Night Resurrected Page 22

  “Look buddy,” she finally said, almost an hour later, “this is the last floor. If he’s not here, I don’t know where he’s going to be.”

  But unlike the others, this top door didn’t open. It was locked. It was also a different type of door: a nicer one, but without the small rectangular window that allowed a view into the corridor. It was new, and the fittings were shiny, and there was a peephole . . . but for the person on the other side. “Damn,” she said, jiggling the knob again. “Looks like you’re out of luck, pup.”

  The dog did not like that. He whined and bumped the door. Then he gave a sharp, high-pitched yip. Then sniffed at the bottom of the door again and barked another time.

  “Hush, buddy,” Cat said, wondering if she should get out of there. Whatever place this was, it seemed forbidden . . . as if she shouldn’t be here. But the dog was insistent and he barked again, louder and more urgently.

  When Cat heard someone on the other side of the door, she got nervous and edged away. Was she going to get in trouble for trespassing? The dog was barking louder and more excitedly, and she stepped back, trying coax him away with her. “Come on, buddy,” she crooned in a soft voice. “Let’s go. You’re disturbing people.”

  But he would have none of it, and she heard the clinking of a lock on the other side of the door. She bit her lip and stood in front of the door. Maybe this was his master’s—or mistress’s—place.

  The door swung open.

  “Dantès!” The dark-haired woman crouched and the dog charged into her arms, nearly knocking her over in the process. In the midst of a good face-washing, she looked up and they immediately recognized each other. “Cat! What are you doing here?”

  “Hi Remy,” she replied. Then her brain stopped. Remy. Remington? No. That was absurd. “Is this your dog? He was distraught, looking for you.”

  “Thank you for bringing him to me. Do you . . . uh, do you want to come in?” She stepped back from the door.

  Cat could see past her into a spacious, well-lit room. “Wow. Is this where you live?” She stepped in. That little pop she’d felt earlier . . . it was back. Her heart pounded and curiosity sizzled through her.

  “No. I’m . . .” Remy looked uncomfortable and wasted. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you brought Dantès. I was thinking about leaving . . .”

  She looked at the other woman, noticing her amazing blue eyes. And all the inky-black hair she had, which, unlike her own, seemed to stay under control. Instead of curling up all over the place like Cat’s, it hung in long, sleek waves that shone almost blue-black. She was tall for a woman, but not overly so, and older than her—but she wasn’t sure how much. Maybe ten years? But it was her demeanor that she found compelling: not intimidating so much as in control, self-assured. Even yesterday, when they were at Flo’s place, Cat had noticed Remy’s confidence and strength. But today she looked exhausted and stressed-out, with dark circles under her eyes and a cut by her eyebrow, but she still exuded determination.

  “Dantès? That’s his name?” Cat said, petting the dog. When she stood, she realized that Remy was looking at her, as if assessing her.

  “Do you believe in signs?” Remy asked, closing the door behind them. “Sort of like a cosmic nudge, in the right direction?”

  Cat stood and faced her. “Maybe,” she said, remembering that funny little pop. Something was going to happen. “My dad does. I know that.”

  Remy looked around the room, and Cat’s gaze followed hers. She’d never seen a place so open and new and bright, so much like the pictures of the world her father had known, before the Change. It reminded her of the houses rich people lived in on the DVDs she watched with Dad.

  She realized Remy was looking at her again, in that measuring sort of way, as she spoke. “I was just sitting here a while ago, wondering how I was going to figure out whom to trust . . . wondering if I should leave here and take matters into my own hands . . . and here you are. And you brought Dantès—that’s sort of the clincher. I’m choosing to think of it as cosmic guidance. My friend Selena would approve, I think.” Remy gave her a crooked smile, then tipped her head, still looking closely at Cat. “Do you know who I am?”

  Cat blinked, unsure whether she should verbalize her suspicions. This had to be Remington Truth—apparently someone the Strangers felt strongly enough about that they wanted her back. Back . . . was she a hostage here in Envy? Was that why she was tucked away up here? But she hadn’t been acting like a hostage yesterday.

  Or did the Strangers want her . . . for other reasons? As a prisoner.

  Yet, Cat didn’t feel uncomfortable or apprehensive. It was as if she’d walked into a riddle—or a story—and hadn’t quite figured out where she was or what she was doing yet . . . but that her instinct was guiding her. A cosmic nudge, if you will. “You’re . . . Remy.” She shrugged. “Friends with Zoë and Sage and all of them.”

  “My name is Remington Truth.”

  Well. That was easy. “I . . .” Cat said, then decided to be honest. “I just now figured that out.”

  Remy didn’t move. She just looked at Cat, still assessing, as if waiting for something.

  Then Cat realized . . . the other woman was waiting for her to react. To shout an alarm, to do something. “I can understand why you’ve been hiding,” was all she could think of to say. “Unless . . . unless you’re a prisoner here.”

  “I’m not a prisoner . . . and I don’t like to think of it as hiding,” Remy replied. Her stance relaxed a little. “Vaughn—Mayor Rogan—thought it was best if I was out of sight, especially since there’s the chance that more than one person would be willing to turn me over to the Strangers if they knew who I was.” Again that hesitant, pregnant pause. Waiting.

  “I’m not going to turn you over, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Cat said. As if. “My dad—” Better not say anything about his work. “Well, I’m not a fan of the Strangers. I don’t trust them, and neither does my dad. And to be honest, yeah, you’re right. There are people below—I’ve heard them talking—who are pretty much ready to get pitchforks and find you and turn you over. Why do the Strangers want you anyway?”

  “It’s a long story,” Remy replied. “Which I will tell you . . . if you’ll help me.”

  Cat felt a spike of adrenaline and determination. Just the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Anything to mess with the Strangers and keep them from getting what they wanted. “Yes. I’ll help you.”

  A small smile curved Remy’s lips. “Thanks.” She seemed about to say something else, but cut herself off. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What is this place anyway?” Cat asked as Remy gathered up a bundle of things.

  “It’s the mayor’s private apartments. I think I’d better leave before he gets back. He might try to talk me into staying.”

  “What can I do to help?” asked Cat, following her new friend and Dantès out the door.

  “Well, first, you can be my lookout,” Remy said, gesturing for her to go ahead of her. “There are only a few people who know who I am, and I don’t want them to see me. Not because I don’t trust them, but just until I figure out what to do.”

  Cat stopped halfway down the flight of steps and turned to look up at Remy. “You’re not thinking about turning yourself over to the Strangers, are you?”

  “Not unless it’s my only choice,” she replied. “But if it’s an option between all of Envy getting blown up or me going with them . . . the choice is easy.” There was strain around her mouth despite the certainty of her words.

  Cat shook her head. “No. We’ll find another way.” A determined energy filled her. This was something she could do. Something worthwhile. A way to change things, make them different . . . make up for not getting there in time to save Rick. A life for a life.

  A chill of understanding caught her by surprise. Was this what she’d been waiting for? Something to do, to set things right?

  Cat decided at that moment there was no way she was letting
Remington Truth offer herself up as a sacrifice. Anyone who was even talking about doing so had to be worth helping.

  “So,” Remy said. She started down the steps, forcing Cat to continue on as well. “I need you to keep an eye out for anyone who’d recognize me.”

  “I guess that would include everyone who was in with Flo yesterday? Ana and Zoë and the rest? And I think I met Simon and Elliott too . . . do they know you?”

  “Right,” Remy said. “Yes, they do know me. And there are a few other people who might recognize me. One is named Ian Marck. I definitely don’t want to run into him. I have to find a place to hide out in the meantime.”

  “You could stay in the room I have,” Cat offered. “It’s just me and my dad, and he’s busy right now.” She wanted to tell Remy about the Resistance, and that Dad was involved . . . but it wasn’t her information to tell. She didn’t want to put her father at risk.

  They’d gone down several flights of steps, with Remy describing the man named Ian Marck as well as she could. “And then there’s the mayor. You know who he is, right? From onstage last night?”

  “How could I miss him? He is wixy hot,” Cat said with a grin. “A little old for me, but definitely worth noticing—in a different way than that creepy albino guy who was checking me out. Anyway,” she said, feeling a little foolish. This wasn’t the time to be drooling over men. Good thing she didn’t mention the über-hot dark-haired guy who’d come up to stand right next to her last night when her dad was up onstage. He was someone she’d been hoping to run into again, now that the chaos was over. “What’s the matter?” she said when she realized Remy had gone stock-still, five steps above her. Even Dantès recognized his mistress’s concern, for he gave a short little yip.

  “Did you say ‘albino’?”

  “Yes. It’s not that I have anything against them,” she added hastily. “I mean, I don’t care if they have—”

  “Never mind that,” Remy said, urgency and fear in her expression. “You saw him here? In Envy? Was he with anyone? Was he alone? What did he look like?”

  “Yes, he was still here this morning. I saw him when we were cleaning up the rubble. He was with a woman. She was kind of skanky looking with white-blond hair in little—I don’t know what you want to call them—things, like short ponytails all over her head. Crap. You know them? This is bad, isn’t it?”

  “I should go back,” Remy said, spinning on the stairs. “If they’re here, I need to tell Vaughn. And get somewhere where they can’t find me. They’re the ones—they have to be the ones—who told the Strangers where I am. And that I have—” She stopped abruptly.

  “You can stay in my room,” Cat offered, wondering what she’d been about to say. She had . . . what? “It’s just me and my dad, and he’s . . . busy right now. No one would think to look for you there. Plus . . . how would you get back into the mayor’s place? The door was locked, wasn’t it?”

  Remy bit her lip. “Damn. True. Okay. Wait.” She stopped, held her hands out in front of her as if telling herself to pause. “I’m not going to go running off and hiding from them. I’ve been running for twenty years. It’s time I took control of things.”

  Cat smiled, that spike of adrenaline back. “I like the way you think. I’ll do whatever I can to help, Remy.”

  The other woman gave her a brief smile. “Well, you say that now . . . but this could be dangerous. And you don’t even know me.” Her blue eyes fastened on Cat, serious and intent.

  “I need something to do,” Cat told her. “Something to do with my life. I’ve been feeling lost and empty for a while.” To her embarrassment, her voice cracked. “So what’s the plan?”

  “We find the albino and the woman. And we get some answers.”

  Chapter 18

  Thirty-two hours

  It was, Remy reflected, better to have that awful deadline to focus her mind on, to keep herself sharp. For, despite all of the other problems she faced, her thoughts kept wanting to slide back to Wyatt . . . and the fact that she’d never see him again. And that she wanted him here, to help her. To give his flat, terse, no-nonsense advice.

  Her eyes stung and she squeezed them shut tightly. No. Not now.

  For some reason, Cat reminded her of Wyatt. Maybe it was her no-nonsense manner. Or the way she interacted with Dantès. Or maybe it was just simple transference—her confidant in Wyatt was gone, and Cat happened to be the next possible candidate.

  Either way, she knew she’d have to deal with her feelings for Wyatt eventually . . . but right now she kept telling herself there was a more urgent matter at hand. People’s lives were in danger and she was the catalyst for it all. She had to be the one to find the solution, because she was the only one who knew the whole story. And she was the only one who could make the decision for her own future—one that was now entwined with that of an entire city’s.

  Step by step. Little by little. Take your time, figure it out. You have time. You have time.

  Remy waited with Dantès in Cat’s room while their hastily assembled plan was put into action. It would likely work, but she would have been much more comfortable being the one walking up to Lacey and sticking a gun into her side than allowing Cat to do it.

  But it had been Cat’s idea—simple and ballsy—and Remy couldn’t take the chance of being seen while she was looking for the bounty hunter. And Cat, who’d never met Lacey, could literally walk up to her without the woman knowing she was a threat . . . it was just a matter of finding the right moment, when the bounty hunter was alone, and letting her feel the gun Cat held beneath her sweater.

  So once again Remy knew she could do nothing but sit and wait and see if the plan succeeded.

  The firearm was one good thing—a stroke of luck, really. She’d acquired it from Vaughn’s apartment. After he left, she’d been busy, searching for anything she could find that might help her decide whose side he was really on. She found the handgun—a Glock, just like one she’d had when she was with Ian—and some ammunition in a hidden space in the back of one of his dresser drawers. Likely he hadn’t anticipated her being in his bedroom, but when Marley arrived unexpectedly, that was where she’d gone. And that was how she had the chance to be nosy.

  And now she sat, petting Dantès, letting her mind run over those events and the last few days . . . avoiding only the knowledge that she’d never be kissed again the way Wyatt had kissed her. Who else, she thought with the faintest, saddest of smiles, would kiss so arrogantly and sensually at the same time? Who else would be kissing the hell out of her at the same time as he was fighting himself from doing so?

  She wished she’d had more of a chance to talk to him. To understand what went on in that mind of his. To ask for his advice. To be embraced and touched . . . and feel safe. Even if it was only for a moment. Even if it was only an illusion.

  Wyatt. I hope you’re at peace now.

  When the knock came, Remy stilled, her heart pounding. She made a firm gesture to Dantès not to make a sound. This is it. Or, at least, it’s something.

  She went silently to the door to look through the peephole.

  Lacey’s furious face, awkward and bulbous through the tiny spherical window, glared up at her. And behind Lacey stood Cat, a grin on her own countenance.

  With a gust of relief, Remy opened the door and Cat fairly shoved Lacey into the room.

  As soon as the bounty hunter saw Remy, she bared her teeth in fury. Despite the gun, she would have lunged toward her as Cat turned to close the door but for Dantès, who growled.

  That was all he needed to do to stop Lacey in her tracks.

  “Dantès, guard,” Remy said, gesturing to their guest. She smiled humorlessly at her former abductor. “He won’t attack unless I give him the command. Or unless you make a move to hurt me. So I suggest you take a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

  Lacey had no choice but to comply, and gave Remy a look of loathing before sitting in the chair at which Cat pointed. But as she sat, an odd expression cr
ossed Lacey’s face, and she clapped a hand to her chest as Remy heard—or felt—the faintest sizzling pop.

  “What the fuck,” Lacey exclaimed, frantically looking around the room. “What’s—oh hell no,” she breathed, curling her fingers tighter into the shirt she wore. Remy realized the bounty hunter was gripping herself at exactly the location of her crystal, which was hidden by a black leather vest that did not have its usual peephole.

  “You do have it,” she said, looking at Remy. Her expression was a combination of greed and fear. “After all these years, all the searching—”

  She cut herself off with a groan as Remy asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “The Mother crystal,” Lacey panted. “It’s here. It’s right here. And it’s . . .” She was still clutching her shirt, but her face had gone gray and pale as Remy watched, thinking the bounty hunter either an amazing actress or in great agony.

  Cat was watching, too, with confusion and surprise, but still held the gun. And now the faint smattering of freckles stood out more sharply in her face. “I’ll keep her covered, Remy, if you want to take a look and help her.” She moved close enough that the gun barrel was pointed right at Lacey’s head.

  Remy nodded. Her new partner was too smart to take any chances. By now Lacey was collapsed in her chair, trying to breathe. Her face was slick with sweat and she continued to grip the stiff vest that obscured her crystal.

  “Get . . . it . . . away . . .” she breathed, clutching at her leather top. “Take it away.”

  Remy had moved forward with the intention of loosening the vest to find out what was happening. Maybe Lacey’s immortality-giving crystal was burning like hers had. But at the woman’s agonized words, she stopped. Did Lacey mean her own crystal? That she should take it out of her skin?

  Or . . . she looked over at the small bundle of clothing she’d taken from Vaughn’s room, in which her crystal was wrapped. It was on the table right behind Lacey, a mere yard away.

  “It’s here,” Lacey gasped, her eyes wide with pain. “Take it . . . away.”