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Neither did Annie, who was lying on her stomach on the bed, watching Star Wars unfold on the plasma screen. Her wavy hair cascaded over her back, and she was wearing pale pink shorts and a white tank top, and Bryn had a flashback to seeing her in exactly this position, even to the crossed ankles and her fists wedged under her chin.
She’d been fourteen then. She looked just as young now.
“Bryn!” Annie exploded off the bed in a rush, grabbed hold, and danced Bryn around in a dizzying whirl. “Oh God God God, I knew you weren’t dead, they told me you had to be, but I knew it, you bitch, how could you do that to me. . . . ” Annie ran out of words and just hugged her, and Bryn hugged back.
Mr. French came charging out from under the bed, barking excitedly, jumping at their feet and shins.
Home.
It felt that way.
“She’s fine,” Pansy said. “I told you she was. ”
Bryn pushed her sister back and held her at arm’s length. She looked . . . great. Not a scratch. “They haven’t experimented on you?”
“Manny? No way. He just gives me the shots I need—that’s it. I talked to the fam a week ago—well, Mom and Grace, but they’ll tell everybody else. I lied. I said we were together, and we were fine. Had to keep it short, you know? But they’re not worrying. And they’re all safe. Brick has people watching. ” Annie studied her face, and Bryn saw the worry in her eyes. “You look bad, honey. What happened to you?”
“Later,” Bryn said. “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay. ” She turned to Pansy, who was leaning against the door. “I assume Manny wants us. ”
“Manny is chewing through the straps on his straitjacket in his eagerness,” Manny’s voice said. It came from inset speakers in the slick plastic ceiling. “Pansy, quit playing happy families and get them up here. Now. ”
“Yes, o master,” she said, and flipped him off.
“I saw that,” he said.
“He didn’t,” she told them. “No cameras in the rooms. I insisted. But come on. He needs to talk to you. ”
“Annie comes, too,” Bryn said.
Pansy sighed. “Fine. But leave the dog. ”
Bryn ignored that, too. Mr. French was too excited to be left behind, and she let him trail along after them.
There was, it seemed, an elevator after all, in the central core; it whisked them up a couple of floors, and Pansy got them past more security doors, into what seemed to be . . . an office.
Manny’s office.
He had a big white desk, chair, a shocking red rug, and a few guest chairs that matched the bloody color. Modern art on the walls that seemed weirdly avant-garde for someone like him, but Bryn had learned not to assume anything, by now.
Liam was standing next to the desk, reading a report from a file folder. He put it down as they filed in, and greeted them all with a nod and smile—but no handshakes or backslaps, not now.
Manny glanced up. He was wearing the square reading glasses again, punching keys on a laptop as if they’d done him personal wrong, and he kept typing as he said, “Never thought I’d see any of you again. ”
“Glad to see you, too, Manny,” Patrick said. He offered Bryn a chair, but she shook her head. Annie slipped into it instead and crossed her legs; she seemed completely at ease, but if she was, Bryn thought she was the only one. Even Mr. French couldn’t settle down, weaving around her legs and pressing close to emphasize how much he’d missed her. “Guess Bryn told you that Jane’s dead. ”
That merited another uplift of the man’s attention, and raised brows. “You can verify it?”
“I was there,” Patrick said. “If the cure worked, she’s gone. But that hasn’t solved anything, has it?”
“No,” Manny said. “There’s a reason we’re in the fucking last-stand bunker. You remember your friend Major Plummer? The one with the shiny helicopters who ran to your rescue? Plummer reports that there’s a new inoculation program being implemented in select branches of service. I think we can all guess what that might be. ”
“Returné,” Patrick said.
“They’ve manufactured enough in military labs to take care of the key areas. As far as I can tell, they’re implementing the upgrades on the elites, like the Rangers, SEAL teams, and such. CIA’s probably got its own programs running. Ditto every other wannabe badass agency with initials out there. And it’s spreading. Other countries are trying to grab samples for replication. ”
“What is the Fountain Group doing?”
“What they always do—profit from it,” Manny said sourly. “I know who they are. Hell, I know where they are. They’re the same people at the heart of everything that cuts money out of the world and stuffs it into their pockets. They own the factories. Right now, it’s covert, but they’re protected now. The government’s on board and in bed, and making sweet nanite love. They get what they’ve always gotten—power, and money. And it’s done. They’ve won. ”
