Fault Line

29 STING

Sarah took a taxi from the hotel to her apartment in the Mission. She was exhausted and felt strangely numb. The night before, with Ben… it had been overwhelming. She didn't know whether anything more could come of it, whether she even wanted anything more to come of it, but something had happened between them, and even in the midst of all the craziness, it had affected her profoundly. And then the next morning, he had walked out with about as much regard for her as for a comfortable chair he'd enjoyed sitting in. Because, what, he had a fight with his brother? That made her trash, to be just thrown away?

Or maybe the fight with Alex was just his excuse. She'd known he was damaged from the moment she met him, and she should never have done anything other than keep him at a sensible distance. She was as furious at herself for her ridiculous lapse of judgment as she was at Ben for treating her like she was some disposable thing.

Alex. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She hadn't even known she could. What was it going to be like now, when they saw each other in the office? Would he still want to work with her? Or would he blackball her somehow?

She realized the corporate and even the romantic concerns were mundane, probably her mind's attempt to ignore the real difficulty she was in. Because the people who wanted Obsidian were still out there. If she was in danger before, most likely she still was. But she didn't know what to do about it, so she was fretting about things that were far less consequential.

The cab stopped on Lexington Street in front of her apartment, a basement unit in one of the narrow, detached, tree-shaded houses that lined the street. She liked Lexington because it was only four blocks long and so attracted little traffic. Its sidewalks were menaced more by the Big Wheels and bicycles of the numerous children who lived in the neighborhood than they were by cars or trucks.

She paid the driver and got out. She'd been gone only, what, twenty-four hours? And yet the comfort and familiarity of the setting felt surreal to her.

She started up the flagstone walk toward the front door. A man called out from her right. “Excuse me, miss?”

She turned, surprised, because she hadn't noticed anyone there when she'd gotten out of the cab. The surprise turned to alarm. What if they'd found out where she lived? Ben said it would be easy. Maybe they were waiting for her here.

But the man, a slim Asian in shades and a green fleece pullover, was keeping a respectful distance. He said, “If I wanted to get from here to San Jose, would I be better off taking 101, or 280?”

By reflex, her mind started working the problem, considering variables, imagining possibilities. “Well,” she said, “it would depend on where you're going in San Jose.”

Something suddenly felt wrong to her. Why would a pedestrian ask a question like that?

Because of the way it's calculated to momentarily engage your mind. It would distract you from-

Something stung her in the neck from behind. She clapped a hand to the spot and cried out. Something was stuck in her neck. She tried to turn, but strong hands gripped her shoulders. She struggled and the world seemed to lurch. From somewhere she heard a door-a van door?-slide open, and the last thing she saw before everything grayed out was the man in the sunglasses and fleece pullover moving quickly and purposefully toward her.