Chapter 16

Dylan

It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense.

I stare at the code again, desperate for some clue, anything that will help us track down Matt's attackers. I can't handle the fact that they might already know he's still alive. That they might come after him again. I even found myself thinking that we should risk the Collective finding out Marc healed him, just to get him back into a compound. At least there, he'd be surrounded by other fighters who could help protect him.

Here, there's just me. I'm trained, sure, but it's been a long time since my fighting skills have been put to the test. Plus, we only have one sword between us until Ian shows up.

We could get some stage makeup or something, make it look like Matt has fading bruises, right? He can move like he's in pain. I'd even leave my sanctuary behind and go with him if he insisted on it, which I'm pretty sure he would. Actually, I'm pretty sure he'd nix the whole idea, which is why I haven't brought it up yet.

Tomorrow, Ian and Marc will be here. With a higher demon in the apartment, I can breathe a little easier. I make a mental note to change the sheets on my bed when I get up in the morning. I don't know Marc well, but I know there's no way he'll sleep on the sofa bed, so Matt and I can take that for a couple of nights. The other option is that Marc and Ian get a hotel room or go back to San Diego to sleep, and that completely negates any security I'd feel from them being here. Because they wouldn't be. Here, I mean.

Christ, I'm going loopy.

It just doesn't make sense.

There's something here; I know there is. Something about this code keeps playing on my mind, but I've been over it about thirty times, and I can't work it out.

A chat window pops up on my right-hand screen, and I glance over at it. It's Neisha, one of the other members of the online team, with a question. For a second, I consider ignoring it—just for a little while.

Then I sigh. I've already let my work slide more than I should have lately. I can't afford for it to get out of hand. As the team leader, I have a responsibility to the others.

Switching focus, I answer her question and shoot her a link to the rest of the information she might need. She's our newest team member, with only eight months under her belt, but she's doing really well and I'm confident that by the time we do her annual review, she'll be an old hand.

Neisha:

Thanks! I'm glad I caught you. Do you have time to chat?

Dammit. I knew I should have ignored her. Rubbing my eyes, I sigh.

Dylan:

Just a few minutes. I'm in the middle of something.

That should hopefully prevent a long-winded discussion about The Acolyte . Not that I'm not usually happy to spend hours debating anything Star Wars , but I can't right now. Not while that code is haunting me and Matt's safety is at risk.

Neisha:

This won't take long. I just wanted to check in with you. You've seemed distracted lately.

I stare at the screen. Fuck . So much for hiding it from the team. If Neisha's noticed, everyone else will have too.

Dylan:

Yeah, I have a friend staying with me. He was injured recently and is recovering. I guess my focus is split right now. Sorry.

Neisha:

Omg! That's awful! Please don't apologize. I hope your friend is okay, and if there's anything I can do to make things easier for you, just say the word.

My smile is involuntary. That's nice of her.

Dylan:

Thanks :-) He's doing a lot better, so I need to get my head back in the game.

Neisha:

I'll leave you to it, then. LMK if there's anything I can do!

I send another thank-you, then force myself to check in on my actual work and make sure the rest of the team are handling things before I go back to staring at the code.

What the fuck is it that keeps nagging me?

Another chat box pops up.

"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter. Since when is the team so needy?

The little voice at the back of my mind reminds me that they're used to me being very active in chats, which I haven't been for nearly three weeks now. I ignore it and read the message.

Richie:

Hey, you ok? Neisha says a friend of yours is hurt?

Annnd of course they're gossiping. Reining in the urge to tell them they should be working instead—because fuck knows, I'm not—I click into the box and reply.

Dylan:

I'm fine, just distracted. He's nearly all good now.

I hesitate. Richie actually knows Matt—he grew up in the San Diego compound, though he's a few years younger than us, and still lives there. He might have heard about what happened.

Dylan:

It's Matt Coates, btw.

Richie:

Ohhh. I heard Dad say he'd been injured, but not any details. Was he near you when it happened?

Dylan:

Kinda. He was in Reno, but when the hospital discharged him, my place was closer to travel to. He was still pretty banged up then.

There, that's the official story. Mentioning it to my team legitimizes it, right?

Richie:

Makes sense. He's better now, though?

Dylan:

Almost. Still not fighting fit, but he should be soon.

As soon as I hit Enter, I regret it. What if we're wrong and it is someone from within the Collective who's behind all this? What if it's Richie? Have I just given out information that can be used to target Matt?

But it's not true , I remind myself. Matt's already fighting fit. And of all the people it could be, I really don't think it's Richie. He and Matt always got along fine, and his parents were among the first to support Connor and Gabe after the Battle for the Barrier. There's no grudge to be held there. I'm just getting paranoid.

I need to finish my actual work and get some sleep. Tomorrow, I can talk this over with Matt… and Ian and Marc. Another perspective will help.

I'm just about to sign off from Richie when another message pops up in the box.

Richie:

Can you take a look at something for me? It seems innocent enough, but it gives me a weird feeling.

Dammit. Damn hunter senses. Even those of us who work in the cyber world have them—ours are just tuned differently.

Dylan:

Sure.

He sends me a Craigslist link, and as soon as I click into the listing, I know what got his attention. It's an ad for an odd-jobs service, and I've seen it before.

The hairs rise on the back of my neck as I stare at the text of the ad. Our staff work like demons to get the job done!

Like Richie said, it's innocent enough. It sounds like marketing jargon—a way to catch people's attention and impress upon them that this service will deliver. But it gave me a weird feeling the first time I saw it too, and it's been on my mind ever since.

Dylan:

Yeah, I know what you mean. There's something off. I've seen this before and I'm digging into it when I have time.

Not that there's much to go on. It's a legitimate registered business with employees on file, taxes paid on time, doors open for the last thirty years. The original office was in Columbus, Ohio, but since then, they've opened satellite branches in four other states—though I can't remember off the top of my head which ones. It all looks completely normal… except for the way it makes my brain itch.

Richie:

Okay, great! I'll leave it with you, then. That's a relief! Say hi to Matt for me, and have a good night.

I wish him a good night too, then flip back over to the ad and stare at it for a few seconds. Makes a nice change from staring at the code on the job sheet.

Though neither are what I should actually be doing.

On impulse, I open the folder I created with all the information about SuperTask, the company in question, and click into the file with the code I downloaded from their website. It can't hurt to refresh my memory, right?

I'm skimming through when I hear Matt moving around in the bedroom. Shit. He's been trying to hide the nightmares from me, but I think he forgets that I'm awake for a lot of his sleep time. So when he's tossing and muttering, it's hard for me to miss.

At first I wasn't sure if I should wake him or not, but after he was so cagey and apologetic the first time I did, I did some research. They're just dreams, not night terrors, so as long as his restlessness lasts for less than thirty seconds, I let him be. And so far, it has.

Doesn't mean I don't hate hearing it, though.

He groans, and I start to get up, but then comes the unmistakable sound of him clicking the light on. He's awake. It must have been a shitty one.

Seconds later, his footsteps pad down the hall, and I turn to face the doorway as he appears in it. "Can't sleep?"

He shakes his head. His hair's rumpled, eyes bleary and squinty, and he's scowling. It's ridiculous how much I love him. "Stupid dreams."

"Nightmares?" I try not to sound too interested. He hasn't wanted to talk about them before this, but maybe now?—

"Nah. Just… stupid dreams. They don't make sense. I was flying, but then I was underwater, and I could hear some random couple fighting over him staying out with the boys all night. She was threatening to leave him, but that got interrupted by a little kid vomiting? But I don't think it was their kid, because it was a different woman who was talking then. And I couldn't see any of them, just hear them. Then all I could smell was baking bread, and man, it smelled so good that I woke up." He sniffs the air. "I can kinda still smell it. Fucking weird-ass dreams."

I sniff too. There's a bakery a block away, and sometimes when the windows are open and the wind is in the right direction, I catch a whiff of baking smells. But I got nothing, and the windows are closed anyway. "Super weird," I agree. "But why are you up?"

He shrugs. "Sleep isn't happening. And I wondered where you were. Normally you're in bed by this time."

I glance at the clock on my center screen. "Fuck." I've been staring at assorted code and not actually working for a lot longer than I realized. "Okay, yeah. Let me get everything shut down. I'll go night-night, and you can hopefully get a couple more hours too." As I start the process of closing the things that need to be closed and securing everything else, I add, "Maybe skip the run and sleep in? You can probably convince Ian to go for a run with you later." They'll be here around midmorning, according to what Ian told Matt yesterday.

"Yeah, maybe." He snorts. "Hey, why don't you come too, and then we can make it a group activity and tell Marc he has to join us?"

I pause halfway through standing. "Does Marc run?"

"I mean, I've never seen him do it." Matt grabs my hands and tows me toward the bedroom. "But I'd pay money to see him in workout gear."

The image that rises in my mind makes me laugh. "Oh my god, we've got to make that happen. Whatever it takes."