“N — nothing,” Dewey stammered out. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“Are you working on something else for the Old Man?” she asked. “That caused a lot of trouble last time.”
“It’s not like that,” he said.
“It better not be.”
Dewey frowned. “I don’t mean to be rude, but did you need something?”
Rude? Since when is he self-aware enough to understand that he was rude? “As a matter of fact, I do. We’re working on Holzinger’s death.”
He shook his head.
The fact that the little creep wasn’t following her investigation concerned her. “You don’t look well, Dewey.”
“I haven’t been sleeping much,” he admitted. “How could you tell?”
“Your skin looks even pastier than normal, and your eyes are glazed over.”
“I need to get a little more done on this research,” Dewey mumbled. He blinked several times. “I guess I need to take better care of myself. Didn’t you say you needed something?”
“I’ve been investigating the oil price manipulation. Could you take a look?”
“I’m… uh… busy.”
“I really need help, Dewey. You don’t have any free time?”
“I can spare a few minutes, I guess. Dr. Elliot didn’t say anything about a deadline. He just wanted it as soon as I could deliver it.”
“You’re working on something for Doc Elliot?”
“Uh, did I say that? I mean, I can’t tell you. It’s secret… and secret means I can’t tell you.”
“You’re not going to stick another device in somebody’s brain, are you?”
He mumbled something to himself, then asked, “When do you know you’re officially broken up?”
“Is this about Nancy?” Karen asked. “Have you guys been arguing?”
“She came by and asked me some questions. Wow, that must have been a few weeks ago.” He turned to the monitors and moved the mouse next to his right hand. “I guess it was four months ago.”
“Jesus,” Karen said. “And you’re just now telling me? Was there anything else going on when this happened?”
“It’s when she asked me the questions about the thing with the stuff,” Dewey said, staring at her as if she’d grown a third eye. “Wasn’t that obvious.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Uhm, yeah. Anyway, she said we will never… you know… do it again. Then she told me to never ask about sex again. Then she patted me on the head.”
“Patted your head?”
“Yeah,” Dewey said. He swiveled his head to look at her. “She said I was a very unique individual, but that our relationship was over.”
“That bothers you?” Karen asked.
“Sex was awesome. Like, beyond awesome. I just thought maybe we had something more.” He turned his attention back to the monitors. “Karen?”
“Yes?”
“Did I ever tell you it sucks being me?”
“Dewey…”
“It’s okay. Really. I’ll take a look at your stuff. I promise.”
“You’re a lifesaver,” Karen said.
“I’m a smart freak,” Dewey said matter-of-factly, “but thanks. You’ve always been there for me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be in jail. Or worse, still working at the NSA.”
Deion watched John snoring away.
John was sprawled on the sleeping bag. He had disconnected his prosthetic foot and was clutching it against his chest. His skin was pale, and occasionally he would cough and pull at the red wool blanket he had worked into a ball under his head as a makeshift pillow.
Deion nodded at Valerie. She glanced up from her tablet computer and nodded back. Her face was drawn, and she turned back to the tablet as she read the telemetry from John’s Implant.
John’s injuries were minor, but the fall from the hospital window had done a number on his brain. Dr. Oshensker and Dr. Elliot were concerned about a concussion or possibly a stroke.
Deion felt guilty about keeping the terrible news of John’s condition from the woman he loved. The nanocarbon and nanobots had caused tumors throughout John’s body, and while the chemotherapy they had given John without his knowledge had slowed their growth, it had also weakened his immune system. There was no telling when he could take a turn for the worse.
John has been acting… off. He’s just a little too slow when answering questions, and a little too slow when putting his thoughts together.
He caught Valerie’s eye and nodded to the door. She spoke to John briefly, then followed Deion into the next room of the warehouse.
Greg Clayberg looked up from his game of solitaire. “Ready to leave?”
“That depends,” Deion said, shutting the door behind them and turning to Valerie. “How’s John?”
“He’s shaken up.” Her eyes were troubled. “I’m no doctor, but he seems… awful.”
Clayberg’s ears perked up, and Deion sighed. “Greg, give us a minute.”
The pilot stood and rubbed at his salt-and-pepper beard. “I’ll rustle up some grub. Those MREs don’t prepare themselves, you know.”
Clayberg left, and Deion motioned for Valerie to sit. “John’s not well,” Deion said.
Valerie took the chair Clayberg had vacated. “The bomb in Holzinger’s room did that much damage?”
“This predates the bomb,” Deion said. “You’ve heard him complain about being tired?”
Valerie leaned forward in her chair. “It’s something else, isn’t it? How long have you known?”
“Since Nashville,” Deion said.
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“You understand how it is—”
“Don’t you dare say it was operational security.”
“It’s not like that,” Deion said. “Steeljaw wants it kept quiet.”
“Eric ordered it?” Valerie said sharply. “Of course. Nothing happens without Eric’s orders.”
Deion didn’t like the sudden edge to her voice. “Don’t blame Eric. It’s a delicate situation. You’ve read his file—”
“I know,” Valerie hissed. “I know what he did. I also know what Elliot and Oshensker did to him. It all seems so…”
“Crazy,” Deion finished. He took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her. She resisted at first, then melted into his arms.
He caught the hint of shampoo in her hair, and it reminded him of the last time they had showered together. He had lathered her hair with her favorite shampoo, the one that smelled like strawberries and mangoes, and worked it deep into her scalp. She was self-conscious about the threads of gray in her hair, but it only made him love her more.
He thought about asking her to marry him. The OTM put them in dangerous, often deadly situations, and they weren’t getting any younger.
“It’s crazy,” he repeated, hugging her. “But what we did to John was necessary.”
She pulled back. “Was it?”
He hesitated. “I believe it was. The man I interrogated wasn’t like the John you see now.”
“You’ve said that before—”
“He was angry. Twisted. He… wasn’t right.”
“He was hit by an IED.”
“Yeah,” Deion said. “It was bad. I interviewed the surviving members of his unit. John was always kinda strange, but after the IED, he just got stranger.”
“How?”
“After we broke him in Guantánamo, I flew to Maryland and walked through his apartment. It was empty. No pictures or letters. Just clothes and his Army uniform.”
Valerie frowned. “You’ve never talked about it before.”
“I didn’t want to make it harder for you to work with him. Look, if you think I feel bad about what he went through, you’re wrong. Maybe it was brain damage like the docs think. Maybe it wasn’t. People claim to be crazy all the time when they can’t own up to the terrible shit they’ve done.”