I cross the room, step over the threshold. Elle Costas — lithe and black-haired — is standing there with Uriah on her left, a firm grip around her bomb dog’s harness.
“Elle is going to check the room,” Devin tells me. “That’s what Bravo does. Right, boy?”
He smiles at the dog.
I raise an eyebrow and Elle enters the room with the dog.
“So you think somebody planted a bomb in my room?” I ask. “Then why did you let me go inside?”
“No, not a bomb,” Devin answers. “Security is too tight on this floor.”
“Apparently people can get past security in the ballroom.”
Chris clears his throat, a subtle signal for me to shut my mouth.
“Then what’s he searching for?” I ask.
“Poisons,” Elle replies, her voice serious. “Some bomb dogs have been cross-trained to sniff out both explosives and poisons. Bravo is one of those special canines.” She gives the dog a fond look. “It’s just a precaution, Commander.”
I watch Bravo sniff through the room, using his expertly trained nose to guide him. He’s all business as Elle follows him, studying his gestures. I bring the water bottle to my lips and suddenly Chris’s hand is on my wrist, sending driblets of water down the front of my shirt.
“Hey! What are you—” I begin, but I stop.
Bravo is sitting. His posture is rigid. He is positioned next to the table and Elle is holding a water bottle in her hand. She looks at me, I look at her, and we all look at the dog.
Elle slowly reaches forward and takes my bottle from my hand. “Don’t drink it, Senator,” she advises. “Lieutenant May?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Devin says, stepping into the room, gathering the water bottles. “Don’t eat or drink anything in this room.”
“So you think it’s poisoned?”
“It could be—”
“—Who has access to my room besides you, Devin?”
He shakes his head.
“Nobody,” he says. “This shouldn’t happen. Ever.”
Already I have been nearly shot and poisoned in less than twenty-four hours.
We’re making someone angry. We’re making someone desperate.
Bring it on.
“You know, Chris is the kind of guy who does,” Jeff Young says, twirling a pocketknife in his hand. “He doesn’t say what he’s doing or why. You just know.”
“He’s never told me he loves me,” I reply.
The sky is dark. The clouds are full of rain. We are at the foot of the Tehachapi Mountains, settled in the muddy grass, waiting for Omega to make their move. We’ve only been away from Sector 20 for a couple of days. I am afraid.
“He loves you,” Jeff answers. “You know that.”
“Do I? If he loved me, he’d say so.”
Jeff snaps his knife shut and shoves it back into his pocket.
“Some people don’t say how they feel,” he sighs. “They show it.”
“It’s not normal.”
“Chris has his reasons for what he does.”
“Anything I should know about?”
Jeff shakes his head.
“It’s not my place to say,” he shrugs. “Chris will tell you when he’s ready.”
His words send a chill down my spine, as if I should expect something horrible and foreboding. Some kind of doomsday prophecy.
Because lying on my stomach in the mud with a rifle isn’t stressful enough.
“I won’t wait forever,” I whisper. “I’m only human.”
Even in the darkness, I can see Jeff’s mouth droop, a slight frown.
“Sometimes we have to wait, Cassie,” he says. “Sometimes we have to be patient.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking: I’ve been patient.
How hard can it be to tell someone you love them?
Chapter Eight
When Jeff Young died, a part of me died, too. He was a good friend to me, someone I could confide in when the going got rough. Someone who understood Chris better than I did, and someone who was there for me when Chris seemed incapable of expressing emotion.
I wish he were here right now.
I’m sitting in the hallway right outside of the meeting room where we had the Negotiations yesterday. I am wearing an armored vest, my rifle slung across my back, a handgun and a knife strapped to my hip. Uriah, Vera, Sophia, Andrew and Chris are here with me. Devin May is standing by the door, his stance similar to Chris’s.
“Why is it taking so long?” I say.
“These things take time,” Chris replies, his eyes focused straight ahead.
“How much time?”
Chris almost smiles for the first time in hours.
“As much time as they need,” he tells me.
“Well, my girl, I hear you dodged death twice last night. Is that true?”
I jump out of my chair, a smile spreading across my face. Manny walks through the doors on the far side of the hall, windblown and smelling of the outdoors. His flight cap is shoved into the pocket of his leather overcoat. I run to him and embrace him, relieved and happy to see my dear friend.
“Well, now,” he says, grinning. His weathered, wrinkled face is streaked with grease and dirt. “It’s nice to see you too, Senator.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Manny,” I reply.
“Manny,” Chris says, nodding. “Good to see you.”
Manny shakes his hand.
“So,” he says. “What are you all doing around here? Holding a communal baptism of some sort? Baptism by bullets, perhaps?”
“We’re waiting for the verdict,” Andrew answers, raising an eyebrow. “The representatives are taking a vote on California’s entry into the Alliance.”
“Ah, politics,” Manny says, making a face. “Because talking endlessly about nothing always solves the problem.”
“There’s the truth,” Vera mutters.
“Ah, Vera. Back to your usual, bubbly self,” Manny comments. “And who, may I ask, are you?” He gestures to Devin.
“Lieutenant Devin May,” Devin says, shaking Manny’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I would imagine,” Manny replies. “News of dashing pilots risking life and limb for the good of their country has a way of making an impression on you.” He winks, a devilish expression on his face. “Now, back to business. Cassidy, two assassination attempts in one night?”
“Yes,” Devin interrupts. “Two assassins in the ballroom and somebody got into the Senator’s room and poisoned her water. We verified it.”
“I feel very secure in this facility, don’t you?” Manny smirks.
“I don’t know who to trust,” I say in a low voice.
Chris turns to me, a surprised expression on his face. Before he says a word, the doors to the meeting room open. Sophia and Andrew straighten up and Uriah casts a wary glance toward me.
Commander Jen Amal takes a step into the hall. She’s really a beautiful woman, tall and refined, pretty dark hair slicked down.
“Senator,” she says.
There is a long silence. Everyone in the room seems to be holding their breath.
“Well?” I ask. “Are we in?”
Amal smiles.
“Welcome to the Pacific Northwest Alliance.”
Here we go again, back in the convoy. I am sitting between Uriah and Vera. Chris is in the front seat. The other representatives/militia commanders are following us: Ken Thrawn of Oregon, Nathaniel Mero of Washington, Marshal Sullivan of Canada and Anita Vega of Mexico.