Two Weeks' Notice Read Online Free Page B

with the money, Fairview had stopped giving the shots; it took a horrifying toll. Bryn had been forced to help one of those victims out of heragony, and it haunted her every night in her dreams. She hated to think how many family members had been given that same awful choice.
    Fideli said nothing to that, just nodded; he was a good man, but all this was business to him. He wasn’t one of the Revived; he didn’t face the same terrifying dissolution she did if (when) the shots failed her. “So,” he said. “Just to make your day more fun, Riley’s waiting outside.”
    “What about the other family that was waiting?”
    “I’m on it. They’re looking over brochures right now. Want me to show her in?”
    Not really, Bryn thought, but she nodded. There was no avoiding it, after all. Fideli nodded back and left, and in a few seconds he was holding the door open for FBI agent Riley Block. She’d changed her hair to a looser, more tousled style around her sharp face; with Riley’s English-rose coloring, it suited her, made her look less severe.
    “You’re not wearing a patch,” Bryn said, and indicated the guest side of the sofa. “I assume your eye’s better?”
    “Much,” Riley said. “Only a few scars from our last little outing together—thanks for asking.” She sat back and crossed her legs, looking casual and fiercely competent in her boxy pantsuit. “I’m back on active duty again. I see you’re looking well.”
    Oh, aren’t we cordial today? Bryn thought. She gave Riley a calm professional smile that revealed nothing of how betrayed she still felt; Riley had come to work at Fairview Mortuary under false pretenses—spying on her, working against her—and she’d almost succeeded in destroying Bryn’s life, such as it was.
    Just the job, Riley would have said. And she’d be right. That was the maddening thing.
    “So, what exactly do you want, Riley?”
    Riley smiled back, just as professionally. “I thought the script called for offering me some kind of refreshment before you dive in.”
    “We’re not on a script.”
    “I’d love some coffee.”
    “And there are plenty of Starbucks in town. Just get to it.”
    Riley considered her for a few seconds, then said, “You’ve changed.”
    Bryn couldn’t keep a hollow laugh from escaping. “You think? All things considered?”
    “Not the physical changes from the nanites,” Riley said. “You used to be less…bitter.”
    “You mean back in the days when I was still in a state of shock and fighting for my life? I’ve had time to reflect. And I’ve taken control. If that seems bitter to you, well, I’ll try to contain my grief. Why are you stalling?”
    “I’m not.” Riley shrugged. “I’m assessing, that’s all. To see if you still seem capable of carrying out what I’m going to ask you to do. Bitter sometimes means tough.” She studied Bryn with her head cocked to the side for a long moment. “And sometimes it just means fragile. I can’t really afford fragile.”
    “Are you giving me a job or not?”
    “That’s the deal you made with me,” Riley said. “And Uncle Sam. You work for us, doing anything we need you to do. So yes. I have a job for you.” She reached toward the briefcase she’d rested at her feet and unsnapped it to withdraw a thick folder. “Sign the paper clipped to the front before you break the seals.”
    It was a contractor agreement in wordy legalese, and what it boiled down to was that Bryn was not an employee of the FBI, nor bound by its codes of conduct, but that by breaking the file seals she accepted the penalties for violating secrecy. The penalties weren’t specific. Sheassumed they included death. Everything in her life did these days.
    Bryn signed, pulled the form off, and handed it to Riley, who filed it back in her briefcase. Then Bryn broke the seals and opened the folder. There was only one page in it, and it was short. She read for a moment, then looked up at the other woman and said,