Speaking of Grace, that’s who met me at the hospital door. She wore the same tired clothes from yesterday, splattered with meat-skin blood, and even with bags under her eyes, she looked beautiful. Though she favored her right foot, she offered me a hand. “I thought this time I’d drive. Even with my injury, I can get us to the airport without any side trips.”
I trudged around the car and opened the door.
“I said, I’m driving.” She flashed me an angry glare.
I bowed my head. “A gentleman opens the car door for a lady.”
She sure didn’t open the car door for me. I got in, strapped on my seat belt, and wondered what we’d talk about for twenty-five minutes. Or three hours, on the plane. “Is my gear bag in the trunk?”
Grace hit the open freeway and changed over four lanes in one smooth sweep. “Director Bismuth said you wouldn’t be needing your armor.”
A wave of panic like an ocean undertow hit me. “We have to go back.”
She didn’t look away from the road. “We have to make our flight this time. You might not care, but I need my job.”
I fought down the nerves. “Please. Please. Ms. Roberts— Grace. We have to go to BSI headquarters. I left something personal there.” I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice.
She slowed down so we weren’t passing state troopers and glanced over her shoulder. “She sent a box for you. In the backseat.”
I almost threw myself over the seat, wincing as my stiches pulled, but my hands brushed cold steel. I slid the box back into my lap and ran my thumb over the lock. With a hiss, the bars retracted.
Inside, black velvet cradled my blades. The only part of my arsenal I couldn’t rebuild or replace. Relief made me weak and accented the pain coursing through me.
I waited for her to ask. Ask about the blades. Or why my hands shook when I didn’t know where they were.
She waited until we almost reached the airport. “You want to tell me about this place we’re going? Some sort of survivalist compound? Do they eat dogs? Train with rattlesnakes and run on broken glass?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No. Emelia and Bran take after Mom.” I’d said the word “Mom.” I bit my lip. “Emelia’s a doctor. Bran sells insurance. Life, car, whatever.”
We pulled up at the airport, where the BSI courier took our car. At the security center, I dropped the bag with my blade box on the conveyor and took out my BSI badge.
The guard waved me on through, but stopped Grace.
“Grace Roberts? I need to see your badge, ma’am.”
Grace fumbled around her neck and brought out the placard. “Why?”
He handed her the second metal box in my bag. “Signing your weapon through.”
Grace managed to keep her shock hidden until after we’d exited to the concourse. There, she found a seat and snapped the box open. Inside sat a Deliverator and three magazines. She read the scrawled note attached and clamped the lid closed like her gun might try to escape.
While she fussed, looking out the window, I snatched a glimpse at the note. In handwriting like smashed spiders, it read, “Another relic from my days collecting samples. Welcome to the field. Don’t get dead.”
Seven
BRYNNER
The first hour in a metal can with Grace left me no doubt how she felt. She’d probably heard stories about me. Most of them were true. Maybe all of them. It wasn’t her animosity that bothered me. An angry woman is one step from a passionate woman. It was the way she distanced herself, even crammed into airline seats, flying cargo class. The luggage had more room than we did, but Grace didn’t even brush elbows with me.
And I worried about what she’d think when she met Emelia and Bran. They knew secrets I didn’t share with anyone.
Then the in-flight service came. The flight attendant checked back with me over and over, each time showing enough ivory in her smile to make a poacher jealous. Certainly enough to make Grace jealous. Of my drink.
“Excuse me,” she said as the flight attendant brushed my arm. “Could I get another glass of wine?”
The flight attendant shook her head. “I’m sorry, miss. We’re all out.” Then she leaned over and whispered in my ear, her lips tickling. “Can I bring you anything from first class?”
“Wine.” I winked at her. “Red, please.”
“Of course, Mr. Carson. It’s an honor to have you on board.”