"Kristine Kathryn Rusch - The Disappeared" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rusch Kristine Kathryn)

off
the nearest lilac plume. She shoved them in her pocket, hoping they would dry
the way petals did when pressed into a book.
Then the door opened and a man she had never seen before stepped inside. He
was
over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. His skin was a chocolate
brown, his eyes slightly flat, the way eyes got when they'd been enhanced too
many times.
"Is it true," he said, just as he was supposed to, "that this house survived
the
1906 earthquake?"
"No." She paused, wishing she could stop there, wishing she could say no to
all
of this. But she continued, using the coded phrase she had invented for just
this moment. "The house was built the year after."
He nodded. "You're awfully close to the door."
"A friend stopped by."
Somehow, the expression in his eyes grew flatter. "Is the friend gone?"
"Yes," she said, hoping it was true.
The man studied her, as if he could tell if she were lying just by staring at
her. Then he touched the back of his hand. Until that moment, she hadn't seen
the chips dotting his skin like freckles тАФ they matched so perfectly.
"Back door," he said, and she knew he was using his link to speak to someone
outside.
He took her hand. His fingers were rough, callused. Simon's hands had no
calluses at all.
"Is everything in its place?" the man asked.
She nodded.
"Anyone expecting you tonight?"
"No,"" she said.
"Good." He tugged her through her own kitchen, past the fresh groceries she
had
purchased just that morning, past the half-empty coffee cup she'd left on the
table.
The back door was open. She shook her hand free and stepped out. The fog was
thicker than it had been when Simon left, and colder too. She couldn't see
the
vehicle waiting in the alley. She couldn't even see the alley. She was taking
her first steps on a journey that would make her one of the Disappeared, and
she
could not see where she was going.
How appropriate. Because she had no idea how or where she was going to end up.
.
Jamal sampled the spaghetti sauce. The reconstituted beef gave it a chemical
taste. He added some crushed red pepper, then tried another spoonful, and
sighed. The beef was still the dominant flavor.
He set the spoon on the spoon rest and wiped his hands on a towel. The tiny
kitchen smelled of garlic and tomato sauce. He'd set the table with the china
Dylani had brought from Earth and their two precious wineglasses.
Not that they had anything to celebrate tonight. They hadn't had anything to