Paired Pursuit (13 page)

I'll try one more move—we're going to Scar City. After that, I don't know.

Mari put down the diary and took a deep, shaky breath.
Holy crap.
So the aliens had been following them? Tracking them from City to City, looking for their stolen precious?

“Great,” she muttered. “So where is the thing now?”

On impulse, she flipped to the end of the diary, where a loose piece of paper attracted her attention. At the top, he'd scrawled
FAILSAFE????
At the bottom was a quick, scrawled diagram of Scar City and two more diagrams of the device. The word Tracking was underlined several times, and a yellowing train ticket poked out of the end of the journal—an early morning train to Flagstaff.

Mari blew out the breath she'd been holding. So the Twins were right: the City was unsafe. Very unsafe, if her father was correct about the aliens wanting their possession back—and tracking it.

That still didn't explain why her father had mentioned Winter Street. With a sigh, Mari delved back into the diary until the words
trader
and
half
caught her attention. Shit, so were there
two
devices?

Was one of them downstairs on that cherrywood table?

Mari put the diary away and stretched to her feet, blinking out the window. Through the iron bars that reinforced the glass, she realized it was already late afternoon. She had been up here over two hours, and she'd reached information overload for the day. Besides, she missed the Twins.

Silly
, she chided herself, and tried her best to push them from her mind. Much as she wanted to put this new, terrifying knowledge out of her mind, she had to brace herself to search the mound of items in Patrice's living room. The stairs creaked as she went down them, heralding her arrival.

Patrice gave her a warm smile. “Want some tea? I was just making some.”

“That would be great. Does it have any caffeine?” She tried to stifle a yawn.

“Nope, sorry. It's herbal, made from local stuff. You want caffeine, you'll have to pay through the nose and probably bribe some officials.” Patrice gestured to the kettle. “You mind pouring? My arthritis is acting up today.”

“Sure.” Mari swallowed mild disappointment. She really was logy, but at least she hadn't entered the post-Invasion stage with a full-fledged caffeine addiction. Her mother had been snappy for years without her daily latte.

“Find anything interesting?” Patrice asked.

“Oh, nothing serious. Just that the device my father found is being tracked by aliens, and he thinks there's another part to it, possibly located right here on Winter Street.”

Patrice set down her cup with a sharp
clack
. “No foolin'?”

“Wish I was. Would you mind if I searched the pile over there?” Mari sipped her own tea. The hot liquid perked her up a little despite its bitter taste.

Patrice was eyeing the cherrywood table with trepidation. After a minute, she nodded decisively. “Go ahead. I'll finish my tea. You okay? You look pale.”

“I'm…not looking forward to what I might find.” Mari crossed the room and knelt by the low table. Part of her wanted to believe her father was right. Another, larger part wanted to deny any knowledge of the aliens having tracked them from City to City. Small wonder her father had been haunted.

“I'll keep talking, if it helps,” Patrice said. “You ever have any pets, Mari?”

Mari began setting items aside, grateful for the change of subject. “I had four goldfish. John, Paul, George and Ringo, although we think George was a female.”

Patrice's full lips rounded in a smile. “Funny how attached you can get to fish. My brother had a saltwater tank full of creatures. He named every single one of 'em. When he died, he had the tank and everything donated to the local museum.”

“I was pretty fond of those fish,” Mari admitted, “but I'd been leaning hard on my parents for a pony. Funnily enough, they never agreed that our little backyard was sufficient grazing ground.”

That was a tenth of the table sorted. She reached for a jumble of wires, flinching as a sharp piece grazed her skin. Was this human or alien? No—this had to be part of a computer. She set it aside.

Patrice sipped her tea, eyes sparkling. “Let me guess, they got you a stuffed pony instead.”

“They did. And riding lessons, which was a decent compromise, us being in San Francisco. I never really gave up my dreams of moving to a ranch out in Montana, though.”

“Well, maybe you ought to amend that dream to living with two nice men in Chicago. It isn't safe here, not any longer. Everyone's talkin' about it.”

Mari nodded, lifting a box of detergent from the table to the floor. She peeked inside as an afterthought but saw nothing but powder. When she slid a partially disassembled laptop toward her, Tank raised his head and let out a gruff bark. Both women tensed, following the dog's gaze to the door. His next warning bark nearly eclipsed the knock.

“The Twins won't be back this soon, surely.” Mari frowned.

Patrice grunted, her expression pained as she gripped the sides of the chair and attempted to rise. “Probably someone tryin' to sell goods door to door. Or maybe I should call that
bads
, seeing as this is Scar City.”

“I'll go find out who it is.” Mari went to the door as the elderly lady sank back in relief. Going to the peephole, she peered through and relayed the details softly to Patrice. “He's a clean-shaven guy, light brown hair, decent clothes, carrying a notebook. Anyone you know?”

“Nope. Ask him what he wants, would you?”

“Hello?” The man pitched his voice to carry through the door before Mari could raise her own voice. “I'm looking for Dr. Aquino's daughter.”

Patrice's eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Huh. Up to you whether to let him in.”

“I just want to talk to you for a few minutes about your father. I recently received a tip that led me to this address,” the man continued. “Please?”

Mari hesitated, glancing at Patrice one more time. The woman nodded skeptical permission, hand draped casually in a fold of her oversized cardigan. Most likely she had a handgun concealed there, and between that and Tank's presence, Mari felt safe enough to open the door.

The man immediately smiled in a way that set her teeth on edge. “Marisol Aquino?”

“Who's asking?”

“I'm Josh Hobart from the
New York Times
. Can I come in?” He made as if to step forward.

“This is about my father?” Mari continued to block the way, and there was an answering glint of challenge in the reporter's eye.

“Yes. I'm privy to some information that might interest you.”

“And what do you want in return?” Patrice's voice caused Hobart's eyes to flicker toward her for a brief second before he spread out that conciliatory smile again.

“More information. And maybe a glass of water, if I may.”

“You can sit in the living room for a spell,” Patrice decided, and Mari stepped back. She let the elderly woman watch Hobart while she poured the reporter half a glass of water in the kitchen.

“How did you get this address?” Patrice demanded.

“Like I said, I'm working on a lead I received.”

“What do you have to say?” Mari asked as soon as he'd taken a sip. How much had her father communicated to others? He'd placed a call to the government in Chicago, but had he contacted the press?

Infuriatingly, Hobart took his time, examining his surroundings in a way that bordered on rude while he finished the water. Then he turned his attention to her—and Mari didn't like the gleam in his eye.

Neither did Patrice, apparently. “Talk,” she demanded. “Now, before I run you outta here. Tank?”

The Rottweiler sat up, fixing his attention upon Hobart.

“All right, all right. Traveling is hard work these days. I haven't had a moment to sit in peace for weeks, so I forgot myself for a minute.” Hobart set the glass on a side table and pulled out a large notebook. “You
are
Marisol Aquino, right?”

“How did you find me?” Mari was starting to wish she'd brought her Glock downstairs. Her father had hosted many reporters pre-Invasion, all asking about his scientific breakthroughs…but they'd stuck to the facts, treating her father—and her—cordially. This reporter seemed as if he'd sell his own mother for a quick buck.

Even so, he was well-dressed and his notebook and pen spoke of authenticity. And Mari wanted to know what he knew about her father.

“One of my colleagues saw your name on a list of people traveling from Flagstaff to Reno. He figured you'd be interesting to talk to because of the train breakdown. I heard there were Twins aboard.”

Mari waited stonily through the ensuing silence, all but certain the man was withholding information.

“Anyway, someone else recognized your name as being Dr. Jorge Aquino's daughter, and since you were coming from Flagstaff, his last known location, we figured there might be a chance we might find you.”

“What do you want with her?” Patrice challenged. Mari sat up straighter, confidence rushing through her at the other woman's implicit support. After so many years of being mostly on her own, it was nice to have someone like Patrice at her back.

“Look, Dr. Aquino contacted the government shortly before he passed away, claiming he had some information we might be interested in. Bureaucratic incompetence prevented that information from actually getting passed on. We were hoping you might fill us in.”

The room seemed to grow ten degrees colder, and Mari schooled her expression to neutrality. She knew Hobart wanted talk about the device—
devices
, she reminded herself—but she didn't trust this man enough to spill the beans. There was something about him that made her think he wouldn't use the knowledge in an ethical way.

“Dad had cancer, and he wasn't very lucid in his last weeks.” That much was true. The pain meds she'd near-bankrupted herself to get had been effective, but they'd left her father in a deep sleep much of the time—or at best, a zombielike state. “So maybe you ought to start with what
you
know.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Hobart's face and was rapidly smoothed away. “Sure. When Dr. Aquino contacted my source, he told them that he knew of a device that the aliens sought. At that point, he was cut off due to communication issues, and my source was unable to reach him again. Do you know anything of this device he mentioned?”

Mari shook her head, curling her toes as she did so. Judging by the intensity of the nightly attacks, the Barks were determined to get their property back, but she preferred to save that information for the Twins rather than involve this man.

“Ah, well.” Hobart looked deeply disappointed, but a certain hardness about the set of his jaw betrayed his anger. He got to his feet. “I'm going to give you my card in case you unexpectedly…remember anything. I'll be staying in a room at the Wanderer Inn downtown. Call in anytime you like.”

Mari heroically refrained from wrinkling her nose. That down-at-the-heel gaming hall was the perfect place for Hobart. She took the card he offered and slipped it into her pocket. “All right.”

Hobart paused on the doorstep, thin eyebrows drawing downward. Pacing a few steps into the street, he gestured at her. “One last thing. Could you tell me which way the main gates are?”

Mari nodded, leaning out to point down the street. “If you—”

Hobart lunged, grabbing her arms and yanking her into a tight embrace. One foot lashed out, slamming the door behind her. “Okay, you're coming with me. Don't scream.”

She obeyed—only because she opted to sink her teeth into his shoulder. He jerked, swearing at her, calling her a bitch and a whore, but his grasp never lessened. To her horror, he was strong enough to half carry, half drag her down the street. At this rate, Patrice wouldn't catch up with them, and she wouldn't get a clear shot either.

But Mari had underestimated her landlady.

“Tank,
get him
.”

A blur of black-and-tan fur barreled into Hobart, knocking them both to the cracked asphalt. The Rottweiler planted his paws on Hobart's chest with a snarl and latched on to the man's arm, holding him firmly to the ground. Mari got to her feet, shakily clawing her hair back out of her eyes. Patrice hobbled toward them, considerably slower than her dog. She looked pleased as punch.

“Tank,
release the bite
. Good dog.”

The last words were interrupted by a shout, and Mari looked up to find the Twins sprinting toward them. Finn enveloped her in a tight embrace while Gareth—no, Mari wasn't going to look. There was a crunch and a yell as she buried her face in Finn's chest.

“You okay?” he asked.

Mari swallowed hard. “Yes, but there's something important I need to tell you.”

* * * * *

Finn acknowledged her with a neutral murmur, but his focus was on his brother. Gareth was in a killing rage, and Mari's abductor was very much at his mercy. With a whimper, the man cradled his broken arm and glared upward.

“Don't hurt me anymore—there's money in it for you.”

“Yeah?” Gareth's tone should have tipped the man off, but he kept talking.

“My boss pays really well for Experiments who defect—”

“Easy,”
Finn warned as Gareth placed a booted foot on the man's throat, effectively shutting him up.

“I'm done hearing this shit.”
That could mean anything—and the turmoil that racked Gareth's mind wouldn't let him get a clear reading on his brother's intention. A movement forward would kill the man under his foot; a movement backward would spare him.

“Mari needs us.”
Not for the first time, Finn was relieved to have someone else in their lives, someone whom Gareth cared about.