Thanks to everyone who reviewed and alerted and has been waiting patiently (mostly) for an update—I apologize for the long delay!
I do try for at least one new chapter a week, but I went to a long, intensive out-of-town conference right after posting the opening chapter and have been playing catch up ever since. But things should be back to normal now. Whatever that might be.
Please note: in this version of the Leverageverse, earbuds can be turned on and off without removing them. I needed 'em that way for the first story and (speaking as someone who misplaces small objects on an hourly basis) I think they would be more convenient that way.
(and still no dog. Sorry, Bron. But all in good time. S/he will be an important part of this!)
Eliot sat in the visitor's chair and listened to the monitors. He and Parker were alone in the room—Mike was in the cafeteria, Sophie and Dougie hadn't come back, yet, and Nate had disappeared as soon as he could, probably to get a drink or three at the nearest bar.
As long as the bar was crowded and he was working on a plan, Eliot didn't much care.
He rubbed his chin, exhaled, and leaned back. Two ruthless, improvised attacks on the same day. Maybe even by the same people—he'd bet Silk Tie had been on point for both. No warnings, no messages—these guys weren't interested in playing games.
But they hadn't gone after Nate, Sophie, or Hardison . . . or maybe he'd put a hitch in their evening plans by taking Silk Tie out of commission. Until he knew for sure, he'd assume they wanted the whole team out of the way. Permanently.
Why?
He growled under his breath and stood, moving to look at Parker. She didn't look like a master thief or twenty pounds of crazy. She looked like an exhausted, innocent child—maybe the way she'd looked before all the foster homes and the abuse and that son of a bitch Archie Leach, who'd cared enough to give her skills but not enough to give her a family.
She had one now. And they weren't going to let her go without one hell of a fight.
"You ever gonna wake up?" he said, in the gruffest voice he could. "'Cause you know you're gonna be pissed if we take these guys down without you."
For a moment, he thought he saw that small wrinkle appear on her brow . . . but when he looked closer, it was gone. Must have been a—
Someone knocked, and Eliot was at the door before the fourth rap turned it into shave-and-a-haircut. "Yeah?"
"Eliot." The voice was not patient. "Open up, man."
He did. "You made good time," he said.
"Private jet and an embassy car," said Hardison, shoving his carryall and keffiyeh into Eliot's hands and reaching the hospital bed in four long strides. "Parker," he said. "It's me." He loosened his tie and took her hand in both of his. "Parker, I'm here."
Eliot tossed Hardison's bag into the visitor's chair and took his time securing the door with the rubber doorstops he'd grabbed on his way out of DIYer's for just that purpose—they probably wouldn't stop a determined person, but they'd slow them down some. When he'd fiddled enough for Hardison to say whatever private things he needed to say, he turned around and cleared his throat.
Hardison straightened. "What did the doctor say?"
"That's she's a lot better than she could be—'course, he thinks she was tossed by a car. If he knew what really happened, he'd call it a miracle. She's got a couple of stress fractures and some deep bone bruises. No signs of cranial damage or swelling so far. Her head didn't hit the ground, but the shock . . ." Eliot shook his head. "We're just waiting for her to wake up."
Hardison processed this, his right thumb making unconscious circles on Parker's wrist. "What the hell is going on? Dougie said someone dropped Parker off a building, but he didn't know who. Nate called when I was in the air, but all he said was that someone tried to take you on, too, and he had a name he wanted me to check. That name have something to do with this?" He lifted Parker's hand.
"Looks like." Eliot gave him what he knew about both attacks. "But he won't be trying anything soon."
"Good." A muscle worked in Hardison's jaw and Eliot was reminded that the younger man was dangerous in his own right. "You think they'll send someone else to finish the job?"
"Yeah—on all of us. We're gonna have to find a safehouse."
"Not without Parker."
Eliot shook his head. "We can't risk moving her right now—no, listen. She'll never be alone—Mike Tagiter volunteered to stand guard until Jo and Ron get here. They'll stay in shifts for as long as it takes. Dougie, too, in case someone saw him with her."
"Guess I can't argue with that." He reached back for his bag without letting go of Parker, unzipped a side pocket, and brought out the familiar plastic box. "Y'all have your earbuds on you?"
"I've got mine and Nate's wearing his," said Eliot, fishing around in his shirt pocket. "Don't know about the others."
"I have spares." Hardison fumbled in his suit jacket with his left hand and brought out something that looked like a Blackberry on steroids. He thumbed the screen for a second. "Nate's is the only one active right now."
Eliot stuck his in the usual ear, but paused before pressing the little tab. "Where is he?"
"He's in the building . . . cafeteria, maybe." Hardison frowned. "Where's Sophie? Where's Dougie? Jo's gonna kill us if anything happens—"
"Sophie took him down to the ER. He's been walking around with busted ribs and some serious contusions."
Hardison stared. "They dropped him, too? I thought—"
"No. Parker did. Kid got between her and the pavement—on purpose. He absorbed a lot of the impact."
Hardison's eyes widened. He looked down at Parker and touched her cheek, his fingers moving to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. His voice was low. "I owe him."
"We all do." Eliot clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm gonna go out in the hall for a while. If anyone can convince her to open her eyes, it'll be you. But leave your earbud off—I don't need to hear any of it."
Hardison offered a smile, the first since he'd arrived. "Thanks, man. Wait." He picked up his handheld, tapped the screen a few times, and handed it over. "I found some info you might want to see. I'll go deeper later, but it's a start."
Eliot pocketed the doorstops on his way out; he wasn't planning to move away from the door—and he knew Hardison wasn't planning to move away from Parker.
He turned on his earbud. "Nate?"
"Yeah. I take it Hardison's arrived?"
"He's with Parker now—thought I'd give 'em some privacy."
He could almost see Nate sitting up. "She's awake?"
"Not yet," he said. "You got a plan?"
"Not yet." There was a pause. "Ugh. The coffee here is like roofing tar."
Mike's voice broke in. "Ya want another refill?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Hardison gave me some stuff he dug up. You want it?"
"Got it already. Take a look, let me know what you think."
Eliot leaned against the wall and took a look at the souped-up minicomputer. He might not know his way around the 'Net like a hacker, but he'd picked up a few things over the years—like how to download apps on his own damn phone to spare himself the eye rolls over iPity and Angry Birds—and brought up Hardison's research with no trouble.
Silk Tie's real name matched the one on his ID: Darrin Victor. A lot of specialists didn't bother with aliases—the business ran on rep and recognition—but even the ghosts were known by style. Victor had the skills, but Eliot hadn't heard anything about him before today. So he wasn't freelance.
Eliot scrolled through more. Born in Hawaii, raised in LA, decent grades, a sealed juvie record—until Hardison had the time—and an unfinished pre-law degree from UC Berkeley. Based in Virginia the last few years, got his Massachusetts driver's license three weeks ago—the address was somewhere near Cambridge.
New in town, not a hitter-for-hire . . . A scout?
Hardison hadn't traced Victor's boss was, yet, but Eliot knew he would. And then—
He glanced down the hall to see Sophie leading Dougie out of the elevator. The kid was doing the morning-after prizefighter shuffle and from his groggy expression was more than half out of it from pain or meds, or both. They were going to have to move Parker into a double room. "Nate, we need—"
"Sorry," said Nate. "That seat's taken."
"You Ford?" said an unfamiliar male voice.
"Who are you?"
"Get up," said the voice. "We're leaving."
"Are we? Why?"
"Because we've got Sophie Devereaux. And if you want her back in one piece—"
"That's a lie," said Eliot, as Dougie and Sophie reached them. "Sophie's here with me, Nate. Dougie, too." He wrenched the door open and herded them through. "We're in Parker's room." He bent to shove the doorstops in place and gave them a kick for good measure.
"You have proof?" said Nate.
"I don't need proof," said the man. "I have this."
"I've been shot before," said Nate. "At least this time I'll be in a hospital. I want to talk to Ms. Devereaux," he added, in a deadly serious voice. "Now."
Hardison started to speak, but Eliot cut him off and tossed him the handheld. "Sophie, talk. Hardison, earbuds."
"Nate?" said Sophie, her voice revealing none of the worry on her face. "I'm with Eliot. I'm safe." She took an earbud from Hardison and tucked it into place. "We're all safe."
"Nice bluff," said Nate, "for an amateur."
"Get up."
"Not yet," said Nate, as if he wasn't particularly interested. "I want you to deliver a message and you need to be conscious for that."
"Get up."
"Don't interrupt. Tell your boss it was a ballsy idea, but it backfired. My team is still alive, and now he—or she—has our full attention. He—or she—can ask Damien Moreau how much fun that is."
"You have no idea who you're messing with."
"Yes, well, there seems to be a lot of that going around. Run along."
"This is your last warning. Get moving or I'll shoot that pretty nurse over there and drag you with me as a hostage."
Nate sighed. "All right, have it your way. You can deliver the message when you wake up. Just don't spill my coffee."
"What the hell are you—" Eliot heard the distinctive sound of flesh hitting flesh.
"Oh, hey, buddy, you okay?" said Mike. "Hey! This guy's in trouble! Anyone know CPR?"
Eliot's earbud rang with a chorus of muffled shouts and the scrape of chairs and tables. As they waited for it to die down, he and Sophie took the opportunity to settle Dougie in the chair. Hardison held out an earbud and Dougie took it, raising his hand to his ear as if the pea-sized object weighed fifty pounds. Sophie raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
"Here's yer coffee," said Mike. "They were outta creamer."
Nate spluttered. "Ugh. You get his wallet?"
"Do I look like a pickpocket to you? And you're welcome, by the way."
"Sorry. Thank you—for the coffee and the save. Hardison, I want this guy's name and insurance company the minute he's admitted."
"On it," said Hardison, staring at the small screen.
"We'll be right up."
"Sir?" said a female voice. "Did you see what happened to this man before he fell?"
"Sorry," said Nate. "I didn't see a thing."
"Me neither," said Mike.
"But you're the one who called for help," said the woman.
"Ah, right. I mean, I didn't see much. He just keeled over," said Mike.
"Did he clutch his chest or his arm? Was he pale or sweating?"
"I don't know—I was sort of behind him . . ." Mike's voice faded away and the background noise changed.
"Looks like I'll be right up," said Nate.
"We'll be here," said Eliot. "But we can't stay, Nate. We need to get gone."
"I know. This isn't revenge—this is pre-emptive. Someone wants to stop us before we start."
"Start what?"
"That's what we have to find out. Won't be easy—we have to assume they know our faces."
"Do they know about all of us? Or even all about us?" asked Sophie. "They might have used my name, but I wasn't attacked and neither was Nate until just now. Were you, Hardison?"
"Not directly," he muttered, moving back to the bed.
"That might only mean that we didn't give them the same opportunity as Parker and Eliot. None of us was home or going through our usual routines," said Nate.
"And now you can't go back," said Eliot. "None of us can. Might be some nasty surprises waiting."
"Right. Don't want to go through another exploding apartment." Sophie shuddered. "Or a funeral."
"None of us do," said Nate, followed by the signature knock on the door.
Eliot went to let him in.
"What about Parker's warehouse?" said Hardison. "The place is like a fortress—plenty of room and a state of the art security system."
"Too risky," said Nate, before Eliot could. "They've been following us for at least two weeks. They probably know about it."
"Maybe not." said Dougie in a voice so quiet that Eliot might have missed it without the help of his earbud. "She's been staying at Hardison's since he left."
"She has?" asked Hardison.
"But I thought that comic con thingie was for this weekend," said Sophie.
"I left over two weeks ago," said Hardison. "None of y'all noticed I was gone? Seriously? I visited my Nana first. She holds a kind of foster kid reunion every year. Parker's been staying at my place?"
"Yeah," said Dougie. "So they could think she lives there."
"Guess we're having a sleepover at Parker's house," said Nate. "Anyone know the security codes?"
"I think I can figure them out," said Sophie, with a smile. "Are you sure we can't pick up a few things at our various hiding places?"
"Only if you haven't been there in the last month," said Nate.
"Oh. But I've been keeping my go-bag behind the bar. Surely—"
"You'll have to do without it."
"Do without it? Are you mad? I have two pairs of Manolo Blahniks in there!" Sophie frowned. "Maybe Anna could do a drop off?"
A thought struck Eliot and he went to Dougie, who seemed about to fall asleep. "Wasn't Parker staying with you while your parents were gone?" he asked.
"Just since Friday. She told Mom and Dad she'd—" Dougie's eyes snapped open. "Oh, crap!" He grabbed for his phone, then clutched his ribs with a choked cry.
"Sit tight," said Eliot. "I'll call 'em. There's time—they won't reach town until morning, even if your Dad's driving. There's a crib and stuff at The Gym, right?"
Dougie nodded.
"Good. Don't sweat it, kid." He took his phone and went to a quiet corner where he couldn't hear Nate and Sophie arguing over the importance of high heels to team morale.
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