Finding Grace by Rhea Rhodan

himself not only say it, but mean it.
    “Yeah. Too bad you weren’t there, huh?” Thorne’s
laugh was dry, even for Thorne. “See ’ya Monday, Jack.”
    * * * *
    Thorne closed the door behind her and leaned against
it. She’d been wrong about Jack Daggery. She should be
afraid of him. He was the very worst kind of dangerous—he made her
feel safe.
    He made her want to do things, too, the least of
which was continuing to work at Blackridge just to be with him on
the rides home. Those rides made all the other risks worthwhile,
even if she’d just now recognized that they were the biggest risk
of all. She was already looking forward to Monday night, for God’s
sake.
    She wondered if Paul had sensed how close she’d come
to packing up for good when he’d threatened to make her ride with
Farley, even if he hadn’t meant it. He was just insecure,
struggling with his guilt and doubt. She felt a little bad for him,
but not bad enough to set foot in a bar for him. At least not
yet.
    Thorne shivered and dug out a pair of chopsticks.
She’d have to do it eventually, if she stayed at Blackridge.
Really, though, that was a minor problem compared to the other.
    Munching on Tron’s Friday special, she considered
her options.
    She’d never been good with feelings, had learned
early on their capacity to inflict misery. It had always seemed
best to just avoid them. If you didn’t care, then no one could hurt
you; pretty simple math. So what was the formula now, when she
dangled on the uncontrollable variable? What to do now that she did
care?
    And it wasn’t just her emotions that concerned her.
Her body was sending her signals that she had no idea what to do
with, either. Signals it had no business sending her, responses
from places inside and out that she’d never been so acutely aware
of, in spite—or maybe because—of everything that had happened to
her.
    * * * *
    O’Leary’s was a workingman’s bar in a faded part of
town. Its denizens were a motley collection of mostly men of all
ages who wouldn’t be caught dead in a techno club or any bar with
plants and suits. Even so, Dagger’s entrance rippled uncomfortably
throughout the place. Heads raised and turned.
    He shrugged it off. The welcoming smiles of the team
and the beer someone handed him took the edge off, but there had
never been a real cure for the way he always felt like he was
outside some proverbial window, looking in on everyone who belonged .
    Sure, Paul was his friend and the rest of the team
were good men, but he was most comfortable when he was alone. He
figured Thorne probably felt the same way he did, if the single
chair at the kitchen table in the dinky apartment was any
indication. The idea that they were alike at all didn’t sit well.
He’d been feeling different ever since he’d met the damn kid, and
he was starting to wonder what was wrong with him.
    “Hey Dagger, where’s Thorne? Couldn’t talk him into
coming?” Markham looked disappointed.
    “What’s the matter, Miss Daisy think he’s too good
for us?” Mills smirked.
    “Funny, Thorne used the same expression first time I
gave him a ride.” He grinned, remembering.
    “Does he really not know how to drive? Who the hell
doesn’t know how to drive?” asked one of the men who hadn’t met
Thorne yet. “I heard he won’t carry a cell phone, either. What kind
of tech geek—”
    “C’mon man, you spend more time with Thorne than any
of us. Is he a fag or what? Has he made a pass at you yet? He sure
does like to check out your ass,” Mills teased.
    “But what if Thorne’s a girl? I mean, the grip was
firm and all, but the hand was awful small. It’d be easier to tell
without those fingerless gloves. Thorne always wear those?” Markham
asked. “Paul, you know, right?”
    All eyes turned to Paul, including his, but Paul
only shrugged and said, “Don’t ask me.”
    “Hmm, that voice would sure be sexy if it was a
woman’s,” Farley added thoughtfully.
    “You know,