Fire with Fire(113)
Trevor leaned toward Elena’s ear. “How are you holding up?”
Elena was looking intently at the chapel doorway, where Caine was emerging—walking with a limp and his left arm in a softcast and sling. “I’m fine, Trev. I’ve done my own mourning for Dad.”
He followed her eyes; she was looking at Caine, all right. She wasn’t blinking. “You know his story?”
“I’m sorry: who are you talking about?”
“Him. The guy you’re looking at. Riordan.”
“The one who was attacked last night?”
“Yup, that’s him. He was with Dad—at the end—you know.”
“I thought I heard that.”
Trevor leaned back to look at his sister. “El, you must know who he is. He’s the guy from the Parthenon Dialogs. You know—exosapients on Delta Pavonis? That’s him.”
“Yeah—I guess I just wasn’t thinking about that.” She looked away—as if it were a considerable effort—and smiled at her brother.
“Oh? And what were you thinking about, Sis?”
“How people connected to Dad seem to be targeted. Maybe Dad was himself.”
“We’ll find out at the meeting with Richard, right after we wrap up here. Seems they’ve got the final coroner’s report.”
Trevor saw Opal edge into the reception hall behind Caine. I wonder if she’ll see me looking at her—
Elena turned back to him during a short lull in the commiserating handshakes. “You’re staring, Trev.”
“Uh . . . oh. Yeah.”
“Who is she?”
“Her? Oh, she’s his—” And the words staggered to a stop in his head and his mouth: I haven’t lied to my sister since I was a bratty younger brother. But Richard had been very clear regarding the confidentiality of Opal’s real job.
“His what?” Elena’s head was tilted to one side, the way it did when she was on the scent of a secret—or knew that she was being snowed.
“She’s his friend. And she works for Richard. Security. Seems she and Riordan have a lot in common, though.”
“How so?” Elena’s voice sounded strangely flat.
“They’re both reanimated sleepers. He was down for fourteen years, all told.”
Now her voice sounded careful, as if she were weighing every word. “That must have been very hard on him—losing so much time that way.”
“More than you know. He hardly remembers a thing from the last few days of his old life. Shame. Seems like a nice enough guy.”
“You know him?” She had turned to face him.
“Well, yeah—sort of. I babysat him on a sub for a couple of weeks.” He looked at her. “Didn’t I tell you?”
She was already looking back at Riordan. “No. You didn’t. And what about the girl—I mean, the woman?”
“She was in cold storage for fifty years. What she remembers no longer exists. She’s entirely alone in the world.”
Elena turned back towards him. “Uh-oh.”
“What do you mean, ‘Uh-oh’?”
Elena smiled. “I mean, I know that tone of voice. Trevor, look at her. She and Riordan are—well, it looks like they’re more than friends.” She put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry—I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Yeah. Me neither.” He checked his watch; 1258 hours, local. Which meant that, any minute now—
A medium-sized, nondescript man in black fatigues slipped into the room sideways. He scanned faces, stopped when he saw Trevor, nodded once. Trevor leaned toward Elena’s ear. “I’ll be back in a few.”
“Trevor, the guests—”
“Are all trying to talk to you because you’re the pretty one—and none of them knew Dad personally, so I’d be happy to stop playing charades. Besides, I’ve got to get back to work.”
She nodded, scanned down the dwindling line. Caine was toward the end.
Trevor walked back to the position he had originally occupied. Rulaine saw him approach, moved toward the other side of the hall.
The nondescript man met Trevor at the exact point Rulaine had vacated. “How’s it going, boss?”
“All quiet. What’s the word, Stosh?”
“Lot of shack chat. By the way, is it true?”
“About what?”
“That I’ve got to stand a little straighter when I salute you?”
“Like you ever salute me.”
“Hey—I salute you. Sometimes. Sir.”
“Yeah—but I mean without that big shit-eating grin.”
“Well, it’s just hard not to remember you blowing chow during the last run of hell week.”