Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [126]
“No. I heard about it all the way back,” I complained.
“Did you draw any undue attention to yourself, or to him?” he asked.
“No. Except that I drew out GI Jerk-face for a private conversation. I don’t think anyone saw me do it, and we’ll be long gone from D.C. before anybody goes looking for him,” I concluded with more confidence than I felt.
Maybe Cal’s admonitions had worn me down more than I thought.
“I’m prepared to trust you on that matter,” said Ian. “Did you learn anything important from the man, before you made him into supper?”
“Yes and no. He confirmed some suspicions, and tried to point all the blame at Bruner—which may or may not be fair. He insisted that Project Bloodshot was closed, and that any further activities related thereunto were squarely on the major’s now-civilian shoulders. Except that it’s being funded by someone else. He claimed not to know who.”
“Do you believe him?”
“More or less. And I was right about Bruner using parkour clubs to scout for trespassers.”
“Trespassers?”
“Pawns. Disposable ones.” I sat down on the end of the love seat and drew up one leg so I could face Ian. Then I admitted, “I think Bolton might have actually seen it differently. He took umbrage at my suggestion that he was rounding up these kids for the slaughter. Maybe he assumed it was just a covert recruitment program. Maybe he didn’t know exactly what they’d be called upon to do, or how dangerous it would be.”
Adrian folded his arms and leaned, as he was prone to doing. “Maybe?”
“Maybe. And he’s too dead to ask for clarification now. So,” I tried, changing the subject. “What about you two? What’d you do while we were out wreaking havoc and killing people?”
“Watched TV,” said Adrian.
Ian smiled graciously and nodded. “I kept an ear on it. Ah. Here comes Cal.”
My joy overfloweth.
Sure enough, as predicted, he skulked into the room, shot me a disparaging look, and greeted his master. “Did she tell you she killed a guy?” he asked without any preamble.
“She told us,” Ian confirmed. “I’m sure she had her reasons.”
“I bet she did. So does this mean you two—” He made windshield-wiper finger gestures back and forth between me and Adrian. “—will be heading out now? I’m tired, and I’d like to settle in.”
“Enough adventuring for one evening, eh?” Ian asked, casual and not at all curious, probably knowing that Cal would be happy to settle down anyplace away from me. His loathing reeked off him like cheap cologne.
“Plenty,” he said.
“Great. Give me the keys,” I said.
“Give you my keys?” he parroted so high it was almost a squeal.
“You heard me,” I told him. “We don’t have a car yet, and there’s no such thing as a getaway bus. Remember what I was telling you?”
“I remember,” he grumbled as he forked over the keys with a slap. “Here. Take them. But it’s under my name, you know. So take care of it.”
I thought surely he must be joking, even though it didn’t sound like it. Who used real names anymore? Sometimes people are a mystery to me.
I let Cal off the hook by giving a let’s go head-nod to Adrian and saying, “Don’t worry, Cal, I’m done with you for now. You two have a lovely rest-of-your-evening, and we’ll be back in a few hours.”
Cal practically shoved us out the door and locked it behind us with what I felt was unnecessary, insulting speed. But the clack of the lock and the flip of the deadbolt made me feel like they were safe and secure, or at least staying put for now.
Adrian said, “You sure know how to win friends and influence people.”
“That’s why they call me Raylene. It’s Greek for ‘charming.’ ”
“You’re so full of shit,” he observed.
“You’re not the first to suggest it. You ready to hit the town?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He was tense. Really tense. It looked good on him; made all his manly muscles and lumps stand out, even though they were squeezed in close by the black ribbed sweater that fit him like everything else he owned: perfectly. I knew it was new. I knew he’d gone through my bag and taken money while I was asleep. So long as he didn’t go nuts