She heard his thoughts. She knew knew.

Everything they'd done so far had only scared him more, and now, hearing that awful, unthinkable thought, what went through her head was don't move don't move! So she didn't. And in that hesitation, she'd lost him.

He'd bolted. She'd sprung after him. And Karl, on the other side of the door, heard it happen, heard whatever she screamed, and the door flew open and he barreled through and she'd seen his arm swing up, palm going out, thought he was warning her off. Then she felt the blow, his hand slamming into her solar plexus and the wind flying out of her lungs, her feet sailed out from under her and she hit the roof. Then Robyn was there, pulling her up and Hope scrambled to her feet, gaze shooting to the roof edge, seeing not the boy jumping but Karl.

Karl had lunged to catch the boy, grabbing for him, then realized that he'd gone over the edge. Anything the boy felt at that moment was drowned out by Karl's stunned mental oh s.h.i.t, oh s.h.i.t, his fear slamming Hope in the gut, knocking the wind out of her again, an iron spike of chaos power-driving into her skull. And if there was any pleasure to be found in that chaos, she didn't feel it. his fear slamming Hope in the gut, knocking the wind out of her again, an iron spike of chaos power-driving into her skull. And if there was any pleasure to be found in that chaos, she didn't feel it.

The boy fell.

Hope saw Karl's hand brush his, but it was only a brush. He twisted, catching the edge, and then the boy fell, and there was, for a horrible moment she would never purge from her memory, a surge of incredible relief. The boy fell. But Karl did not. That was all that mattered.

Hope dropped to her knees at the edge. She threw up. Heaved and spewed, vomit splattering over the metal ledge, dappling Karl's fingers, gripping the edge.

A sob hiccupped out, the burn of tears, shaking her head so hard she couldn't see.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh," Karl whispered. "I'm fine. I've got it. I've been in this situation before, as you may recall."

He'd shown her memory-visions of a time he'd tried to jump between buildings and missed, a chaos treat that she wasn't sure she could ever enjoy again.

Robyn raced up behind Hope. "Here, he can grab "

"No!" Hope turned on her, spitting the word. "Don't touch him."

"I'm okay, Robyn," Karl said. "Hope's right. Best not to help. I can do this."

"Quickly," Hope said. "Please."

It took two heaves, the first failed one jolting Hope's heart into her throat, but on the second, his feet swung up and stayed.

Only when he was safe did she remember the boy.

Hope leaned over the edge, but Karl caught her hand as he got up, and said simply, "No," and with that she knew the boy was dead.

"I have to check," she said.

Karl's jaw set, biting back the words. Hope still heard them, carried on a wave of anxiety and frustration.

"Hope's right," Robyn said, stepping forward. "We should check. Call an ambulance if there's any chance."

The look Karl would have liked to give Hope he shot at Robyn instead.

Robyn's confusion swirled around Hope. There was too much going on here, too much subtext Robyn could feel and couldn't understand.

This wasn't about checking on the boy; it was about Hope. She'd been so absorbed by the chaos of Karl jumping that she'd missed the boy's death. Those vibes would come later, in visions and nightmares, the horror and the bliss. She needed to get that over with now.

So they went downstairs. Or they did after cleaning up the vomit and searching the gravel roof for anything they might have dropped. The police might search up here, and that had to take priority.

When they arrived at ground level, there was still no wail of sirens. The boy had jumped at the side of the building, landing between it and a fence, and until someone happened to glance over and see a body on the pavement, he wouldn't be found.

But as they walked out the exit door, a wave of grief hit Hope, and she knew he had had been found. been found.

She caught Karl's sleeve. "Someone's there."

His chin lifted, nostrils flaring. Then he shook his head. The ping of frustration from him told her he meant the wind was wrong, not that no one was there.

Robyn stepped closer. "The police already?"

"No. I sense It's someone who knew him."

"Adele," Robyn murmured. "She must have circled back and seen."

"Robyn?" Karl said. "Can you shoot?"

Her expression answered.

"Will you, then." Impatience touched his voice. " you, then." Impatience touched his voice. "Could you?" you?"

"I don't understand," she said.

Hope did. Adele was in a pseudoalley. The best way to take her down was with people at either end. The one who currently held the gun couldn't be trusted not to float off to chaos candy-land when she got near the body.

"Between the two of us, we'll manage," Hope said.

FINN.

In Finn's experience, corporate executives fell into two groups: arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and smarmy poseurs. There were exceptions, Finn recognized, and Sean Nast seemed to be one. On the elevator ride up to his office, he asked where Finn's precinct was and how long he'd been in homicide, and said he imagined it wasn't an easy job, genuine civility mingled with natural curiosity.

Nast's office was as big as the detective room at the precinct. They were walking in when Finn's cell phone rang. Nast waited with that same politeness, devoid now of unbecoming curiosity, and when Finn said, "I need to answer this," he nodded and crossed the room to give Finn privacy.

It was Madoz. He had some time to spare and offered to help Finn track down Hope Adams, doing a sweep by her office and her hotel. Finn gave him the hotel name, but couldn't recall the room number.

"I've got it somewhere if you need it, but they were pretty good about giving it out. It's under her name. Hope Adams." He must have been louder than he thought, making Nast glance up from his Rolodex. "If you do find her, give me a shout."

When he hung up, Nast was walking around the desk.

"Seems I still have Irving's old cell number. His updated one is on my laptop, which I didn't bring in today. Give me a minute and I'll dig it up. Can I grab you a coffee on my way back?"

"Water, if you have it."

"There's a fridge by my desk. Just grab a bottle and anything else you'd like."

While Nast was gone, Finn conducted a plain-view search of the office. He didn't suspect the young man of anything not yet.

There was, as expected, a framed MBA. From Yale, also expected. Less expected was the location on the same wall as the door, partly hidden by palm fronds. Lieutenant Balough, always quick to put that psychology degree to work, would say the partly hidden MBA showed signs of shame, as if Nast had cheated or bought his way through college. Finn saw it more as modesty, maybe borderline ambivalence.

He took note, too, of the name on the degree. Sean Kristof Nast. Kristof the Nast who'd tried to slip out of testifying on the hit-and-run. His father?

The subject of family made Finn turn his attention to the photos. He counted nine on the desk and the filing cabinet top. Five featured Nast and a younger man brother? and an older one father? at various ages and in various combinations, with no sign of a mother.

There were only two women in the other pictures. Girls, Finn amended. One appeared in a group shot with Nast and friends. The other got two pictures, one of her and Nast arm-in-arm, making Finn leap to the "girlfriend" conclusion before noticing she had the same oddly bright blue eyes. In the other, she was alone, on horseback, and younger, maybe fourteen. He was examining that one when Nast returned and caught him looking at it.

"Sister?" he asked.

Nast stopped in midstride before giving a soft yes.

As Nast took shelter behind the big desk, there was a rigidity in his shoulders that hadn't been there earlier, and Finn knew he'd been taken aback, maybe even offended.

"She picked a nice spot to go riding, those mountains and all. Oregon, I bet."

A pause, then a curt, "Yes, Oregon. Now, I have Irving's cell number, so let's give that a try."

He dialed, listened, then shook his head. "Straight to voice mail Irving? It's Sean. Can you give me a call?" A tight smile. "It's not about the Boulder project, I promise."

The smile loosened only a fraction as he hung up. "Well, there. If he calls back, I'll tell him you want to speak to him. Do you have a card?"