"SOP says for you to come in from the cold, operative."

Delgado swallowed. He needed food and rest. He would only get dinner. He was too far behind Rowan for resting. "This isn't standard. I'm looking for Rowan. Care to give me a hint?" You can't. Tell me you can't.

"You know I can't."

"Come on, Yoshi. I'm calling in on a clean line and obviously myself. Just give me a G.o.dd.a.m.n clue. A name, a sign, anything. Please tell me she's not on a f.u.c.king run." His voice cracked.

There was another click. Then another familiar voice, crackling with impatience. "Del, where the h.e.l.l are you?""Fifty miles out of Vegas, General." It was closer to fifteen, but old habit made him mislead. "Tell me you didn't send my girl in there."

"You're supposed to come in the approved way. If you do, you can see Rowan, Del. That's the only offer you're going to get." Harsh, but with an undertone of something else-Henderson was trying to tell him something. Or at least Del hoped he was.

Come on, old man, I'm tired and blunt, give me a little something here, anything? "You think I'd do anything to endanger her?"

"I'm going by protocols you yourself laid down, operative. Come in. That whole sector's crawling with Sigs."

Aha. Very tricky, old man. And very nicely put. "There're three blind mice on her trail, General. I'm not coming in unless it's with her." You sent her on a f.u.c.king run. Dammit. Fresh on the heels of that thought came a wave of almost-panic. The situation must be incredibly bad. Tell me you gave her Brew as backup. Tell me you've sent her in with a full team. G.o.ddammit, General, talk to me!

He knew the old man couldn't. Couldn't take the chance, couldn't trust Del's voice on the phone. He wouldn't have trusted Henderson if the situations were reversed, especially not with Rowan's safety on the line. "Let us bring you in, Del. Nice and easy. We can bring you in and you can see Rowan's pretty face again. She's been missing you."

That bit of information made his heart pound even harder. Even if it wasn't true, he still wanted to believe it. "Likewise," he managed. "Just so you know, I'm tracking her. I'll come in when she does. Warn her to be on her toes." Carson's after her. Carson and that G.o.dd.a.m.n j.a.panese psycho. And Andrews as well, but now Andrews has a big hard-on for me, too.

"You're wasting your time, Del. Come in."

"See you soon." He laid the phone back in the cradle and listened as the box clicked with his change.

Night was cold out here, under the hard jewels of the desert stars. Las Vegas was a volcano of light in the near distance, especially the sword of the Luxor's spotlight.

Delgado rested his head against the chill gla.s.s of the phone box, keeping the door open with one foot.

The smell of sagebrush and diesel, plus heat simmering away from cooling pavement, rose to touch his cheeks. He was running on nerves and instinct, rubbed raw by the aftereffects of the push and the Zed addiction. He only had one hypo left. He needed food, some kind of ballast. He suspected he'd pulled a mental muscle or two by using the push on himself.

Didn't matter. What mattered was finding Rowan and watching over her until she could bring him back into the Society.

He found himself hyperventilating. Bad, the first stage of withdrawal. He wasn't going to last much longer.

Not without her. Making himself forget had served one other purpose: Sigma was unaware of Rowan's ability to nullify Zed addictions. Maybe Jilssen hadn't known either. Del had certainly done his best to keep it quiet. If they'd known, he would never have escaped them.

And something about his escape bothered him too. It had been too uncharacteristically easy.

Don't start getting paranoid now. Focus on what matters.

What mattered right now was getting something to eat, and then driving into Vegas proper to take a lookaround. He'd need to figure out which casino they were most likely to hit, see if his luck and his instinct held.

Or maybe he was just chasing his own tail?

No. He knew, a clear, deep, undeniable knowledge that settled in his gut and twisted, hard. She was probably asleep in a hotel room right now, with whatever backup Henderson had managed to send with her. Please, not Cath. The G.o.dd.a.m.n punk girl will get them both killed. He stepped out of the phone booth.

First things first. Some stick-to-your-ribs road grease, and then he'd be on his way. Thank G.o.d truck stops were mostly cheap. He would have to replenish his cash posthaste. Impossible to hide without money.

Just stay safe, angel, he thought, trying not to remember her face. It was impossible. Now that he did remember, there was precious little else he could think about. Just stay safe until I can get to you. I'm on my way.

It was nice to be back in the city again. He worked best in an urban setting. There wasn't much room to hide in small towns or out in the vast stretches of wasteland that were America's heart. Mom and Pop and apple pie, and Sigma working behind the scenes to scoop up every psion that wasn't nailed down.

Wipe 'em with Zed and put them to work for the American dream. n.o.body was even sure what war they were fighting now, since the Russians had started cannibalizing themselves.

It made his mouth sour just to think about it.

Morning dawned bright and clear, but he didn't think she'd be out that early. There was no crowd cover.

It was afternoon when he drove the Strip, obeying every traffic law. Two things became immediately apparent: he was feeling better and better about this every time he saw the Luxor, and Sigma was in town.

Please don't tell me Rowan's. .h.i.tting the place that looks like a giant pyramid. The security in there is too good. Stick with the smaller ones, what do you say? Except the smaller ones will get sticky over the type of payoff we're talking about. Or are you doing the horses, angel? With your precog it won't be hard to pick a winner or two.

No, that felt wrong. It was the casinos, and in particular, it was the one that looked like Ramses had thrown a despotic fit in the desert again. Great.

He almost didn't spot the three black vans tucked into alleys at even intervals down the Strip, almost didn't catch the crackle of psychic electricity coming from some of the strolling tourists. Most of them were free ops like Andrews. They wouldn't bring in the brainwiped until they had a lock on her and wanted the heavy guns.

He left the car in an underground parking lot and decided to penetrate on foot. It was problematic. If the Sigs were around, they might need a fast getaway. He couldn't afford to have them recognize him first-off by driving right into their critical zone.

It was too warm, and he was in T-shirt, jeans, rig, and boots, not to mention the loose leather jacket. He would simmer in his own sweat before long.

He wandered with the flow of the crowds on the hot pavement, tourists coming to see the big pile ofneon and broken dreams. You don't belong in this town, angel.

She belonged in some Ivy League, ivy-covered northeast village, one where the houses were old and there were bookstores on every corner. He remembered her coming home with bags of books and stacking them in his room, rescuing plants and nursing them back to health. Remembered her house, quiet and trim and neat before Sigma destroyed it with bullets and tear gas. Remembered watching her while she slept, a book dropped onto her chest and her face quiet and serene in the wash of winter sunlight coming through his window.

That had been the best winter of his life, squiring her around Headquarters, watching her learn to use her talent. Thank G.o.d he had pushed himself to forget. If they had caught her ... He almost shuddered just thinking about it, controlled the movement. He didn't want any pa.s.sersby to register him.

The pyramid towered above him, and he caught the flow of people pressing in through the front door.

Cavernous lobby done in tawny colors, touches of royal blue, palm trees in pots, and the smell of air-conditioning. Welcome coolness flooded him, made him more aware of how the Zed tracks on his arm were itching. He would start to twitch before long, withdrawal torturing his nervous system, begging him to jack out.

Slot machines whizzed and burped electronically. The mood of the place-savage and desperate, with a thin veneer of fun-washed over his raw psyche. He needed that last hypo of Zed, but he couldn't afford to use it now. He needed to get a zero on a pale head of hair, a slim, small, graceful woman with wide green eyes. What if Henderson had made her dye her hair for camouflage? It would be the smart move, but Del's heart hurt to think of that long pale mane altered. Hurt to think of it cut short, although he would still be able to run his fingers through the silky ma.s.s of it and- Wrong thing to think. He'd end up distracting himself. He drifted to the buffet and saw nothing but hungry tourists and gamblers. The vast open s.p.a.ce above him-each floor with its own balcony looking down into the well of the pyramid-pressed down, cavernous and cool with air-conditioning. He smelled cigarette smoke, sweat, heat, perfume, carpeting, and reheated coffee.

He worked his way into the pit, ignoring the decor. It meant nothing except for possible cover and escape routes. He brushed past a heavyset woman with her arm around her teenage daughter. The daughter, wearing a tight pink Freezewire T-shirt, rolled her eyes. "It's Vegas, Mom. Live a little, will you?"

G.o.ddammit. He ducked into the bar, ordered a double Scotch to calm his nerves and tipped the bartender. He bolted the alcohol. It would dull him a little, but that was to the good since his nerves were starting to burn from Zed and crackle with...

What was that? Felt like a lightning storm coming, little bits of electricity dazzling over his skin. Electric honey, a sensation he remembered.

It felt like Rowan.

G.o.dd.a.m.n. He ordered another Scotch, downed it as fast as he could and left the bar, plunging into the crowd and working his way to the pit. They had chosen a good time to come out. Everyone was looking for a giveaway at the buffet and a few minutes of gambling. She was here; he'd bet his life on it.

He was betting his life on it. Because not only was he almost out of Zed, but he had the sneaking feeling Sigma would close in on this place too, unless she was very, very careful.

Chapter Thirteen.

Rowan stood next to Cath's chair, her arms crossed, playing the disapproving best friend. "You're going to waste it," she said, loud enough for the man fiddling in the back to hear. They'd been taken to this plush, soulless private office on the fifth floor to cash out the chips-and probably so Security could get a good eyeful of them. It wasn't every day two women walked in off the street and won two hundred thousand dollars at the roulette table after winning in another casino, too. They had cleaned up just under a hundred thou at the Venetian and made it out safely.

But hey, this was Vegas. The house always won, and if the women weren't on blacklists or doing anything illegal they would be encouraged to blow their gambling gains on more gambling or the high-roller nonsense. If not, the casino would make it back within minutes with other poor suckers.

Someone had to win, even if the house always got you in the end.

It was, Rowan reflected, the perfect scam.

The ident.i.ties Yoshi had crafted were holding up, and due to Rowan's deft mental pressure they were about to take a duffel bag of cash instead of a cashier's check up to a "courtesy" suite. If all went well, in half an hour Cath and Rowan could be out of here, with enough of a stake to clean up nicely at the races tomorrow, and head home with a cool quad of hundred thousands to keep the Society going until Henderson could get more legitimate funding up and running So close. So why did Rowan's head suddenly start to hurt, like little crystal needles driving into her temples? Was it the strain of keeping the shield of illusion tight and seamless so none of the people looking at her noticed she was wearing a gun?

No, that's pretty easy. n.o.body expects to see a mousy brunette with a sidearm in a casino. It goes against expectations. Their eyes want to be fooled, even this man's. I shouldn't be feeling like this.

But she was.

"I am not going to waste it." Cath played the whiny winner so perfectly Rowan was hard put not to laugh. She also did a dead-on nasal Eastern seaboard tw.a.n.g, something Rowan had no idea she could do. "I just don't see why I should cash out if I'm on a winning streak."

"Trust me," Rowan said dryly. "Haven't I been right about everything else?"

"Shut up." Cath shot her a murderous look, blue-violet eyes flashing, and the urge to giggle rose again.

The man came out with the bag. "We'll count it in front of you," he said pleasantly. He was one of the casino's security officers, a nice heavyset man with a sharp Armani suit and a diamond stud winking in his left ear. He'd smoked a full bowl of pot this morning. Rowan could smell it on him, though it wasn't a smell any deadhead would notice. It was more like a psychic color, the mellowness of the depressant closing him off to her random brushes against his mind. She actually had to work to press him into doing what she wanted. It was an unexpected relief, even if it meant more effort. Her head was really starting to pound.

"Anyway," Rowan remembered her part with a small mental struggle, "I doubt you'll do anything smart with it, like put it into investments. Sure, you can count it. Though I'm sure it's all there." She restrained the urge to bat her eyelashes at him, and the man preened. He must have been used to women flirting with him. His job handled a lot of things gold-diggers would be interested in.He actually blushed a little, setting the bag on his desk. "Well, it's policy. There will be a lot of people wanting to shake your hand, Miss Ernhardt. Luck makes you a lot of friends out here in Vegas. Where did you say you were from?"

It was the second time he'd asked that. Trying to trip them up? Suspicious? Or just making conversation and forgetting what he'd already asked?

Cath rose to the occasion, her eyes twinkling with what anyone else would have called flirtatiousness but Rowan recognized as sarcastic glee. "Rhode Island. But they don't have anything like this out there. My husband's going to freak." She looked too young to have a husband, but that wasn't anybody's business.

Not here in Vegas.

Rowan was about to give her next line, a comment about the husband, when a familiar touch blazed through her mind like a star, its contact sliding against every nerve in her body. Training took over and clamped down on her reaction. She didn't stumble or sway. Yet Cath glanced at her nervously, her eyes suspiciously wide and her lips parting. If the man behind the desk had been even the slightest bit sensitive, he would have caught her unease.

Lucky for us we get a casino employee with a head made of brick and dulled with marijuana. It was a snide thought, there and gone in a flash, a thought Rowan wouldn't have recognized before as her own. She'd grown sarcastic, it seemed. Then again, being chased down and hunted like an animal would make even Pollyanna a cynic.

Rowan juggled the touch, trying to remember what she was supposed to say. "Sandy's a nice man," she heard herself say frostily, the words coming out of nowhere. That's right. I'm supposed to be her sister-in-law. "He'll be very happy. Might even want to build a rec room onto the house."

Justin? She sent out the "call," hoping, praying. It was him. She would know that touch anywhere.

There was a flood of urgency in return, tinted red with concentration. Something was dreadfully wrong, and he was close. So close she restrained the urge to look back over her shoulder.

Cath slanted her another nervous glance, and Rowan moved. Not physically-her body did not so much as flicker an eyelash. But she suddenly strained, stretching in two directions-toward the man with the bag full of cash, and toward the aching call tugging at her mind.

The heavyset man with the diamond earring stopped dead as Rowan's mental push unbalanced him. She tied off the strands deftly. The man suddenly stood behind his desk, eyes half-lidded, a virtual zombie until Rowan released him or the push faded. "He'll remember counting it for us," she said hoa.r.s.ely.

"We've got to move, Cath. Something's wrong." Justin? Talk to me, dammit! Justin?

I'm here, angel. A flood of rea.s.surance. He sounded like himself again, instantly recognizable, and this time she did stagger. The relief of feeling him in her head again was too intense. She grabbed the back of Cath's chair, steadying herself. He was here. He was here. She'd been right.

Cath bounced out of the plush cushioned chair and to her feet in one elastic motion. "I'm shorting the cameras," she said, the Rhode Island accent gone as soon as it had arrived. "G.o.ddammit, what is it now?"

What's happening? She sent a wordless flood of relief and hoped she wasn't distracting him. Justin?

Talk to me?

There are four full Sig teams down here on the bottom floor. They're working through the pit. Getout. Get out of here as fast as you can. She felt his concentration, and a sudden burning swept through her, making her flinch.

She'd felt that before. Oh, G.o.d. Please, no. This thought she kept to herself. To Cath, she said, "Four Sig teams, down on the ground floor. Cath, Justin's here."

"I don't want to hear that s.h.i.t," Cath hissed. "Keep your mind on business and get us the h.e.l.l out of here!"

Two guards outside. The men were waiting to escort the big winners to their courtesy suite. Rowan would have to deal with them. Cath would have her hands full stretching her moderate telekinetic ability to keep them from electronic eyes.

Justin had closed himself off from her, fiercely and definitely. She caught a sense of movement-he was moving, doing something, but what? A plan. He had some sort of plan, one he wasn't letting her see.

Then, to add insult to injury, a wild braying split the air. Cath flinched, and Rowan let out a sharp yelp of surprise and grabbed her arm. "Fire alarm!" she yelled over the noise. "Come on!" Thank you, bless you, thank you- He didn't reply. He probably had his hands full.

No time for subtlety, Rowan pushed as she hit the door. The two beefy men, dressed in ostentatious casino security uniforms, dropped in the hall, and Rowan's head began to pound in earnest. She hated knocking people out. It felt ... well, rude. The old Rowan wouldn't have done something so drastic without a good bit of guilt and dithering. She stepped over one of them, having to stretch. He was so tubby he'd probably look rectangular from the back. She felt a wild hideous laugh welling up inside her at the thought of this larda.s.s protecting anyone.

Then again, if someone went after his potato salad I bet there'd be a battle to end all battles, she thought, just missing the other man's hand with a skipping movement that almost tipped her into the wall.

Not very graceful, but it got the job done.

Cath was right behind her. The hall was long, lit with fluorescent lights, and seemingly endless. But at the end, under a flashing Exit sign, was a door that probably gave onto the stairwell. We're on the fifth floor, she "told" Justin, heading for the fire escapes. Where are you? What can we do to help you?

Just get the h.e.l.l out of here, angel. The words were hard and clipped, and there was another drumroll of pain against his nerves. They haven't ID'd me yet, but if I hook up with you down here-oh, s.h.i.t.

Get out, Rowan. Get out as fast as you can and run. Don't wait for me.

Rowan set her jaw, her hand finding Cath's arm. "Get out of here," she yelled. "Split up, I'll draw them off!"

"No way!" Cath yelled back over the a.s.sault of the fire alarm. It was eerie, the way no other door in this hallway opened, even under the sonic wail. Little lights in the walls were flashing, and Rowan glanced nervously up at the ceiling. If the sprinklers went off this could turn into a right royal mess. "We're supposed to stay together!"

Losing patience, Rowan shoved the girl. Cath stumbled, her other arm weighed down with the duffel bag of cash. "Go!" Then, to show she was serious, her right hand reached for her gun.

Cath ran. Her short black hair bobbed as she bolted for the stairwell. Rowan didn't waste time, just turned on her heel and lunged for the second hall branching off from this one. Hang on, Justin. I'mcoming.

No! Sheer refusal. Get out. Get your backup out. Go now!

How had they found her? Well, where else could the Society replenish their coffers in short order? Go where the money is, that was a standard law. Maybe they'd just been waiting around for someone to make a run, or maybe her codestringing with Yoshi this morning had tripped an alarm.

I'm coming, she told him, stubbornly. I haven't gone through the past three months to lose you now.

Another stairwell, as she'd predicted. Know your exits. She could still hear Justin's voice in the long, dim, faraway region of time that had been her training. Knowing your exits will get you out of any number of tight spots.