Lock In (Lock In, #1)(65)

“Do you believe this?” Vann asked me, as we watched the video again.

“Hell, no,” I said.

“You caught the reference to Cassandra Bell.”

“I did. Another act of violence, ostensibly perpetrated at her behest.”

“Anyone killed tonight?” Vann asked.

“Aside from Rees?” I asked. Vann nodded. “No. There were some people who were stampeded and other injuries, and property damage from the grenade. But the only person she shot at was you.”

“And you,” Vann said.

“I got hit,” I said. “But that was because I was protecting you.”

“And that would go against her story anyway,” Vann said. “So you and I know she was gunning for me but her story will muddy up the waters. When the morning shows go live tomorrow, they’re going to tie this into the Loudoun Pharma attack.”

“That sounds about right to me,” I said.

Vann didn’t say anything to this, but touched the monitor to bring up the latest news. The top story aside from Rees’s attack was the shooting at my parents’ house. Vann pulled up the story and watched it.

“A burglar,” Vann said, after the report ended.

“That’s what I told my parents to say.”

“Think it will float?”

“There’s no reason for it not to,” I said.

“How are your parents?” Vann asked.

“Now that they’ve got their people and responses in place they’ll be fine,” I said. “Dad’s in shock a little. Killing a man ends any thought of him running for Senate.”

“A man defending his home doesn’t play so poorly in most parts of Virginia,” Vann said.

“No, but it’s balanced out by the image of a really big angry black man with a shotgun,” I said. “Even Mom’s ancestors being gun runners for the Confederacy isn’t going to make up for that. So I’m pretty sure a party rep is going to come around tomorrow and tell him they would be delighted for him to endorse the candidacy of someone else.”

“Sorry.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said. “Eventually. Dad’s probably got a week of think pieces and commentary about him and the shooting to get through before he can do anything else. A normal person would be able to get through it in private. Dad has to worry about what it means for his legacy.”

“And the ‘burglar,’” Vann said.

“A Navajo named Bruce Skow,” I said.

“And he’s like Johnny Sani.”

“As far as we can tell so far, probably,” I said. “We’ll need to get into his head to confirm.”

“Another remote-controlled Integrator,” Vann said.

“Looks like,” I said.

Vann sighed and then pointed at the liquor store bag I still held in my hand, containing a bottle of Maker’s Mark bourbon and a package of Solo cups. “Pour me some of that,” she said. “Make it a tall one.”

“How tall?” I asked.

“Don’t get me drunk,” Vann said. “But just short of that would be fine.”

I nodded. “Why don’t you head up to my room,” I said. “I’ll bring it up to you in a minute.” I pointed in the right direction and then went into the kitchen, which was a characteristically bare Haden kitchen, save for the pallets of nutritional liquid.

Tayla, whose room was on the first floor, saw me go in and followed. “You’re getting her a drink,” she said.

“The alternative to getting her one here was getting her one at a bar,” I said. “At least here I can cut her off if she gets sloppy.”

“What she really needs at this point is some sleep, not bourbon,” she said, pointing to the bottle.

“I’m not going to disagree with you on that,” I said, opening the bottle. “But she’s not going to do that at the moment. In which case I might as well make her comfortable because we need to do some work.”

“And how are you doing?” Tayla asked.

“Well, you know,” I said, opening the Solo cup package. “Today I fought with a ninja threep, saw two women view the last video from a dead relative, had a woman explode twenty feet from me, and watched my dad kill an intruder with a shotgun.” I took a cup and poured the bourbon into it. “If I had any sense I’d take this bottle and attach it to my intake tube.”

“I’ve seen people do that, actually,” Tayla said.

“Yeah?” I asked. “How does it work for them?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” Tayla said. “Haden bodies are sedentary and in general have low alcohol tolerances to start. Our digestive systems are used to taking in nutritional liquids, not actual food and drink. And then there’s the fact that the disease changes our brain structure, which for a lot of Hadens increases the propensity for addiction.”

“So they’re all f*cked up, is what you’re saying.”

“What I’m saying is there’s nothing as f*cked up as a Haden alcoholic.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” I said.

“You need sleep too,” Tayla said. “Professional opinion.”

“I’m not going to disagree with you on that, either,” I said. “But for all the reasons I’ve just outlined, I’m a little wired right now.”