19

A BRAIN SMOG FOLLOWED ALLIE HOME FROM DEEP SEVEN. SHE’D BEEN there for three weeks now, and it was getting to her. Something about it left her feeling tired and tainted at the end of the day, and each day was a little worse than the one before—as if there was a subtle poison in the office air that was slowly building up in her.

Only one week left on the project. Reminding herself of that helped, but it also raised a different discomfort. The end of her time at Deep Seven wasn’t only a goal. It was a deadline.

She opened her apartment door and a wonderful smell greeted her. She smiled and inhaled deeply. Spices. Fried veggies and beef. Sweet-and-sour sauce. Heaven in a box.

Erik appeared in the hall, a such-a-good-boy-am-I smile on his beautiful face. “Welcome home, Allie.”

“Tang Dynasty?”

He nodded. “Just got home two minutes ago.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too, babe.” He stepped up to her, slipped a hand behind her head, and kissed her. For a few seconds, she almost forgot about the boxes of Chinese food calling to her from the kitchen.

Their lips parted and he smiled down on her. “Let’s eat on the balcony—first clear evening in I don’t know how long.”

She followed him out onto the wide, tiled balcony. The evening sun warmed her face and hands. Ranks of $2 and $3 million row houses marched across the gentle slope below her, interrupted by upscale cafes, shops, and restaurants. She sank into a cushioned redwood deck chair as Erik disappeared back into the apartment. Incessant coastal fog had cast a pall over San Francisco nearly every evening for the past month. A sunset dinner for two on the balcony would be wonderful.

Erik reappeared a few minutes later clutching chopsticks and a cluster of white paper buckets stamped with the red Tang Dynasty label in one hand and two Tsingtao beers in the other. He set his burdens down on a small table next to Allie’s chair and plopped into another chair on the other side of the table.

Allie found a container of beef stir-fry and another of rice. “Mmmm. You are the best.”

“You seemed pretty beat when you called, so I figured…” His words trailed off in a shrug. He patted her arm and smiled. The slanting light caught in his pale blue eyes so that they glowed in striking contrast to his tousled black hair. Allie wished she could freeze time so she could just look at him like that forever.

“You figured right. This is exactly what I needed.”

“Job’s that bad, huh?”

She frowned and took a sip of her beer. “Not exactly bad. More weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. Little things mostly.”

“Like what?”

“Like there are more security cameras than I’ve ever seen in an office. Like they have these ‘red’ projects that people can’t talk about, even inside the company. Like the security guards all look like extras in a GI Joe movie.”

Erik stiffened and his eyes widened. “Hey! I’ll bet the whole thing is a CIA front or something—like in 24.”

Allie shook her head. “I thought of that, but it doesn’t work. Why would a front company hire temps with no security clearance? Why would they put a front company in America? Wouldn’t they put it someplace like Iraq? I don’t even think the CIA is allowed to operate here.”

Erik nodded as if she had said exactly what he expected. His hair fell into his eyes and he flipped it back. “It’s all part of the front. So they can fool people like you and me.” He tapped his temple and smiled. “But we’re too smart. We know everyone’s got their guilty little secrets.”

“Uh-huh.” She made a mental note to talk to Connor about this later. “So, how was practice today? Hear anything more about that record contract?”

“Great session today. Toob had a new guitar riff that really rocked, and they loved those lyrics I showed you last night. Alex thinks we should cut a new CD for that executive down in LA, but…” He glanced at her and continued quickly. “We don’t have enough money to rent a studio, so we were wondering if, you know, you could spot us a couple grand.”

“And you’ll pay me back as soon as you land your record deal, right?”

He fidgeted with his beer and leaned forward. “Uh, yeah.”

“Hmmm. I’ll think about it. You guys already owe me from your last studio session.”

He smiled nervously.

Allie smiled back. She’d already decided to loan them the money, but she didn’t want Erik to start expecting it. She paid for enough of his lifestyle already. Besides, he was more attentive when she made him sweat a little, and she liked being attended to.

Allie woke with a jolt. She must have fallen asleep on the couch after Erik left. A big meal and a couple of beers tended to do that to her, even when she wasn’t already tired. She opened her eyes and winced at a familiar sting. Her optometrist had warned her that she’d have to give up contacts if she kept falling asleep with them in her eyes.

Her cell phone blared Beck’s “Loser” from the coffee table by her head. She groaned. That was the ring tone she had given Andy Duong. She’d been ignoring his calls for nearly a week, and his messages had grown increasingly agitated.

She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“You’re lucky you answered. If you didn’t, I was going to send out an e-mail blast with that press release we discussed.”

Not likely while I’m still poking around Deep Seven for you. “Nice to talk to you too, Andy. What do you want?”

“Tell me that you’ve sued Deep Seven.”

“No can do.”

“What? Why not?”

She smiled in the darkness. After the meeting where he and Sandy Allen ambushed her, she had realized that they wouldn’t follow through on their threats while they still had something to gain from letting her keep her secrets. Blowing her cover while she was still investigating Deep Seven would be stupid. And if Devil to Pay did wind up suing, it would be stupid to give Deep Seven her identity while the lawsuit was pending. After that, they’d probably send out their press release no matter what she did. And then she’d tell the whole story to Connor, and he’d find a way to shred them in court.

Once she had gamed out all of that, she had lost all fear of Andy and Sandy. Which meant she could yank Andy’s chain if she felt like it. “False claims complaints are sealed. I can’t even tell you whether or not one has been filed.”

“Don’t mess with me, Allie! You either tell me whether you’ve sued them or that press release goes out now.”

“Relax, Andy. If they’re as dirty as you say, we’ll sue them when we’re ready. But if they’re not dirty—or even if I just can’t prove they’re dirty—I’m not going to sue them. DOJ investigates every lawsuit we file, and I’d have to lie to them about Deep Seven. Not going to do it. There are worse things than your press release.”

“Like going to jail.”

“Exactly.”

His thin, unpleasant chuckle dribbled through the phone. “Does the name Jason Tompkins mean anything to you?”

She sat up. “Should it?”

“Jason was a sixteen-year-old boy who lived in Salina, Kansas. Eagle Scout, according to his obituary. Liked going camping with friends. Sounds like a nice kid.” He paused for emphasis. “Six weeks ago, he died in the emergency room at Salina Regional Health Center. Meth overdose. You wouldn’t happen to have been in Salina then, would you?”

Allie’s heart pounded and she tried to breathe. A cold and familiar weight crushed down on her chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Let me try jogging your memory. It seems Jason bought the meth at a concert. No one knows who sold it to him.” He paused. “No one except us.”

The memory forced itself into her mind: Erik in the parking lot after a show. He was behind the band’s van, out of sight except from the stage door, where she stood. His handsome face was pale in the streetlight and his forehead gleamed with sweat. His hair was lank and tucked behind his ears. He didn’t see her because he was talking to a group of teen boys. She had thought they were fans basking in the glow of her “pet rock star,” as Connor called him. She had smiled to herself. And then she saw Erik handing them little baggies.

After a moment, Andy went on. His voice was smooth and satisfied now. “You know, if anyone knowingly helped the dealer who sold that meth—say by driving the dealer around or paying the dealer’s hotel bills—that person could be guilty of Jason’s death just the same as the dealer. Exactly the same.”

The room spun and Allie put her head in her hand. Bile burned in the back of her throat. “I’ve got nothing more to say to you.”

“But you do have something more to do for me. I don’t care how you do it, but you will find evidence that Deep Seven has been ripping off the government—unless you’d rather spend a long time in a Kansas jail.”

She hung up and started to cry.