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Fideli held up a finger, watching the now rapidly strobing pyramid. “Thirty seconds, man. ”
McCallister glanced at him, then focused back on Bryn. “Please,” he said. “Do what I’m telling you. And be careful. ”
“Why do you care?” she asked, mystified.
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t think you’d understand even if I told you. ” His cell phone buzzed for attention, and he pulled it out and checked the screen. “I’m due for a meeting in fifteen. We need to wrap this up. ”
The little flashing-red device was really working now, clearly warning them failure was approaching. Bryn quickly looked at Fideli. “One more thing: did you find Fast Freddy?”
“Not yet. But I will, no doubt about it. ” He glanced down. “Time. ” He tapped the top of the pyramid, and it went back to a lifeless black plastic object. He waved silently at the two of them, shooing them to leave. McCallister nodded, opened the door, and ushered Bryn back out into the hallway. As they left the empty office behind, it was like the whole thing had never even happened.
“You have a full understanding of your position with us, Bryn?” McCallister asked, back to the poised, confident corporate exec. She had no choice but to nod. “Excellent. If you have any questions, my number’s programmed into your cell phone, as is Joe’s. If we need to meet, you can call me and ask me out on a date. ”
“Excuse me?”
“Was that unclear? Ask me to coffee. Or dinner. Whatever seems convenient. Simply to ensure you’re maintaining your cover in the field. ”
“You are unbelievable. ”
There went that tiny little smile again, tight and controlled, meaning nothing. “I do date, Bryn. Occasionally. ”
She bet he did it on a schedule. 1900 to 2100 hours, dinner. 2100 to 2115, drive the girl home. 2115 to 2130, sex. 2135, shower, kiss good-bye. 2140, drive home.
“I don’t date jackasses,” she said. “Just so we’re clear. ”
If she’d expected to hurt his feelings, she was disappointed. “You express yourself with great clarity,” he said, as if it couldn’t have mattered less to him. They were back at his office again, and he opened the door and went inside. When she tried to follow, he held out his hand to stop her at the door. “Your escort will be with you in a moment. ”
“What about the, uh, Code Red?”
She was already talking to the wood, which had closed decisively in her face.
She needn’t have worried. By the time she’d finished the sentence, there was someone at her elbow wearing a green badge and a Pharmadene blazer, mutely inviting her to proceed toward the elevator, please.
“Jackass,” she muttered to the door, and followed orders. She had the feeling there were going to be a lot of orders to come, and she wasn’t going to enjoy it.
At all.
With nothing better to do than wait for the construction, Bryn went back to her apartment. It felt very strange pulling the big, shiny Town Car into a slot in the very working-class parking area; she felt like a total fraud. Her neighbors would be gossiping like mad, dying to know how she’d come into such a windfall. She’d have to get her story together.
Right. Rich dead uncle, inherited the business, blah, blah.
Bryn climbed the stairs to the second floor and unlocked the door, not even thinking about any of it; she was focused instead on the heavy weight of the box in her arms that McCallister had given her. Have to get a holster for this sucker, she thought. Having a heavy handgun like this rattling around in her purse or stuck in her waistband, gangsta style, wasn’t going to cut it.
She hip-bumped the door closed and reached for the light switch, then hesitated, because her instincts suddenly woke up and screamed. She didn’t know why for a second, and then she heard the subtle whisper of breathing in the dark.
Oh, God. Fast Freddy. He’s here!
No time to get the box open and the gun ready for use.
Bryn dropped her purse to the floor, flipped the light switch, and swung the heavy box in a short, powerful arc that connected perfectly with—
Nothing.
It didn’t connect at all, because the breathing wasn’t human, and there was no head in the way. Her bulldog, Mr. French, looked up at her with sleepy, disappointed brown eyes, snorted, and shook himself in a ripple of loose skin and fur. He turned around three times and plopped down on the floor next to his empty food bowl.
“Holy crap, dog, you scared the hell out of me!” Bryn gasped, and staggered over to the small card table she had in place of a dining room set. She put the box on it, retrieved her purse, and clicked the dead bolts firmly shut before coming back to glare at Mr. French. He snorted again. “So this is how it is, huh? You lurk in the dark and creep me out, and expect to be fed? Is that it?”
He put his head in his bowl and gave her the melting puppy-d
