wheel and tried to focus on the long, flat road in front of her. “I’m fine,” she told the horizon.
You’re in pain.
“We’ll talk about it later.”
His presence faded again. Very well.
She almost wished he wouldn’t go. It was a long drive from Silver Wells to the hospital, and the company would have been nice. But James hadn’t been good company lately—they had barely spoken since Betty died.
The sun was high in the sky when she parked in the hospital parking garage. Elise found McIntyre in the third floor hallway. He had taken a chair in the corner and stretched out with his eyes shut. He appeared to be asleep, but she knew he wasn’t—kopides weren’t wired to sleep in public areas.
“What do you want?” he asked when she approached, voice gravelly with fatigue. He had been unkempt the day before, but after the stress of his morning, he looked downright indigent.
“Who is Michele Newcomb?” she asked. He paled, ducked his head, and scrubbed a hand over his jaw without responding. “As soon as I arrived in Silver Wells, I got arrested by the Union for murder. Apparently, Lucas McIntyre was the last person to see her alive.”
“I don’t know what you—”
She dropped her voice to a growl. “Give me one good reason to keep up this idiotic charade. One reason. I’ve dropped everything to help you keep your territory, and I find myself accused of murder ?”
McIntyre waited for a nurse to shuffle past with a cart before responding. “We can’t talk about it here. Listen—they’re going to do a c-section tomorrow if this induction doesn’t work, and—”
“I don’t care if your wife is getting lobotomized tomorrow. Did you kill Michele Newcomb?” Elise leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She held a hidden blade against her arm, and his gaze dropped to the glint of silver.
McIntyre swallowed hard. “Let’s walk. Cafeteria’s downstairs. Hungry?”
“No.”
“I am.”
She tailed him to the cafeteria without putting the knife away. Walking beside another kopis was always a weird dance—two paranoid people trying to keep the other in their sights.
The cafeteria was a gray, unpleasant place built of linoleum and concrete. McIntyre piled a plate high with stale pizza and joined Elise at one of the tables. He dropped a cup of coffee in front of her. She didn’t touch it.
“You recognized her name,” she said. “You reacted when I said it.”
“Michele Newcomb’s some Union recruiter. She was the one sending enlistment materials before the summit.” McIntyre dug into his food.
“They found her car a few miles away from your trailer.”
He slowly chewed his pizza. Elise wished that James were there—he would have been able to read that strange expression on McIntyre’s face and know what it meant. Other peoples’ body language meant little to her; it was a foreign language she didn’t speak. He could have been admitting guilt with that frown, and she would never have been able to tell.
“There are a lot of demons around for the summit,” he finally said. “Anyone could have killed her. What happened to your hand?”
Elise held it up. Just acknowledging the break was enough to make it start hurting again. “The arrest wasn’t gentle.”
He swallowed like the pizza was a rock and grimaced. “I figured the Union would be a pain in the ass. They always are. I didn’t think they’d break your hand.”
She emptied her coffee in one gulp. “If I find out you knew more than you’re letting on, I’m going to come visit you again. And it won’t be a little talk over lunch.” Elise dropped the cup on the table. “If I find out that you killed Michele Newcomb, I will give you to the Union.”
McIntyre wiped his mouth on a napkin. His lips drew into a frown. “Would you? Really?”
Elise really, really wished she could read his facial expression.
She dropped her eyes to the empty cup. “Come on, Lucas. Cut me a break. You are telling me the
You’re in pain.
“We’ll talk about it later.”
His presence faded again. Very well.
She almost wished he wouldn’t go. It was a long drive from Silver Wells to the hospital, and the company would have been nice. But James hadn’t been good company lately—they had barely spoken since Betty died.
The sun was high in the sky when she parked in the hospital parking garage. Elise found McIntyre in the third floor hallway. He had taken a chair in the corner and stretched out with his eyes shut. He appeared to be asleep, but she knew he wasn’t—kopides weren’t wired to sleep in public areas.
“What do you want?” he asked when she approached, voice gravelly with fatigue. He had been unkempt the day before, but after the stress of his morning, he looked downright indigent.
“Who is Michele Newcomb?” she asked. He paled, ducked his head, and scrubbed a hand over his jaw without responding. “As soon as I arrived in Silver Wells, I got arrested by the Union for murder. Apparently, Lucas McIntyre was the last person to see her alive.”
“I don’t know what you—”
She dropped her voice to a growl. “Give me one good reason to keep up this idiotic charade. One reason. I’ve dropped everything to help you keep your territory, and I find myself accused of murder ?”
McIntyre waited for a nurse to shuffle past with a cart before responding. “We can’t talk about it here. Listen—they’re going to do a c-section tomorrow if this induction doesn’t work, and—”
“I don’t care if your wife is getting lobotomized tomorrow. Did you kill Michele Newcomb?” Elise leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. She held a hidden blade against her arm, and his gaze dropped to the glint of silver.
McIntyre swallowed hard. “Let’s walk. Cafeteria’s downstairs. Hungry?”
“No.”
“I am.”
She tailed him to the cafeteria without putting the knife away. Walking beside another kopis was always a weird dance—two paranoid people trying to keep the other in their sights.
The cafeteria was a gray, unpleasant place built of linoleum and concrete. McIntyre piled a plate high with stale pizza and joined Elise at one of the tables. He dropped a cup of coffee in front of her. She didn’t touch it.
“You recognized her name,” she said. “You reacted when I said it.”
“Michele Newcomb’s some Union recruiter. She was the one sending enlistment materials before the summit.” McIntyre dug into his food.
“They found her car a few miles away from your trailer.”
He slowly chewed his pizza. Elise wished that James were there—he would have been able to read that strange expression on McIntyre’s face and know what it meant. Other peoples’ body language meant little to her; it was a foreign language she didn’t speak. He could have been admitting guilt with that frown, and she would never have been able to tell.
“There are a lot of demons around for the summit,” he finally said. “Anyone could have killed her. What happened to your hand?”
Elise held it up. Just acknowledging the break was enough to make it start hurting again. “The arrest wasn’t gentle.”
He swallowed like the pizza was a rock and grimaced. “I figured the Union would be a pain in the ass. They always are. I didn’t think they’d break your hand.”
She emptied her coffee in one gulp. “If I find out you knew more than you’re letting on, I’m going to come visit you again. And it won’t be a little talk over lunch.” Elise dropped the cup on the table. “If I find out that you killed Michele Newcomb, I will give you to the Union.”
McIntyre wiped his mouth on a napkin. His lips drew into a frown. “Would you? Really?”
Elise really, really wished she could read his facial expression.
She dropped her eyes to the empty cup. “Come on, Lucas. Cut me a break. You are telling me the
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