“Excuse me,” she said as the elevator door opened, and they all recoiled to let her out first. She could get used to this, she reflected, trying not to laugh. Maybe she should permanently change her look.
The same thing happened in the Lazar Import & Export office. People who had browbeaten and ordered her around all month scurried out of her way, eyes wide, flattening themselves against the walls to give her space. As if she were dangerous. A spark of grim amusement kindled inside her. She'd come a long way from the girl whose knees had knocked when she had to serve melon chunks and mini-muffins to a room full of suits.
Harriet bore down on her like a fighter jet as she strode down the corridor for Victor's office. She blocked Raine's path, her tight, pinched mouth trembling with outrage. “How dare you come here looking like a slut! Have you lost your mind? You've got blood on your face, and you're actually... dirty!” Her voice cracked with horror.
Raine swallowed down a cackle of hysterical laughter. “Out of my way,” she ordered. “I need to get into that office, right now.”
“No!” Harriet held out her arms, prepared to martyr herself. “No amount of intimacy with Mr. Lazar gives you the right to intrude on—”
“He's my father, Harriet,” Raine snapped.
Harriet jerked back, her eyes huge and startled behind the frames of her glasses. Raine advanced upon her. “So get your bony ass out of my way. I'm having a really bad day, as you might have noticed, and I don't have the time or the patience to explain myself to you. Go!”
Harriet swallowed and backed away, her face stiff. “Call security,” she said to the cluster of staring, murmuring people behind her.
Security. Lovely. She wouldn't have much time. Raine locked the door and dropped into the thronelike desk chair. The computer was already logged on, the password request up, cursor blinking dutifully.
She seized the phone, punching in Seth's cell phone number. The recorded voice informed her that the phone was out of range. Would she like to leave a message? She slammed it down and rubbed her burning eyes. What was it that Victor had said? More than four letters. Less than ten. What he wanted from her.
Damn him. Always a power struggle, always a guessing game. What she wouldn't give to have the power to make people rack their brains trying to guess what she wanted from them. As if. She had to beg for what she wanted on her hands and knees. And she never got it anyway.
Oh, stop it. This was no time for self-pity. She had to concentrate. Victor was a control freak. He liked to control people by....
She typed in “fear.” It didn't work. She tried “control.”
“Revenge.”
No go.
She tried “power.” Then “respect.” Still nothing. She squeezed her eyes shut. She had to think like him. More convoluted, more abstract. Victor was nothing if not abstract. But nothing came to her brain; stress had battered it to a numb pulp. She shook her head to clear it and just started typing in every word that popped into her head.
She tried “trust” “Truth.” “Honor.” “Justice.” “Courage.” No. She tried “Mercy.” “Forgiveness.”
She hesitated for a long time, bit her lip hard and typed in “love.”
Nothing.
She swore, using some of the brand-new, violent combinations of words she had learned in the past few days from listening to Seth.
The goddamned password should have been “love.” That was what she wanted it to be, sentimental idiot that she was, always wanting what she couldn't have, seeking love where it couldn't be found. She wanted out of this screaming madhouse of hate and revenge. She wanted to rescue them alclass="underline" herself, Seth, Connor, even the unknown, hapless Erin. She wanted to rescue the perfect, precious bliss she had known last night before the killer came and murdered it.
She wanted to go back in time, rescue Peter from Ed, rescue Victor from himself, rescue everyone from their fear and desperation and loneliness. But she was so small and helpless, and the boat was drifting away from her. She needed help, a moment of pure grace from the great mysterious unknown to help her unravel this puzzle, please—
Her hands dropped into her lap. Her swollen eyes stared at the computer screen, frozen in a moment of exquisite, paralyzing hope.
She spun back to the keyboard, and very carefully typed in “g-r-a-c-e.” She entered it.
Password accepted. The menu options popped up, inviting her to proceed. She blinked the tears she had no time for, and clicked on the glasses icon. The X-Ray Specs logo flashed up, a catchy blur of animation that her eyes were too watery to follow. She selected, “Last area viewed.” Then “Track all.”
A map popped up on the screen, showing a large chunk of the residential neighborhood of her Templeton Street house. Tiny colored points blinked all over the place. She wiped her eyes and nose on her grimy, sticky arm. There was a big magnifying glass on the tool bar. She dragged it over the map, letting her eyes relax and unfocused. One moment of grace, she prayed silently. One little moment, and she would take care of the rest.
There it was, a flicker of movement at the bottom of the screen. She dragged the magnifying glass to the point, and selected Zoom, vaguely aware that someone was yelling and pounding on the door.
The jewel icon was on the move southbound on Carstairs Road, a parallel of Templeton. It turned off the main road, and stopped. She knew that place. It had been a timber baron's luxury estate back in the twenties. Now it was an abandoned, dilapidated mansion surrounded by a big, overgrown forest park. She had jogged there, back in the days before she'd gotten too tired to jog.
The office door burst open. That was all the grace she was going to get. A burly man in a security uniform peeked in and eyed her as if she were a rabid animal. “Miss, I'm afraid you're going to have to, uh, come with me now,” he rumbled, trying to look stern.
“I don't think so,” she said politely. “I've got things to do.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door.
Damn. She'd hoped to avoid this, but there was no time to waste. She reached back, pulled out Ed's Glock and gave the man a big, toothy smile. “I'm out of here,” she said. “Have a great day.”
The guy almost tripped over himself to get out of her way, and Harriet squawked in protest. “See? I told you she was dangerous!”
Raine backed away from the horrified faces of the people she'd been trying so hard to please and placate for the last month. The Glock was intimidating, but it wasn't going to take them long to figure out that she would never use the thing.
“Uh... I'll see you guys around,” she said. “It's been real.”
She stuck the Glock back into her pants and ran like hell.
The cell phone rang. Victor checked the number before picking it up. It was Mara, whom he had assigned to watch the monitor in the control room. Memories of what he had done to the delectable, adventurous Mara in his bedroom the night before flashed through his mind. Memorable, yes, but the girl had better have a damn good reason for calling other than pillow talk. He pushed the button. “Yes?”
“Mr. Lazar, the jewel icon is very close to the marina, and moving closer,” Mara said.
He was unpleasantly startled. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It's at the level of Morehead Street. Moving south, at about thirty miles an hour. It's within range of your monitor.”
He pulled the monitor out of his coat pocket, entered the password and keyed in the code. Mara was right. Katya was here.
“Thank you, Mara. Carry on.” He broke the connection and pulled the collar of his coat higher, chilled to the bone.
Katya wasn't supposed to be here. She should be far out of reach, guarded by both Mackey and Riggs.