Friday April 9 2004

San Diego

As soon as Sarah opened the front door of the battered-women's shelter and glanced inside, she knew something was wrong: the reception room, which was supposed to be attended twenty-four-seven, was empty, and the desk phone lay spilled on the floor in front of it with its cord pulled out of the wall. Then the chair behind the desk moved, and she heard a scuffling sound. A hand appeared at the edge of the desk, grasping clumsily. Sarah rushed over to find Mrs. Wallace picking herself up off the floor.

"Cops," the woman wheezed. "Call the cops. He's in."

"He'll grab his family and be gone before they get here." Sarah pressed the door buzzer and hurried through.

The common room on the other side of the door was empty. The wide hallway beyond was empty but not silent: echoing off the hard walls, she heard grunts, and a series of crashes from objects hitting the floor. Then a thump, like a body hitting the wall, and a man's voice. "Where is she? Where are you bitches hiding her? Charlotte! Charlotte, come out here right goddam now!"

It was the whimpering of the children that located him: the nursery at the end of the hall. Sarah hustled that way. "Hey, goseh," she called, the Apache insult falling easily off her lips. "I know where she is."

The invader stepped out of the room into the hall, and her resolve wavered. He was well over six feet tall and more than twice her size, with a build that reminded her of a grizzly, wide-shouldered and wide-hipped, with heavy arms and big grasping hands that looked made for delivering backhands and twisting limbs and pushing smaller people into hard objects. Sarah doubted her backyard lessons from Bobby's dad made her a match this behemoth, but bringing him under control with her Gen risked the sort of attention that she feared more than a beating. Then her hand brushed the lump in the top pocket of her bag, and her grit returned full force.

The big man glared down at her from ten feet away, taking in her makeup and clothing and reaching the usual conclusion. He bared his teeth. "So that's what you're teaching her? How to lay on her back and spread for any man with money in his pocket?" He started toward her, hands raised to seize. "You tell me right – ehhh!"

The Mace struck his chest first. He threw up his forearms to protect his head, but not before Sarah had adjusted her aim and delivered the rest of the dose to his face. He howled and lurched blindly forward – to bowl her off her feet, perhaps? She sidestepped and let him stumble past, then pivoted and swung her leg, driving her toe into the back of his knee, and he went down as if he had stepped on a land mine. His face and shoulder hit the floor with an impact she could feel through her shoe soles.

The man gagged a bit, then stirred clumsily, getting a forearm under him, and started to rise. "Stay down," Sarah said. The air had an odd, hot-transformer tang, and she could feel her hair lifting off her shoulders; she wasn't sure what would happen if the man came at her again, but she was certain he wouldn't like it. "The stun gun comes out next."

"You bitch," he grunted, cheek still pressed against the floor.

A faint snapping sound claimed Sarah's attention: her free hand was down by her thigh, and, in her faint shadow cast by the overhead light, a pale blue spark popped between her two middle fingers. "Take your own lessons. It's not smart to insult someone who can hurt you."

"Charlotte," he called out again, but his cry was weak and plaintive. "I want my wife."

"I'm sure," Sarah said. "But you don't deserve her."

The door at the end of the hall opened and a woman appeared in the doorway. Her eyes widened at the scene in the hall. "Nick?"

"Charlotte," the man said, voice firmer now. "You see what happens?" He glared at the woman with raw-looking eyes reddened by the spray, and started to rise. "You see the kind of people who-" He grunted and flattened as Sarah's bootheel stamped down on his hand.

"I said, stay down," the Apache girl said, in the most commanding voice she could muster. In truth, she was beginning to feel desperate. Her plan had ended at neutralizing the irate husband; now, with every minute, her situation was becoming more untenable. If she was still here when the police arrived-

"Charlie," he said, "how could you do this to us? To our family?"

Charlotte stared, eyes only on her husband, a bird trapped in the gaze of a snake. "Nick," she said in a strange voice, and Sarah had a sick feeling that the woman was falling toward him even though she hadn't moved. She raised her hands in front of her, an unconscious self-protective gesture, and took a step toward them. "Nick, I -"

"Don't." Wendy appeared at the nursery door, holding a palm to the side of her head above her ear. "He isn't half as bad off as you were when you came here."

"Come home," the man on the floor said. "Don't do this. We can work this out." He said, almost groaning, "I need you, Charlie."

"No, he doesn't." Wendy turned and indicated the inside of the room with a tilt of her head. From the nursery came the sounds of children crying, all keening and coughs and hiccups. "Your daughter's huddled in a corner right now, wetting herself. That's where you need to be."

Charlotte's first step toward the nursery seemed as difficult as pulling herself free from quicksand, but she did it. By the time she passed through the nursery door, she was almost running.

Immediately after, two boys appeared at the doorway, about eight or ten years old. The one Sarah didn't recognize stared at the scene: the big man who'd terrified everyone in the room now lying facedown in the hallway, groaning, with the strange girl standing over him as if daring him to get up again.

The other boy, the one whose head she had Dutch-rubbed the previous week, said to his companion, "Apaches. You don't mess with em."

From the entrance, Mrs. Wallace hollered down, "The police are on their way, mister. You'd better – holy crap."

Wendy said to the boys, "Back in the room. Now." To Sarah, she said, almost whispering, "Give it to me. The can." As Sarah handed the Mace over and Mrs. Wallace joined them, the woman went on, "I did it. You were never here." She glanced at Mrs. Wallace, who nodded. "If our stories match, they won't question the kids. I'm sure I can talk Charlotte around. And nobody's going to listen to him."

Mrs. Wallace picked up Sarah's dropped bag and handed it to her. "We'll move the shelter, I'm sure. But if you want to come back, the church will have the new address. Just mention our names. Better go now."

Sarah said, "Why are you two doing this?"

Wendy shook her head. "What, you think we don't recognize a woman who's afraid to talk to the police?"

La Jolla

The sun was just disappearing over the rooftops of the beachfront houses when Sarah crossed the gate that blocked the private community's drive. She looked at the long shadows across their front lawns, and the street filled with golden light, then at the front windows of the houses on the opposite side, turned into glowing rectangles by the setting sun. It would be a dark night: her preternatural sense told her that the moon had set late this morning and would not rise tonight, and that the clouds dotting the sky would thicken into full overcast after sundown.

As she walked down the sidewalk toward the house, Sarah wondered what she might do with her unexpectedly early night. Evenings at home on the reservation had usually ended shortly after dark to conserve electricity, but Darwin, with its windowless rooms and artificial lighting, had made something of a night owl out of her. Maybe Bobby would be watching one of his old movies; she was no classic-film aficionado, but his enthusiasm spilled over during a showing onto whoever he was with and made the two hours in front of the television enjoyable. If he wasn't … Roxanne would doubtless be back in Eddie's pocket by now, but Caitlin might be available for a little social time, by the pool or a walk along the beach. As a last resort, she supposed, she could always read a book.

The security car was parked at the curb just ahead. Sunlight on the window prevented Sarah from seeing inside. She walked up to the driver's side window, which was open, to see that Rico had been replaced by a white man about the same age, also in the company uniform. He gave her a quick once-over before looking up at her face. "Help you, miss?"

"I hope so. I live down the street," Sarah began, not expecting to be believed.

"Right. One of Mr. Lynch's guests."

She raised her eyebrows at that – how much did the guards talk among themselves about their clients, she wondered - but went on. "I was looking for Mr. McCall."

"You missed him by a couple hours. But he'll be back on at eight AM ..." He seemed to catch himself. "Or maybe not. This could be his weekend off."

Sarah suddenly realized how the man was reading her interest, in her old-enough makeup and revealing clothes. A precocious schoolgirl with a dangerous interest in big handsome Latino security men, is that what you think you see? How ironic. Suddenly feeling mischievous, she crouched and leaned into the window, resting her forearms on the sill and her breasts gently atop them, just enough to push them partway out of her low-cut top. In a low voice she said, "I think if he was free this weekend, he would have told me. He gave me his number, but I'm afraid I lost it. Could you …"

He started, pulling his eyes from her cleavage. "Sorry. Against policy."

As is fraternizing with female clients, I'm sure. Especially underage ones. I bet you'll be on the phone to Rico thirty seconds after I leave. She straightened. "It's all right, I'm sure I'll see him tomorrow. Thanks anyway."

The center garage door stirred and began to lift as Sarah turned down the long driveway. She felt a brief chill, imagining Anna waiting at the window all evening for her return. But the tail lights of the minivan in the bay flashed, and the vehicle backed out of the space until it met Sarah halfway down the terrazzo drive.

Caitlin was in the driver's seat, with Bobby riding shotgun. The big redhead rolled down the window and said, "Back early."

"It just wasn't shaping up to be a good night out. Where are you going?"

"Joel and Melanie's. Study date for me, gig at the Brewhaus for Bobby."

Bobby said hopefully, "Want to come along, hold down our break table?"

Sarah imagined a night of fending off passes from half-drunk college boys in a noisy bar while Bobby played, and watching the three girls in his band fawn over him during their breaks. "Not my idea of a good time. Pass. You guys have fun." She straightened and let the vehicle continue on to the street.

Going down the hall from the garage to the living room, Sarah passed by the kitchen door. Anna was at the sink, but turned and gave Sarah a smile as she walked past. She returned it automatically; two steps later, the little robot was out of sight, and Sarah scoffed at what she'd done. I suppose I'll be talking to the television next.

Eddie was alone in the living room, watching a Baywatch rerun. The viewing choice and the way he was sprawled out on the couch told Sarah that his girlfriend wasn't with him. With one hand on the back of the couch, she asked, "Where's Roxanne?"

"Out for a run, I think."

She frowned. "On the beach?"

"Not sure. Think so." He tore his eyes from the jiggling bimboes on the screen to look up at her. "She felt like a run, and you weren't here. Not a big, is it?"

So you know that's something we usually do together. "It's just that it's almost dark."

"Yeh." He glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "Didn't you have a date or something?"

"Or something."

She changed into jogging shorts and tank top, then made her way to the kitchen; through the sliding glass door, she could see that it was now fully dark outside. Anna was still in the kitchen, filling a cupcake tray with chocolate batter. Sarah said, "Roxanne hasn't come in yet?"

"Not yet. You're not usually home so early on Fridays. Is everything all right?"

"Just wasn't having as much fun as I expected."

"Well, there's nothing like the taste of chocolate to lift a girl's spirits." Smiling, Anna proffered the batter-coated spoon, raising it toward Sarah's lips.

Sarah turned her head aside. What do you know about the taste of chocolate? "Thanks, no. Not a fan of raw eggs. I'm sure Eddie would take you up on it."

"Hm." She turned to the window and the blackness on the other side. "It looks dark to you, doesn't it? Is that why you're worried about her?"

Sarah studied Anna's eyes, the color of which reminded her of lacquered steel. There was nothing unusual about their appearance, really, but Sarah could imagine the irises turning and the pupils dilating and contracting as the little robot adjusted their settings. "You can see her out there?"

"No, but I'm sure I could if I stepped out on the deck." Anna stared out into the dark. "The sunset is beautiful tonight. I wish I could describe it to you."

"I'm going out." Sarah slid the glass door aside and stepped through.

The pool lights came on as Sarah slid the door shut behind her; whether the actuating device was Anna or a motion detector, she didn't know. She noted that the surface of the pool was beginning to mist over, as it had on her first night here.

Sarah rounded the pool to stand at the top of the steps leading down to the beach. The horizon was an indistinct meeting of black sea and charcoal sky, but writhing white lines marked the locations of the wavetops as they neared the shore, and the sand of the beach was still visible in the lights from the house for a few yards beyond the steps. She could hear the breathy susurrus of the unseen surf, but no people sounds.

Roxanne suddenly appeared on the lighted sand, pelting for the steps. Sarah felt a brief panic before the girl slowed to a stop at the foot of the stairs and Mr. Lynch trotted into the light behind her.

Roxy bent over, hands on knees, blowing. "Hoo. Can't believe I beat you. You're a machine. Guess cigs don't slow me down too much."

"Or maybe I'm just out of shape," the scarred man said, looking as if he'd jogged over from the next yard; Sarah suspected that he had let the little pixie set the pace. They were both in loose shorts and sleeveless shirts: Sarah saw that the scars on the left side of their guardian's face were matched by others on his left shoulder and thigh. She remembered Roxanne's description of the crosshatch of scars on his chest and abdomen. Sixty pounds of scrap metal propelled by exploding rocket fuel. It's a miracle he's alive.

The two runners lifted the hems of their shirts to wipe their faces. As she blotted her throat, Roxanne glanced up. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," Sarah said, "remember?"

"You know what I mean. What happened to your date?"

"Turned out we had nothing in common."

Their guardian eyed Sarah silently. Roxanne said, "That must have been awkward. Heckuva time to find out she's straight." She flapped the front of her shirt to cool off. "I win, so I get the shower first." She ascended the stairs, passed Sarah by, slid the door aside and disappeared within.

Sarah stared at the closed door. "I hope you're not in a hurry," she said to the dark man still standing at the foot of the steps. "She'll be at least an hour in there." And then, no doubt, present herself to Eddie for an evening's entertainment. She sighed. A book it is then.

"No hurry," Lynch said. "In fact, I was thinking of walking down the beach to cool off. Care to join me?"

Sarah almost refused out of reflex, but reconsidered. "All right." She descended the steps to the sand.

"North or south?" He asked.

She turned in the direction of the promontory that walled off the little strip of sand from the state beaches to the north. "This way."

They walked side by side on the hard-packed sand close to the water, just out of reach of the incoming waves. As soon as they were out of the area illuminated by the deck lighting, Sarah's night vision began to sharpen; by the time they reached the back of the Sylvestri property, it had developed to the point where the light at the back of the houses was enough to illuminate the entire beach in both directions.

Sarah glanced up at the lighted windows of the Sylvestri place. "Do you suppose she's watching us?"

"If she is, we'll know eventually," her guardian said. "Especially if she thinks we don't want to be seen together. I'm sure she's better at learning secrets than keeping them."

Sarah moved away from the water onto the loose sand. She slipped off her running shoes and socks and left them, then returned to the water, letting the waves swirl around her ankles. "Tide's coming in."

Lynch eyed a wave as it advanced and retreated. "You can see that?"

"No, I can feel it. Just the minor one. The major one will peak just after sunrise." She looked out over the dark water: now that her eyes had adjusted, she could see the waves rolling toward her. "I didn't even know tides came in different sizes a month ago. Now … I can feel the ocean breathing, just by looking at it." She resumed walking, slowly. "Gen, I suppose. The largest body of water I ever saw before I came here was the reservoir on the rez. And the only waves on it were made by boats. Is it time for another lecture?"

Beside her, the dark man said, "No. I already said my piece. Some people benefit from repetition, but I don't think it would make a difference with you." The ruined half of his face was closest to her, and his blind eye turned her way as he looked out over the water.

"Hm. Have I just been complimented or insulted, I wonder?" They were halfway to the promontory. A rising breeze tugged at her hair and clothes. "Mr. Lynch. About my family."

"They're being watched, but at a distance. Safe, as long as IO has no reason to suspect you're in contact. And they shouldn't. I spoke with your parents."

Her breath caught. "You did?"

"Yes. By great good luck, one of your tribal elders, Ed Bowhunter, is a very old friend – we met in the Army on my first tour in the Nam. He vouched for me to your parents, and we had a talk."

They were at the last house, the one closest to the promontory and the community gate. Sarah had no idea who lived there, having never seen anyone stirring around it or lounging at the back deck, but it was well-lit. Lynch fell silent until they were past, then resumed. "They asked me a lot of questions I refused to answer, until they realized I was protecting you and them both. Their trust in Ed helped me there. I told them that you were in a great deal of trouble not of your making, but that you were headed for a safe place that I'd arranged."

He fell silent again for a few steps. "I didn't tell them how uncertain I was that you'd ever make it here. I told them that I didn't know when it would be safe for you to return to them, but that it wouldn't be soon, and might be years. I think, if they hadn't seen you already, that would have been when your father stopped listening. Your mother cried."

That revelation brought Sarah to a halt. The last and only time she had seen her mother in tears had been at her grandfather's funeral.

The scarred man stopped as well, and turned to face her. "But they had seen you, and that made them afraid enough for you to accept what I told them, in return for a promise to protect you. I promised to try to let them know you'd arrived safe, but I wouldn't be passing messages, and that absolutely no one could know that you –or I - had been there. They agreed, and promised to keep sending emails to your school address as if they thought you were there. I gathered there wasn't much of that to begin with."

"No," she said. "My family doesn't have a computer, or a cell phone. The nearest Internet access is in town at the school library, eleven miles away." She felt the muscles under her ears flex for a moment. "My sister told me they were only getting replies half the time, and my notes were starting to sound as if writing home was a bother."

"They probably didn't get one that was actually from you after the first week, or you from them."

"I know. Just one more reason to hate your old coworkers."

He nodded. "So, tell me the truth, Sarah. For their sake as well as ours. Did you make any arrangements while you were home?"

She shook her head.

"No third party mailing address, no screen name on a chat site? Nothing?"

"No." She shook her head again. "I wanted to. But I couldn't think of a way that I wasn't sure they'd discover."

Lynched studied her a moment more, then nodded. "Your instincts were right. IO has a lot of skill and practice learning things about people they want to keep secret. If there's a safe way to contact your folks, I'll find it, but it won't be easy or quick." At her look, he went on, "That's the way it has to be, Sarah. You've already got more in that regard than any of the other kids. And the little your people know has put them in more danger than your friends' families."

He started back the way they had come, passing her, and she turned and matched him step for step, still in the water but now on his right. He took long strides, forcing her to stretch herself to keep up and kicking up the water ahead of her. He said, "Caitlin's family has been expressing concern about her to friends and coworkers, but they haven't taken any action. Her emails tell them how challenging and absorbing the curriculum is, just as they had all hoped it would be. And if she sounds a bit … distracted … well, they know how she gets when she's fully into her work."

Sarah blinked. She'd known their guardian had resources beyond money – Anna and the ID in her pocket were proof of that – but the size of the net this man must be casting to keep them all safe suddenly expanded vastly in her imagination.

Seeming to read her thought, he said, "I'm just watching the ones who are watching them, Sarah, and reading their reports. I'm not completely cut off from what's happening inside IO. And not all the people there are working against us; we're not entirely alone. But I won't say any more about that." He slowed his pace as they approached the house, but stayed near the water, apparently intending to pass it by. The deck lights were out, but the pool's underwater lamps uplighted the back wall of the house with a soft, shifting glow. No one was outside, but Sarah imagined Anna standing behind one of the curtains, peering into the dark and watching them.

"Roxanne's mother was told that she'd left the school without notice," Lynch said as they passed out of the light into the relative gloom between houses. "Run off with a boy, actually. She's distraught, but she doesn't suspect Darwin of anything underhanded. She doesn't have any means to pursue the matter anyway. The police are sympathetic, but unhelpful."

What about Eddie? And Bobby?"

"Eddie is the boy Roxanne is supposed to have run off with," the dark man said drily. "His parents have hired a detective agency, a good one, but I'm sure they'll be … dissuaded from discovering anything substantive."

"What about Bobby's-" She almost said parents "- foster parents?"

"They haven't written him in three weeks." He gave her a glance. "Don't fault them. They're good people. They take in troubled teenagers, kids near majority age that no one else wants, and they treat them right. But they're used to letting them go. 'Bobby's' occasional emails from Darwin are glowing reports about the learning environment and his progress, his new friends, and how happy and busy he is there. They just think he's moved on, like half a dozen others they've fostered, and doing better than most."

They walked on in silence. Chilled by the cold water swirling around her ankles and wetting her legs, Sarah moved up the beach until she was on Lynch's left, her feet sinking into loose sand which still held some of the day's warmth. Something about this quiet walk reminded her of sojourns through the woods with her father, and she took a deep breath and let it out, feeling some of the tension drain away. She suddenly realized she was walking close enough to John Lynch to hold hands; feeling somehow embarrassed, she moved a step away.

They reached the fence that walled off the Mafiosi's beach. As usual, a man stood near it, in jeans and a windbreaker, silently watching them; Sarah thought he was one of the two who had chased the volleyball boys back to their boat. Lynch gave him a two-finger wave and the man nodded, shifting his attention to her as the scarred man turned away.

"Thank you for the other day," she said through the fence.

He smiled briefly. "Anytime." His face blanked again, and he turned to scan the waves.

Sarah caught up with her guardian, and she continued to walk at his side opposite the water, now on his right. Once they were out of the guard's hearing, Lynch said, "How serious is this problem between you and Anna?"

She slowed. "Why do you think there's a problem?"

"Because my life sometimes depends on my powers of observation, and my ability to read people," he said. "Well?"

"It's not anything she does, really. I know she's just carrying out your orders, mothering us and watching us. And she's good at it. If she were human ..." She looked past him to the sea. "I think that's the problem. It shouldn't be so easy to forget she's a machine." She went on, "I'd ask you where you got her, but I'm sure you wouldn't tell me."

"You're right," he said. "But, wherever she came from, she was here first, and she's as much a part of our group as you." He turned his good eye toward her. "Can you handle that?"

"Yes," she said. She remembered coming upon Bobby and Anna in the pool, and her immediate impression: the slutty little blonde housekeeper, clinging naked to her boss's teenage son and Sarah's best male friend - running her fingers in Bobby's hair, a possessive and familiar gesture, as if they had already …. "There are worse things she could be."

They walked together in silence. Finally, just as they were about to reach the area illuminated by the beach house, she posed the question she had come out here to ask. "Do you think we're ever going back?"

He ran a hand over his hair. "Only if Ivana Baiul loses her grip on International Operations. And I just don't see that happening soon. Her control is getting tighter all the time. It's the reason I first decided to leave, before I found Bobby." His foot touched the bottom step. "Don't worry about your family, Sarah. This is where you are now. Find a place here, and everything else will work out."

-0-

Kat frowned at Joel over the screens of their laptops. He said, "Not right?"

"Not by three figures." The big redhead closed her unit. "Third time in an hour, Joel." Their brain food tonight was Chinese takeout; Kat drew a Styrofoam box to her, opened the lid, and started shoveling in rice and veggies.

"Sorry." Joel closed his laptop too, but didn't reach for his meal. "I think we're done for tonight. Sorry you wasted your time."

"Me too. If I'd known you were this distracted, I wouldn't have bothered bringing my laptop." Kat looked across the kitchen table at him with sympathetic eyes. "Still haven't told Alex about the job offer?"

"Not till I decide about it."

"Thought you did."

He shrugged. "Doubt I'm going to see a better deal." At her look he said, "You don't like it."

"I think you should finish your studies before you commit." Kat dropped her fork into her box. "You're closing off all your options if you leave school without getting your degree. If they want you this bad, don't you think they'll wait for you?"

"They say they need me right away, and the remaining courses aren't important to the work." He made a helpless gesture. "Kat, if I put them off for a year, I'm throwing away enough money to pay for a college degree. I can always go back to complete if it doesn't work out." He eyed her abandoned box: Kat not finishing a meal was a first-ever. "What else?"

She sighed heavily. "I don't know. I know there are a lot of good outfits doing government work, classified stuff. And I'm sure they're looking for the best, and I don't doubt they pay well. But this just seems off somehow."

"Too good to be true?"

Kat nodded. "I just have this feeling there's some fine print in the contract, you know?" She shrugged and gave him a little smile. "Maybe I'm jealous."

Joel matched her smile. "I bet you'll be getting an offer just like this in a year or two. I'll put in a good word for you."

She huffed. "You do that."