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Silas froze. “Will the Foundation go after her?”
“They might, if anyone had survived the strike in Ecuador. But since you ended three and I drowned the others, nobody will be talking.”
He felt like ice water ran in his veins. “You’re sure they all died?”
“Positive.”
The Mockingbird holo cleared its throat. “How long, then?”
“A month?” Silas figured if she hadn’t emailed him in that time, then she’d have decided it was best to leave things be.
“Done. I won’t send Finch until I hear from you. And welcome aboard. Tanager has your first assignment.”
The woman nodded. “Foundation bloodhounds are hunting some poor bastard here in Texas, and we’re taking them out. It’ll be safer if we use my ability as bait this time. That way, Kestrel won’t know we’re working together. We can plan more on the move. Ready?”
Despite the lingering pain of farewell, he preferred to stay busy. So, “Yeah. The sooner, the better.”
“I like the way this guy thinks. Do you have anything else for us, MB?”
“The pharmacy on the corner of Fourth and Main has a prescription for you, Silas. It’ll help with the pain after you use your ability.”
“Tanager told you?”
She shrugged. “You were in bad shape when I showed up. Dealing with a few more guys would’ve put you on your ass. You need to countermand that.”
“Does your siren voice have a drawback?”
“Siren voice.” She laughed quietly. “I dig that. And yeah. But I’m not telling you what it is. It’s . . . personal.”
Shit. He was sorry he’d asked. “Thanks, Mockingbird. I appreciate the extrication. Not just for me either.”
“Thank me by kicking some goon ass.” The holo sounded almost . . . sad. But why would he?
“All set?” Tanager closed the laptop without a farewell and rolled into motion. “Then let’s hit it.”
FOURTEEN
The bus station in Houston was grungy. Not unusual in that regard.
When she’d emerged from the warehouse, Juneau hadn’t even known where the hell she was. They’d flown in at night and then hopped a second plane. They’d worn blindfolds, too, all enough to set off her fear-o-meter. Fortunately, it had been daytime when she slipped out, and she’d felt safe enough to ask directions from a couple of milling teenagers.
“Bus station’s about eight blocks that way,” one kid said.
His friend added, “Can’t miss it. It’s right by the McDonald’s.”
Easy enough. She felt conspicuous in her wrinkled shorts and tank top. The weather didn’t quite match her attire, but it was warm enough that she didn’t look crazy, at least. Just maybe . . . overly optimistic. A fair number of people hung around in the fast-food restaurant parking lot. Others made their way by crossing an actual set of railroad tracks. Doubtless the bus station’s on the wrong side, too.
But there was no help for it. She brushed past two seedy men who stood smoking by the front doors and found the pay phones. Deep breath. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handset. It shouldn’t be this complicated. Make the call. Leave all the crazy behind. And I have his email, if I decide I want to get in touch later. Thus bolstered, she dialed zero for the operator and asked to make a collect call.
“What number?”
She gave her mother’s and then spoke her name at the tone. Thirty seconds later, she had her mother on the other end of the line. “Where are you, honey? Can you talk more now?”
“I’m in Houston,” she answered. “And yes. But my stuff got buried in the quake. I’m going to need a hand getting home.”
“What can I do?”
Wiring money could be tricky, since she had no ID and no friends here. “Could you buy me a one-way ticket to Chicago, online, and then call to confirm my description with the ticket agent? I hope they’ll give me a break if my mother vouches for me.”
