She hadn't meant to fall asleep. She hadn't even been sure that she could, not when the bed was so small and King took up most of it. She must have been more exhausted than she'd thought because one second she was closing her eyes, just for a moment, and the next she was waking up next to King.
She'd never been good at doing this, not even when it had been casual. With King's cheek resting between her shoulder blades, his beard scratching against her skin as he breathed in and out, this didn't feel casual. The deep, even rhythm of his breathing told her that he wasn't going to wake up any time soon, but that didn't mean that she was going to be able to sneak out without waking him. And that, in turn, meant that the conversation she was trying to avoid was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not.
She was in no real hurry to have it, and she had to admit that it felt nice, lying here with King's arm draped over her like he trusted her to still be there when he woke up. It felt like the kind of thing that normal people did, and that meant it wasn't for her. And she had people waiting for her to come home in one piece.
The sky outside was lightening, telling her that morning was not far off if it hadn't already arrived, and Frank probably had search parties out by now. She shifted slightly, trying to ease herself out from under King's arm without him noticing, but as soon as she moved, the pattern of his breathing changed. The arm he had around her tightened, pulling her closer, and she stiffened, unable to help herself.
"Guess it's going to be one of those mornings after, huh?" King murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.
She didn't answer him, but there was no point in pretending that she wasn't on her way out of the door. King wasn't even close to that stupid, so she simply slid out of the bed, resolutely not looking at him as she picked her discarded shirt up off the floor.
"Mind if I borrow this?" she asked, sparing him only the briefest of glances as she headed towards her pants.
"Sure," said King. "But is that the right question? 'Borrowing' implies that you'll bring it back. Somehow, I get the feeling that this is an 'adios' rather than a 'see you later'."
She turned her head and looked at him, saying nothing, and he raised an eyebrow. "Am I wrong?"
Her pants were dry now, and she tugged them off the back of the chair, pulling them on. "Frank still wants you shot on sight," she said as she fastened them. It wasn't exactly an answer, but it was the closest she could come to giving him one.
"Huh." He treated her to what he probably thought was an intelligent, searching look. It didn't work, not with his hair sticking up like that and his eyes still sleepy. After a moment he gave up, pushing himself up into a sitting position, the sheet pooling around his waist as he scratched lazily at his bare chest. "What about you?"
She kept her silence on that point as well, concentrating on pulling on her boots, and after a moment he chuckled.
"Well, I can't say it hasn't been a fun experience, Whistler." She spared him another glance. "At least tell me you had fun, too."
She hesitated, her fingers wrapped around her laces. She didn't know what he wanted from her. An acknowledgement? Some indication that it had meant more to her than a quick roll in the hay?
Whatever he was looking for, giving it to him seemed too dangerous. Silence seemed the much safer option.
He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it further, then leaned back against the sparse headboard with a sigh.
"I've got something for you," he said, his tone businesslike as he twisted around to rummage in the bedside drawer. He pulled out an envelope, plain and white with no address on it, and offered it to her. She hesitated again before she took it, eyeing him with something halfway between suspicion and curiosity.
"Relax, Whistler," he said, a small smirk playing around the corners of his mouth. "It's not the equivalent of twenty bucks left on the bedside table. I don't have quite that much of a death wish." He waited until she'd taken it from his outstretched hand before he added, "It's the equivalent of two million."
She stopped dead, her fingers already sliding underneath the flap, but he didn't elaborate, simply grinning at her unrepentantly until she huffed out an impatient breath, ripping the envelope open.
There was a piece of paper inside, and printed on it in King's neat handwriting was a bank name and a series of numbers and letters. Underneath that was an e-mail address. She frowned at it, confused, before turning that same confused look on King.
"Two million," he repeated, giving her another smile, one that lacked his normal smugness. There was something darker in his expression, something grimly triumphant that suddenly reminded her too sharply of Frank. "This stuff," he added, gesturing around the room at the various artefacts, "wasn't the only thing that I stole from Danica. Girl needs to keep her passwords safer. You know, not talk about her secret Swiss bank accounts in front of her pets."
That explained the bitterness, if not why he'd never mentioned it before. She wasn't going to ask, though. King wasn't really her problem any more, no matter what he thought about it. No matter what she thought about it, either.
"Two million?" she asked seriously, still not convinced he wasn't pulling her leg. "Why would you...?"
"Why would I give it to you?" King shrugged again, his eyes never leaving her face. "I emptied the accounts I knew about, which, by the way, only hold a fraction of what Danica has squirrelled away. But it's still going to piss her off and, as we both know, that's pretty much my reason for living. Well, one of them, anyway."
He shrugged again, giving her a smile that was a little warmer and leaving her with no doubt about what he meant. She held his gaze calmly, her fingers steady as she held a fortune in her hands.
"Basically, I stole a hell of a lot more than I'd ever need. Or that I'll ever get the chance to spend. You've got about half of it there." He paused again, and she had the sinking feeling that something else was coming, something she wasn't going to like. "Get Hedges to check the e-mail accounts I know about, every now and then."
"Because you'll be in touch, I suppose. I guess this e-mail address is yours?"
He didn't answer her directly, but gave her another twitch of a smile. This one wasn't smug, just a little sad. "Let's just say that I've got something set up to send Hedges a message if I need to. Something that means that the rest of the money won't go to waste."
She wasn't stupid either. She knew what he was talking about, even if she didn't understand the technology behind it. He was talking about setting up a dead man's switch.
It bothered her more than she thought it would. It bothered her a lot. But there was nothing she could say. The words crowded behind her lips, but wouldn't come out, not in the right order, not in a way that would make sense or make him see sense. There was no point in telling him to be careful - she didn't have the right, and even if she did, he had the same sort of look in his eyes now as had been in Estevez's. Maybe not as broken, maybe not as consumed by his hatred, but still resolute and unyielding.
Her eyes were drawn to his bruises again, to the scars he'd already earned. "At least tell me that you'll to learn how to duck," she said. As comebacks went, it was weak, but he smiled anyway, something softer and lacking the harsh edge that had cut straight through her.
"I'll do my best," he said, and just the fact that he was agreeing had her smiling at him in response. "And since we're exchanging favours, do you think you could use the phone two blocks over instead of the one across the street?"
She gave him a puzzled look, reluctant to ask in case she understood the answer. He seemed to have that effect on her.
"I'd prefer not to be here when Frank turns up, given the whole shooting on sight thing," he explained. "So I'd really appreciate a head start."
She had no intention of selling him out, not again, but she owed too much to Frank to tell him that. Instead, she nodded slowly, feeling like she should say something but unable to find the words.
King seemed to have that effect on her, too.
"I should..." She gestured towards the door and he nodded, his face settling into serious lines that didn't suit him.
"You know, if you wanted to stay for a coffee or something..."
She shouldn't be tempted - it wasn't smart to be swayed by the sight of him, bare-chested and still sleep ruffled. And so, instead of giving in, she repeated, "I should go."
She couldn't quite hide the reluctance in her voice, but he didn't comment on it. He simply nodded, his expression staying serious. For a second, she thought that he might argue further - and maybe if he had, she'd have stayed, just for a little while - but then he seemed to think better of it, kicking off the covers and pushing himself up and out of the bed, completely at ease despite his nakedness.
"I'll see you out," he said, reaching for his sweatpants. It surprised her - she'd never had him pegged as the gentlemanly type, but maybe he was just concerned about getting out of here before she sicced Frank on him. Or maybe he was as reluctant to see her go as she was to leave.
In spite of the early hour, it was bright outside and the sun shone low over the buildings opposite, tinting everything with a golden light. When she stopped on the first step, turning back towards him, the light had gilded his hair, turning his skin golden, too.
He leaned against the railings and folded his arms, watching her. "See you around, Whistler."
She nodded, a catch in her throat. There was nothing to say, not really. Nothing that was safe, and King seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Unlike her, however, he was never one to go with the status quo.
She was about to head out when he pushed himself away from the railings and closed the gap between them. She knew what was coming, but she didn't stop him. Instead, she closed her eyes, losing herself in the feel of his fingers against her skin, the breadth of his palm and the roughness of his fingertips as he cupped her face, pulling her into another kiss.
It wasn't gentle and it felt like goodbye, breaking something deep inside her. She swallowed down the shards and brought her own fingers up to touch his face, feeling the silkiness of his beard under her fingertips. She let them linger for a moment on his cheek, allowing herself to have that one brief touch, just so that she'd remember it.
When she pulled back, he let his fingers slip away, searching her face for a moment. She didn't know what he saw there, but he nodded once before he finally stepped away, folding his arms again and leaning back against the railing.
There was no point in saying goodbye - the kiss had said it all - and so she simply turned on her heel and headed down the steps.
She didn't look back this time either, and she didn't walk two blocks, but four, not stopping until she found a gas station with a sleepy eyed attendant who looked nothing like King.
When she finally got hold of Dex, the relief in his voice sent a brief surge of guilt through her, one that only grew when she told him it that she was the only one coming back, not Estevez. She bought a soda while she waited for him, sitting on a wall with it unopened as she watched the rest of the sunrise and tried not to think about anything, especially not King.
It didn't take Dex long before he was pulling up to the curb, the car windows wound down and music blasting out in spite of the early hour. He looked over at her, his sunglasses hiding his eyes, but there was a twist to his mouth that she recognised and she gave him an answering little grimace in response as she slid into the passenger seat.
"You okay, girl?" he asked, his eyes taking in the bruise on her cheek.
"I'll live." It was the wrong thing to say given that she was coming home on her own, but Dex didn't ask about Estevez. He didn't need to. Frank would debrief her and Dex would be in on that. Knowing that, Dex would bide his time until then rather than make her go through it twice.
In a way, it would be easier if he made her go through it now. It would take her mind off King.
"Sommerfield told me to kick your ass," Dex drawled, his eyes focused on the road. She knew him well enough to hear everything he wasn't saying. Sommerfield wasn't the only one who would be half-pissed and half-relieved. Frank would be the same, although Dex himself was probably simply relieved.
"I think I can take her," Abby said absently, her thoughts still dwelling on King. "Zoë I'm not so sure about."
Dex shot her a penetrating look. "Now that doesn't sound anything like you," he said and she stiffened, turning her head to stare out of the window rather than look in his direction and risking him seeing something on her face. "You want to tell me what happened?"
"Frank will debrief me. You know that."
"Screw Frank," he said succinctly. "Estevez is dead and you were gone all night. You hurt?"
There was genuine concern in his voice underneath the pissiness, and a surge of guilt went through her. "I'm fine."
His expression twisted slightly before it smoothed out again into his normal placid mask. "Not a scratch on you, I'll bet."
"Just one."
He shot her another look, halfway between disbelieving and questioning. "Damn, girl. There's laconic and then there's you." He shook his head, but there was an admiring note in the move. "But you need to ask yourself something."
"What's that?"
"Do you or do you not want backup when you deal with Reilly?"
It was the unthinking offer of support that finally got her opening up, not the fact that she needed his help to deal with Frank.
"Frank was wrong," she said quietly. "It wasn't a small, mobile op. It was clan. Five or six vamps, maybe twenty goons."
He let out a low whistle. "You were seriously outnumbered there, Whistler."
"Tell me about it." She took a second to marshal her thoughts. "And it wasn't just clan. It was Talos Clan."
This time he hissed, not whistled, sucking the air in through his teeth. "They just keep cropping up, don't they?"
"They're taking over," she said, not quite willing to tell him her source, not yet. "I mean, they are literally taking over."
He shot her another quick look before turning his attention back to the road. "Seems like it," was all he was willing to say. "No doubt Frank will have something to say about that."
No doubt, and that was not a conversation she was looking forward to.
-o-
She expected Frank to go on the offensive pretty much as soon as she walked through the door, given that he'd probably been pacing the floor all night, the worry eating at him. That sort of thing tended to make him a little irrational, a little quick to lash out even if he regretted it later. But she was used to it by now, and knew all of the places he was likely to hit and all of the places he wouldn't before he came to his senses. It was just another kind of sparring as far as she was concerned, and she wondered when she'd started to think of Frank as an opponent.
He didn't disappoint her. "Well?" he asked before she'd even caught her breath, and his tone was confrontational, the deep furrows in his face telling her that she'd been right about how little sleep he'd had. She needed to deal with him carefully, but it didn't help that a little voice inside her head tacked a 'young lady' to the end of his question, a little voice that sounded suspiciously like King.
"Estevez is dead," she said bluntly, too tired to make the effort at diplomacy. "He -" She bit back on the words, knowing that whatever she said, it would come out as blaming Estevez, maybe even Frank. She settled on, "Suicide by vamp." King's words, still rattling around in her head, were as apt a summary as anything.
Frank looked away from her for a moment, regret passing quickly across his face. "How?"
She bit back on a sigh. "He wanted to die, Frank. As long as he got to kill at least one vamp before he went, he didn't give a shit about anything else. He just walked out, guns blazing, like he was making a last fucking stand."
"You didn't stop him?"
The unfairness of the question burned and she held onto her temper with an effort, knowing that Frank was just as short tempered as she was, because he was just as tired. "I tried. And I almost got myself killed."
Frank's head jerked up, his eyes sweeping across her face. "You okay?"
She nodded briefly, which was all she could trust herself to do.
"Good." He folded his arms, segueing back to pissed in the blink of an eye now that she was home and safe. "You didn't call, you didn't write..." He was a sarcastic son of a bitch sometimes, even more so when he was worried.
She pulled her shattered phone out of her pocket, placing it carefully on the bench without a word, and the lines around Frank's mouth tightened.
"You couldn't find a phone booth?"
"I found one this morning."
"So what the hell happened to you last night?"
And there was the million dollar question, only in this case it had turned out to be the two million dollar question.
She took a deep breath, sorting through things. "We were outnumbered." Frank raised an eyebrow at her, impatience clear on his face when she hesitated. "I mean seriously outnumbered, Frank. It wasn't a small op. The Talos Clan have moved in."
His expression froze. "Okay, talk," he said, and the tone in his voice was chilling, almost as full of hatred for Talos as King's had been.
Now that she had his full attention, she had no idea where to begin. Normally she would take a moment to gather her thoughts, and normally Frank would be okay with that, but this time he scowled at her impatiently, his fingers tapping against his arm.
"We finally found what we thought was the blood bank," she began. "Only, there was no sign of any vamps, not then. Just six or seven heavily armed goons, the kind of security your normal, garden-variety, scum sucking lowlife of a vamp can't afford."
She had Frank's attention now. "You thought that was a sign of clan activity?"
"It made sense." She hesitated, once again still trying to sort it out in her own mind. "Estevez and I did a sweep of the building, staying low and out of sight like you taught us, and then we backtracked. This time there were vamps, and they'd all brought their own guards."
Frank nodded slowly, but she didn't think he was agreeing with her as much as acknowledging what she'd said. "And then?" he asked.
"And then Estevez went berserk. I think... I really do think he wanted to die, Frank. He just charged in, wanting to kill as many vamps as he could. He headed straight for Danica."
"Okay, that's what I'm not following. How did you know it was Danica Talos? Did you see a clan tattoo?"
His tone was the most intense she'd ever heard from Frank, and she licked at her lips, knowing full well he was going to hate the answer. "I went in after Estevez," she said, ignoring his question for now, although she wouldn't be able to ignore it for long. Frank wouldn't let her. "He was already hit by that point, and I didn't get to him in time."
Frank was watching her closely, narrow-eyed. "How did you know it was Danica Talos?" he repeated.
She finally met his eyes, holding his gaze as she said, "I had help getting out of there."
Confusion clouded Frank's face for a moment, but then it cleared as he started to put two and two together to come up with an answer that was somewhere between three and five. His lips thinned. "And you knew it was Danica Talos because..."
"Because King told me."
She was expecting an explosion, and that would have been the preferable option because that would have been quick to blow over. But Frank's reaction was worse than that; he stilled and his expression grew grim. "King," he repeated and his voice was deep and remote. "Do you know why King was there?"
She shrugged, and Frank's eyes grew flinty.
"He was tracking Danica. That's all he said. He didn't share any intel with me, and I didn't share any intel with him." She didn't tell Frank that he was keeping so much intel back from the rest of his team now that they had no intelligence to share. Estevez had been the one with the death wish, not Abby, and Frank's reactions this morning were sufficiently out of kilter to worry her.
"And you spent the night with King."
It wasn't a question, but that didn't mean she wasn't expected to answer it, even if she didn't like the insinuation. Especially when it was true.
"I spent the night lying low." Frank's eyes narrowed, like he suspected something from her answer, or maybe the tone she'd used, but she pushed on and persevered. "Danica Talos has a hell of a lot of resources and she threw them onto the streets, searching for us." Again she hesitated before grasping the thorn and adding, "Searching for King. I think she hates him almost as much as he hates her."
"I suppose he told you that."
She shook her head mutely, but managed to find her voice again in the face of Frank's refusal to see the obvious. "He didn't need to. I saw her reaction when she saw him, when she realised who almost put a bullet through her head to save me. She really fucking hates him, Frank. I don't think..."
Frank's expression was bleak, and it silenced her for a moment. But only a moment.
"Why didn't you tell me that Danica was looking for King? Sommerfield knew, but you didn't tell me." She tried not to whine like a child being kept in the dark while the adults talked, even if that was what it felt like. "It changes things."
Frank shifted, his eyes still dark and tired. "You seriously think so? Velasquez and Mick are still dead, Whistler. And even if you're right, even if King didn't sell us out, he's still the reason for that. And now it sounds like Danica Talos is going to take the fucking world apart to find him." He paused for a moment to let the full impact of his words sink into her. "This doesn't make him less dangerous, Whistler. Not even for you."
She'd have argued if she could, but there was no denying the truth in his words. Which left only one course of action.
"Why aren't we going after Talos?"
Frank straightened up, a dangerous light entering his eyes. "I told you. The Talos Clan is way out of our league."
"And they're getting bigger," she insisted. "If it's bad now, Frank, how much worse is it going to get? She's taking over, she has to be. Even if you don't believe King, you can't deny that. Unless we stop her now, she's going to end up another Deacon Frost. Power mad and trying to take over the whole damned world."
"Blade took Frost down. If Danica Talos wants to step into Frost's shoes, he'll do the same to her. We're not even close to being Blade."
She huffed out impatiently, not bothering to hide her reaction from Frank. "King's going after Danica on his own while we sit on our asses."
"Good."
She stared at Frank in disbelief, but his expression didn't change, staying grim.
"You ever see wolves hunt, Whistler?"
The question threw her, and she shook her head mutely.
"They don't attack head-on, not the smart ones. Oh yeah, sometimes there's one out in front, but while whatever they're hunting is busy with that one, the others come in from behind."
The penny finally dropped. "You're talking about making King bait," she said numbly, and Frank nodded, the move having an air of inevitability about it.
"At this point, I don't really care if he's guilty or not, Whistler. Even if you're right, it doesn't matter. Goat or Judas goat, either way he's going to keep Danica Talos occupied and out of our goddamned hair. I say we wait until she's busy with him and then hamstring the bitch."
"Judas goat?" she asked, focusing on the one thing she didn't understand because it was better than focusing on what she did.
Dex shuffled a little, when she looked over at him, still confused, he was watching Frank with a thoughtful expression on his face. He caught her looking and explained. "They used to train goats for use in slaughterhouses. The other animals see it trotting in, think it's safe to follow. So it literally leads the lambs to slaughter."
That wasn't a pleasant image, not least because of what it meant for King. She opened her mouth to protest, but there was no point, not with Frank looking at her like that. He wasn't going to change his mind.
He watched her for a long moment, obviously waiting for her objections. He was going to be disappointed. He had a point - she accepted that, and probably would have done so more easily if he'd been talking about anyone but King. King was out there, deliberately trying to piss Danica off as much and as frequently as possible, and from Frank's perspective it would be stupid not to exploit it.
From Abby's perspective, it meant that King had very little chance of making it through this alive. And even if it sounded as though Frank was finally considering making a move against the Talos Clan, she couldn't help but be afraid that it would be too little, too late.
But then, King was no more on his own now than he had been before, and at least this way she might get a chance to back him up, return the favour.
"Anything else?" Frank asked, obviously having decided that if she hadn't objected so far, she wasn't likely to object now.
For a second she hesitated, unwilling to open this particular can of worms while she was feeling so vulnerable about King. But there was no point in putting off the inevitable, and she pulled out the envelope that King had given her. It was crumpled now, crushed by her pocket, but she held it out towards Hedges anyway, waiting until he took it from her before she finally looked at Frank.
"What is it?" Frank asked, jerking his chin towards it.
"Two million."
Dex let out a low whistle and Hedges simply stared at her as though she'd grown another head. She didn't miss how Hedges' fingers tightened momentarily on the envelope, crumpling it further.
"King." That was all Frank said, but he still managed to make it sound like a curse.
"Okay, can I just check something?" Hedges asked, his hands fluttering nervously. "When you say two million, you mean two million dollars, right?"
She nodded and Hedges' jaw dropped. "Jesus," he said, and she understood the sentiment.
"Where the hell did King get two million dollars?" Dex asked, and Frank's expression was asking the same question.
"He stole it from Danica."
"Of course he did," Frank rumbled, his expression darkening. "And it's obviously not a trap Danica laid for him, one we're about to get caught up in."
"I have faith in Hedges. I'm pretty sure he can get the money out without it being traced." She knew nothing about hacking or online banking, but she could trust Hedges to do the necessary research. And two million dollars was a lot of incentive for him to figure it out.
Hedges had pulled the paper out and was reading it, his eyebrows drawn down in a frown and his lips moving as he puzzled out King's notes. And then he nodded, glancing over at Frank. "I'm not a hacker, but I know some guys... They should be able to do what we need, cover their tracks, mask their IPs. For a price, of course."
"For two million, I think we can be generous," Dex said dryly. "Jesus." He let out a ragged little laugh, but there was relief in it and Abby could understand why. Two million would fund their operation for a good long while.
Of all of them, only Frank wasn't convinced, but she could tell that he was weighing the risks against the potential payoff. The irony of having a vampire clan fund the very people who were going to take them out would also appeal to his dry sense of humour.
But he was wily, and he hadn't lived this long by being stupid and reckless. "Why give it to you?"
"Who the hell cares, man?" Dex interjected. "So he's got a crush on Whistler. You want to use him? Then why the hell shouldn't we use this, too?"
Frank ignored him, his eyes fixed on Abby.
"Because he doesn't think he's going to live long enough to spend it. And he wants Danica dead. I don't think he cares if he's the one to do it, but he wants to make sure that if she does him first, he's got a backup plan in place." She met Frank's eyes calmly. "You want to use him. Okay, fine. But you can hardly object if he wants to use us, too." And maybe there was still a small, hurt little voice whispering in her head, because she couldn't resist adding, "I thought that's what you wanted, Frank. King to take the lead, for him to be the... Judas goat."
Frank's face was expressionless; for once she couldn't tell what was going on in his head. It didn't matter. She knew what was going on in hers.
And she'd memorised King's e-mail address.
-o-
She held out for almost two weeks before she finally e-mailed King, and she only caved in the end because she hadn't heard anything about him. The questions she was asking about King's whereabouts, about whether he was still out there instead of dead in some vamp's dungeon, were starting to attract attention. The wrong kind of attention. The kind of attention that could get back to Frank, and somehow she doubted that Frank would be sympathetic.
It wasn't difficult to figure out what she wanted to say. There was only one question that mattered. Everything else was irrelevant.
From: huntergrl01
To: hjkingvs
Subject:
Tell me you're still breathing.
She checked her e-mail every day, sometimes more than once. She couldn't shake the memory of those car headlights searching the streets, knowing that the vamps hadn't been looking for her, and it worried her that King was way out of his depth, no matter what he thought. She couldn't shake the memory of the bruises on his body, either, or the faint trace work of healing scars.
But the most vivid memories had nothing to do with their fight with the vampires. The ones that kept her awake at night were all about King's touch, the way he tasted, and the way he felt.
When he didn't reply immediately, it made her snappish and irritable, imagining the worst and biting back on her impatience with the other members of her team.
It took three days for the answer to drop into her inbox, and it was only then that she felt as though she could breathe.
From: hjkingvs
To: huntergrl01
Subject: Re:
Anyone would think you were worried about me, Whistler.
Hunter girl? Seriously?
There was no reason for her to reply to King. It wasn't like she had anything important to say, and she'd satisfied herself that he was still alive. So, maybe she'd check if he fell off the grid again, but that was all.
Except she found her fingers clicking on the keyboard, a little more rapidly than she might have been able to do back before Hedges took her in hand, his face creasing with frustration as he watched her hunt and peck technique. And then she was hitting send before she could think better of it.
From: huntergrl01
To: hjkingvs
Subject: Re: Re:
I figured that way you'd know it was me.
The smart thing to do at that point would have been to forget all about King, put him completely out of her mind while she did something much more productive. Which was how she ended up sitting at her laptop, pulling together playlist after playlist for her MP3 player and pretending that she wasn't waiting for a reply.
From: hjkingvs
To: huntergrl01
Subject: Re: Re: Re:
Did you sign up for an e-mail address just to talk to me? I'm touched.
She stared at his answer for a long moment, and then pushed the lid of her laptop down before she could reply. She was in no doubt that Dex could use a sparring partner.
That, at least, wouldn't be stupid.
-o-
She fell into a routine. She'd hesitate to call it a rut, but her life had a certain rhythm to it, an ebb and flow that was familiar, if not exactly comforting.
She hunted, as she'd always done, but there were new toys for her to play with now, Hedges' ingenuity, Yavari's skill and King's money combining to produce cutting-edge weapons. Abby got to field test them, and she fell a little in love with each and every one of them: the ultraviolet arc, the retracting silver blades, and, her personal favourite, the UV arrowheads, which detonated a second or two after impact and blew any vamp in the immediate vicinity into ash and dust.
Hunting was still hard, difficult and dangerous work. She went out each night with a small smile on her face, and came back with a grin.
She kept in touch with King, too, although that wasn't something she shared with anyone else. He had his own gigs, and if she occasionally passed him Hedges' less complex plans for weapons, so that he knew what he could request from Aref Yavari, well, Hedges was none the wiser. It didn't do any harm. It couldn't. Even if Frank was right - and she was now certain he wasn't - the worst King could do with Hedges' designs was pass them on to Danica, and it wasn't like she was going to be able to come up with a defence against ultraviolet lights. Vamps had been working on that little problem for centuries, and Danica, being made, not born, didn't even have a pure blood's minimal tolerance for sunlight.
But mostly she checked her e-mail just to read the brief two-liners, the snippets of intel that King shared, the rumours and the sightings that told her he was still alive.
From: hjkingvs
To: huntergrl01
Subject: not dead yet
Just in case you were wondering. Took down two last night but I hear someone set fire to a nest in the warehouse district.
You should check those pyromaniac impulses, Whistler ;)
Still breathing and still fighting. They had that much in common.
But the money King had gifted them didn't just go to weaponry. Sommerfield now had state-of-the-art DNA sequencing equipment, and Hedges had new computer systems. He'd started to do similar modelling to Sommerfield, but his models didn't contain anti-viruses or disease vectors; his work was more concerned with mapping the ebb and flow of vampire activity across the city.
He showed the outcomes to Frank, and Abby paid attention, too. It was both terrifying and fascinating to watch the coloured dots representing the different vampire clans they knew about swirl across the screen, advancing and retreating as they battled for control. Even so, she wasn't surprised to see that the blue dots representing the Talos Clan were making considerable headway, at least on Hedges' models. They were sweeping huge swathes of the city clean, and Frank's expression grew grimmer by the day.
But Hedges' models also confirmed what Abby already thought and what she'd observed in the field: the number of vampires kept increasing, and most of them seemed new. The ones Abby came across most frequently now were cannon fodder: barely trained, nothing but impatient hunger, and quick to die. And no sooner did they wipe out one nest than another one popped up to take its place.
But as far Abby was concerned, a vamp was a vamp was a vamp. They all died screaming when she staked them, no matter what their affiliation. The fact that there were more of them these days simply kept her busier.
It was exhausting work. More than once Abby came back from the hunt to collapse, face-down on her bed, and fall asleep still clothed, before she'd even had the chance to shower. She wasn't the only one affected.
Sommerfield spent all of her time in the lab, working on the cure she'd used for King, but trying to turn it into a weapon. Hedges fell asleep at his workstation every night, surrounded by half built prototypes and sketches that made sense to no-one but him. They were all running on fumes, and they needed to slow down. This was a marathon, not a sprint.
This was a war.
One morning, she actually arrived back at base early enough to have breakfast and awake enough to shower. It was a novelty to have any time to herself, and she took advantage of it, pulling out her laptop and firing it up while she ate. If Frank checked in on her - and he did that rarely these days - she could always claim she was pulling together her music. He didn't approve, convinced that the beats pounding in her ear as she fought would mask the sounds of anyone else creeping up behind her. In Abby's experience, however, tuning out the sounds of battle around her allowed her to concentrate, focus solely on the vamp she was taking down. She never had the music turned up as loud as Frank seemed to think, but that was another thing she wasn't going to tell him.
But her reason for turning on her laptop now had nothing to do with choosing the right songs to compile into killing playlists. It was, of course, about King.
There were a couple of messages waiting for her when she logged in, even if he never normally e-mailed her more than once a day at most, and she clicked on the earliest one with a small smile, wondering what intel he had to share and - more importantly - how many different ways he'd try to flirt.
From: hjkingvs
To: huntergrl01
Subject:
if ur there turn on IM. pleawse.
She stared at King's missive for a long moment, a small frown forming on her face as she puzzled out his meaning. It wasn't like King to make typos, and for a second she wondered if she'd been so keen to hear from him that she'd clicked on a spam message instead, but when she checked, the 'from' field was clearly his e-mail address.
IM had to be instant messaging. He'd tried to get her on that before, but she'd ignored his suggestion, partly because she didn't want to get so caught up in talking to him in real-time that she'd forget everything else she needed to do, or worse, have Frank walk in on her. The rest was because she knew King well enough to know he'd spend the time flirting with her outrageously and sending her semi-obscene messages.
This didn't sound like flirting, and her finger moved automatically to the icon in the system tray she'd never used. It was linked to her e-mail account - all she had to do was type in her e-mail address and password. While it did whatever the hell it needed to do to go live, she clicked on the second e-mail waiting from King in her inbox.
Abby if ur there pls get online
For some reason, the words made her blood run cold and she flicked back impatiently to the messaging system. There was something about 'adding contacts', and she tapped in King's e-mail address, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
Finally it connected her, and there was King's address, the only name listed on her contacts list.
What's wrong?
The words hung there, mocking her when King didn't respond immediately. She tried again, typing his name this time, wondering if it was a hoax, some stupid little game he was playing.
This time, however, he finally answered her.
im fine he typed, and that wasn't the question she'd asked. Just
Just? She frowned at the screen, wishing she could see his face, tell what he was thinking. You ok?
i'll live
Something cold and uncertain settled in her stomach. King?
need 2 learn how 2 duck
That feeling turned to stone, weighing her down and making her feel nauseous. Her fingers were shaking as she rested them on the keys again. How badly are you hurt?
i'll live
That's not an answer. He didn't respond right away, and that did nothing to assuage the fear she felt. King? Still no answer, even though there was a little keyboard in the corner of her screen that she thought showed he was typing. She could picture him all too clearly: grey-faced with pain, hunched over, and trying to pretend it didn't hurt.
He wouldn't have contacted her if it had been good; she got that now, and she didn't hesitate.
Where are you? No answer. Don't bullshit me. Where the hell are you?
This time when he responded, he gave her an address.
I'll be there she typed, and then she hesitated before adding Hold on and hitting send.
Sommerfield kept her infirmary well-stocked. At one point that had been Velasquez's job, but Dex did it now. She took a moment, eyeing all of the neatly labelled shelves and taking deep breaths to hold the fear and the panic down. It wouldn't help King if she rushed. However badly he'd been hurt, he was still conscious and able to contact her, which meant that she had time, and she needed to hold onto that thought.
She took bandages and tape, throwing in some sterile wipes and non-latex gloves, and then a couple of small brown bottles from Sommerfield's medicine cupboard - antibiotics and analgesics.
"You want to tell me what you're doing?"
Dex's voice startled her. She'd been so focused on gathering supplies that she hadn't heard him come in. It could have been worse; it could have been Frank.
She turned her head to look at him, trying to school her face into some blank, unrevealing mask, but she didn't need to see the concern that flashed across his face to know she hadn't managed it.
Dex eyed the supplies she'd already pulled off the shelves, his mind obviously ticking over. "How badly is he hurt?"
She swallowed, not denying it. It wouldn't do any good; Dex wasn't any dumber than the rest of them.
"I don't know. But..."
"If he called you, it's got to be worse than a scrape." That was what she was afraid of, really fucking afraid of, but Dex didn't seem interested in stopping her, or turning her in to Frank. He searched her face for a moment, and then reached up to one of the shelves she hadn't checked.
"Super Glue," he explained, handing her a tiny, white plastic tube. "Medical grade. I've seen your needlework, Whistler. I don't think you'll want to sew him up."
She swallowed, taking the tube from his hand and shoving it with the rest of the stuff in her bag.
"You can use that to seal any cuts instead of suturing," Dex explained. "Use it on the outside of the wound, not in the wound itself. And just try to be neat with it, okay? Don't stick yourself to him, although I get the feeling that advice might be a little late."
She nodded, impatient to be out of the door. But before she could leave, she had to ask, "Are you going to tell Frank where I've gone?"
"How can I tell Frank that?" he asked amiably. "You haven't told me where you're going. Just... Watch out for yourself, Whistler. I know there's no point in telling you not to go, but I'm telling you to watch your back. Just in case."
She nodded again, touched by his concern, but anything she felt was subsumed in her worry for King.
"Take the truck." He pulled the car keys out of his pants' pocket and tossed into her. "Now, get out of here."
-o-
King's bolthole this time was in a bad part of town. She guessed it made sense. From what he'd said, he had places all over the city and if he'd been hunting down by the docks, this would be his closest port of call.
She parked, making sure she locked all of the doors even though she still expected not to have hubcaps, and maybe not even wheels, by the time she got back. It seemed a small price to pay, especially as she had a feeling that Dex had jacked the truck in the first place or bought it from someone else who had.
It was still early, the sun rising sluggishly in the sky, and she kept a keen eye on the street as she rapped on the door, scanning in both directions for any sign of trouble. It took a long time for King to answer her knock, and with each passing second she grew more and more tense, more and more afraid for him. When the door finally opened with a click, she was about ready to crawl out of her skin.
King's face was grey, beads of sweat on his forehead. He stared at her dully for a moment before he stepped out of the way, leaving a gap that she guessed was the only invitation she was going to get.
He was armed. The gun was clutched in his right hand, hidden out of sight by the door, and his left hand was wrapped around his body, pressing against his right side. His shirt may have been dark enough to hide it, but the fingers of that hand were stained red with the blood seeping through the fabric.
She closed the door behind her, making sure that she slid every single deadbolt home. When she turned back to King, he'd already headed towards the interior of the building and she followed him just in time to watch him stagger, putting his hand out to steady himself on the wall.
He left a bloody handprint and her heart clenched, hard and tight, in her chest.
The room he led her to was slightly bigger than the only other bolthole of his she'd seen, but not by much. This one was a dump, too, although at least it seemed clean. There was even a kitchen counter, the surface faded into white from repeated scrubbings, presumably dating from when it had served as a family kitchen. Now the only things on it were a bowl of reddened water, a heap of bloodstained bandages, and King's laptop, still switched on and with the lid open.
King settled himself on the stool by the counter, his fingers curling where they rested on the work surface. His face was even greyer now, if possible, and all of his focus seemed to be on staying upright.
"Thanks," he said, and his voice was hoarse with pain. "For coming out."
She swallowed, aiming for jokey and knowing she was going to miss it by a considerable margin. "Well, you're about the only person I'd make a house call for."
He managed a faint smile, breathing shallowly, in and out, his focus on her seeming to fade as another wave of pain hit him.
"How bad is it?" she asked, aiming for brisk and businesslike, and making it, mostly. "Do you need a trip to the emergency room?" He shook his head, finally meeting her eyes, dark shadows underneath his.
"Danica knows I'm hurt," he said, and Abby put two and two together, not doubting his conclusion. If he thought Talos would be watching all of the local hospitals, she wasn't going to argue. He knew Danica hell of a lot better than she did. "It's not that bad."
That she did doubt. "Let me see."
She had to help him ease his shirt away from his skin and over his head. He'd made an attempt to patch himself up; there were white bandages padded over the wound, taped down awkwardly, but they were already bloodstained, and she didn't think that was a good sign.
She swallowed, keeping her fingers gentle as she peeled away the tape. In spite of her care, he still hissed in pain, his fingers clenching into a fist, and she shot him an apologetic look. He ignored it, concentrating on breathing.
He'd been knifed, and whoever had hit him had left a sharp, neat wound, almost three inches in length. It could have been a lot worse. The wound was long, but she didn't think it was that deep. He'd cleaned up the worst of the blood, but the sides of the wound still gaped a little when he moved, puckered and oozing blood.
She swallowed again, suddenly a little light-headed. She'd seen worse injuries, but there was something obscene about the way his flesh had parted underneath the blade, and something terrifying about the fact that if he'd moved a couple of inches in the wrong direction, the knife would have sunk into his guts.
"I need to seal it," she said, because talking about it helped her focus. King nodded, not looking at her and keeping his eyes away from his side. She had a feeling his acknowledgement was just for show, something to keep him focused when he was past the point of caring.
She padded up his bandages again, the ones she'd removed, and pressed them against his wound. "Hold that there," she said, waiting until he had his hands in position before she took hers away. His movements were sluggish, uncoordinated, and she scanned his face worriedly, trying to remember the signs of excessive blood loss that Velasquez had tried to drum into her.
He was conscious, and he was upright, and that was pretty much the extent of her knowledge.
She turned away, pulling what she needed out of her bag and trying to be logical and consistent about it. Panicking wouldn't help him, and he wasn't in any immediate danger. Once she'd pulled on a pair of gloves, the wipes came first, and she cleaned the area around the wound again, ignoring the way he hissed in pain, fighting not to pull away. Then there was an antiseptic spray, and she used it liberally, ruthless about it in spite of his strangled yelp and heartfelt "Fuck me!"
When it came time to seal the wound, her hands were shaking. She clenched her fingers into fists, willing them to stop. King was watching her, his expression slack and haggard. It should have made him look old; instead it made him look painfully young, and she took a deep breath, stretching out her fingers and centring herself.
"Could be worse," King said, his voice shaking almost as much as her fingers, even if he managed to crack a smile. "Could be needles."
She let out a ragged little laugh, and it helped. This time when she took in another deep breath, letting it out slowly, her fingers stilled, as steady as when she held a blade or drew back her bow.
"Okay," she said. "Don't move or you could be stuck with me. Permanently."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
She didn't answer him, all of her attention on carefully squeezing the glue out of the tube, leaving a neat line just above his injury, barely a hairsbreadth from the edge. King twitched a little when she gently eased the edges of the wound together, keeping her fingers well away from the clear, sticky glue.
And then she stepped back, letting out a breath.
"How's that?"
He started to stretch tentatively, and she put her hand his shoulder to stop him from moving around and opening his injury again. "You'd better keep still until the glue's dry," she said and he nodded, sinking back down onto his stool with a sigh.
"Have you got painkillers?"
He nodded again. "Took some already. I don't think I can take any more for a while."
"What about antibiotics?"
This time he shook his head, and she fished the right small, brown bottle out of her bag, handing it to him and waiting until he took it, swallowing two of the small white pills dry.
She hovered over him silently and awkwardly, fighting against the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes, touching him just so she could feel the warmth of his skin, let it sink into her and reassure her that he was still alive the way that just seeing him couldn't. She swallowed it down, aiming for normalcy or what passed for it with them anyway. "What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?" she asked, and he laughed, the sound low and raw.
"There might be some beer in the fridge. I don't know for sure. I don't tend to keep this place stocked. There should be coffee, though. No milk, I'm afraid."
Of course there wouldn't be any milk. She had a hard time thinking of King as being domestic. He didn't have a microwave either, and she ended up digging a saucepan out of the cupboard and using it to boil the water.
When she turned back to King, he was watching her again and the look on his face sent a flood of warmth through her. It wasn't just gratitude she saw, but something else, something he quickly hid, dragging his eyes away from her.
"Thanks," he said again, his voice sounding gravelly and hoarse. He cleared his throat. "For coming over, I mean. I didn't expect..."
They were heading into uncomfortable territory, and Abby folded her arms, shifting awkwardly in place. She glanced away from King, looking anywhere to avoid meeting his eyes, and her gaze fell on the laptop again.
The chat window he'd been talking to her in was still up on the screen, and she'd been in such a hurry that she hadn't signed out. He'd sent her more messages after she'd bolted for the infirmary; she could see them on the screen.
u don't have 2 come. I just needed 2 talk to u
When she looked back at King, his expression was grave, maybe even a little lost. "I got scared," he said, and his mouth twitched like he was trying to smile and not quite making it. "Stupid, huh?"
He let out a shaky breath, dropping his eyes to the floor, and this time when her heart clenched it had nothing to do with fear or with worry. She hunted on her own more often than not these days, but she had help when she was hurt, and she'd never come home and found that no one was waiting, that no one cared.
"It's not stupid," she said quietly, and he tried for another smile, this one even more broken than the last. "You scared me, too," she admitted, and she couldn't even try to smile, brush it off like he was trying to. "When I realised you were hurt and I wasn't -" She bit off the words, trying not to choke on them. "I check my inbox every day." Her voice cracked, just a little, in spite of holding onto her calm as hard as she could. "Just so I know that you're still breathing."
His eyes were fixed on her face, wide and a little wet. He swallowed, giving her a jerky nod. "Well... I've got to say that I'm glad you're here now."
She finally gave in to that ever-present urge, the need to touch him, and reached out to stroke her fingers gently along his hairline. He turned his face into her touch, closing his eyes.
"Me, too," she said, and it came out halfway between a sigh and sob. "Me, too."