a woman were married, would you hit on her?»
Jane's boss frowned, then shook his head slowly. «No.»
«Well, what do you know. That's the right answer.»
As V headed to the door, he wanted to lay down a minefield of triggers in the guy's brain, forge
all sorts of neuropathways so that if the bastard thought of Jane sexually he'd feel dread or
nausea or maybe burst into tears like a total sissy. After all, adverse impulse training was a
godsend when it came to deprogramming. But V wasn't a symphath, so it would be hard to pull
off without a serious time commitment, and besides, that kind of shit was likely to drive
someone to madness. Especially someone who was as strong-minded as Manello.
He took one last look at his rival. The surgeon was staring up at him with confusion, but not fear,
his dark brown eyes aggressive and intelligent. It was hard to admit, but in V's absence the man
probably would have made a good mate for Jane.
The bastard.
Vishous was about to turn away when he got a vision so crisp and clear that it was like it had
been before his premonitions had dried up.
Actually, it wasn't a vision. It was one word. That made no sense whatsoever.
Brother.
Weird.
V scrubbed the doctor good and clean and dematerialized.
Manny Manello put his elbows on his desk, rubbed his temples, and groaned. The pain in his
head had its own heartbeat, and his skull seemed to have turned into an echo chamber. Just as
bad, his brain's radio dial was spinning. Random thoughts bounced all around, a tossed salad of
little importance: He had to take his car in for service, he needed to finish going through those
residency applications, he was out of Sam Adams, his Monday-night b-ball game had been
switched to Wednesday.
Funny, if he looked beyond the swarm of nothing special, he had the sense that all the activity
was… hiding something.
For no particular reason he had an image of the mauve crocheted throw blanket that hung on the
back of his mother's mauve couch in his mother's mauve living room. The damn thing was never
used for warmth, and God help you if you tried to pull it off. The thing's sole purpose was to hide
a stain from when his father had spilled a plate of Franco-American spaghetti all over the place.
After all, there was only so far you could go with a spray bottle of Resolve, and that canned shit
had red dye number five in it. Which was so not a look on a mauve canvas.
Just like that blanket, his scattered thoughts were obstructing some kind of stain in his brain,
although damned if he knew what it was.
He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his Breitling. Past two A.M.
Time to go home.
As he packed up, the sense that he'd spaced on something important, and he kept looking at the
left-hand corner of his desk. There was a paperless stretch there, the grained wood showing
through in what was otherwise a snowbank of work.
The empty space was the size of a file folder.
Something had been taken from there. He knew it. He just couldn't figure out what, and the
harder he tried the more his head pounded.
He walked over to the door.
On the way past his private bathroom, he popped in, found his trusty bottle of five-hundred-
count Motrin and took two.
He really needed a vacation.
Chapter Forty-four
Maybe this wasn't the best idea, Phury thought as he stood in the doorway of the bedroom next to
his at the Brotherhood's mansion. At least the household was otherwise occupied, so he hadn't
had to deal with anyone yet. But man, things were looking rocky.
Crap.
Across the way, Cormia sat on the edge of the bed, that drape clutched at her breasts, her eyes
like two marbles in a big glass jar. She was so rattled, he wanted to take her back to the Other
Side, but what waited for her there was no better. He didn't want her to face the Directrix's firing
squad.
Wasn't going to stand for that shit.
«If there's anything you need, I'm just next door.» He leaned out and pointed to the left. «I figure
you can stay here for a day or so and get some rest. Have a little time to yourself. Sound good?»
She nodded, her blond hair falling over her shoulder.
For no particular reason he noticed it was a nice color, especially in the dim light of the bedside
lamp. It reminded him of polished pine, a rich, shiny yellow.
«Would you like anything to eat?» he asked. When she shook her head, he went over to the
phone and put his hand on
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