by Alisa Woods
Dalvi looked to Burrows. Technically, Dalvi being in PsyOps meant she, like Swift, was operating independently of the Chicago field office, outside of Burrows’ jurisdiction. But they were all working on the Resurrectionist case. Dalvi was letting Burrows take the lead, but Swift had no doubt she’d conduct her own investigation regardless of what Burrows decided. Dalvi’s deference was mostly a polite way of letting the SAIC have a go at him first.
Burrows’ emotional read was fluctuating all over the place. Suspicion. Curiosity. Tension. Anger. Finally, it settled into a cool detachment.
Swift had no idea what that meant.
“If you’re right about this, Agent Payne,” Burrows said, “Mercy Strange is a key asset to this investigation. But she could also manipulate the situation to make it appear that she’s vital to it. Whoever is behind this is taking great pleasure at manipulating the hell out of the FBI.” The spike of fury that radiated with that told Swift all he needed to know about Burrows. She would make the perpetrator of this pay—not just for the deaths but for the taunting. Burrows scowled. “Perhaps Ms. Strange knew where the test would be all along. Perhaps she is the one who developed and activated this switch you’re talking about. You read emotions, not thoughts, Agent Payne. Your file says you can be manipulated just like anyone else.”
His file. That was seriously classified. Fuck. “I’m not that easy to lie to,” he countered, and it was true. But his heart was hammering. “Or manipulate.”
Burrows flicked a look to Dalvi then back to him. “But you do have some difficulty with discerning reality. On occasion.”
Dammit. Dalvi’s diagnosis, the mild dissociation, would fuck all this up. “It’s really not a problem.” He gritted his teeth and faced Dalvi. “You want to scry and clear this up? We can do that right now.” It was inevitable anyway—he might as well make a virtue of being willing to crack open his memories for her to rummage through. He grabbed the battered metal chair from the back of Dalvi’s small office and dragged it, feet screeching, to a spot between the two witches. He set it there and met Burrows’ narrowed eyes with a defiant look of his own. “Let’s get this cleared up so we can get back to the case.”
Burrows lifted her eyebrows but gave Dalvi a nod. Swift took a seat. How the hell he would keep Dalvi from… he pushed that thought aside just as her cool fingers found the back of his neck. He twitched and didn’t even try to stop the grunt that her mind-invasion brought. Then he sucked in air as she shoved his mind around. That long stretch when he continuously used his Talent burned bright in his memories, pulling her right to the free jumper competition. He leaned into the pain of her probing, opening up his mind to her repeated examination. The crowd he and Mercy were pushing through. Him holding her back from the police standing guard at the perimeter. Swift splayed open his awkwardness at that encounter, focusing on the wildness in Mercy’s eyes, his read on her fear and determination to stop the jumpers, even though he wasn’t using his Talent for that part. Dalvi went back and played the scene again and again, but it was always the same because it was the truth. Swift focused on how he was trying to keep his Talent a secret from Mercy. Convinced, Dalvi finally let him move on.
Sweat was gathering at the back of his neck, where her fingers made contact, but that was nothing compared to the psychic torment, which was clenching up every muscle in his body. He pushed forward through his memories, diving into his rampant use of his Talent all the way in, through security, up to the top floor. How he lost Mercy in the crowd, even with his Talent. His shock at realizing what she could do—and how she was a split second too late to save the jumpers. That he had to keep her from going over the edge after them. Mercy’s horror and guilt, so much guilt, because she hadn’t saved them… he leaned hard into that, groaning through the pain of it, not just from reliving his own horror as the jumpers hit the pavement, but the massive shock of a roomful of people, all experiencing that same trauma at once. Mercy’s pain was greatest of all, both because she was closer, physically, but also because it opened up her vast reservoir of trauma which threatened to swallow her whole. That wasn’t the kind of thing anyone could fake, and Swift opened his mind for Dalvi to see it all. He felt his own tears leaking out, the pain of the scry ripping through him. He kept pushing forward, showing Dalvi everything. How Mercy was in shock, almost catatonic, and he had to practically haul her away. When she used her Talent to reanimate the crew. How he used his Talent to rush them both out. Mercy was determined to undo the effects of her mental-magick, and Swift wanted Dalvi to see that—Mercy wasn’t the bad guy. She was another casualty of the attack, struck down emotionally by her inability to save the jumpers. He had no idea how Dalvi was receiving all this—his eyes were squeezed shut, and he was breathing through his teeth, rushing through it all. Almost too fast. It was reckless, emotionally and mentally. Suddenly, they were up to the moment when he and Mercy were pushing through the crowd, heading toward that alley…
Swift shoved Dalvi’s hand off his neck.
Which was a hell of a thing to do—nothing he’d ever dared before. Not least because he wanted to keep his job. But that also depended on Dalvi not seeing what happened in that alley.
The shock on her face gave him a split second to speak first. “Satisfied? She’s not a murderer.” He put some snarl in his voice and stood up from the chair, backing away from them both, Dalvi and Burrows. The SAIC had a full-alert, battle-stations emotional soundscape, probably ready to blast him into the wall with as much as a sideways look from Dalvi.
His handler, on the other hand, had recovered from her momentary shock enough to coolly say, “No. I believe you are correct about that.”
Burrows’ alarm stepped down a notch, but she was still on high alert. “So the Strange witch is clear in this?”
Dalvi was giving him a slightly suspicious look. “Agent Payne is emotionally entangled with this case.”
Swift held his breath but kept his mouth shut. He had to brace himself with one hand against the wall as the post-scry dizziness came over him in a wave. He’d gone too hard, too fast—he would be paying for this later.
Dalvi let out a sigh. “I find that entanglement personally distasteful, but I suppose it is to be expected from someone who traffics in emotion.” She turned to Burrows. “I don’t believe it is compromising his ability to work the case. The memory scry shows the same events as Agent Payne has reported. I’m satisfied that Mercy Strange is not a viable suspect for the murders of the contestants. I recommend we proceed on the assumption that Agent Payne is competent to continue with the investigation.”
Burrows tipped her head. Apparently, that was all she was looking for.
Swift let out the breath he was holding, standing more upright as the dizziness passed. “You need to call off the cops. It won’t take them long to track Mercy down—she’s at her office. Which is where she needs to stay if we’re going to break this case. And this thing with the contestants? It’s just a taste. There’s something much bigger coming.”
Burrows frowned. “As you said before. The question is what.”
“Another demonstration?” Swift shrugged. “I don’t know. But the evidence points to Tobin Raine and his researcher Violet Thorn. I would shut those people down and sort it out from there. And you’ve got to call the police off Mercy. She’s got the tools and the skills to figure this out.”
Burrows gave Dalvi a nod. “Talk to the police. Tell them the free jumper murders are connected to the Resurrectionist case, but they need to let us handle it.”
“What about Mercy Strange? Her mental magick is definitely a Class Two Felony.” Dalvi slid a look to him. “I’m not sure we could contain her.”
Oh, shit. Was that what Dalvi expected of him?
“That’s your department,” Burrows said to Dalvi, standing straighter like she was done with this. “And not my problem once this case is solved. For now, if Agent Payne’s assessment can be trusted, I’m seeing her as an asset, and we need her working the case. W
e’ve had our own subject-matter experts analyzing the data since we received it last night, and none of them came within a few seconds of thwarting the next attack like Ms. Strange.”
“Fair enough,” Dalvi said, still giving him a cool look. “But afterward, we’ll need a formal assessment. In the meantime, I expect Agent Payne will keep her from being a flight risk.”
Formal assessment. Dammit. He was all too aware of what that looked like, and like hell was he letting Dalvi put Mercy through that. “She’s not going anywhere.” Unless I go with her. It was an insane thought, but Mercy didn’t belong in PsyOps. Swift might not be able to read Dalvi’s emotional state, but he knew enough about the woman. She’d made her career out of “handling” dangerous mental-magick “assets” for the government. To her, Mercy was just one more potentially useful player in her game.
“What about Tobin Raine?” Swift asked. Maybe catching the real bad guys would take the heat off Mercy, plus probably save a lot of lives.
“His internal, secret reports did lead us directly to the free jumpers.” Burrows frowned. “All right. I’ve had a judge on notice that we might need a warrant for Raine Magitek from the beginning—this new evidence clinches it. I’ll get that expedited.”
“If you’re doing a raid, I want in,” Swift said. “We want Tobin alive, right? So we can figure out where all the tentacles of this operation lead. Not to mention find the extra victims. I can make that happen—I can bring him in while your people shut the rest down, keep them from deleting any files we might need for evidence.”
“Okay, you’re on board, Payne.” Burrows gave Dalvi a quick nod. “Thanks to PsyOps for the assist on this.”
“Our pleasure.” Dalvi smiled, and for once, Swift sensed a small surge of something like happiness. Maybe Dalvi had emotions after all. No one would be more surprised than him.
“Payne, you’re with me,” Burrows said, striding to the door. “MCD is working on that lead on the bus route.”
Swift had almost forgotten about the tip Zane was chasing. “Mercy was the one who put that together, too.”
Burrows smirked as she held the door for him. “Sounds like we should get her a badge.”
“I don’t think she’d care for that, Ma’am.”
They nodded their goodbyes to Dalvi and wove through the basement corridor, heading for the elevator. The Magickal Crimes Division was on the 7th floor.
Burrows spent the elevator ride calling someone about the warrant. Halfway up, Swift’s head started to ache. Dammit. He knew he’d pay for that fast-and-furious scrying session, but he really needed the migraine to hold off for the raid. When they arrived at the 7th floor, analysts were stationed at every workstation, and Agent Grimes, Walker’s partner, was gripping a tablet and calling the shots on an operation in progress.
Swift rubbed his temple as they stepped off. The crowded room would not help, but at least the agents were focused on their work and low on the emotional screeching. Burrows stopped in front of a wall-sized screen. It showed a distant overhead shot of the bus trundling down a city street. Swift couldn’t place the location.
“What’s our status?” Burrows asked.
Grimes gestured to the screen. “Bus 169 still in route, no stops since it left the shipping center in Hodgkins, but then it is an express. Set to arrive at 4:04 pm, in alignment with our killer’s note. We’ve had drone surveillance the whole way. No sign of our bad guy yet.”
“Are we going to give them a show, Grimes?”
He smirked. “Yes, Ma’am. Agent Walker’s on point with a SWAT team ready to storm the bus when it arrives at the terminal destination at 69th and State Street. A second, larger team is readying a perimeter shutdown two blocks in every direction. If our killers come to see the show, they’re going to find the exits are blocked.”
Swift glanced at his phone. The bus was due to arrive in ten minutes.
“Good.” Burrows raised her voice so the whole room could hear. “I need anyone with tactical operations training to report in for another SWAT team. We’ve got a second raid we’re conducting as soon as I get our warrant cleared. Raine Magitek is in for a very bad afternoon.”
A small cheer went up from the room, and a few analysts sprung up from their chairs.
“What’s this?” Grimes asked.
Swift dropped his hand from rubbing his temples. “I’ve got evidence linking Raine Magitek to the free jumper murders.”
Grimes’ eyebrows lifted. “You don’t say.”
“Agent Payne will be in on the raid.” Burrows’ phone pinged, so she answered it. “Yeah?”
Grimes leaned into Swift and whispered, “You’re PsyOps, right?”
Swift glanced around, but no one was close enough to hear. “I have some skills.” Which were supposed to be secret—with the exception of Agent Walker and SAIC Burrows.
Grimes tipped his head. “Zane told me. Is that how you got our terabyte data dump? My analysts have been working that going on twenty-four hours now.”
Swift just nodded, hoping that was the last of the interrogation.
“Copy that.” Burrows swiped off her phone. “Okay, we’ve got our warrant. Search and seizure on the headquarters of Raine Magitek. I want Tobin Raine and his researcher Violet Thorn brought in for questioning.”
“No arrest warrants?” Grimes asked.
Burrows scowled. “Not without something more, but I don’t want him slipping away. Grimes, can you put together that second team? I’ll coordinate this op. I want these to go down as simultaneously as possible.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Grimes handed over the tablet, the one connecting to Walker’s team in the field, then trotted deeper into the bullpen and pulled out his phone.
Burrows raised an eyebrow to Swift. “You have tactical training?”
Swift flashed back to his time in military PsyOps. That just brought on the headache stronger. “I usually am the tactical training.” He rubbed his temple.
Burrows gave a small snort, then gave her full attention to the screen. She tapped on the tablet, opening up a channel. “Agent Walker, this is Burrows stepping in for Grimes. I’ve got Bus 169 continuing in route to you, ETA two minutes. What’s your status?”
“We’re ready,” Walker’s voice came through the tablet.
“You have the lead,” Burrows said. “When the bus arrives, take it down and spring your perimeter.”
“Copy that.”
Burrows kept silent from there, watching and listening to the orders over the comms from Walker’s team. A second drone showed them hunched behind the bus stop cover, barely hidden. Swift didn’t see how anyone on the bus could miss the lurking FBI SWAT team readying to board when it stopped, but then he had the advantage of knowing they were there. The seconds ticked down. Swift watched the bus trundle over the Dan Ryan Expressway, then slow and come to a stop right at the shelter. But the door of the bus didn’t open, and no passengers came out.
Swift flicked a look to Burrows. Were they expecting a bomb? If so, the SWAT team should be hustling the passengers off… but everything was still.
“I see no movement on the bus,” Burrows said tersely.
“Copy that,” Walker said. “Do we send in the bomb sniffer? Or pull the passengers?”
“Our bad guy could be watching.” Burrows scowled at the screen. “Lock down the perimeter and send in the bot.” A second later, an FBI tactical vehicle barreled down the street—they must have been on standby out of sight—and screeched to a halt in front of the bus. Two bomb squad agents in head-to-boot gray “bomb suits” spilled out of the bulky black car. But instead of approaching the bus, they hauled out a bomb-sniffing robot and set it trundling toward the vehicle. A third agent in bomb gear climbed out and held her hands toward the bus while maintaining cover behind their sedan. Swift guessed she was a specially-trained Charmer, one who could detect faint magickal essences, in case the bus was rigged with some magickal trap—or magick-enabled bomb.
After a tense minute,
the bomb squad signaled all clear.
The SWAT team rushed in, Walker in the lead. It took the six members of the team a few seconds to storm the bus, given the pinch point that was the entrance. More seconds passed. No sign of movement.
“Walker, report,” Burrows clipped out. Then she shouted at someone over her shoulder. “Get the drone in there!”
“They’re dead,” Walker said, his voice quiet. “They’re all… dead.”
The drone dropped from its position over the bus—whoever was piloting it from the field office used the camera to fly it inside. The first thing that was obvious was the bus driver—or the lack of one.
“Must have been on autopilot,” Burrows whispered, her face drawing down, and a screech of rage thrumming the air around her.
The drone buzzed down the aisle. The seats were filled—every one had a slumped-over body, with some lying flat across the seat. No one was moving except the agents shambling down the length of the bus, checking the bodies.
“I’m counting twenty.” Walker’s voice was raspy. “No signs of mutilation. Not like the others. These are just… dead.”
The emotional soundscape of the room was a pulse of shock and anger—the second time that day Swift found himself in a crowd, battered by their emotions at the carnage perpetrated by a madman. Swift pressed his fist to his temple, ordering his headache to cease and desist.
“No one gets out of that perimeter!” Burrows ground out to Walker’s team. Then she swung her furious gaze to Swift. “Get me Tobin Raine.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Headache be damned—he had a raid to conduct.
Grimes already had a half dozen agents assembled by the elevator. Swift joined them, and by the time they reached the basement parking garage, a half dozen more were waiting. Grimes led them to a prep room where they suited up in tactical gear.