Lock In (Lock In, #1)(69)

“I felt her tensing, felt what she wanted to do, but my reaction time was too slow. I had four tequilas before we integrated. By the time I could do anything about it we were already in the air and almost off the platform. There was no way for me to do anything about it. I was about to die because a client killed me.

“Then I was jerked back and fell hard onto the platform as the train flew past. I looked up and there was this homeless guy looking down at me. He told me later he’d been watching me because of the way I was pacing and looking down the track for the train. He said he recognized what I was doing because at one point he thought about jumping in front of a train himself. He recognized it, Shane. But I didn’t.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“I pulled the f*cking plug on her, that’s what,” Vann said. “Then I had her charged with attempted murder. She said it was me who tried to jump, but we got a court order for her personal effects and records, which included a journal where she described her planning. She was charged and we cut a deal where she got probation, therapy, and was forever blacklisted from integrating.”

“You were easy on her,” I said.

“Maybe,” Vann said. “But I just didn’t want to have to deal with her anymore. I didn’t want to have to deal with any of it. I was almost killed because someone used me to see what it was like to die. Everything my panic attacks were trying to tell me about integrating had just come true. So I quit.”

“Did the NIH try to get you to pay back your training and college?”

“No,” Vann said. “They were the ones who assigned the client to me. They didn’t know the reason I almost died was because my reaction time was dulled by alcohol, and I didn’t volunteer the fact. As far as anyone could tell, the problem was that the selection process didn’t screen for garden-variety psychopaths. Which was true enough. I promised not to sue, they let me go without a fight, and the selection process was changed to protect Integrators from dangerous Hadens, so I ended up doing some good. And then the FBI tracked me down and said they were looking to build up a Haden-focused division and thought I might be a good fit. And, well. I needed a job.”

“And here we are,” I said.

“And here we are,” Vann agreed. “Now you know why I stopped being an Integrator. And why I drink and smoke and f*ck like I do: because I spent years working in a state of alcoholically managed panic, and then someone tried to kill me with my own body. I don’t drink as much as I used to. I smoke more. I f*ck about the same. I think I’ve earned all of them.”

“I won’t argue with you about that.”

“Thank you,” Vann said. “And now, this f*cking case. It’s every single thing that made my brain scream, come to life. When I almost died, it was on me. I wasn’t paying attention and someone took advantage of that inattention to make me do something I wouldn’t do. If I had died, at the end of the day it would have been for the choices I made. To drink and to stay in the integration corps.

“But this. This is someone taking away the Integrator’s choice. It’s locking them into their own body and making them do things they wouldn’t do. That they would never do. And then throwing them away.” She pointed to me. “Brenda Rees. She didn’t kill herself.”

“No,” I said. “I saw her face when her client disconnected. She tried to get away from the grenade. She had no control before that.”

“She was locked in,” Vann said. “Locked into her own body until there was nothing she could do about what was going to happen. We need to figure out how this is happening. Why it’s happening. We have to stop it.”

“We know who is behind it,” I said.

“No, we think we know who is behind it,” Vann said. “It’s not the same thing.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“I want to share your optimism,” Vann said. She held up her cup. “I’m not entirely sure I’ve had enough of this to do so.”

“You might have had enough,” I suggested.

“Not yet,” Vann said. “But soon. Think maybe a shot more will do it.”

I took the cup and walked down the hall toward the stairwell, pausing at Tony’s room as I did so. His body lay there, appearing to sleep. His threep was missing. I wondered if anyone remembered to feed Tony today, but then saw his nutrient levels were topped off.

Tayla did that, I thought. It’s good to have friends.

I went to the kitchen, poured out a shot of bourbon, and brought it back to my room. Vann was asleep, snoring lightly.





Chapter Twenty-one

I WOKE UP AT nine thirty and for a moment panicked that I was late for work. Then I remembered that since I had been shot at twice last night, I had been told to take the day off, unless I wanted to talk to the mental health staff. I preferred the day off.

I skimmed through some e-mail, waiting to see if my brain would be willing to collapse back into sleep. No luck. Awake it was, then.

I got into my threep in the apartment and looked around. Vann wasn’t on the couch. I assumed that she had headed back to her place. Then I heard her voice downstairs.

She was in the family room, with Tayla and the twins, watching the monitor. On the screen there was a riot. It was happening on the Mall.