Reflex by Steven Gould Read Free Book Online

thought. "No. Not now." He wondered if they'd loosen his hands enough to wipe himself or if someone else would be doing it. He shuddered and rolled his neck, trying to relieve a kink. His chest itched and he lifted his hand to scratch it but when he touched the area, just under his left collarbone, it hurt.
    He pulled the gown's neck up. There was a light dressing taped to the skin, a three by two square of gauze. A line of inflammation came up from the dressing to his neck. He traced it with his fingers, a ridge of discomfort that crossed his collarbone and moved up the right side of his neck. It terminated in another dressing, a large Band-Aid really, to the right of his trachea. He poked it and winced.
    "Don't do that," the voice from the loudspeaker said. The male attendant pulled his hand gently away.
    "What did you do to me?" Davy asked. Did they shoot me when Brian dropped me on the sidewalk?
    No, they cut you open and they put something inside you. He couldn't help it. He knew he shouldn't jump, that his restraints would keep him from succeeding, but he tried anyway, an almost flinching reaction.
    It was bad, but, luckily, there was more slack in the catheter than the cuffs for he only had the mildest discomfort from his crotch, but his shoulders felt like they'd been pulled from their sockets.
    Stop it! he told himself. You're just giving them more data.
    As much as possible he curled in on himself, groaning.
    The computer-distorted voice from the loudspeaker said, "I feel safe in saying that that activity is contraindicated, eh?"
     

FIVE
"Do you mean: am I crazy again?"
     
    She reached the breaking point nine days after Davy disappeared.
    She started telling her clients, "I'm going to be gone for the next three weeks. I'm sorry, but a family emergency has come up and I don't have any choice." She did her best to arrange help for the most needy, loading up the other therapists in her practice, but, still, she knew she'd lose some of them. She tried to care but it was hard.
    She turned on the bug before leaving the office. Speak into the bra. "Anders, I need to talk to you. I'm going back to the condo. I suggest you meet me in the parking garage."
    She'd driven that day. The glorious crisp days of autumn were giving way to sleet and rain. On the way back, she recognized in herself a desire to floor the accelerator, to drive recklessly, just to be doing something, but controlled it, traversing the slick streets with care.
    Anders was waiting in the shadowed corner farthest from the stairs, his breath forming a cloud around his head.
    "I'm going to D.C.," she said without preamble. "I can't sit here anymore pretending nothing is wrong."
    He blinked. "What do you imagine you could do?"
    "More than I'm doing here!"
    He exhaled slowly, a technique Millie often used with excited clients. It was a way of saying "easy does it" without irritating them, usually without them even noticing it consciously. Often the client would match the rhythm without realizing it and they would calm down.
    This just pissed Millie off more.
    Anders said, "You're doing useful things here. You're helping your clients. You're still the bait that will lure them in."
    "It's been over a week. They're not biting. Either that or they've spotted you and got scared off. If I'm in D.C. they'll have even more chance at me. That's why I'm telling you—not to get your permission—but to give you time to shift your base of operations or hand off to your people in Washington. If it helps, you can make the arrangements, but either way, I'm leaving in the morning."
     
    She took one carry-on bag—mostly underwear, toiletries, and the five thousand dollars from the emergency pack tucked under a spare pair of jeans. The forecast for D.C. was cold and wet so she wore a blue raincoat with a wool liner and the NSA locater bug in her bra.
    At Will Rogers World Airport the damn bug set off the metal detector, but when they sent her to the side for a "female wand,"