Indefinite Renewal Page 21

  “Yeah, you too.” There wasn’t anything else to say, and he took a step back, turning to head back down the hall again as Lansford slid the door shut behind him. Well, that was actually pretty easy, he thought to himself as he retraced his steps—he had considered asking who handled Francisco’ accounts, there at the end, but had decided against it. Lansford probably wouldn’t have told him anyway, and then they would wonder why he wanted to know, and any element of surprise would be gone. He’d think of some way to try and find out next time he came.

  The lobby was empty when he reached it, stepping back into the realm of the elevator, and he examined the plants while he waited—they were real, of course, although he couldn’t see how they got enough light to survive, up here. Then the elevator came, and he forgot about the plants’ plight as he stepped in and pressed the button, heading back downstairs to the heat and the world he was more familiar with, away from this little kingdom of frigid air and shadowy plants and men like vultures in fancy suits. He shivered, even though the air wasn’t any colder in the little cubicle, and watched the numbers flash by with increasing speed.

  At least that was over with.

  “Well, at least that’s over with,” Daniel consoled him, handing him a tall glass of what looked like brandy but turned out, when he took a cautious sip, to be iced tea. He had come straight here after leaving the H&H building, to let Daniel know he had taken care of it, and to warn him not to come by the university again.

  “That could get to be annoying,” his father had muttered when he had told him about Detective Kanson’s visit. “I may have to take care of that, at some point.”

  “No!” Nick jumped up at the thought, surprising himself almost as much as Daniel, who took a quick step back before recovering his usual equanimity. “Don’t absorb her!”

  “Oh?” Daniel studied him for a second, the hints of a smile flitting across his lips as he tugged at his beard, and then shrugged. “Very well, if that’s what you want. I suppose I could just kill her, but that seems like such a waste.”

  “No,” Nick reiterated, shaking his head slowly. “Don’t touch her at all, okay? This is my problem now, and if it has to be dealt with, I’ll deal with it, my way.” He had no real intention of doing anything to her, and wasn’t sure what he would do, but the idea of his father draining the detective brought back unpleasant images of himself doing the same thing to Amy, and he resolved to save Detective Kanson if it was at all possible. His father studied him carefully while he was considering this, but finally simply shrugged and then nodded once.

  “All right, if that’s how you want to do it. It is your problem, as you say.” He took a swig from his own glass then—for a moment Nick wondered whether it wasn’t tea also, and the whole brandy bit just an image his father maintained, but then he caught a whiff of it in the still air and dropped the notion—and returned to his contemplation of the view outside the window.

  Nick stared at the older man for a minute, the rigid back and sharp planes of the face, then finished the last of his tea and set the glass down on the table. He remained standing.

  “I’ve got to get going,” he finally called out, and Daniel turned back to him, one eyebrow raised.

  “Oh? You only came by to tell me it was taken care of?”

  “Yeah, and to warn you about the cops—I promised a friend I’d give her a hand today, and I need to get moving.” He backed toward the door, watching his father the whole time.

  “I see.” Surprisingly, Daniel looked disappointed. “I had hoped that we could sit and talk for a bit, but if you’ve got other plans . . .” he managed a mild smile. “Perhaps tomorrow, or sometime soon?”

  Nick only shook his head, repressing an odd sense of guilt in what he was about to say. The man was his father, after all. “I won’t be around much for a while,” he admitted, and cursed the man for the faint lines of sorrow that suddenly creased his face. “I have some work I need to do—I’m working on a book now—and . . .” he took a deep breath and added a hint of uncertainty to his voice, a goal that turned out to remarkably easy, “and I just need some time alone, to think things through. To find myself,” he added wryly, and hid a smile at his own twist.

  “Of course,” Daniel replied, as long fingers caressed the stem of his glass. “I understand. I hope you will come by occasionally to let me know how you’re doing, though?” Either the man was an extremely adept actor, or he was actually having some paternal feelings now—Nick couldn’t decide which it was, or which would be worse.

  “Sure I will,” he responded, feeling like he was reassuring some old friend that he’d still write after they moved away. “I’ll be by from time to time. And besides, you’ll need to send me new instructions about the stock, whenever you have them.”

  “Right.” Daniel frowned for a moment, thinking about something, then refocused. “That probably won’t be for another month or so, though—that way the stocks will have changed appreciably, and hopefully I’ll have some idea of what I’ll want next.”

  “Fine.” Nick nodded and put his hand on the knob. “Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll come and get them from you, or you can send them to me.” He glanced quickly at his watch, and pulled the door open then. “I’ve got to go—I’ll see you later.”

  “Of course.” Anything else was cut off by the door, and Nick only paused long enough to make sure it was firmly shut before sprinting for the stairs. He hadn’t wanted to talk for too long anyway, just because Daniel still made him a little uncomfortable, but he was going to be late if he didn’t hurry. Chris would kill him if she had to sit and wait too long—she was an art student, and impatient.

  His steps echoed against the marble walls as he took the stairs two at a time, and a few of the others made way as he darted down the hall and through the front door. There’d be time to come back and chat with them later, maybe meet some of the others that he didn’t know yet—but for now he needed to make the train.

  “Great, so he runs in and runs out again—this is getting to feel like a racetrack around here!”

  “So he’s young, and energetic—you were that way once too, I’ll bet!”

  “When I was that way this country hadn’t even been discovered yet, and we didn’t have air-conditioning or electric lighting!”

  “So what does that have to do with anything? He was in a rush, obviously. He’ll be back at some point, for a longer space of time. We’ll talk more then.”

  “I hope so—after all this planning I’d hate to see nothing of him but his footprints down the hall.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The next month was busy. Nick gave his exam the next day, muscles still protesting from the workout they had gotten moving Chris the other day—she hadn’t mentioned that her new desk was a mammoth oak affair, or that the old one was being accompanied by a solid old dresser on its trip to the Salvation Army—and spent the next three days grading them and then tallying up the final results.

  He turned the grades in the day before they were due, and then spent a few days in the library, working on the review that Carmichael had given him and doing a little preliminary research on latent abilities.

  He was there late one night, scanning an article about Russia’s long history of trying to breed psychic talents, when his cell phone shuddered against his leg. The motion startled him but he smiled once he’d checked the caller ID, and he was still grinning as he answered, standing and quickly stepping outside so the call wouldn’t disturb anyone else.

  “Hey, Mom! I—”

  “I do so love the modern technology.” The voice that interrupted him was smooth, soft, almost oily, heavily accented—and most definitely male. It stopped Nick cold, to match the chill that suddenly shivered through him.

  “Where is she?” he demanded once he’d found his voice again. “If you’ve hurt her—”

  “The world would not notice in the least. One little sheep lost, while so many still roam free? Who can keep track?”
The man on the other end laughed, and something in that mocking sound was familiar. Nick frowned. He knew this man! Or at least they’d met.

  “Francisco.”

  “Ah, you do remember! I was afraid you had forgotten our brief introduction. You have been busy, after all. Daniel does like to keep his pets on such a short leash.” Now that he remembered, Nick could easily recognize the little Italian’s accent, and could all but see him smirking.

  “Where is my mother?”

  “She is safe . . . for now. Do as I say, and she will remain so. This will all become an unpleasant dream for her, nothing more—a hazy half-memory that fades with each year of her laughably short little life.”

  “What do you want?”

  “No, not over the phone—I do not trust these things. To send one’s voice over the empty air so! It gives me the shivers! Let us meet, rather. Someplace quiet.”

  “Fine.” Nick thought for a second. “There’s a parking lot behind the old gym. Closed off while they redo the place. That work for you?”

  “Admirably, dear boy. Shall we say one hour?”

  “I’ll be there. Bring my mother—I want to be make sure she’s okay.”

  “Of course. I look forward to it.”

  Nick hung up without replying. His blood was boiling, and he had to take several long, deep breaths and force himself to calm down, his hands slowly unclenching from the tight fists they’d balled into upon hearing Francisco’s voice. The slick little Italian had his mother! And for all his claims just now, Nick knew the older Renewed wasn’t likely to let her go.

  Or him, for that matter.

  Francisco was Daniel’s biggest rival. And the battle between them was more than just a game, or a friendly rivalry. There was real hatred there, as Nick had seen that day back at the club.

  And now he’d been dragged into the middle.

  Most likely, Francisco planned to drain him, just to wave the act in Daniel’s face. Nick was nothing more than a pawn.

  Nick left the library without a backward glance, taking the steps to the street in long, quick strides and turning toward his apartment—and the item he had stashed there.

  This pawn had teeth of its own.

  An hour later, he paced the parking lot, using the movement both to calm his nerves and to ward off the evening’s chill. Even in his long coat it was cool out, too cool to be just standing around outside. He’d gotten here a minute or two early, but that had been at least five minutes ago now. Still no sign of Francisco.

  Had this all been some kind of sick prank?

  But no, there were lights bouncing down the service road that led to this lot. As Nick watched, those lights resolved into headlights, and the dark shape behind them slowly gained definition and revealed itself to be a low, sleek sports car. The shark-like front end stopped mere feet from his legs, and then the door opened and a slight figure emerged. Nick tried to peer into the car, but the headlights were still on and their blinding light made it impossible for him to see past them.

  “And here we are,” Francisco announced, both arms outstretched as he turned a slow circle. “Delightful!”

  “Where is my mother?” Nick demanded. “I said to bring her!” He still had both hands in his pockets, and kept them there.

  “And I don’t take orders for helpless puppies!” The playfulness was gone from the other man’s tone, revealing sharp steel and bitter rage beneath. “So hold your tongue, or I’ll mail her back to you in one of those little padded envelopes!”

  Nick glared and considered taking a swing at the older Renewed, but knew that was just what the other man wanted. Instead he held his tongue and backed up a few steps, putting a little more space between them. That actually helped a bit—farther from the car he could look past its lights a bit more, and thought he could just make out a figure slumped in the passenger seat.

  It stood to reason that, if Francisco were using his mother as a hostage for Nick’s good behavior, he’d want to keep her close.

  Nick needed to be sure, though. “Fine, I’m not demanding,” he called out. “I’m asking. Please tell me where she is.”

  Francisco laughed, but Nick saw the faint flicker as his eyes darted toward the car for just a second. “She is perfectly safe,” he promised. “We can talk more of that anon. We have other matters to discuss first, however.”

  That was all Nick had needed. “No, I really don’t think we do.” He almost laughed at the other man’s shocked expression. “What, did you think I was just going to let you drain me? You really think I’m that stupid?”

  “I think you will submit to my demands or your mother will face the consequences,” the Italian replied sharply, taking a quick, almost mincing step toward him.

  But Nick shook his head and backed away again, his longer legs easily increasing the gap between them. “You have no intention of letting either of us live, and we both know it.” He watched Francisco’s face closely, and saw the need to brag battle with the desire to lie—and win.

  “Well, well—so you have some intelligence after all.” It was almost a compliment. “I am almost sorry for this—we have not had new blood in quite some time, and with enough time and a chance to wean you away from Daniel, you might have been almost worth talking to.” Francisco took a step again, and a slow smile spread across his face when Nick didn’t bother to back away. “Good, good. Just submit to your fate, and it will all be over soon.”

  “Yes, it will.” Nick pulled both hands free of his coat pockets. The right took more doing, but finally cleared the cloth.

  Then he raised the gun he was holding in that hand, and shot Francisco point-blank in the chest.

  Phut! Phut!

  The gun made barely a sound, thanks to its silencer—good old Charlie, always prepared!—and the flash was all but invisible against the headlights, but Francisco stumbled backward, slipped, and dropped to one knee, his graceful hands fluttering up to clutch at the blood spurting from his torso.

  “What?”

  “It’s called a gun,” Nick explained, moving to stand near the fallen Renewed. But not too close. “One of those quaint modern technologies you like so much.”

  “You shot me!” The surprise and affront in his tone were almost laughable.

  “Yes. And now you’re bleeding out. Rather quickly. You’ll be dead in a few minutes.”

  Francisco raised one blood-covered hand feebly in his direction. “Help me!” All the bravado had fled his voice now.

  “Why should I?” Nick asked, crouching down safely out of reach and studying the other man coldly. “You kidnapped my mother, and planned to drain us both dry. Why should I do anything except walk away?”

  “Your mother . . . she’s in the car. There!” Francisco coughed, a wet, bubbling sound, and some blood frothed up between his lips. “She’s not hurt—I took just enough to knock her out, and that’s it!”

  “But you meant to do much more,” Nick reminded him. “As soon as you’d dealt with me. Guess that didn’t work out the way you’d planned, eh?”

  “You can’t just leave me here to die!” There was real fear in the other man’s voice now, and Nick had to steel himself not to reach out and end this. But if he gave in now, Francisco would just try again. He couldn’t let that happen.

  “I can, in fact,” he said instead, rising to his feet and stepping back to evade the older Renewed’s desperate attempt to catch his leg. “They’ll find your body in the morning, or maybe a few days from now, and everyone will assume it was a mugging turned violent. Or maybe a drug deal gone sour. Either way, I won’t have to worry about you trying anything like this ever again.”

  “I won’t!” Francisco promised, his voice already going weak and thready. In the glare of the headlights Nick could see the pallor beneath the other man’s normally dark complexion—and the dark stain spreading across the asphalt below him. “I swear it! I’ll never bother you again!”

  “You say that now, but if you survive, what’s to say you won’t
change your mind?” Nick asked.

  “I won’t! You have my word as a d’Montan!”

  “Like that means anything,” Nick muttered, but he crouched back down. He’d had surprisingly little trouble shooting the other man, but leaving him here to die was a bit harder. “Fine,” he said finally. “But I’m telling you now, you ever pull anything like this ever again, I’ll shoot you again. In the head, this time. No recovering from that, not even for one of us.”

  Then, before he could think better of it, he reached out and grasped Franciso’s blood-spattered hand.

  As had happened before, time lurched to a crawl.

  But this time, Nick kept a tight rein on his emotions—and his energy. He was in control here. He could feel Francisco scrabbling at him, trying to pull out his vitality the same way a drowning man flounders and flails at anyone coming within reach. He carefully staved off those attempts, which was made easier by the Italian’s injuries—he tamped down on the flow, allowing only a trickle to seep through.

  It was enough.

  He could feel the fatigue as he let the energy go, but it wasn’t all-encompassing as it had been before. This time it was just mild weariness, and Nick’s mind and senses stayed sharp—and his grip on the pistol stayed firm, its barrel still leveled at the other man’s head.

  When he judged it had been enough, when Francisco’s breathing had steadied and the color had crept back into his face, Nick released his grip and stood. He was pleased to find he was only mildly unsteady.

  “That ought to be enough to see you home,” he called over his shoulder as he strode toward the car. “You can heal up the rest of the way there.” He yanked the passenger door open, fully prepared to turn back and finish the job if Francisco had lied, but was relieved to see his mother sitting there, securely belted in and deeply asleep. Nick knelt and unhooked her, then shoved the pistol back in his coat pocket and hoisted her out of the car, draping her over his shoulder like a sleeping child. Fortunately she was a petite woman and he had inherited Daniel’s height—with that and his recently increased strength he was able to carry her easily.