Burn Rate by K.B. Spangler

Author:K.B. Spangler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: spy thriller, cyborg, washington dc, spy adventure, mystery crime, murder myster, political sf, revenge story, oacet, political sff
Publisher: K.B. Spangler

Rachel paused, considered, decided she didn’t want to deal with any of that, and moved on. “What’s happening downstairs? Or you wouldn’t know that, either?”

Another pause. “I’LL LET THEM KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE, AGENT PENG.”

“It’s a hivemind! They already know!” Rachel shouted after Lulu, before remembering that she didn’t actually need to shout after Lulu, and went to raid Jenny’s closet for clean clothes.

Five minutes later, the elevator doors opened to a hundred people cheering her name.

Josh was the first one to reach her. He pressed a kiss on both cheeks, and then spun her away to Mako, who grabbed her up and swung her around as if she were a child’s doll. She spotted Santino, shouting at her; Zockinski and Hill were behind him, smiling, actual glasses of champagne in hand. Bell pushed forward, her hand in Becca’s, and they grabbed her in a wild screamy hug.

“You did it!” Becca shouted, and kissed her.

It was the kind of deep kiss which shut down the rest of the room, and when Rachel finally came up for air, it was quiet enough for her to ask, “What did I do?”

“Telford’s dead.”

The crowd parted—literally parted—to make way for Patrick Mulcahy. He had been sitting next to Emma at the bar’s long counter, and now he stood and came towards Rachel, bringing Emma along with a gentle hand on her shoulder. The girl was glowing, her lambswool white core healthier than when Rachel had met her yesterday.

“Thanks to you and Emma, there was enough information to lead us to him.” Mulcahy was grinning, wide flashes of bright light piercing the storm clouds which still covered him. “The police did the rest.”

“You didn’t wake me for the raid?”

Becca punched her in the arm. “No, idiot, you got set on fire and then blown up.”

“I’m aware!”

The crowd laughed and then made a toast to her and Emma that would have been awkward if it hadn’t been fueled by day drinking. Someone brought out a guitar and started singing; a shocking number of both police and bomb squad tacticians knew the lyrics to Phish. Rachel allowed the press of people to congratulate her before they ebbed away, leaving her to find Mulcahy.

He was sitting, alone, at a quiet table with one open chair. She took the hint and sat, neither of them communicating in any way other than silence until she was sure no one was waiting to bother them. In a mirror image of the other morning, Rachel held up her good hand. “Show me,” she told her boss.

He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his hand around hers and she disappeared into a sea of Kevlar and testosterone.

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