Six months of hide-and-seek, building his reputation and his wealth. Six months of relentless caution and patience. Six months while his children grew up without him, while Natalie dealt with God knew what, while his former colleagues hunted him. Six months of never making the first step in John Smith’s direction.
Until today. He could only hope that the table he’d set for Zane was tempting enough.
He finished the salmon and licked his fingers. The clouds had broken, and the world outside glowed shadowless Easter colors. Magic hour. The double panes of glass canceled sound, turning the world into a mime show, a bright and dazzling spectacle for his eyes alone. That was the lure of wealth, he’d discovered; a throaty whisper in your ear that you were special, that it was all—this wine, this woman, this world—for you. That it in some way existed only so that you might partake of it. He liked it, a lot. Liked being part of the aristocracy, the one percent who had enough money to do whatever they chose.
He’d trade it in a second to be back in the front yard, spinning his children in a whirling arc of joy.
The phone rang. He rocked the chair back on two legs and stretched for it. Let it ring while he checked the display.
Zane.
Cooper smiled.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Funny thing about Chicago’s business district—it had a faucet.
Most of the day was a steady trickle, tourists, shoppers, and the like. At night, the faucet was cranked down to a bare drip. But there were certain moments when the thing was opened full stream, and the streets and sidewalks transformed to wild rapids of humanity. The first was the morning commute. The third was the evening rush back to the trains.
Cooper sat in the window of a falafel joint waiting for the second. Outside the smudged windows, cars wove slowly south. The concrete chasm effect was even more claustrophobic here on Wells, where the tracks for the El cut the sky into thin slivers. He checked his watch. Almost…
Lunchtime.
The sidewalks were suddenly thronged, people hurrying and jostling in braided vectors. Cooper picked up his plastic shopping bag and joined them. As always, the crowd made him uncomfortable. Too much stimulus, too many intentions.
The day was clear and cold. He craned his neck upward, saw nothing but the towers of industry rising to a pale blue sky. Half a block north he climbed the stairs up to the El, careful to move within a crowd, a cluster of twentysomething businessmen laughing and talking. His right shoe was tight and awkward, but his body felt loose and strong, tingling with anticipated adrenaline. Cooper swiped his card and walked through the turnstile. A portico shaded the platform. Holographic ads for beauty products and movies danced along the railing overlooking the street. The buildings pressed close; ten feet off the edge, people in office buildings did…well, whatever people in office buildings did. He’d never been sure.
Cooper walked halfway down the platform. He tossed the plastic shopping bag at the trash and missed, the bag landing at the base of the metal can. He left it there and took a seat on the third bench. The portico hid the sky.
In five minutes Zane’s hacker would be here, or not. He was betting on not.
A train rounded the curve, ungodly noisy. There had been talk for years of retrofitting the tracks to allow a maglev train, faster and quieter, but the money had never been in the city’s budget. Cooper was glad of it; he liked the El the way it was. Old-world thinking, sure, but the rattle and clank made him happy. He rested his arms on the back of the bench, crossed his legs.
As the Brown Line pulled in, the platform erupted into a mass of motion. People jostled to get off as others fought to get on. Conversations, phone calls, music. Excuse-mes and curses. A man rapped to himself as he walked, completely unselfconscious. The wave of humanity crested with a recorded tone and the announcement that doors were closing. The tide pulled away with the train, leaving the platform suddenly empty.
Except for a very, very pretty girl who had not been there a moment ago.
Cooper blinked, startled. His palms went sweaty and the back of his neck tingled.
The Girl Who Walks Through Walls wore boots to the knee, soft tights to the hem of her skirt, a fitted shirt, and a loose jacket that had plenty of space in the cuff to conceal the snub-nosed pistol she was pointing at his chest.
She said, “Get up.”
Cooper stared—
She is not part of the plan. She’s a surprise on a day with no margin for error. In about sixty seconds, everything is going to explode.
Why is she here? Why now? She can’t be working with Zane.
There must be sources within the department. John Smith has informers.
And how the hell does she do that, anyway?
—at her, conscious, suddenly, that his mouth was open. He closed it. Was this how other people felt about what he could do? Her ability to move unseen was uncanny. He could have sworn he’d been looking right at that spot. “You made it out of the Exchange, I guess.”
“Stand up. I won’t say it again.”
He read her intent in the lines of her shoulder, the set of her mouth, the fury in her eyes, and he stood up. Slowly. “I don’t work for the DAR anymore,” he said. “Shooting me won’t help your boss.”
“I’m not here for that. I’m here for Brandon Vargas.”
His bafflement must have shown on his face. Her lips tightened. “Of course. You don’t remember. He was just another number to you. Walk.” She gestured with her head, not the gun. A pro.
Cooper glanced in the direction she indicated. The nearer exit. She meant to take him off the platform before shooting him. Normally he’d have welcomed that, knowing that every second he was alive he’d have a chance to turn this around. But not today.
Today stepping out from under the roof was a death sentence.
“Listen to me,” he said. “There’s something you need to know.”
“Start moving or I’ll shoot you right here.”
“I don’t think so. You’re not actually invisible. You may know how to be where people aren’t looking, but I’m betting once they’re staring, you’re just as screwed as anyone else who fires a gun on an El platform.”
“Maybe I’ll risk it.”
“For Brandon Vargas?”
“Don’t you say his name. His life was shit because of men like you. Men like you put him in an academy. Men like you made him a slave. And when he refused to join the government after he graduated, you killed him. You’re the boot of the system, Cooper. It’s your job to step on human beings. And you don’t even remember them.”
“I shot Brandon Vargas thirteen months ago,” he said quietly, “behind a biker bar in Reno. We talked first. He smoked a cigarette, a Dunhill Red. Then he made a run for it, a reckless one. Tell you the truth, I don’t think he was trying to escape. I think he wanted me to end things. Wanted me to stop him.”
A spectrum of emotions rolled across her face. The detail about the cigarette had been the clincher. Had Brandon been friend, family, or lover? If it was the former, he might be able to talk her down. If it was one of the latter two…
“I remember everyone I’ve killed,” Cooper said. “I didn’t go after Brandon because he wouldn’t join the DAR. I went after him because he started robbing banks and shooting people. In the last one it was a woman and her two-year-old daughter. The girl was in a stroller. It was an accident, but she’s still dead.” There was motion in his peripheral vision. People coming onto the platform. He desperately wanted to turn and look, but didn’t dare. “Yes, his childhood sucked. But I don’t think that buys him a license to shoot two-year-olds. Do you?”