Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [98]
“Because he told me in an email.” Something else occurred to me. “And I told him I was going to be in D.C. come the weekend. What’s today, Tuesday?”
“Tuesday, going on Wednesday,” he said, glancing at the clock as if it were a calendar.
“Shit. Well, we still have a few days to get there and kick around before he expects me.”
His eyes widened. “You told him to expect you? What kind of—”
“Look, I had my reasons. I needed to know where his office was, so I asked him if he’d tell me—on the grounds that I’d visit him when I’m in town. And he went for it. Sometimes it’s exactly that easy, you know? The vast majority of people in this world are not even a fraction as careful and crazy as I am. So this is fine. It’s no big deal, and nobody knows we’re coming. We’re free and clear, and we’re going,” I insisted stubbornly, even though I only half believed myself.
“What makes you think I’ll come with you?” Adrian asked.
“I think you’ll come with me because Ian might’ve known your sister. He might even know what happened to her—how she was turned, and what happened to her before the military caught up to her, and kept her. And you want to know about it.”
He mulled this over, and then said, “No promises past meeting your client, just for a conversation. But okay. I’m in at least that far.”
“Good,” I said, as if that settled everything, but I was pretty sure it hadn’t. I was pretty sure I had Adrian along until Major Bruner was taken out of the picture in a permanent fashion, but maybe that was an unfair conclusion to draw.
Yet when I looked at this beautiful man with one hand holding up a towel, his jaw set firm, and his eyes staring down at the paper … I knew that this was a man who wanted answers. He wanted the vengeance he’d never had the opportunity to take.
And here I was, offering to draw him a map and give him a ride.
10
Ian was somewhat less excited about meeting up in Washington, D.C., than I’d expected. I think his impatience was getting to him, but he was too much of a class act to scream at me on the phone. Instead, his voice took on that polite tightness that almost disappointed me with its lack of friendliness.
Not that I should ever try to make friends with my clients, because obviously, I shouldn’t. But still.
Eventually I conveyed the urgency to him—how I’d reconsidered, and we’d be running extra risks by scanning and copying and emailing the material, opening ourselves up to heaven knew what sort of tracking was tied to my email account, or my computer, or whatever. We knew I’d originally scored the feds’ attention via the contact with Bad Hatter, may he rest in peace or live on in infamy wherever he was, but given our nervousness about potential satellite observation, we didn’t know if I’d brought the net down on Adrian.
This final point did in Ian’s resistance, and his voice turned from icy aggravation to unhappy acquiescence. “You’re right,” he told me with a sigh. “I know you are. It’s only that I’ve waited so long, and Dr. Keene has been so patient.”
“He’s the guy who’s trying to fix your eyes, in Canada?”
“That’s right. And I hate to drag this out any longer than strictly necessary. I’ve been keeping him loosely informed regarding the situation, and I fear he’s becoming tired of hearing that I almost have the paperwork in hand. So far, he’s been kind enough to keep himself available—nearly on call—for me over the last year, but he’s preparing to leave the country next month and I don’t know when I’ll next have the opportunity to consult with him.”
“He’s leaving the country?” I echoed.
Ian said, “He’s a member of Doctors Without Borders. He’ll be going away on a volunteer work sabbatical, to Southeast Asia I believe.”
“Sounds like quite a saint. Can’t you follow him there for treatment?”
“I could,” he told me. “And I almost certainly will, if I have no other choice. But I’d rather engage him at his own facilities in Toronto. He’s led me to believe that they’re rather superior to where he’ll be working gratis.” He laughed nervously. “By now, he’s almost