Kelley Armstrong - Broken

We found a sit-down restaurant and a quiet table. Easy enough now-in the wake of the cholera “epidemic,” they were all quiet. The city still hadn’t cleaned the water supply. They’d taken every step-multiple times-but the problem persisted. As long as the portal remained open, the cholera was here to stay.

While Jeremy and Antonio updated us on their dead-ended investigations, Clay kept casting anxious glances at me as I picked at my dinner.

When it was our turn and I asked Clay to tell them what we’d learned, he leaned my way.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured.

“Noth-”

“You’ve barely touched your meal.”

“It’s just the heat.”

“You look pale,” Jeremy said. “I thought it was the lighting, but-”

“It is. I’m fine.”

“You’re probably dehydrated,” Antonio said. “Finish your milk and we’ll order you another.”

I lifted my hands. “Enough. The pregnant woman is fine. Not terribly hungry tonight, that’s all.” I felt Clay’s gaze boring into me, and sighed. “Okay, maybe a little tired, but no more than everyone else, I’m sure. It’s been a very long day.”

Clay pushed back his chair and stood. “Come on. I’m taking you up to our room.”

“Before I finish my dinner?”

That gave him pause, but only for a second. “We’ll ask for takeout.”

I shook my head. “Yes, I am tired, probably from the heat, but the sooner we get this done, the sooner I can go home and really rest, in my own bed. Now sit down and bring everyone up to speed on what Randy Tolliver said.” I looked up at him. “Please.”

“SEE?” I SAID AS JEREMY LEFT OUR HOTEL ROOM. “DIAGNOSIS: just tired.”

“Exhausted,” Clay said as he handed me a bottle of water. “And dehydrated.”

I took the water and made a face. “Oh, that’s just Jeremy.”

“He’s right, though, about tonight. You need to rest, not run off again in a few minutes.”

“Notice how he tossed out that ‘suggestion,’ then bolted, leaving you to handle the fallout?” I shrugged off my shirt, which, despite a morning shower and liberal applications of deodorant, smelled faintly of body odor. “Can you hand me that one over there?”

“We haven’t even discussed it yet, and you’re already changing to go out. You need to rest, Elena.”

“And I will. Right after that portal is closed. If Hull is working with Shanahan, then this meeting might be-”

“The end of it? How many times have we said that in the last few days? Just steal the letter, and it’s done. Just kill the second zombie, and it’s done. Just follow the zombie back to Shanahan, and we’re done.” He wrapped his hand around my other forearm and faced me. “Forget the meeting. I’m pretty certain Hull has no intention of showing up. Even if he does, he found us today, so he can find us again. Right now, it’s this I’m worried about. You and the baby. You need-”

He jerked his left hand back, and blinked.

“What is it?”

“Your stomach. It-”

“Oh, please. Jeremy said I’m fine, so don’t go trying to convince me something’s wrong.”

His mouth set. “You think I’d do that? I was going to say I felt-” He stopped, anger falling away in a quick grin. “There. Give me your…”

He took my hand and put it on the side of my stomach.

“I don’t feel-” Something jabbed my hand. “Oh, my God. A kick! That’s a kick.”

“Or a punch,” Clay said, still grinning. “If it’s our baby, it’s probably a punch. Trying to fight his or her way out already.” He steered me across the room. “Here, look in the mirror. You can see it.”

After a minute of watching, a lump poked from the lower right of my belly, then disappeared.

“Can you feel it?” Clay said.

I nodded and realized that Jeremy was right. I had been feeling the baby moving for weeks now, though never this obvious. Even this didn’t feel so much like a kick as a stomach gurgle. I don’t know what I expected-I guess when someone says “kick,” I think of something hard enough to hurt.

A knock at the door. Clay leaned over to open it.

“I didn’t hear shouting,” Jeremy said as he walked in. “Have you come to an agreement already?”

“The baby’s kicking,” Clay said. “You can feel it.”

“And see it,” I said, grinning like an idiot.

And so, for a few minutes, all thoughts of our meeting with Hull were forgotten in the simple excitement of a baby’s kicks. When he or she stopped bopping around and settled, though, the question still needed answering. By then, Clay wasn’t in the mood to argue, and even Jeremy had to agree that I looked much better, having gotten my second wind.

We decided to walk. It was a bit of a hike, but if this was a trap, the zombies might start tracking us from the hotel. The sooner we smelled them, the sooner we could catch them.

Not a single whiff of rot came my way, though, and when we arrived at the park, Hull was already there. Antonio and Nick stayed out of sight, watching and patrolling the perimeter.

Hull was under a tree, scanning the growing dark. He started when he heard footsteps, and once again, he seemed relieved when he saw it was us.

“Expecting someone else?” Clay said as we approached.

A weak smile. “Fearing, I would say. Though I suppose I’m only a minor threat. For now, they’re much more interested in-” He met my gaze, then looked away, as if naming the target would be rude.

“We know who they’re after,” I said. “The question is why?”

“A question we’re hoping you can answer,” Jeremy added.

Hull looked over at the new voice. “Oh, you’re not-I thought it was-” A nod to Clay and me. “-your friend from earlier.”

“He has other business to attend to,” I said.

Hull cast another look around the park, as if he knew darned well what the “other business” might be.

“You said you had information for us,” Jeremy said. “A firsthand account, I believe, was the phrase you used.”

“Yes, of course.” He hesitated. “I’m not sure where to start…”

“Try the beginning,” Clay said.

Hull nodded. “Before all this, back when I was…” The sentence trailed off.

“Alive?” I said.

Dismay flashed across his face. “Oh, no. I’m still alive. That is, I think I am. I didn’t die. I’m certain of that.”

“Let’s move to that bench.” Jeremy nodded at me. “She should get off her feet.”

“Yes, of course,” Hull said. “I should have insisted. My apologies.”

As we moved to the bench, Hull relaxed.

“Now,” Jeremy said. “As you were saying…”

Hull nodded. “Yes, right. Well, I was employed as a bookkeeper, as I had been for many years. At the time, though, I only had one client.” He gave a small laugh. “That doesn’t sound very good, does it? As if I couldn’t find enough work, but this particular gentleman gave me more than enough, and the remuneration was excellent, so I’d temporarily given over my other clients’ accounts to my business partner. This man-my client, not my partner-had recently arrived from Ireland, with sizable holdings to transfer and invest, and therefore required my undivided attention. His name was Edwin Shanahan.”

He looked at our faces, waiting for a reaction. When no one obliged, he continued. “Yes, well, I suppose you guessed that this device originated with the Shanahan family, where it has apparently remained. As I was saying, Mr. Shanahan was my only client and, being a widower, without a wife to complain about such things, he conducted most of his business from his home. I was there much of the time, my presence forgotten, as employees often are. I quickly learned that some of Mr. Shanahan’s business was…”