The Operator Page 116


The car beeped a welcome as she put her cuffed hand to the driver’s-door handle and it read her thumbprint. “Don’t mess with my settings. It took me a week to get them perfect,” she warned as Michael pulled the door open wide, slipping his briefcase into the door’s panel pocket before manhandling her around the front of the car to the passenger’s side. Again he put her hand to the lock, shoving her into the front seat and slamming the door.

“Good evening, Peri,” the car’s computer said when her weight hit the seat. “There have been several incidents since you have left. Would you like me to detail them?” Ding.

Michael hustled back around to the driver’s side before she could stretch to close his door. “That’s going to change,” Michael said as he got in behind the wheel.

“I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?” the car said, and Peri grimaced.

“Shut up for a moment,” she said, not liking Michael touching her car. “Reeves,” she said, affecting an accent. “Cancel incident report. Disengage audio. Accept new driver as all-access. Assign new driver the name Mr. Asshat.”

The car dinged its acceptance and clicked off, and Michael stared at her. “Asshat?” he said, and the console lit up, recognizing him.

“You can change it after I’m dead,” she said, pulse quickening.

“Yeah? Well, my Aston will leave your girl car in the dirt,” Michael said, grabbing Peri’s wrist and angling her thumb to start it.

Her eyes closed in bliss at the aggressive barummm of the warming engine. “Silly boy. Fast doesn’t impress a woman,” she said, yanking her hand back. “Only power. And you don’t need my thumb anymore. It recorded your print when you opened the door, Mr. Asshat.”

“God, you are an insufferable bitch.” Michael adjusted the mirrors and fixed his settings as the primary driver. “Where are we going?”

She stifled a quiver, a thrill of would-he, wouldn’t-he be that dumb. “You brought a syringe, right? You’re going to want to shoot up with Evocane first.”

Michael thought about that for half a second, and then he smiled, getting it. “It’s here? In the car? They searched it.”

“They searched the safe,” she said, reaching for the shift stick.

“Hands off!” Michael exclaimed, and she jerked back before he could hit her.

“It’s hidden in the shift stick,” she said. “Lighten up.”

His hand came up fast, smacking her away again when she reached once more. “And engage your lame-ass emergency signal?” he said, and she sucked on her scratched knuckle.

“Oh, if only it was an emergency signal,” she mocked. “You want it or not?”

He studied her, then nodded. Adrenaline a sweet seep through her, Peri untwisted the knob, praying it was still in there. The knob came free, and she awkwardly reached two fingers in, angling like chopsticks, fishing. “Got it,” she said around a long exhale, then gasped when Michael snatched it from her.

“This is it?” he breathed, eyeing the capped syringe of pink-tinted accelerator.

She nodded, curling her fingers into a fist to hide their trembling. Hunger pinched at her, and withdrawal threatened, but right now, she was calm as she waited to see if everything lined up. She wasn’t going to let Michael kill himself before Silas was free. But the timing would have to be perfect.

“You need to shoot up with the Evocane first,” Peri said, trying not to show her tension.

“I know that.” Adjusting his seat back, Michael moved his briefcase onto his lap and opened it, setting the pink syringe of accelerant out of her reach in the door pocket. Her gut ached when she saw the single dose left in the Evocane vial, there among his pens and notepads. She wanted it, needed it, and, fingers trembling, she began to count the seconds.

“I must remember to thank Bill next time I see him,” Michael said as he filled his syringe with the Evocane. “All that Opti conditioning makes you very compliant.”

“Hey, how about topping me off here?” she asked, awkwardly shifting her coat sleeve up to expose her shoulder. “I scratched your back, you scratch mine.”

“There’s only one dose,” he said as he rolled up his sleeve. “God, I can’t tell you the last time I shot up in someone’s car,” he said, almost laughing as he jammed it into his bicep. “I’ve got to wait two minutes before I can inject the accelerant, right?”

Thank God for mistrusting fools. “Yeah, but in three seconds, it’s not going to matter.”

Michael’s eyes widened, but it was too late, and she breathed in, willing the blue sparkles that filled her sight to move faster, spilling through the car and coating the underground garage and tainting the setting sunlight spilling in the open door.

“No!” Michael howled, but with a smug certainty, she flung them back to the instant he had opened his briefcase to make his source of Evocane vulnerable.

Michael froze, squandering a vital half second, torn between her and what he thought was her goal. Terrified he was going to lose what he’d worked so hard for, he scrambled for the accelerant in the door pocket, too late and too stupid to stop Peri as she lunged, cuffed fingers grasping for the vial of Evocane.

Grinning, Peri showed him her cuffed hands, the Evocane tight in her grip. “You are such a dumb-ass,” she said, popping the soft plastic top and spilling it.

“You little bitch!”

A fist exploded against her face. Cowering, she hunched over the vial, breath held against the stars as she shook out every last drop, soaked up by the thick mats.

“You stupid fucking bitch!”

She gasped as he gripped the back of her neck and yanked her upright. Unable to focus, she bared her teeth in a grimace, her breath exploding out when he backhanded her middle with a heavy hand.

“Take your accelerator now, Mr. Asshat,” she gasped, eyes watering. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t,” she said, throwing herself against the door as he swung at her again. His fist hit her cheek, and pain radiated all the way behind her eye. “Go ahead and kill me!” she raged. “You do that, and Silas will never give you any of his Evocane. Ever! I told you I wanted Silas.” She stared at him. “And I will have him.”

Expression ugly, Michael let his hand drop. Peri’s heart raced, waiting for his next blow.

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