THIRTY

That’s her,” Mason said.
He’d been awed by the luxury of the penthouse suite. Fascinated by the urbane smoothness of the man who’d snapped at the bodyguards to stand in the hallway and had closed the door to appraise Mason openly, until introducing himself as Everett Tippler, then walking effeminately across the room to bring Mason to a flat screen that filled an entire wall.

Now, however, Mason’s total focus was on the colored images moving across the wide flat screen. The scene was clearly a roof, and long shadows showed it was the end of the day. The man holding a wine glass was Everett, moving toward a girl with her back to him, who turned as if startled, with faint orange light across her face.

Everett held a remote. The image froze.

“An easy face to remember,” he said. “You told security she was your friend. I think you’re lying.”

Mason was a new refugee in the outside world. Except for the cash he’d taken from Abe, he had nothing. Except something that Everett wanted.

“Does it matter?” Mason said.

“Extremely. The wrong answer means you’re a dead man.”

Mason felt the vibration inside. Everett had killed before. And enjoyed it too.

“Tell me why you think I’m lying,” Mason said.

“She doesn’t strike me as the type to truly like a man who can eat rats. There’s an innocence to her. You, on the other hand…”

“I want to drink her blood,” Mason said. “I want it spilling from her veins, and I want her watching me as I drink.”

“That was the right answer.” Everett flicked the remote again. “Watch.”

An unnecessary instruction. Mason absorbed every detail. The images moved soundlessly, although it was obvious that Everett and Caitlyn were carrying on a conversation.

Mason felt more internal vibrations. The body language of each showed Everett was predator. Caitlyn was prey. The eeriness was in the silence, the silhouettes and shadows.

Then the images slowed, as if their movements were choreographed, with Everett beginning to pull at Caitlyn’s clothing, with Caitlyn apparently helpless.

Mason felt a possessiveness and more than a trace of anger. He leaned forward, half in anticipation of where the violence would lead, half wanting to know that she was still alive, that he could still hunt.

The silhouettes broke apart. Everett falling backward. Caitlyn still upright.

Everett stopped the sequencing.

“That was last evening. As you can see, at dusk. If there were more light, you’d also see that she put a knife into my gut. Fortunately for me, it missed anything vital. I released myself from the hospital a few hours ago.”

Mason turned slowly and stared at Everett. The man hadn’t moved effeminately. Simply gingerly.

“Why would she have a knife?” Everett asked.

Mason didn’t answer. He looked back at the flat screen. This told him something new about Caitlyn. She now carried a weapon.

“Who is she?” Everett asked. “For that matter, who are you?”

“What do you want?” Mason countered.

Everett hit the remote. “She moves to the edge of the roof. There. See? Most of the sun is gone, but the roof lights are enough to show the next few seconds.”

He stopped it again. “I’m prepared to pay you well to find her. But only if I trust that you know her well enough. Tell me, rat man, before I advance the frames, what happens next?”

Mason only had to remember the last moments he’d spent with Caitlyn before she abandoned him to die in the cave. His disbelief.

He spoke two flat words to Everett.

“She flies.”