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5
“Yes. I sent the pictures.”I made a face at the phone, specifically the insurance agentonthe phone. This was some kind of senior agent that my case had been escalated to. “You sent someone out to see the crash site, right? I’m still trying to arrange atow.”
Arranging it wasn’t the problem. Paying the huge fee for a truck to drive from the nearest city out along that dirt road was another matter. If the insurance wouldn’t cover it, the wreck could staythere.
A car honked, almost drowning out the reply. I was cutting across Capitol Hill on foot to make my meeting with this Lieutenant Sudo, and the freeway traffic roarednearby.
“How did it get in a tree?” the agent asked, suspicion lacing hertone.
I wished I’d opened with reporting a tornado strike. Oregon wasn’t known for tornadoes, but an internet search had revealed that a couplehadtouched down there before, if decades apart. It seemed too late to change the story now, especially when I’d already triedtwo.
“I was off-roading and I had to swerve to avoid hitting—” a dragon, “—a bear. The Jeep flipped and rolled and bounced off a log or something—I couldn’t quite see what. I was thrown out before it ended up in thetrees.”
“This is the fourth accident you’ve been in in threeyears.”
“I know, but I’m in a dangerous line ofwork.”
“You said you were off-roading.”
“I was. It wasn’trecreational.”
“And what line of work did you say you’rein?”
“I didn’t. It’s top secret. I’m a governmentcontractor.”
“I don’t think we can cover you anymore,ma’am.”
“That’s fine, but you have to pay out on this claim. That’s why I’ve been payingyouevery month.” That and because the auto loan requiredit.
The line wentdead.
I resisted the urge to whip out Chopper and take out my aggressions on a fire hydrant. Was I supposed to eat it on the Jeep? I still owed twenty grand. My combat bonuses went to paying off informants, buying ammo and gas, and replacing the gear I lost in fights, not making extra carpayments.
With an angry huff, I reached the Starbucks Reserve Roastery on Pike and stalked through the big wood doors. It was packed, as usual, and I grimaced at the noise of dozens of conversations, voices raised to be heard over the grinding and transporting of beans through the elaborate equipment on display. This was Colonel Willard’s favorite place, so we always met here, but I was less inclined to endure the hordes of tourists and scents of burning coffee—people who actually liked coffee called it roasting, but it smelled burnt to me—for some substandard replacementcontact.
I spotted Sudo immediately. He wore a suit and tie rather than his army uniform, but the short buzz cut screamed military, and he had a familiar manila folder on the table in front of him. As I walked over, I couldn’t help but grimace again. He was even younger than I’d imagined—if he’d graduated from OCS, it must have beenthatyear—and kept glancing at hisphone.
“Where’s Colonel Willard?” I sat down facing him, glancing at his small black mug with a pattern in the frothy milk mingling with thecoffee.
Annoyance flashed across his face, but he tamped it down. “In thehospital.”
I forgot my own annoyance. “What hospital? Whathappened?”
He gave me the name of a local hospital, not the army medical center on Fort Lewis I would have expected, then grimly said, “Cancer.”
“Cancer?” I struggled to imagine the forty-five-year-old, tough-as-nails colonel being susceptible to anything so mundane. She competed in triathlons when she wasn’t busting people’s faces in some martial art or another. Coffee was her only vice, as far as I knew, and she ate more servings of vegetables than a goat with atapeworm.
“Yes. I have your bonus.” Lieutenant Sudo pushed the envelope across to me. “And I must let youknow—”
“Wait. You can’t tell me Colonel Willard is in the hospital and drop it. Is she just getting treatment or what? She didn’t have to leave her home, did she?” I waved vaguely toward North Seattle where a few officers who worked in the city, running intelligence and keeping an eye on the magical beings that showed up here, hadapartments.
“Her condition is quite advanced. She’s in the hospital for the rest of… until they’re able to get it undercontrol.”
“Quite advanced? How can that be?” The now-familiar tightness returned to my chest. And my throat. I struggled to calm the emotions welling up and squeezing everything. I wasn’t going to use the inhaler in front of this kid. And Idefinitelywasn’t going to cry. “She has to have been getting all of the usual screenings,” I said reasonably, logically. “She’s not the kind of person who would put thatoff.”
“I’m not her doctor. Listen, here’s your money—bringing cash is highly unorthodox, I’ll have you know—and I’m here to inform you that we won’t have more work for you until I’ve finished myinvestigation.”
I blinked slowly. “Investigation?”
