No words, no precautions, no plans made any difference, not against her. I turned and met Dawna’s eyes, and the moment I did, the smallest datum that she might have been lacking snapped into place.
She knew everything.
She knew that Checker was far outside the county, that he was the one scrambling to stream our code, that I had left it all in his hands.
She knew that she had never been poisoned, that Rio and I had invented the story so Arthur would feel compelled to call her and tell her where I was, because Arthur’s messed-up brain was still sympathetic enough to her not to want her dead. She knew we had chosen such a story so she wouldn’t bomb the building outright and kill us all once she found out our location.
She knew that I was bait, and that I was bait because I could take out every mook she sent against me until she was forced to come down herself.
And she knew that Rio was at that moment taking aim with a high-powered rifle directly at her head.
None of it should have mattered. She shouldn’t have had anywhere left to go. She was unarmed, and even if she’d had a weapon and the skill to go with it, nothing should have made a difference against a sniper. We should have been able to beat her, once and for all, finally: Rio was one of the few human beings on the planet mentally capable of killing her, and we’d lured her into his sights.
Almost.
I didn’t know precisely where Rio was, but I had glimpsed the heights of nearby buildings, could draw the array of lines that might angle through the windows to target anyone in this room. Even with the most generous of estimates, Dawna Polk needed to take half of one step more.
And because I knew it, she knew it.
In the split-second between meeting my eyes and having her brain matter spattered across the floor, Dawna Polk registered exactly what was happening. She knew our entire plan, and the moment she knew it, it failed.
She smiled.
She stopped and took a step backward, out of danger, and flicked her eyes to Arthur—
—who spun with the speed of an action hero and aimed the Beretta in his hand exactly at my center of mass.
And I, someone who could have turned Arthur Tresting into a smear on the carpet without so much as thinking about it, who could have disarmed and incapacitated him in a fraction of normal human reaction time before he ever got the gun on me—I hesitated. I didn’t stop him.
Dawna twitched her head at Arthur and me, and we sidestepped closer to the windows, until the dim ambient light outlined us clearly. “Call him down,” she said.
It didn’t cross my mind to disobey her. I gestured at the windows, beckoning at Rio from a thousand yards away, not taking my eyes off the barrel of Arthur’s gun.
Rio had told me this was a bad idea. I hadn’t listened.
“You thought you could trap me?” said Dawna. She sounded more surprised and amused than angry.
My throat was dry. “I had to give it a shot.”
“No pun intended,” said Dawna.
I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
“Of course I do,” she said. “I have a great enjoyment of language in particular. I admit I don’t enjoy the more ribald—bullying, shall we say—brand of humor. It gives me no pleasure to put other people down.”
“You put down a lot of your people out there today,” I said. I half-saw her stiffen out of the corner of my eye. “Hey, you’re the one who likes puns.”
“I admit, we fell for the first part of your ruse.” Her voice was still soft, but the words had turned dangerous and threatening, the sound of a cobra sliding over dead leaves. “You killed many good men and women tonight. I won’t forget it.”
Well, that was a bit unfair. Where did she get off blaming me for defending myself?
Her tone became derisive. “Ms. Russell. Really. You set a trap to murder me, and then call your violence self-defense? Oh, you bring self-justifying, irrational absurdity to a new level.”
It was the first time she had ever spoken to me anything less than politely. It sounded out of place and slightly shocking, like hearing a priest start cussing.
“You think me incapable of your brand of anger?” Dawna scoffed. “I may not enjoy debasing myself, but I assure you, I am not above temper. A great many of my people have now lost their lives thanks to you, and you have caused me an unconscionable expenditure of time and resources—far more than you are worth. And if your programmer friend is even partially successful, you will cause untold casualties.” Her words whipped at me, cold and furious. “You condemn us for playing God, yet you decide to toy with the same forces when you have no concept of the fallout. Do you have any idea how many people all over the world would die if your little plan were to be successful? Do you?”
“At least one,” I shot back, even as no small part of me wondered if she was right.
“You know I speak the truth,” she spat, responding to my thoughts again rather than to my comeback. “You consider yourself intelligent, yet you would be willing to let so many millions suffer and be killed, because you have the gall to judge that they should, because we are somehow evil for helping them.”
I heard a noise at the door and glanced over, but it wasn’t Rio, only one of Dawna’s paramilitary troops. “Track down the programmer,” she ordered him. “He’ll have driven west from Yucca Valley. Check electronics stores along the edge of the blackout zone for break-ins; he’ll need a computer. This is our top priority—put everybody on it.”
He nodded smartly and left again.
Shit. Checker. My stomach curdled in dread.
“Oh, dispense with the drama,” Dawna said disgustedly. “They’re not going to kill him. Your co-conspirator has some skill; he’s already been deemed to be useful enough to come and work for us.”
The dread froze into horror.
“I grow tired of your judgment,” snapped Dawna.
“Then stop reading my thoughts,” I retorted.
She fell silent.
I was still trying not to look at her, not that it mattered anymore. Instead I kept my attention on Arthur. He was staring fixedly at the gun in his hand as he pointed it at me, his jaw bunched, all the muscles in his face vibrating with tension. A bead of sweat slipped down his neck and slid under his collar.
Poor guy.
Rio appeared in the room.
He materialized so suddenly and quietly that I could have sworn Dawna started slightly. She recovered in less than a breath, however. “I’m glad to see you are being wise,” she said, her voice cool again. “If you had tried to kill me, Ms. Russell would be dead.”
Rio lifted one shoulder in a miniscule half-shrug, as if to say, Maybe, maybe not. His hands were empty and held out to his sides.
Dawna nodded, her lips curving upward in a slight smile. “Yes, perhaps you would have been skilled enough to rescue her and still accomplish your assassination. It seems I was correct in thinking you would not risk it.”
“Quite a chance to take,” I pointed out to Dawna. I couldn’t help but feel a squeezing disappointment; some part of me had still hoped Rio might pull a rabbit out of a hat and save us all.
“Not terribly,” said Dawna. She turned away from Arthur and me, ignoring us and addressing Rio. “You really are predictable in your own way. Did you honestly think this would work?”
Rio shrugged again. “It was a gamble. I judged it worth it.”
“You shouldn’t have told Ms. Russell your plan, then. She gave you away.”
“Regretfully unavoidable,” said Rio. “It was her idea.”
“Then someone else should have played your bait.”