Page 32 of The Vigilante's Lover
Mr. Blazer turns and walks back to the entrance without looking to see if we follow. Running Man gives me a small sneer as we pass. I raise an eyebrow and give him a mocking smirk in reply. I can feel his eyes boring into my back as he falls in behind us.
“You seem to have me at a disadvantage in names, Mr.…?” I ask Mr. Blazer as we walk.
“One I will keep for now, Mr. De Luca.”
It’s not customary for a Vigilante to refuse to introduce himself upon meeting a contemporary. Either they do things differently in this syndicate or he’s been instructed not to give it. Troublesome.
I glance at Mia to gauge her level of concern. If she is with Jovana, she should be sweating bullets. Other than her discomfort with the shoes, though, she seems calm and curious. I’m bothered that I can’t peg her classification.
I’m never fooled. So either Mia is not with Jovana, or once again she is surprising me with her competence. I will know soon enough.
We pass through the outer threshold and into a small holding chamber typical of silo entries. The heavy steel doors behind us slide closed, and the shiny ones ahead hiss open. Beyond is a hallway flanked by thick glass screens patterned with faint, embedded circuits. This is what I’ve waited for. We’ll be scanned and our information displayed as we pass.
“Step forward, please,” Mr. Blazer says.
I can feel Mia hesitate, but I take her hand and lead her into the glass hall.
As soon as I step in, the panels on my side light up with information. My name. Vitals. Last known locations. The words “Ridley Prison” are highlighted at the bottom in bold red. Next to them flashes the word “Fugitive” like an accusation. Nothing unexpected, and I am pleased that no notice of the past twenty-four hours has registered. Not even Mia’s safe house. The car is well cloaked. My identification has been hidden until now.
I glance over at the other side where Mia’s information is displayed.
Or should be.
Instead of the wall of text like mine, Mia’s is a blank slate. Only her name shows, nothing else. Impossible.
The Identipad records can have holes and hidden information, but the security scanner at a silo should show everything. Even if someone has been wiped, there’s always minimal information. But it’s like Mia doesn’t exist beyond her name.
I mask my surprise, but Running Man completely fails to hide his.
“What the hell?” he says and gestures at Mia’s wall of screens. “Jones, you seeing this?”
“Be quiet, fool,” he snaps. “Yes, I see it.”
I try to remember a Jones from my Vigilante days, but it’s too common a name to be memorable.
Jones says nothing more but moves between me and Mia. “Please come with me,” he says. He puts his hand on her shoulder and presses her forward.
I step in front of them. “Where are you taking her?”
“That’s not your concern, pal,” says Running Man. He moves in next to me, too close for my taste. My irritation is pricked.
“It is my concern, as she may have information pertinent to my situation.” I fold my arms across my chest. The knife is still in my hand, but I make an effort not to flash it. An open threat would be a very bad idea right now.
Jones’s face darkens. “Ms. Morrow has no information for fugitives.”
I feel my anger rising and take a deep breath. “I am the former director of the West Coast syndicate. The only reason I’m here is to clear my name, and that girl may have information useful to that end.”
Running Man sneers at me, inches from my face. “You’re nothing now.”
He doesn’t even see it coming. With a quick twist of my body I slamthe flat of my palm against his shoulder and hook my foot behind his leg. He spins and falls hard to the ground, limbs flailing. I’m right with him and drive my knee into his chest. He gasps and tries to suck in air. All cockiness is gone.
“Stand down!” booms a voice behind us.
I risk a glance and see a man in a suit striding down the hall. His eyes are dark, stern, and demand attention, if not respect. I rise to my feet with a fluid motion, careful to keep my hands at my sides and the knife in view. Running Man struggles up to his knees, still sucking in noisy breaths. Out of the corner of my eye I see Jones smirk and give a small shake of his head. So much for his hotshot bodyguard.
The new arrival stops several feet away, eyes moving from me, to Running Man, and finally to Mia. He studies her for a minute before shifting his gaze back to me.
“Jones, please take Ms. Morrow to the East Room. You, Mr. De Luca,” he says and points at me, “come with me.” He turns and strides back toward the doors at the end.
