Rachel Caine - Thin Air

“Speaking of short shelf lives,” he continued in a far too casual tone, “I’m surprised you’re not traveling with your beau.”

“Beau,” I repeated. Was he talking about Lewis? David? Somebody else altogether?

“How soon they forget. And I thought it was true love.” Eamon’s smile became positively predatory. “Oh, come now. You do remember him, don’t you? I wouldn’t think amnesia could wipe out that. ”

“Just because I don’t want to talk about it with you doesn’t mean I don’t remember,” I said hotly. “Back off.”

“He made quite a production of telling me to stay away from you, once upon a time,” Eamon said. “I’ve got the scars to prove it. Thoughtful of him to leave them-although to be fair, he did keep me from bleeding to death. So, shall I worry about your somewhat supernatural boyfriend charging to your rescue?”

“Maybe,” I said, and smiled back at him. One good menacing pseudo-grin deserved another. “Nervous?”

“Terrified,” he said, in a way that indicated he wasn’t. But I wondered. “What about the girl?”

I stayed quiet. Girl covered quite a lot of territory.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember your own daughter.”

Imara. He was talking about…How did he know her? What had happened between the two of them? I glared at him, trying to find a way to phrase questions that wouldn’t reveal my ignorance, and failing miserably.

“Let’s agree to stay off the subject of my personal life,” I said, “because I swear to God, if you mention either of them again, I’ll rip your tongue out and use it for a toilet brush. Please tell me we’re getting close to wherever it is we’re going.”

“Yes,” he said. “We’re getting close.”

“Then explain to me what it is you want me to do.”

“Nothing too terribly exciting,” Eamon said. “I’d like a building destroyed.”

I gaped at him. Honestly. Gaped. He what ? “Are you insane?” I asked. “No, strike that; the answer’s pretty obvious. What makes you think I’d do a thing like that?”

“For one thing, you’ve done it before-and, of course, so have more than a few of the Weather Wardens, for fun and profit. I told you I had a construction investment in Florida-it was more of a construction investment designed to experience catastrophic failure during some natural disaster or other. Florida’s quite prone to them, but California…well. It’s the mecca for that sort of thing, isn’t it?”

“Eamon-”

“It’s perfectly simple. I know you can do it without even breaking a sweat. I won’t bother threatening your life, Joanne. You’ve amply demonstrated to me how little your own survival means to you.” Eamon shrugged slightly. “I’d almost admire that, if I didn’t find it ridiculous. Sacrificing your life for others is nothing but a socially accepted version of suicide. It’s just as bloody selfish.”

“You’re one to talk about selfish,” I said. “You want me to bring down a building ?”

“A small one,” he clarified. “Hardly the apocalypse you’re imagining. Seven stories. An office building.”

“Why?”

“Why is not your business,” he said. “Suffice to say, money.”

“No. I’m not doing it.”

“I promise you, there will be no casualties. It’ll be deserted. No chance of murder hanging heavy on your conscience.” He said it with irony, as if I already had a lot to worry about. Which I was starting to think wasn’t far from the truth. “A small price to pay for your sister’s life and ultimate well-being, isn’t it? Not to mention your own, as little as that means to you?”

Eamon was almost- almost -begging. Interesting. I stared at him for a few seconds, read nothing in him but what he wanted me to read, and turned my attention outward, to the passing cars, the landscape, the weather, as Eamon kept us moving relentlessly onward. Clouds hovered close. Gray mist swept the tops of hills, and as we passed a small stock pond just off the road, I saw it was giving up wisps of vapor.

It was an eerie sort of mood out there. And I didn’t think it was just me.

“Nobody in the building,” I said. “Right?”

“Cross my heart and hope to fry,” he said. “There’s exactly one security guard. I’ll make sure he’s off the premises.”

“And how exactly do you expect me to bring down a building without destroying everything around it?”

“You’re joking, surely,” he said. “I don’t care, so long as it appears to be a natural phenomenon. A storm, a tornado, freak winds…use your imagination.”

“All of those are going to do more damage than just the one building.” And I wasn’t capable of handling that kind of thing, anyway, not that I’d be admitting it to him anytime soon. “Unless it’s an isolated location.”

“Well, if you can’t do it, or won’t, then I’ll have to resort to my alternate plan. Sadly, that involves a quantity of C-four explosive and a daytime terrorist attack, which will cost lives and no doubt inconvenience everyone in the world for at least a few days. There’s a day care facility in the building, I understand. It would be quite the tragedy.”

I blinked. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I? Can you really be completely sure of that? Because if you’re not, love, I’d suggest you weigh your own moral values against the lives of the six hundred people who work in that building during the week. And the fourteen preschoolers who could end up tragic statistics.”

It wasn’t possible, was it? He wouldn’t really be willing to bomb a building, especially when it was full of people. Especially with kids inside. My hands ached where I was gripping the dashboard, braced against the tense panic in my stomach. Eamon glanced over at me, but wisely said nothing. He just let me think about it in silence.

Oh, Christ. How was I supposed to know whether he’d do a thing like that or not? I didn’t know him. I didn’t remember him. The best I could do was go by my impressions, and my impression was that Eamon was nobody to screw around with. He might do it. And might , right now, was more than good enough, given the stakes.

“Pull over,” I said.

“Why?”

“Pull over now .”

He did, bumping onto the rough shoulder and activating emergency flashers. I opened the door and stepped out into the humid air, gasping for breath. If he thought I was about to barf all over his leather interior, fine. I just wanted to get away from him for a couple of minutes. His company was toxic.

The wind whipped around me, caressing and cloying. I looked around for the white van, but it hadn’t slowed and it hadn’t stopped; it blew right by us without a pause, and was receding in the distance.

So much for my paranoid tail theory. And Eamon’s. Unless the driver was very, very good, and had overshot us to pick us up later on the road. It was a good strategy, if he had it in mind; the road was pretty straightforward, and we weren’t likely to turn off quite yet.

I heard the crunch of gravel behind me. Eamon had gotten out of the car.

“Jo,” he said quietly. I stiffened at the sound of my name on his lips. “Let’s do this in a businesslike fashion. It doesn’t have to be so ridiculously dramatic. Just do the job, and we’re finished, the two of us. I think it would be best for us all.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. I fought back a powerful desire to turn and knee him in the balls.

“How much farther?” I asked. I managed to keep most of the fury out of my voice.

“Two hours,” he said. “Give or take. If it’ll make you feel any better I’ll let you drive.”