"I'm not scared," she said, mouth dry.
"I've talked my options over with Jason. I'm going to the Island to get detoxed and reevaluated."
"Liar," she whispered, and his eye twitched. There was only one reason anyone went to the Island this late in their career. He was leaving her. He was going to get himself burned out and be normal. "You're my partner," she pleaded, sitting down in the chair across from him, still holding his hands in hers. "I don't want another."
He smiled, looking like the father she wished she had had as he took one of his hands from her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm ready to be done," he said, his eyes pinched. "And you are ready for a new partner. You're not too old to train up a new throw. Maybe the same kid who slipped us. Zach has a knack. Lots of power. Just needs some guidance. Like you did not so long ago."
"Boyd," she protested, her chest hurting, but he was shaking his head. He was going to burn himself out. "Don't do this. Please."
Eyes pained, he took a breath to say something, hesitating then at the soft knock on the door. They both looked as Jason came back in, and Grace wiped the back of her hand under her eye and stood. She was not crying, damn it.
"Ah, can I talk to Grace for a moment?" he asked uncertainly. "Business . . ."
Business. As if he wasn't part of it anymore. But Boyd was gesturing for her to go, that same sad smile on him he was wearing when she'd walked in.
"Go on, go," he prompted, pulling his hand from hers and gesturing at the door. "Do good things. I'm proud of you, Grace. You'll go farther than me. That's why I took this job. I should have retired a long time ago, but I wanted to have a few years with you, to be able to say I was there when you learned how to be the best operative the Strand has been graced with."
"Boyd, this is a crock-"
Jason cleared his throat from the door, and Boyd flicked his eyes past her. "Your control is slipping." He ruffled Hoc's collar. "Bye, Sport. Keep Grace from being alone, okay, boy?"
Hoc turned and trotted out as Jason snapped his fingers, and Grace warmed, looking at her monitor. "My control is fine," she said, but Boyd had reached up and pulled her down into a hug. "This is shitty, you know?" She felt as if she was never going to see him again. "If there's anything I can do . . ."
"You just did it," he said, smiling, still smiling as he looked past her. "You'd better go. I'll e-mail you next week and tell you what a double espresso tastes like."
Gut tense, she began to turn away. "I'll get him for both of us."
"I know. Shut the door on your way out, will you?"
She felt sick. Numb, she turned to the door and left, shutting the door softly. Leaning against it, she closed her eyes and tried not to cry. Seeing him like this was hard. He wasn't a caffeine addict. He wasn't! What was she going to do? She didn't want another partner, and to work alone was not accepted.
"I'm sorry."
Her eyes opened, finding Jason waiting for her across the hall with Hoc. Frustrated, she pushed herself up. "He is not a booster," she said, keeping her voice down lest Boyd hear her. "Everyone does caffeine once in a while."
"You don't."
No, she didn't. Not since burning her family's house down when she was sixteen.
Memories of double funerals, of her grandmother steadfastly holding her hand, never blaming and always defending her, hiding her for another year as she rebuilt her life on the framework of guilt and duty.
"Grace, we've been monitoring him for the last eleven months. It was his decision to do this. He turned himself in."
"After you told him you already knew, right?" she snapped, clicking her tongue against her teeth for Hoc as she strode back down the hall.
Jason's feet were loud in his insulating boots as he stomped to catch up. "Why are you mad at me? This wasn't my idea."
"I don't have anyone else to be mad at. God, I'm hungry."
"Good." She jerked as he took her arm, but he didn't let go. "I'm ready for a second breakfast myself."
Sick at heart, she couldn't find it in her to keep tugging away from him. Jason hadn't left her. She had left him. "Since when do you eat a second breakfast?"
Sensing a shift, he smiled. "Since I've been brushing up on my joint-operative techniques."
He had something to tell her. She could tell. Hoc, too, knew something was up, and he padded along, waving his tail happily with his two favorite people beside him as the hall became busy.
"You've been working on joint-operative techniques?" she said, looking askance at him as they walked down the hallway, seeing more people the closer they got to the commissary. "Are you taking a demotion?"
"Not exactly, no," he hedged. "It's no secret that you're our best collector in a six-state area, maybe the entire US. The Strand is very interested in you bringing Zach in, especially now. They're impressed with his ability and rudimentary control, and they're not willing to let him go free and you to sit idle for the time it takes to become comfortable working with another operative. As Boyd said, we've worked together before. I've been given leave to help you collect him."
Her eyebrows rose as he opened the big plate-glass doors to the commissary for her and the smell of starch, fat-slap, and fresh bread rolled out, making her even more hungry. It was noisy with the chatter of people, both professionals who worked at the hospital, patients like herself up and around, and even a few uniforms matching Jason's from upstairs where the elite's bosses had their offices. Throws were a close-knit group, and the room was warm and bright with humanity, but she couldn't help the tiny feeling of warning trickling through her.
She might be the Strand's top collector in the field, but Jason was one of their best covert agents. Why would they let him go to help her bring in an unregistered throw, powerful or otherwise? True, she'd worked with him before, but there had been complications. That's why she'd requested a new partner, one old enough to be her father.
Jason handed her a tray, his hand on the small of her back as he guided her to the line. "Well, don't get so excited, Grace," he said sourly. "You might set your balance off."
She licked her lips, remembering the two years they had shared an apartment, a life. "Jason, I appreciate the offer, but us working together might not be such a good idea. I can get Zach on my own. We understand each other."
"Yes, I see that," Jason muttered as he reached in front of her, setting a bowl of onion soup on her tray, following it up with four pieces of bread. "I thought we did good together. Here. You're going to need this."