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She stares hard at me, like she’s caught me doing something. I flush with guilt because there are so many possibilities.
“That damned girl,” she says. “She’s here.”
Really? She’s referring to her own daughter as “that damned girl?” That seems harsh, even for Terra Spiker.
“I was in the middle of work,” Terra continues.
At two in the morning? I think, but I keep my mouth shut.
“And now, you’ll notice, I am not in the middle of work.”
The elevator dings. The door slides open. There’s a plainclothes security guy—instantly recognizable by the MIB suit and the earpiece. And the gun bulge under his jacket.
He has a tight grip on Aislin’s arm.
I start to grin at Aislin. Then I see. Her nose has been split, right across the bridge. One eye is red and puffy and will soon be black. There’s a welt on her neck, a shoulder strap that was obviously torn and then retied hastily. There’s blood on a patch of scalp where someone has torn her hair out.
The guard and Aislin step off the elevator. He’s still holding her arm in his big fist like she’s a threat.
“What a surprise to see you, Aislin,” Terra says in a voice that could freeze oxygen.
For once Aislin is at a loss for words. She’s been crying. She sees Terra, winces, and her eyes slide over to find me. For a second there’s a look of total vulnerability. It’s hard to see: She’s not the vulnerable type.
“A surprise to see you, not a surprise to see you in trouble,” Terra says. “And you wonder why I don’t want my daughter dealing with you? Look at yourself.”
“Leave her alone.” The words are out of my mouth before I know it.
Both security guys suffer simultaneous heart attacks. No one breathes. Terra glares incredulously at me. I see a faintly amused look in Aislin’s eyes. And gratitude.
Terra lets it go after no more than a single sharp intake of breath. “Aislin will be spending the night, Solo,” she says. “Find her a room. Do not wake Evening. She’s still recuperating and doesn’t need … this.”
The word “this” is drenched in venom.
“Twenty-four hours,” Terra tells Aislin, manicured finger puncturing the air. “And only because my daughter would hate me if I didn’t.”
She clickety-clacks ten paces away, stops, half-turns, and says, “And page Dr. Anderson, Solo. The girl’s a mess.”
And then she vanishes.
“Hey, Solo,” Aislin says sheepishly, as the guard walks away.
“Let’s go get Eve,” I say.
“No, no, no, you heard her mom.”
“Yeah, well, Terra can go … she can drop dead. Something bad happened with you. You came here to see Eve, not me.”
She half-leans against me. She smells like booze and cigarettes. “You’re a good guy. I hope E.V. figures that out.”
I ignore her.
No, I don’t exactly ignore her. It’s more like an arrow’s been shot into my chest and I find myself kind of startled and breathless and, I don’t know, I don’t know what that other emotion is. Like something I didn’t know was in me, and then suddenly there it is.
I walk Aislin down the hallway. She’s leaning on me and she’s wobbly but I don’t think it’s from drink. I think she’s holding on by her fingernails.
“Did you call the cops?”
“Long story,” she says.
