18)
Tiff patted Ro's limp wrist in a vain attempt to bring Ro back to the land of consciousness. She had fainted, as Tiff suspected she would. Some strangers began to gather, and one of them was a nurse who tried to find out what was wrong with the unconscious girl. Most of the people in the circumference of the phone booth had heard the scream she'd let out just prior to fainting, like the yell had sucked out her last bit of strength. The nurse was asking questions of Tiff about Ro, and Tiff's mind was tumbling with responses and worries and anxieties. And, most of all, she wondered where Zeta was. She knew he was around, he was close. Even if Ro denied it, Tiff knew. Ro would not leave Zeta, not for anything. And Zeta would not leave Ro.
Zeta was not far behind. He'd followed Ro and Tiffany Morgan throughout their walk, keeping a steady distance of at least fifty feet. But he had allowed Ro a greater tether as soon as she and Tiff sat in Hillsburg Park. She was a hundred feet away or more, as Zeta chose to stay behind, where he leaned against a tree, watching the people and wondering about their daily lives. Occasionally, he would let his eyes drift over to Ro just to make sure she was still there. She seemed to be getting along so well with Tiff that Zeta was afraid to interrupt. From the distance it was unclear what they were saying, even to Zeta's acute hearing, though some words stood out in bold. Zeta mostly ignored the conversation and allowed Ro her time with Tiff. But when he saw Ro head to the phone booth, he grew moderately alarmed, but still kept his distance. It was when he saw Ro coming out of the booth, take a few meager steps and awkwardly fall into Tiff's arms that Zeta began to hasten his direction toward Ro, on the opposite side of the park. His footing faltered a moment when he heard her scream his name. Then, for a scary moment, his aural sense seemed to malfunction, because he heard nothing. The aural world faded back slowly, returning to normal.
The processors performed a subsequent standard systems check as a result the brief malfunction. "All systems functioning," his display told him. It ran through the list: "Visual receptors: passed. Aural receptors: passed." Zeta ignored the evaluation as it looped on.
He pushed his way through the wall of bodies around Ro quickly but politely, pardoning himself as he did. The synthoid's human-shaped fingers clenched tightly as soon as he saw Ro lying on the ground. Tiffany looked up at him. His was presence so commanding and abrupt that she immediately noticed he was there. Her heart felt relief. If Zeta was there, Ro would be better.
"Zee," Tiff said to him, and the robot met her gaze, reflecting the concern each shared, "I don't know what happened. She says she's been sick."
"She's not just sick," Zeta added as he knelt to Ro and touched her hot forehead with his cool fingertips. "She's suffering from exhaustion."
The male nurse was grateful for the insider's presence. "You her, uh--"
"Friend," Zee answered. He squinted. "Who're you?"
Tiff set her hand on Zeta's arm to calm him down. He was acting snippety, unlike himself. She knew why. "Relax, Zee. He's here to help."
Zeta hastily moved his stare at Tiffany. The analysis of her presence did not take him long. "Yes, I know."
Ro began to lift through her fog. Zeta and Tiff watched her in hope, while the nurse was ready with a suggestion that the girl be taken to a hospital. Ro fluttered open her lids, the pale lashes set to pale cheeks again, but briefly, until they stayed open and she examined the faces around her. There was Tiff, with the obligatory set of tears in her eyes and dampened cheeks, a lightly running nose that she dabbed dry with the back of her hand. Zeta as Zee was staring over her, that tough, robotic appearance in his expression, his manner most forbearing. He'd always shown such great patience with her. The world had stopped spilling upon itself long enough for her to smile up at him, terribly glad for their presence, for her friends' support.
The voice of the stranger broke her concentration. "You all right, Miss?"
"Fine," she answered coldly, unemotionally. She wasn't sure she was fine, but she would be fine, no matter what it took to get there or make someone else believe it. "What happened, or doesn't anyone know?"
Some of the crowd began to disperse one-by-one until it was just the four of them. The male stranger had intentions of making sure the girl was all right before he left. He asked her if she wished to be admitted to the hospital, but wasn't surprised the idea was scorned in vehemence. But Ro kindly shook the gentleman's hand, thanking him for his benevolence to an ill stranger. In turn, Zee and Tiff uttered their gratitude as well. With his uncanny foreign accent, he assured him it was nothing, that he was only grateful to be of use, marking the coincidence that he'd happened to be passing by. When the tall stranger walked away, he knew their thanks and the girl's restored health was enough payment for him.
Ro inquired again what had happened. Tiff explained the moment of Ro's fall briefly. "You screamed and then fainted. Now, here we are."
"I screamed?" Ro struggled to remember this part. "Why?"
"Don't know," Tiff shrugged. "You wanted Zee. He heard, as he is never far away. He ran. You got him."
Ro began to lift herself from the green grass. It left blade indentations on her skin. The back of her arms were spotted from the obscure pattern. She ran her hand over one. She suddenly remembered what had happened. "Oh, that's right," she murmured to herself. In a moment she had her arms over Zee's shoulders, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry, Zee. "
He patted her back gently. "Why?"
"I called Mrs. Gwennie's place," she said, looking him in the eye, "to see if she had that info."
Tiff set her hands on her hips, wondering what all this jargon was about. They were full of adventures and mysteries. At least she knew who Mrs. Gwennie was, or at least vaguely.
"What'd she say?" Zeta prompted.
"She didn't say anything. That is," Ro sighed and glanced away a moment, too upset at the misfortune, "she couldn't say anything."
Zeta's hands slipped from Ro's back as he stood. He took a few steps in a circle, then reversed, the tail of his jacket flapping. Consternation and horror was all over him, and he expressed the dismay well for a robot. "You mean she's dead."
"That's right." Ro expounded on the details, what little she'd heard from the woman named Maze Rowen. Zeta forced himself to listen, though it filled him with acute disappointment. And Ro felt keenly the same disappointment as if it was his own, and maybe more than what Zeta knew, since he was not constructed to feel. Yet there was no denying he was mournful, the loss of the news he so wanted pained him. A great part of that hurt was not pretend. Most of it was genuine. Something inside of him hurt, and he didn't know for certain what it was. His conscience? His embryonic soul? He didn't know. But it was a strange sensation to him, and one he did not wish to develop. Ro's look to him was a comfort, and he touched the side of her face to show their mutual mortification at the unexpected news and the fateful murder of their hope. He let his hand fall and turned to Tiff. She took a step back, and Zeta attempted to seem less formidable in order to relax Miss Morgan.
"Tiffany," he began serenely, "I have something I want you to do for us. Would you do it?"
"What is it, Zee?" Tiff wasn't entirely sure she would appreciate anything Zee asked her to do. But she'd test the waters first to find out. It might be an adventure of her own.
"I'd like you to look up information about someone."
Tiff lifted a shoulder haply, thinking that seemed easy enough to do, and she was excellent at research. "No problem. Who do you have in mind?"
"Does the name Alistair Dumes mean anything to you?"
"No," Tiff responded, her brow together, as though still thinking about it. "Maybe a little. Who is he? Friend or foe?"
Ro answered instead of allowing Zeta to do all the talking. Although she was against the pursuit of someone who seemed as harmless as Dumes, she couldn't help but admit she was curious, especially about his past. "He's an important figure in the Rÿyennas Corporation. Lives in Seapoint. Seems to have a seedy history. We'd like to know more about him."
"I don't know the name, but Rÿyennas is familiar. Why do you want to know more about him?" Tiffany didn't expect an answer. They always blew off her questions just when she was nearly at the door which would lead to everything. To her surprise, Ro elaborated.
"Zee thinks he's trying to kill us."
Zeta resented the assumption, but then found that he did believe Alistair Dumes wanted to kill them, though he had no proof. "It's just speculation," he said to Tiff. "A possibility. Not a fact."
Ro stuck out her tongue to Zeta. "Same thing."
Tiff chuckled her uncomfortable disbelief. "You're not serious. Don't you two have enough trouble as it is? Why would someone from the Rÿyennas Corporation want you two--you know--killed?"
Zeta and Ro said in synchronization that they didn't know why. The trio began to head from the park, back into the historic brown stone, brick and glass buildings of the small city's shop district. Traffic was at its highest midday point, with the workforce returning from lunch, and even a greater number were pounding the pavement to return to their desk by one that afternoon, a decent ten minutes away.
Tiffany walked leisurely between Zeta and Ro and glanced at them equally, then nodded. "I'll look into it for you, sure."
"Thanks," Ro said. "I'll call you sometime to see what you've found out. I'll call you before you leave for Bayville."
"Would that make me wanted, if I aided you guys? Like, an accessory or something. An accomplice."
"That's my title," Ro said, flashing a big grin. The joke went over Tiffany's head, but Zeta understood. "I wouldn't worry about it, Tiff. It's only bad if someone catches you. Besides, who's going to know?"
Ro let out a little yelp when Zeta grabbed her arm, then Tiff's, and threw them into the nearest store, a woman's clothing boutique.
"What the---" Ro began, but was hushed when Zeta put his hand over her mouth to silence her.
"Problem," he whispered. After giving the store a scan, he saw that they were the only patrons viewable, and only the female employee behind the counter noted their peculiar presence. The less they were seen the better it was. It always worked that way.
"What is it, Zee?" Ro had had enough excitement for one day, but she knew it was still early. Plenty could yet happen, and it looked like it was about to.
"Company, Ro." Zeta peered between the metal blinds of the store window, the girls hunched behind him. "Tiffany," he said, a little bit of synthoid humor in his voice, "have you ever met Orrin West?"
Ro griped and rolled her eyes.
Tiff looked extremely confused. "No, don't think I have. Well, didn't he end up in our tree once? I can't remember."
Despite the tense moment, Ro chortled. "If there's a tree and an Orrin West, there's an Orrin West in a tree."
"What?" Tiff demanded. "What riddles! Who is he? Some kind of monkey?"
Zeta answered. "You're about to meet him, because he's coming this way. I think he's seen you, but not us. And even if he has seen us it won't matter."
Tiffany found this explanation even more beguiling than when she knew nothing of the situation. She hoped Ro would be able to shed more light on what was going on. Ro squeezed Tiff's shoulders, her animation brilliant.
"He means we have to go, Tiff. We have to go now. Orrin West is an agent. He'll be looking for you. He'll be looking for us."
Tiff inspired a shaky, frightened breath, and her lips quivered against her will. "But, Ro---"
"What's the quickest way out of town?" Zeta asked, not caring that he was interrupting Tiffany's sentence.
"There isn't--I mean--I don't know!"
Ro wondered why Tiff began to sift through her handbag, but wondered no longer when Tiff handed her a car remote and plastic card key.
"The quickest way out of town is in my car."
"Tiff!" Ro exclaimed. "Not your new car!"
"It's not my new car!" Tiff managed a murky, sly smile. "Did you think that if I was going to see you I'd take my brand new car? Think I'm that stupid? I brought the old one in case something like this happened. You take it. It's in front of the gift shop on Sixth. Go on, Ro!" Tiff shouted, and pushed her sister away at the shoulder. "I don't want anything to happen to you if I can help it."
"Run, Ro," Zeta said, perfectly placid.
"Zee, what are you---"
"I'll catch up with you. Just go. Out the back. Run."
There was no time for a goodbye between Ro and Tiff, but they shared a profound millisecond of silent farewell before Ro turned and ran the length of the store, into the back just to find the exit. She found herself in the dirty back alley, alone. Hillsburg was a different world to her, especially since it'd been so long that she was in danger within its vicinity, and being alone in that ugly face of danger was something she'd never dealt with before.
Zeta had little time to prepare for the unexpected arrival of NSA agent Orrin West, but as long as Ro was far from the building and on her way to safety, he could then be concerned with saving himself. For a rapid second, as fast as his processors would allow, he concocted a doable but hardly ingenious plan.
"Better meet him outside, Tiffany. If you don't mind." Zeta titled his head to see through the blinds, and caught West's appearance across the street, a couple shops north. "He's looking for you now. It's better if you don't hide. Wait until he gets a little closer. I'll say when."
"What's he going to do to me?" Tiff inquired, trying to keep the childish tone from her voice. She was slightly afraid but more intrigued.
"He'll do nothing to you." Zeta analyzed Tiff's reaction, and found that she didn't believe him. "You're too valuable to them, as Ro's sister."
"So I'm just supposed to make some small talk with him, then, while you slip out the back?"
Zeta nodded. He didn't think she would come up with a better idea. After another dip and slant of his head, Zeta saw West crossing the street in a flat jog. "He's coming. You can go now. Don't worry, you'll be fine." Zeta took a step to turn away, but Tiffany stopped him.
"Zee," she said, her head titled from the weight of her heart, "take care of Ro, please."
"Of course."
"She's a better person now. You've changed her." Tiffany opened the door and stepped out, giving no extra explanation.
Zeta waited, perhaps unwisely, hidden mostly behind a garment rack. He casted a glance at the employee. She just cleared her throat and shifted her posture so she was looking the opposite way, all with intention. Glad for the woman's deliberate disinterest, Zeta focused on what was happening outside the shop, on the sidewalk, where Tiff and West met. He wanted to know why West was in Hillsburg, and if the NSA knew he and Ro were there.
All shops in historic Hillsburg had manual doors, instead of the slick automated ones that slid aside. The old doors were supposed to incorporate the charm of architectural history, already represented throughout the town. Tiff just thought they were an archaic nuisance. As soon as she pushed open the door, Tiff took a step to the left, having held the door open when she stepped around it. But while she turned, her head was over her shoulder, looking behind for Agent West.
At that moment, West stepped directly into the shop's door that had suddenly opened on him. He coiled and called in pain, grunting, then looked up angrily to reprimand the fool who'd not bothered to look before opening the door. "Excuse me! Why don't you look where you're going?" The antagonism for a stranger left him when he saw his culprit, and found himself lost in the brown doe-like eyes of the young woman who stood before him, nearly as shocked as he. It was the eyes that he saw first, with long lashes and a perfect almond shape. But then he saw her nose was doused with sun-freckles, and he found them captivating, and they didn't suit the woman's elegant appearance at all, with their juvenile presence. He thumbed through his suddenly limited vocabulary to find that one easy word that eluded him. "Sorry," he finally said. "I thought you were someone else." But that was a lie. He knew who she was. He just hadn't remembered Tiffany Morgan well, from years back, and she looked so altered and grown up it'd caught him off guard.
"Who?" Tiffany asked, just out of curiosity, but she was sure it must be Agent West she was facing. His black and white crisp suit looked enough like a government uniform. She examined the red welt that was growing on the side of the agent's face where he'd bumped into the metal door. "You've got a nasty bump on your cheek. You should put some ice on that so it won't swell."
West set his hand over the throbbing pain on his face. It did hurt. But he'd had worse. "I'm used to stuff like this. It's nothing."
Tiff began to tread past him, her shoulders set square and her chin risen high. It was just a test to see if he'd let her slip through his fingers without knowing who she was. A half-step later, Agent West tugged at her arm commandingly, and she knew that he knew who she was. She flipped around and stared at him, sharp steel in her eyes. West was one of those guys, Tiffany thought, who threw around his authority like confetti. Her father, a sheriff, did the same thing occasionally. The virility of it disgusted her. At times she loathed testosterone.
"You're Tiff Morgan, aren't you?"
"No," Tiffany said, "I'm Aphrodite, and I'm very late for my appointment with Adonis." She tried to wrench free of the hold he had on her arm, but he just tightened his grip, and, what's worse, she had amused him. Very little amused Orrin West.
"I saw you earlier, walking out alone. I've been looking for you."
"Congratulations, you've found me. Do you want a sticker for your accomplishment? Now I've got to go." Tiff knew that if she tried again to leave, he'd only grab her wrist in his hold so strongly that there'd be a bruise tomorrow where his hand was then. "Do you care that you're hurting me? You're not much of a gentleman, whoever you are."
West let lax his fingers over the girl's arm, and he watched as the skin left his touch. And, sure enough, there were red marks of rushing blood where his hold had been. He looked at her, and he knew he was being analyzed. "I'm Orrin West, with the NSA."
"Oh, yes," Tiffany said, giving him a speculative wince, "I think you had the pleasure of taking a vacation in one of our trees."
West recalled the incident with the tree in mortification. "Uh, yes. That would be true."
"I hope you at least called her up afterward."
Despite the fact that he was supposed to be interrogating Tiffany Morgan, he smiled at the joke she'd made. Or, at least, he gave what might be construed as a smile. "We've never actually met, have we?"
Tiffany replied to him with an eyebrow cocked, cold and expressionless. "No. I'd really rather keep it that way. I've had my fair share of your haughty government business to last me awhile."
"But you don't understand, this is important business. It's about Ro Rowen and her---"
"I don't think I care to hear about it, if you don't mind. What is it you came here for--Mister? I've forgotten your name already." She hadn't, but he didn't know that, did he? She loved being the ingénue who verbally tortures young men in possession of egos that would fill a universe.
"West," he repeated, his tone now verging on impatience. "Agent Orrin West. I'm with the NSA. I'm investigating the disappearance of Ro Rowen, your foster sister. Have you seen or heard from her lately?"
Tiff leaned to the agent a little, and she genuinely enjoyed the role she was playing. Zeta was right: Orrin West wouldn't hurt her. He just wanted to talk. She was sick of talking to the intrusive NSA. "No," she told him bitterly, "I haven't. And what makes you think I'd tell you, anyway? You're nothing but a government puppet."
If anything in the world could've insulted Orrin West more than what Tiff Morgan just said, he couldn't think of it. "Look here, Missy!" He took hold of her arm again, this time without any gentleness.
"The name is Tiff!"
"And I'm Orrin West!" he shouted back. "And if you don't tell me the truth about your sister I'm going to--to---Gah!" In endless hopelessness, West tossed Tiff's appendage back at her, disgusted with himself. He'd never been good at threatening innocent women. "Look," he began, trying to find the elusive calm within, "Miss Morgan, it's against the law to withhold information about whether or not you've communicated closely with a fugitive. You have to tell us if she's contacted you. We have reason to believe she's come back here. Why? I don't know. I want to know. Maybe you know. Care to expound on any of this, Miss Morgan?"
Tiff listened to his maunder in stillness, her mind at the edge of something unfamiliar, a kind of horror, a sort of moment of feeling all eternity. Her heart ached for Ro, and, although she didn't mean to, she glanced at the boutique window, as if expecting to see Zeta's face still there.
Orrin casted a glance over his shoulder, just slightly, to see what the girl was regarding. If anything was there he wasn't seeing it. Yet, he felt there had been a purpose in her look. He titled his gaze back to Miss Morgan, and it took all the strength he had to ignore the tears he saw pooling her big brown eyes, dampening the thick lashes like rain. Instead, he turned and opened the door to the shop, cursing under his breath at the thing that had so accurately hit him on the right cheekbone. He peered stalwartly into the store.
Tiff waited on the sidewalk, watching Orrin West in revulsion, even wonderment, and did not bother to wipe the tears out of her eyes. She held her breath while the agent finished his examination. She worried for Ro and Zeta, and hoped upon hope they were able to get away. But there was a whole other reason, in addition to the anxiety she felt for her sister, which brought forth a flood of tears. Something had happened to her. What was it? It'd been so long since anyone had offended her that Tiff supposed that was it. She had been offended by Agent West.
West's appraisal of the shop yielded him no fugitives, just a curious employee behind the counter. He was unequipped for the search of Zeta and Ro Rowen, as his only purpose in Hillsburg had been to locate Tiffany Morgan. There was nothing technologically useful on his person at the moment. No holographic detector, no sound locator. The only things he carried were his equipment of standard NSA issue: gun, short and long range communication units, knife, identification badge and unlimited credcard. West always included a few things he never traveled without by default: small adhesive bandages, a tube of antiseptic gel and analgesic tablets to help with all the wounds he obtained by infused clumsiness. They were not articles which would help him find a synthoid, and for that he had to rely only on the power of investigation. He doubted wholly that the synthoid and Ro Rowen were in Maryland, so he would not waste his breath with any interrogation. He'd gone to Hillsburg only to see Tiffany Morgan, which were his orders, and he would not veer from them.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" he started, using his authoritative NSA timber. "Have you seen a---" he stopped the words and reached out to touch the woman's skin on the back of her hand, where veins grew like sinuous mounds. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger nails. The woman shrieked and drew back her hand. West was satisfied with the reaction. "Just checking to see--something. It's all right. I'm a government agent. Have a pleasant day." He saluted with two fingers at his crown and exited the shop.
As soon as he'd left, and before he looked at Miss Morgan again, he realized he should've been more persistent in his questions. Did he even ask a question? Why hadn't he asked the woman if she'd seen a blonde-haired girl in her teens and an awkward-looking robot who probably didn't look like a robot? It was unimportant. No one knew where the renegades were. He massaged the back of his neck, feeling the heat of the day through him. He hated Hillsburg. He hated Maryland. "Ugh," he murmured, and rubbed his tired face, "I just want to get back to the city, where people think insane thoughts, and at least you know they're always insane. I like being where I know nothing makes sense." He looked up at Tiffany Morgan. No longer was he able to ignore the girl's tears, and certainly not the fresh ones that danced down her narrow cheeks and glistened in the clear daylight. "Listen, Miss Morgan, I---" he cut himself off and sighed in a final and ineffective attempt to suffocate that decent man that still lurked inside of him. He handed Miss Morgan a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket. She accepted it then dabbed her eyes and nose daintily. West wondered if he'd hurt her feelings somehow. But girls drove him crazy, anyway. A guy never knew what second of the day he would find a woman a weepy mess, and a terrifying demon the next.
"It's clear that your sister isn't in town. Why would she come back here, if she was stupid enough to do that?"
Tiffy glanced at him, her weeping beginning to wear away. "I don't know where Ro is. I haven't seen her in years. Why'd you come all the way out here, anyway, to find her?"
"Just as you said: to find her. Every move we make is to find her."
Tiff inclined her head, and for the third time dabbed her nose. She was upset for Ro. She never realized how deeply she wanted Ro to have her freedom. Nor had she realized exactly how much the NSA annoyed her, with their constant searching and their refusal to leave Ro alone. "Isn't it clear to you that my sister is not a terrorist?"
West gave a wry leer. "I have my orders, Miss Morgan."
"Tiffany," she offered. "Miss Morgan is my spinster old aunt. I'm just Tiff."
West would let her have it her way. "Tiffany, then. But I doubt you're 'just Tiff.'" He wondered what had made him say that. From his belt he tugged off his mobile unit, used for long-distance communication, preparing to call his team member Agent Rush, who'd been instructed to the Morgan house. He had to refrain from dialing when Tiff gave him a cool response worthy of his attention.
"And I doubt that you're more than an NSA agent who does everything he's told."
He wanted to be mean. He could feel that clash of anger and tyranny surge through him like a lightning bolt. He wanted to squish Tiff Morgan's perfectly beautiful red-haired head against the window of the store and threaten her within an inch of her life. Maybe with his elbow pressuring her trachea. Or maybe with the combat knife he had tucked away in the side of his boot kissing the skin of her neck, just above the blood-rich jugular. Just something to scare the girl. Sudden acts of intentional harm was not something a professional NSA agent did, however, and West had already been inches within getting fired. His job had already been on eggshells as it was. It left little room to threaten an innocent girl. He wasn't good at that, anyway: ingénues weren't his specialty. There was a lot of thought of action in West, but very little action.
West slapped the unit under the hem of his black woolen NSA blazer, where it was tucked out of the way. He'd have to call Rush later and explain the situation. He'd found nothing, anyway. Nothing hopeful except a tearful Tiffany Morgan. "I don't like you," he said bluntly. As soon as he'd said it, he was afraid it would send her into tears again. But it didn't. Instead, he got fire shot back at him. Tiff never cried when provoked; the provocation only made her stronger.
"It's mutual."
"I'm glad we understand each other, then."
"I think we do."
"So why are you crying?"
"Because you're a pain. Don't take it personally."
"I wouldn't dream of it," West spoke between his clenched teeth. "I suppose it's just because of the badge and the uniform and the job, and not my wonderful, charming personality."
"I hate everything the NSA stands for." Tiff felt a little bold stating that so clearly and articulately, right in front of an NSA agent. "You represent everything that's wrong in my life, and Ro's life. You've come into our lives like terrorists yourselves, and you've created a fissure of havoc wherever you go. And I know that every move you make going after them is the wrong one. West, you know that I know."
Silence fell. Distantly there was the rhythmic pattern of a police siren, until it, too, faded away and died. Silence again. Tiff and West stared at each other. West ran a hand through his hair and reached again for his phone. He allowed everything Tiffany said to slide right off his back. She was, after all, an American citizen entitled to her opinion. It was not treason to think ill of the NSA. It was just foolish.
But it was nearly the death of him when, while he dialed, he put himself in Tiffany Morgan's shoes, to see what it would be like if NSA agents sniffed around like hounds, unwanted beasts, tearing a life to shreds. Before connection to Rush's line, West disabled the vidphone and would only use voice for the call to his partner Rush. He didn't know what odd expression would be on his face, but he was pretty sure it wasn't his typical look. The less Rush knew, the better West felt. Rush answered and said she was just pulling up to the Morgan's house. West explained that he'd found Tiffany Morgan exactly where she'd been located earlier.
"Do you think I should stay out here?" Rush asked, though she would hardly take his advice.
"Do what you like, Rush. Take in a movie, if you want. Find a date."
Rush chortled dryly on the end of the line. "I think I'd better meet you out here. And West?"
"What?"
"Don't let that Morgan girl out of your sight."
West casted a glance behind him. Tiffany was still there, like an animal trained obediently. "I don't foresee that as a problem." He clicked off the line and returned the mobile. "Well," he said to Tiffany, "it looks like our tea party's come to an end."
Tiffany kept her feet close together, heels touching, an equal balance throughout, and pulled back her shoulders. There was a moment of bewilderment when both expected the other to leave but neither moved. West furrowed his brow, and commanded his feet take him in whatever direction they chose. It was away from Tiffany Morgan. If he lost sight of her for several minutes together, he'd only find her again. With her luminous auburn hair and feminine sashay, she was easy to spot, especially now that he knew who he was looking for. But he'd leave her alone for a while, and he needed to be alone himself, maybe put a little something on his stinging fresh facial injury. The interrogation of Miss Tiffany Morgan had whisked his calm inner waters, a sea that ran deeper than first perceived. Orrin West did not appreciate being troubled.
"Agent West!" Tiffany called out to him.
With a tinge of trepidation, West faced her. She traced the steps that parted them, and allowed fifteen inches of personal space between she and he, as a protective personal bubble. West's narrow hazel eyes flashed in annoyance, but it was quickly replaced by uncanny patience. Tiff gulped to maintain his penetrating gaze.
"I don't have my car," Tiff murmured in miserable slowness. "Would you mind at all taking me home?"