by Jami Gray
Wolf was watching her, a frown furrowing his forehead. The sandpaper scrape of his voice broke the heavy quiet. “Megan, talk to us.”
She flinched and half turned our way. I could see her pale face, and I could tell she was holding it together even if her voice was a little shaky. “I’m okay.” Her gaze drifted over the floor, and she skirted the ring to move to the back wall. She dropped to a crouch, her fingers brushing over the cement. “I made these.”
Leaving my position by the door, I went to her side. White gouges marred the cement, a stark testament to what she’d endured. It hurt to see how many there were. “You were trying to track the days.”
“For a while, yeah.” She pulled her hand back and balled it into a fist that she pressed against her stomach. “I lost track and finally gave up.” She didn’t look at me but took in the cell from her crouched position. She silently studied the room before standing up with a grimace. “I’ve got nothing. No flashes, nothing.”
“Not quite true,” Wolf countered from the door. “There’s something there, just out of reach.”
“That would be me being frustrated at getting nothing,” she snapped.
“Beyond that,” he pushed.
She glared at him. Before she could let her temper shut us down, I reminded her, “We’re here to help, Megan, remember?”
She blew out a hard breath and rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “Right. Okay.” She closed her eyes, and the seconds ticked by before she haltingly said, “Fear, but not sharp, almost like it’s been worn down, or I’ve been feeling it too long so it’s just my new normal. I’m always listening.”
“For?” Wolf asked.
“Him.” With her eyes still closed, she cocked her head. “His footsteps are heavier than the one who brings my food,” she said in a distant, flat tone.
That meant there had been someone else here at some point in time. I made a mental note of that fact.
“How long does it take to starve to death? A month? Two? ” She asked the morbid question in a disturbingly logical tone, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “If I stop eating now, it wouldn’t take much. I think I’d prefer dying that way than whatever he’s got planned because he’s going to kill me. He doesn’t have a choice.”
I went to reach for her, but Wolf raised a hand, cutting my movement short. He shook his head at me before turning back to Megan. “What do you mean, he doesn’t have a choice?”
“Someone met him here. They argued.”
When she didn’t say anything more, Wolf pushed carefully. “About?”
“Me, I think.” She turned to Wolf, her expression a combination of worried and puzzled. “It’s kind of twisted up with other crap, but there was something about cleaning up his mess when he couldn’t deliver.” Her head tilted as she looked at the door, clearly seeing something we couldn’t. “He came back in, absolutely furious.” When she turned back to Wolf, she wore a smile that was more of a bitter, bleak twist of the lips. “I don’t remember much more after that. But I can’t shake the feeling that I know him from somewhere. I just can’t…” She sucked in a sharp breath and bent forward, clutching her head.
I didn’t give a flying fuck what Wolf said—I caught her up and held her close. “I’ve got you, Megan. You’re okay.” I held her tight, feeling her shake.
Finally she patted my arm. “I’m okay, Bishop.”
When she pulled back, I caught the crimson smear under her nose—just a drop or two but enough to alarm me. “Shit.” I wiped it away with my thumb before swiping it on my jeans.
“What?” Her hand rose, but I caught it before it reached her face.
“Nosebleed. You need to take it easy.” Catching her puzzled look, I elaborated, “Nosebleeds are a common sign of psychic overload. Between your sessions with Ricochet and this, you’ve pushed too hard.”
Her eyes flashed, and her jaw firmed. “But we didn’t get much.”
God save me from stubborn females. “It’s enough for now. We’ll add it to whatever Rabbit digs up. Pushing yourself now will do more harm than good.”
“Fine.”
There was nothing graceful about her concession, but I’d take it. I nudged her toward the door. “Come on.”
Wolf led the way back into the cavernous warehouse. “Bishop, did Rabbit ever figure out who owned this place?”
Following Megan across the floor, I said, “According to the records he found, the city owns it. They’re in the midst of finalizing a deal with some developer.”
“So a dead end, then.”
“Yeah.”
In front of me, Megan stumbled, catching herself against a stack of old pallets and knocking the top few off to shatter against the floor. The noise startled the roosting pigeons, who took flight in a rush of wings. But it was the flash of knowing in the midst of the confusion that had me diving for Megan while yelling, “Wolf! Down!”
The dull thud of an impacting bullet hit the pallets right where Megan’s head had been, quickly followed by a second, then a third. Taking Megan to the ground, I twisted, putting my body between the ground and her. The rough cement scraped against my hip and shoulder. I continued the roll, ignoring the painful press of my gun against my spine, as I took us behind the dubious cover of a pile of containers and pallets. It wasn’t much, but it was all we had. A quick look confirmed that Wolf had found a spot behind a thick, pitted column near the door. It sucked, but was better than nothing.
“Wolf?” I said in a low voice. Sitting up, I took care to stay low then helped Megan do the same.
“I’m good,” Wolf said. “You?”
I swept my hands over a stunned Megan. “We’re good. Where’s he at?”
“From the angle, I’m guessing he’s using the roof to access the second floor.”
As if to prove his point, another bullet nailed the column near Wolf’s head. He ducked back out of sight.
I pulled my gun out and rested one hand on Megan’s head, keeping her low as I checked the angle. It wasn’t good, especially as the shooter had the superior position. Not that it seemed to do him much good, considering the fact that we were all still breathing. It was safe to assume that whoever was on the other end of that gun wasn’t a marksman.
Catching Wolf’s attention, I switched to hand signals so as not to clue in our neighborhood shooter. Wolf did me one better when his voice floated into my mind. He’s working his way around clockwise. Probably trying for a better position.
The bonus of working with a telepath was a built-in stealth communication system. Trusting that Wolf’s angle was better than mine, I asked, Can you intercept?
Yeah, but you get to play distraction.
Copy that, I answered.
On two. One. Two.
I aimed around the containers, firing off of a rapid series of shots. Unless I was seriously lucky, they wouldn’t hit, but they did their job in allowing Wolf to slip away into the shadows and hunt.
Return fire forced me to dart back behind the containers. Either the shooter’s luck or his aim was improving because a bullet struck a nearby pallet, sending slivers of wood into my shoulder. It stung like a bitch, but at least it wasn’t fatal.
It would take Wolf a minute, maybe a few second more, to get into position. To buy him that time, I needed to keep our shooter busy. I turned to Megan and cupped her face. Her wide eyes met mine, and I mouthed, “Stay here.”
She gave me a tiny nod, and I gave Wolf a heads-up. On the move.
Using the snapshot I had of the warehouse’s layout, I rushed out from our protective pile and zigzagged my way toward the cell, gun up, finger steady on the trigger. Bullets chased my heels as bits and pieces of cement pelted my calves. I felt the burn as one bullet got lucky and creased my side before I could dive behind another cluster of machinery.
A short one-two pop sounded behind me, then another gun joined the fray. Megan and Wolf were both firing, but the distinctive bark of Wolf’s HK triggered a muffled curse. Then footsteps pounded,
shaking the floorboards overhead and sending dust raining down.
Wolf’s voice echoed in my mind. He’s on the run. Heading toward you.
I lifted my gun and sighted along the trailing dust, aiming just ahead, and pulled the trigger. A pained yelp preceded the dull thud as weight slammed into the worn wood. A sharp crack sounded, and I covered my mouth and nose with an arm as the ceiling broke and a body tumbled through the choking cloud of dust and wood to smash into the floor.
Before the debris could settle, I was moving forward, gun aimed at the sprawled body. I could hear Megan coughing, but my attention was on the unmoving figure on the ground. I closed in, noting that our shooter had landed on his front.
“You got him covered?” Wolf asked from above.
“Yeah.”
With my gun steady, I avoided the dark stain seeping from underneath one of his legs. Considering the angle, I was pretty sure it was broken. At least he wouldn’t be running away anytime soon. I tried to locate his weapon, but with the way he’d fallen and the crap that had come down with him, I was coming up empty.
I’d started to circle him when I caught the slightest movement at my feet as he shifted. Before it fully registered, I had my gun sighted on his chest. “Don’t do it.” It was the only warning I’d give.
Unfortunately, he didn’t heed it. He rolled, bringing his gun up. My finger tightened on the trigger, and my shot took him in the chest. His gun barked, but his aim was for shit, probably because he was concussed from the fall. I kicked the weapon out of his hand.
Lowering my gun, I dropped to my heels next to the mortally wounded man. “Who sent you?” I asked, even though I knew he wouldn’t answer.
Sure enough, he gave me a bloody grin as the air rattled in his chest. “Fu… fuck you,” he wheezed before choking on his own blood. By the time the man stopped breathing, Wolf was standing behind me.
I stayed where I was, my arms braced on my knees, my gun back in its holster at my back. “You get anything from him?”
“Not much, but he was pissed and knew the pay was too good to be true.”
When greed topped skill, it generally meant a quick-and-dirty hire, not a professional hit. Together, we searched the body and, other than some gang tattoos, came up empty. No surprise.
“Bishop?” Megan asked in a shaky voice. I pivoted to find her standing over by the pallets, her face pale, two hands on the Glock aimed at the floor.
“We’re good.” I stood up, moving in front of the body and blocking her view.
Her tight shoulders eased, and she holstered the Glock as she made her way over. She pointedly ignored the dead man and touched my shoulder with trembling fingers. “You’re bleeding.”
I caught her hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s just a few scratches. Nothing to worry about.”
She swallowed hard, her fingers curling with mine. She let go and gave me a careful push, and I stepped aside so she could see the body. “Who is he?” she asked.
“No idea.” Wolf took out his phone and crouched down to take a picture of the shooter’s face. A couple of snaps later, he moved on to scanning the shooter’s fingerprints. “But we’ll see if Rabbit can find out.” He stood back up, his face grim as he stepped away to talk to Rabbit.
Now that we weren’t dodging bullets, my brain was spinning up some serious questions, starting with, “How the hell did they know we were here?” I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud until Megan went stiff at my side.
Realizing she’d taken my question the wrong way, I opened my mouth to explain, but before I could, Wolf came back over, his phone in his hand, as Rabbit’s voice grimly said, “Which means y’all need to haul ass back because the colonel’s called a meeting at seventeen hundred.”
Apparently, Jinx had managed to fill Delacourt in, and judging by Rabbit’s tone, it had gone as expected. “How pissed is she?”
“We’re about DEFCON 3, mes amis, so be prepared.”
I checked my watch. We were closing in on four, which gave us just over an hour to clean up this mess and get back to the office. “Not much time,” I muttered to Wolf.
He ran his free hand over the back of his neck. “You two head in. I’ll stick around and wait for Rabbit’s cleaning crew to show.”
“They should be there in fifteen,” Rabbit confirmed from his end.
“What about a ride?” Megan asked. “We all came in together. If Bishop and I head in for this meeting, how’s Wolf going to get there?”
“Ricochet,” I said. “The address he was checking out. Is it nearby?”
Rabbit, correctly assuming my question was for him, said, “Yep. I’ll have him swing over and pick Wolf up.”
“Copy that.” I looked back at the body. “Please tell me your cleaning crew doesn’t belong to the local authorities.” If it did, the amount of red tape Wolf would have to navigate would trump the colonel’s meeting time.
“Doncha be bad-mouthin’ my skills, Bishop. Like I’d sic those boys on you. We’re keepin’ our dirty business in-house, so no worries. Soon as they show, Wolf’s free to fly with Ricochet.”
Wolf’s lips twitched. “Thanks for that.”
“Anytime, my man, anytime.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I wasn’t sure how Bishop managed it, but we made it to the office with two minutes to spare. Although I was fairly certain I could count a few more white hairs on my head after surviving Bishop’s Mad Max dash through traffic, sitting off to the side in the conference room, watching him get stitched up, might be adding a few more. At this rate, a date with a bottle of hair color seemed imminent.
“Dammit, Doc.”
“Stop whining, Bishop,” said the man cleaning the last of the dirt and grit from the raw skin of Bishop’s shoulder. “Better to get this cleaned out now than take a shot in the ass later.” He jerked his chin toward the white bandage covering a bullet graze just above Bishop’s waist. “Though I still recommend the damn shot.”
“Your bedside manner sucks.” Bare chested, Bishop sat stoically under Doc’s ministrations, barely flinching as the doctor continued to patch him up.
Doc, the team medic, wasn’t the typical white-coat-and-a-stethoscope type, with his close-cropped beard and long sun-streaked hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that barely tamed the curls. A faded concert T-shirt and even more faded jeans covered a body more likely to sling an ax and wear flannel.
“Embrace the suck, Bishop,” suggested Kayden Shaw, the intimidating dark-haired man leaning against the wall on the other side of the table. The rather impressive arms he crossed over his chest flashed a peek of intricate ink circling his bicep.
Once upon a time, I daydreamed of meeting the entire PSY-IV team. This was not how I envisioned it happening. Not even close. Instead of being the quietly efficient and valued administrative assistant, I was squirming in my seat from the speculative looks drifting my way. I did my best to stay invisible, but with six of the nine team members and a large conference table, the normally spacious conference room felt crowded.
At one end of the table, Jinx and Rabbit huddled around a pair of laptops. Determined to keep my attention on the people I knew, I caught Jinx checking her watch again. When she frowned, my low-level hum of anxiety went up a notch. We’d been at the table for fifteen minutes with no word from the colonel. Tardiness was not her habit.
“Where is she?” asked the unforgettable woman sitting in front of Kayden. She had dark hair, spooky green eyes, and a scar that trailed down her jaw before disappearing under her T-shirt. Cynthia Arden—who everyone called Cyn—scared the crap out of me, and I couldn’t even say why.
“Maybe she got hung up,” Jinx offered.
Cyn made a quiet hum, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Jinx’s observation. Then she shocked the hell out of me by saying, “What do you think, Megan? Is this normal for the colonel?”
Startled, I answered honestly. “Not unless something’s changed drastically in the last six months.”
Cyn shot a look at Kayden, who muttered, “Right,” then straightened from his lean and moved to Rabbit and Jinx. “See if you can find out where she’s at, Rabbit.”
Rabbit gave a short nod. “I’ll activate a trace on her phone, but it may take a bit.”
Doc pushed back from Bishop, stripping off the thin medical gloves and tossed them towards a nearby bin. “There, good as new.”
Bishop stood up, rolled his shoulder, and winced.
Doc’s hands stilled on his med kit. “What? Too tight?”
Bishop rubbed the white gauze pad and shook his head. “Nah, we’re good.” He pulled his T-shirt back on before scooting his chair closer to me. “Catch us up on what you found about the major general.”
“Yeah, exactly how did we end up pointing a finger at Hawes?” Doc finished neatly repacking his supplies.
“Process of elimination.” Jinx looked up from her laptop, her face grave.
“That’s not the best basis for starting a witch hunt.” A heavy layer of concern colored Doc’s voice.
“We’ve worked with less,” Cyn said, her tone and expression not revealing whether she thought that was a good or bad thing.
“And it’s ended up costing us,” Doc shot back, undaunted by the glare Cyn aimed his way. Brave man that he was, he stared her down.
Jinx interrupted what was sounding like the beginning of an old argument. “Time-out, you two. We have enough going on. Let’s not turn this into a soap opera.”
Cyn gave a huff but dropped her gaze.
Doc shook his head and sighed. “Fine. What do we need to know about the major general?”
“I heard he lost his wife and kid twenty years ago.” Kayden left Rabbit and dropped into a chair next to Cyn.
“Yeah, Lady Luck hasn’t done Hawes any favors,” Rabbit said then caught Kayden’s eye. “Trace is working.” He turned back to the group. “At first glance, our major general reads like a tragic hero.”
“With a stellar military record,” Jinx added.
“Until you rub some of that shine off,” Rabbit cut in. “Then those tarnished spots start popping up.”