The Taste Of Night

25

I couldn’t turn the fucking thing on.

With the Shadows on vacation and the Light side in hiding, I’d arrived at the shiny new Net café just off the Strip without worry or problem. I’d taken a seat in a dimly lit booth with my back to the wall so I could watch the rest of the crowd, mostly tourists buzzing in to check their e-mail. A few students were thrown in the mix, backpacks tossed at their feet, earphones hijacking their heads and necks with whatever music made them do that collective bobblehead dance. A homeless man was slumped in a corner booth, snoring away, apparently getting better rates here than he would at the Holiday Inn, though I’d have gone to the library if I were him. At least that was free.

Meanwhile I’d already wasted a quarter of my hour’s bought time staring at the unresponsive screen, pushing every button on the machine that looked important, and inserting my disk in the only slot where it would fit. I didn’t understand.

I glanced through the clear glass separating my console from the next, but the guy there was a gamer, and looked and smelled like he’d been parked there for the last twenty-four hours. There were empty sandwich wrappers, crushed Coke cans, and a bevy of cellophane candy wrappers scattered at his feet. If he couldn’t tear his eyes away from killing mutant alien giants long enough to clear off his table, I doubted he’d be too anxious to help me. Olivia’s looks could only influence men who liked their action three-dimensional.

I scanned the rest of the booths for some sign of life. Everyone was hunched over their rented computers, islands unto themselves. Same with the frosted glass-top tables set up in the middle of the room for laptops; each person a planet orbiting around their own sun, unaware of and uninterested in existence outside their personal universe. I’d never seen a café with so little socializing going on.

Meanwhile, with a newly enforced quarantine keeping visitors from leaving the valley in effect, what the place really needed was a revolving door. There was a wall of people lined up waiting for a booth, and I glanced over to find one man giving me a particularly hard look, so I went back to randomly pushing buttons on the machine in front of me. After five more minutes of expensive and wasted time, I finally cried uncle and headed back to the front desk, where yet another college student was getting some studying done while getting paid to be an electronic babysitter.

I waited for the desk jockey to acknowledge me. When I saw this wasn’t going to happen voluntarily, I placed my hip on the desk, and my palm flat on his opened physics book. He looked up.

“I need help,” I said.

The kid let his bloodshot eyes run from my face down to my hand, still perched on his homework, and back up again. Then he flipped a lock of greasy hair from his forehead and rose reluctantly. “Of course you do,” he muttered, coming around the desk.

Pretending I didn’t hear, I followed him back to my booth, thinking that if I’d turned up here six months ago as myself, he probably wouldn’t have taken that tone with me. There was something about Olivia’s looks, though, too bright and bold and unapologetic, that made some people unable to resist striking out at her. Never mind that she could probably outprogram anyone in this room.

“Well, somehow you managed to turn it off,” he said, hands moving so quickly over the machine, I couldn’t be sure what he’d done. “It was already running when you sat down.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

He ignored me, fingers flying. “You also need to wait to boot the disk until after the system’s stabilized.” He snapped the disk from its drive, and it was all I could do not to wrest it from him physically. He must have sensed my anxiety, because he tossed me an inquiring look over his shoulder, then continued to punch at the keyboard. “There. Try not to touch anything but the keyboard.”

I touched him, none too gently, when he turned to leave. “My disk.”

And that’s when he saw past the designer dress, the glossed lips, and retro powder blue eye shadow (Cher swore it was making a comeback), and found me. I didn’t pull any paranormal hoo-doo on him. That’d be too easy, and unfair. No, I just let him see me, Joanna Archer, pissed-off computer illiterate who might not know a pixel from an axel but who’d kick his ass if he so much as gave me a reason. The guy mumbled something unintelligible and handed me the disk before beating a hasty retreat. I settled back in my booth to warily face the greater foe.

I began by scanning the disk’s contents by filename alone, hoping to come upon something that said “Olivia’s secret life” or “Hey, Jo! Look here.” Unfortunately, most were coded numbers, and the lettering might as well have been in Greek. The disk obviously didn’t contain the entire contents of Olivia’s cyber life, but as she’d given it to Cher for safekeeping-like giving a hen over to a fox if you asked me, but no one had-there had to be something on here that required special backup. Whether the break-in at the condo was a reflection of this, or whether it was just an uncanny coincidence, I couldn’t yet say, but I’d learned to always expect the worst-case scenario. That way I was never disappointed.

When the filename search came up empty, I started from the top and began to work my way down. I’d just begun scrolling through the first file when a chime sounded from the computer, and an additional screen popped up. I jerked back, wondering what I’d done. Then, words appeared:

Hey, baby, what’s your sign?

You’ve gotta be kidding me. The computers were linked? I clicked on the icon to fold the new page shut, and leaned forward to continue my work. There was a file called JO.12.12.00175 that looked somewhat promising.

Don’t you want to know who I am?

“Some ballsy SOB,” I mumbled. I resisted searching the room and typed:

No. Fuck off twice and die.

Okay, so it wasn’t very Olivia-esque, but now I could work in peace.

Dirty mouth for such a pretty girl. Where’d you learn that…from your sister?

My heart took up residence in my throat as I jerked my head up, left hand automatically moving to my handbag, where my conduit lay hidden. The gamer across from me had disappeared at some point, replaced by the man who’d been glaring at me, though he spared no notice of me now. The homeless man was still racking up his minutes, and there were three laptops lying open on the center tables. I zeroed in on the one person I couldn’t see, a man hunched so low behind his screen it had to be on purpose.

I rose just as his screen lowered, and found Ben Traina grinning at me like he used to when we were kids. I grinned back, forgetting for a moment who I was supposed to be, surveying him for sign of injury, age, depression. Infection. Watching me watch him, Ben dropped his chin onto one fist and crooked a finger with his other hand. And just as I had the day we’d met fifteen years earlier, I dropped everything and went to him.

But not before I went to the bathroom. Locked in a tiny stall, I spritzed myself with an entire bottle of masking pheromones, conscious all the while of my voice sounding from some far-off place, repeating over and over again, Please, please, please. I don’t know what I was pleading for. That my emotions wouldn’t leach through and twelve Shadow agents wouldn’t swoop down on the café to kill the only man I’d ever loved? That there’d be no scent of death or illness on his breath to mark him as infected? That he wouldn’t recognize me, the love of his life, beneath Olivia’s beautiful skin?

Or that he would?

He was smiling as I returned to the table. My booth had been given to another customer, I was paid up, and I dropped into the chair opposite Ben, where a steaming cup of coffee was already waiting for me.

“I didn’t know how you liked it,” he said, indicating the sugar and creamer in front of us. “Jo took it plain, so I thought…”

“It’s fine, thanks.” And I took hold of the coffee cup like I was grabbing for a life preserver, careful to keep the pads of my fingertips hidden. I had to force myself not to down it so fast I scalded my throat, and, sipping, I also drank in details about the man across from me. The sun streaking in the café windows caught in the richness of his hair, deeper than any shot of espresso, and longer now that he’d left the police force. He wasn’t as pale as he’d been the last time I saw him, but it was summer, and he’d always tanned easily. A scar below his hairline stood out as a silent reminder of less healthy times, and a tribal tattoo was just barely visible beneath the sleeve of his white tee. I didn’t have the nerve to study his eyes. Besides, they were trained too closely on me.

“What brings you here, Traina?” I said, before he caught me watching.

“Indulging my geeky side,” he said, with a grin so crooked and perfect it stole my breath away. Ben didn’t seem to notice. “It’s an old hangout, actually. I used to write here when it was nothing more than a smoky, airless room with concrete floors and a friendly pothead for a barista. Most addictive mochas you’d ever had.”

I couldn’t resist. “Do the guys at the station know you like girly drinks?” I said glibly.

But he was suddenly stone serious. “The guys at the station don’t know much about me at all anymore. I’m not there, remember?”

I did remember. Mostly because Ben had once told me his police badge was, appropriately enough, his shield. It filtered the world’s filth and danger and corruption through a second pair of eyes, he’d said, insulating him so he could perform his job more effectively.

So what kept those horrors from climbing into him now? Because even though he was no longer a cop, he hadn’t stopped seeing, or studying, the darker side of life. The hard glint glazing over those chocolate depths told me that much.

“I forgot,” I lied, drawing a finger around the lip of my mug, simultaneously crossing my legs as I flicked a gaze up at him from beneath my bangs. “Still playing lone wolf, then?”

I actually felt the tension rise around us, and his shoulders rose a degree and knotted there. Christ, if he were a wolf, he’d have hackles. “Who’s playing?” he said, jaw clenching as he leaned back.

And those two little words brought reality crashing back down onto my own shoulders, reminding me of the last time I’d seen him, hunched over the grave he thought was mine. I’d been trying to get him to stop his search for the man he believed had killed me, trying to keep him safe.

He’s disappeared. I told him. And Ajax had. I’d made sure of that.

That’s okay. Ben had said, his mournful look turning cold. There are others.

No, I thought, watching him now, he certainly wasn’t playing. And though my mind wanted to jet back to the past when I could practically finish his sentences for him, my responsibility was to the present. I was no longer Joanna. I was Olivia. And he was dark-eyed, tense, and self-contained. A Ben I didn’t know.

I’d give him leeway, though…a courtesy I wouldn’t extend to anyone else, mortal or not. Ben had come to this place in his life because he’d lost me twice, and I knew the pain of that loss…what it took just to get out of bed every day. I’d let this slide, I thought, because the one thing Warren hadn’t put in the files he’d amassed about me and Ben was the most important information of all: I was to blame. If not for my death the second time, he wouldn’t have thrown off the constraints of his badge, his shield, to become a P.I. And there’d be no shadows shellacking his gaze, turning it into a cold, hard thing.

“So, working on anything interesting?” I asked, clearing my throat.

Ben shrugged, glancing down as he toyed with the edge of his napkin. “A couple things. Sometimes I help the department on an auxiliary basis, act as another pair of eyes on a stakeout or share some information gleaned on one of my cases. But mostly it’s just run-of-the-mill stuff. A missing person. A depressing number of people wanting me to trail their spouses. An old woman desperate to find her miniature poodle.”

“That one sounds like it’d tax your abilities.”

“You have no idea.” He rolled his eyes, and almost looked boyish.

I laughed, and felt a shiver run down my spine despite the warm cup in my hand and the heat beating on the café from outside. Chemistry was such a strange thing. I’d be willing to bet even Micah couldn’t tell me why hundreds of men could leave me cold, while this one could string me along forever with only a smile. My laughter faded at that thought-at its futility-and I stared down into my cup. Ben noticed my abrupt mood change.

“So how are you, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice soft, like he was talking to a child, or someone very fragile. I glanced up in time to see the specter of pain passing behind his eyes, the ghost of the man who’d loved and lost me flickering, before disappearing into the past again. I nearly cried out in response. Fucking chemistry. “Still seeing that guy…Lorenzo?” There was a snapping of fingers. “Hunter Lorenzo, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.” Ben’s stellar memory made him a good cop, annoying at Trivial Pursuit…and extremely dangerous to an ex-girlfriend/superhero. He’d run into Hunter and me last winter at Valhalla, after reports of strange activity on the property. He’d thought we’d simply been out partying all night, so while it wasn’t surprising he remembered Hunter’s name, it was curious, though perhaps he was just making small talk. “And yes, I still am.”

“Must be some sort of record for you. You used to say they got clingy after a while.”

Had I? She? “Well, he’s persistent.”

“And big. Where’d you meet, the Mr. Olympia contest?”

Superhero training camp, Ben. He wrapped a barbed whip around my arm, and the rest was history.

“Valhalla,” I answered, which reminded me that I needed to put in a call to Hunter to see if he’d found out anything further on his shift before we could plot out our next step. Maybe he could make some progress with the disk. I was so busy considering this that I almost missed what Ben was saying.

“-met someone too. I think.”

“What?”

He jerked his head in a short nod, a movement I knew. One that spoke volumes. He liked this girl. I leaned forward before I could stop myself. “Yeah, her name’s Rose. One of the guys convinced me to try one of those online dating things. I did it, kinda as a joke, but our profiles matched up pretty well.”

“Well…well.” That was unexpected. And…great. Healthy. It sounded like progress.

So why did I suddenly feel so abandoned?

Ben smiled sheepishly at my lengthening silence. “I know. Internet dating. Corny, huh?”

“No, it’s just…” I swallowed hard, and even though I didn’t want to hear it, asked, “What’s she like?”

“Well, I’ve only seen a photo of her so far,” he said, leaning forward eagerly. “But we’ve been talking on the computer every day for about a month, and the phone a couple of times. She likes Thai food and long walks on the beach, so we might get together and see if we have anything else in common, you know?”

I stared straight ahead, jaw clenching reflexively. I fucking liked Thai food.

“What do you think?” he finally said, clearing his throat in the lengthening silence.

“Are you asking my permission?” I asked shortly, and immediately wished I hadn’t. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. I grimaced apologetically, but it was too late.

“You know, Olivia, for a long time I thought Jo was someone I couldn’t have. All those years she was still alive I would substitute women in my bed for her. I fought for my victims at work, substituting them for her as well. I just didn’t have the…” He was going to say balls, I could see the word forming in his mouth, and he caught himself, remembering who he thought I was.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, when I had to get used to the idea of her really not being out there, of a world without Joanna Archer…” He let his eyes close for a long moment and whispered, “I almost died. There was no reason to keep struggling any longer. She was gone. I lost. Why bother, right? All those women…I’d be substituting them for a ghost.”

I momentarily lost the ability to breathe. That’s exactly what I felt like sometimes. Casper. “So…why bother, Ben?”

“Because Jo would want me to. She kept living and fighting and moving forward in her life. She’d want me to do the same.”

I couldn’t bring myself to affirm that or say the words move on, but I nodded because it was the right thing to do. Just a few months ago this man was on the verge of going apeshit; he’d lost his job, his hope, and was doing a good job of losing his mind. I also nodded because he was a mortal, and it was my job to protect them. Getting on with his life would certainly do that.

And I nodded because I still loved him. Ben needed something, someone, good in his life. If there was such a thing anymore. “So when are you meeting this Rose?”

“Next Saturday,” he said, expression clearing. “I thought I’d take her to dinner, then maybe the show at Valhalla? What do you think?”

For God’s sake, why did he have to ask me? I didn’t like it, and not just because I had to lie. Asking meant he cared. It meant this might be serious. “I think it sounds great,” I lied. “Just…take it slow. There’s some weird stuff going on in this town these days.”

“I know.” He nodded, shifting in his chair. “That’s one of the cases I’m working on, actually.”

I snapped to attention, frowning at that. “What do you mean?”

He balanced on the back legs of his chair, dropping his hands to his knees. He thought he was on safe territory now. “The department called me in as a consultant. They think the plague might be related to my missing persons case. He’s a scientist; his field of study was in vitro and viral replication.”

“So how’s that related to this plague?” I asked. Playing dumb was such a good strategy. I don’t know why I hadn’t realized it before.

“Well, they don’t want to say anything yet, but evidence leads them to believe the killer might be infecting the victims while having sex. He injects them with a syringe or compound that fries them from the inside out. They’re dead within hours.”

“He?” I said, letting disbelief bleed into my voice.

“Well, there’s more than one, obviously. A gang of some sort. A cult. Maybe some religious fanatics determined to smite the wicked of this world.”

“That’s just…” Wrong. Stupid. Way off. “Freaky.”

“So don’t go around kissing strangers.”

“Take your own advice,” I said a little too vehemently, and suddenly I had to get out of there. Warren had been right. I needed to stay away from Ben. He was moving on, but I was stuck and until I got unstuck, it only meant more pain for me.

“Sure,” he said after a pause, watching me fumble for my disks and bag and wallet. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Worry?” I said, standing, and tossed my hair over my shoulder as I shot him a flashy smile. “Now when have you ever known Olivia Archer to worry?”

I kissed his cheek in parting, and he held my hand until I promised to call him soon so we could get together for lunch. Then I swept out the doors, pretending to be as carefree as I looked. But I couldn’t resist one look back. And as I left the café, I saw Ben turned in his chair, watching me walk past the plate-glass window just like every other guy in the shopping center. I smiled as I waved, but let it drop after I’d turned away, still feeling Ben’s eyes pinning me from the back, like he could see through me and knew what I was thinking.

And what I was thinking was, Fuck Rose. Because no matter what he said, Ben wasn’t finished with Joanna Archer. And he knew who I really was, I thought, touching my hand where he’d caressed it. He knew it…even if he didn’t know he knew it.