Mind Thief

by C. A. Hartman

  “Why Carlson? He doesn’t have the bird tattoo.”

  “Don’t worry about him. That’s my problem to deal with.”

  “Is he after you for killing his son?”

  “I’m done answering questions.” She forced her way past Noah, but he grabbed her arm. This time he didn’t look angry or controlling. He looked concerned.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Quinn yanked her arm away.

  Noah stepped closer to her, his eyes darkening. “Who’s the guy?”

  “What guy?”

  “The one at the game earlier.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t ask you about the woman you brought back to your place, did I?”

  “I don’t like him.”

  Of course he didn’t, not after Devin had stood up to him while showing no sign of intimidation. No cop liked that. But Noah would never admit it, and the last thing Quinn wanted to do was say anything to damage the fragile peace treaty between them.

  “He’s not part of my world,” she said.

  “I have a bad feeling about him.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Based on years of being a cop.”

  “Devin isn’t someone to worry about. Worry about the names I gave you. Worry about the Black Jays. Because if things go the way I think they’re going to, those guys will be a huge problem for everybody. Including people like us.”

  With that, Quinn left the sex shop, turned the corner, and ran.

  Chapter 19

  It was pitch dark. Dark in Quinn’s place and dark outside. A power outage.

  Quinn was no stranger to power failures. They happened on a regular basis in Downtown during summertime, when too many people were trying to cool hot apartments and businesses, and Downtown’s power grid lacked the ability to handle the load.

  Phone service was down too. Third time in two weeks.

  But at that moment, she was glad for the darkness and quiet. It had been a difficult day. Running into Noah at the baseball game, then again Downtown as he ruined what may have been their only chance to nab the man who’d been threatening her life, was bad enough. But it got worse when she came home to yet another threat in her mailbox.

  This one had an image so violent that it turned Quinn’s stomach. She almost tore it up just to destroy its existence in the world, but instead stuffed it back into its envelope and stacked it with the others. She might need that information if forced to solicit Noah’s help. It would also come in handy for detectives if she wound up dead, and the stench of her rotting corpse wafted out into the hall for someone—probably nosy Merritt—to find.

  There was another note, too.

  Tired of failure yet, Quinn? I almost have you.

  Somehow, he knew. Quinn shook her head at the irony. By thwarting their takedown of Jake Carlson, Noah had prevented her from obtaining useful information she could have fed him. And it was only a matter of time before he would want more.

  If only she could tell him the truth. Why she did what she did. How the Protectorate worked underground to ensure some kind of justice.

  Quinn sat in her chair and sipped on her diablo, stripped down to undies and a tank top in her hot apartment, her battery-powered fan blowing in fresh air from her open window. It reminded her of her old apartment, where the fan whirred day and night, bringing in more hot air but also air that was fresh instead of recycled. She found the whirring and the warm air strangely comforting.

  As she stared out at the night, she noticed something. Dots in the sky, sparkling like little diamonds. Stars!

  She went to the window to get a better look. Between El Diablo’s dust and the city’s light pollution, stars just weren’t a part of her viewing life anymore, despite spending an inordinate amount of time outside at night. She loved stargazing as a kid, and growing up, she and Daria would sit and stare at the sky for hours. Quinn would search for familiar stars and constellations, but Daria never cared about that. Instead, she would see animal shapes and make up a story about each one. Sometimes, Quinn’s mom would come outside and stargaze with them. She was the one who taught Quinn the constellations and planet names. How she knew such information, Quinn never knew. At that age, she took it for granted. She took everything for granted, including having a mom… until she was gone.

  Quinn’s mind returned to Noah. She felt torn between resenting his anger and threats, and understanding them, and she finally let herself admit the truth.

  She missed him. She missed the feel of his body against hers, the way he understood things… understood her. But it didn’t matter. That, like everything in her personal life, had gone to shit. All she had was her job, and if she didn’t get control over this Carlson situation soon, that too would be threatened.

  Nothing had gone like she thought it would. She thought she’d be safer in Midtown, that her life would get better. But she’d only exchanged one set of worries for another, one set of annoyances for another, one set of dangers for another.

  She heard a beep. Her phone. They had service again. When she checked it, she had a message from an unknown caller.

  Home alone in the dark, Quinn?

  Fury flooded her. Carlson again. She hit reply and typed out “Go fuck yourself.” But before she hit send, she hesitated. She erased the message and blocked the caller, knowing he would just find another phone.

  Her sense of peace destroyed, Quinn shoved her chair up against her door, and got into bed with her energy weapon next to her. That night, she dreamt of being attacked in a dark place by a man with a giant scar on his face.

  When her phone beeped the next morning, Quinn felt a pit in her stomach. It was him again, new phone already in hand, ready to scare her. But it wasn’t Carlson. It was Daria:

  You awake yet?

  Quinn called Daria, wanting to hear a normal voice.

  “Hey, girl,” Daria said, sounding chipper.

  “Hey.”

  A pause. “You alright?”

  “Fine. Just… waking up.”

  “So, I have some news on Solera.”

  “Solera?”

  “The clinic. For your friend with the disabled brother?”

  Quinn sat up in bed. “What did you find out?”

  “Apparently there is a waiting list, but they also give preference to locals. They don’t advertise that, obviously. My guess is they probably brush off people from the bad neighborhoods because they assume they can’t afford to pay.”

  Quinn sighed, rolling her eyes.

  “Stupid, I know. But I’m told it helps when you can pay a few months in advance, and they prefer clients who’ve been assessed by a medical professional. To ensure it’s a good fit.”

  “What does that involve?”

  “A nurse or doctor does an interview and some tests with—what’s his name?”

  “Jeffrey.”

  “It costs money, but—”

  “Can you do the assessment?”

  “Me? I never thought about that. I’ve learned a few things through my internship, though…”

  “Find out. I’m happy to pay you…”

  “I can’t take money during my internship, Quinn. It’s unethical.”

  “Okay… well, can you get credit for it or something?”

  “Let me find out.”

  “Dar, he’s the sweetest guy. And his brother and mom are the nicest, most hardworking people you’ve ever met. Dad died years ago and they’ve been struggling to survive ever since. Jeffrey’s struggling because of noisy neighbors who fight all the time, plus all the shootings in White Sands—”

  “They live in White Sands?” she cried.

  “Yeah—”

  “How can they afford Solera?”

  Quinn hesitated. “I… they’re moving because they’ve had a change in circumstances. You can ask them yourself when you come meet them.” She held her breath.

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  Quinn heard a beep. Another call. Her stomach curdled, but it
was only Yolanda. “I’ve got a call, Dar. Talk soon?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Quinn switched over to Yolanda. “Good morning, Yolanda.”

  “You ready for another job?”

  “You bet.”

  After Quinn finished up with Yolanda, she got cleaned up and saw that she had a message from Daria. She listened to it, then called Jones.

  “You better not be callin’ me from jail,” Jones said.

  “Nope. Not yet, anyway.”

  “What the hell happened last night? You like to dance with the devil, girl.”

  “I don’t like it. It’s just what I have to do these days.”

  “How’d you get out of that one? Or do I wanna know?”

  “If you’re suggesting I fucked my way out of trouble, fuck you.”

  “Hey, I ain’t judgin’, if you’re safe at home.”

  “Depends on your definition of safe. I got another threat from Carlson, taunting me for failing to nab him. And another doctored imagine, this one so awful—” She stopped, choked up.

  “We gonna get this motherfucker one way or the other,” he said.

  Quinn nodded. She hated involving him, but she had little choice.

  “You there?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Just hang on. This guy’s dangerous, but he ain’t that smart ‘cause he’s still using the same phone and I’m still trackin’ it.”

  “This, from the guy whose messages I can’t trace.”

  “Yeah, seems weird to me too, but it is what it is.”

  She sighed.

  “We’ll get him. You can stay here if you don’t feel safe—”

  She couldn’t do that. “I’ll be fine here.”

  Jones paused. “So whadya have to do to get the cop off your ass?”

  “I gave him information.” When she got nothing but silence, she added, “I had to. He was going to arrest me.”

  “What information?”

  “That the dead guys were Jays. Told him Carlson’s name, too.” She heard a sigh. “He knew we were after Carlson, that I had equipment on me. It was the only way. Once he pulls at that thread, he’ll be off hunting and leave us alone.”

  “Until he wants more.”

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “I didn’t call to argue about Noah. I have good news.”

  “I’ll take some of that.”

  She told Jones about Daria and Solera. Jones was silent for several moments.

  “Really?” he finally said.

  “Yeah. She just left me a message, too. They told her she can do the assessment as part of her training. It will take an hour or two, including breaks in case Jeffrey gets tired.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow at ten. I’ll come too and introduce you.”

  “Who’d you tell her I was?”

  “A friend. But I should mention that she’s my former partner. She left because she wasn’t cut out for the job. So she might recognize you or make assumptions.”

  “She ain’t ratted you out?”

  “She would never. Besides, you know the oath we sign doesn’t end when we leave the job.”

  “Alright. See you tomorrow.”

  When Jones opened the door to his place, he glanced at Quinn briefly before his eyes went to Daria. He stared for a moment. Like he recognized her.

  “Hey Jones,” Quinn said, trying to sound like a normal friend and not a close one. “This is Daria, my oldest friend.”

  “Hey,” he said, holding out his hand. “Good to meet you.”

  Daria shook his hand. “Good to meet you, too.” She smiled, but showed no look of recognition. When still with the Protectorate, Daria never went to meetups or other events for techs, where they talked shop without jackers around. It was entirely possible they’d never met.

  “Come on in.”

  They walked inside the small but neat apartment, the temperature comfortable but not cool. Christa approached them and Quinn made more introductions.

  “Nice to meet you, Daria,” Christa said. “We really appreciate you coming. We’ve wanted to enroll Jeffrey at Solera for a while, and now that we can finally afford the place—”

  “Hi Quinn!” came Jeffrey’s adult but still childlike voice as he appeared next to Christa. He held out his hand like Christa and Jones had taught him.

  Quinn put her hand in his and held on for a moment. “Hi, Jeffrey! It’s good to see you!”

  Jeffrey glanced at Daria and froze for a moment. He stared at her, his blue eyes studying her like he wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or fascinated.

  “Jeffrey,” Quinn said, “this is my friend, Daria.”

  “Daria came over just to see you,” Christa told him in an encouraging tone.

  Quinn waited for Jeffrey to turn away in shyness, or even retreat to the far end of the worn couch. She’d warned Daria that was a likely scenario, but Daria said she had ways to handle that.

  But he didn’t withdraw. Instead, he said, “Daria.” Then, “You’re pretty.”

  Daria’s smile widened. “Well, thank you, Jeffrey!”

  Christa’s eyes lit up while Jones watched Daria and Jeffrey, fascinated. Quinn couldn’t believe it herself.

  “I have some questions for you, Jeffrey,” Daria said. “And some games. Would you like to sit down with me and play?”

  Jeffrey hurried over to the table and sat. Soon, Christa got beverages for them while Jones led Quinn into the bedroom to talk, closing the door behind them.

  “I don’t think she recognizes you,” Quinn said quietly.

  “Huh. ‘Cause I remember seein’ her before, during training.”

  “That was a long time ago. You remember that far back?”

  “I remember her.” He glanced toward the door. “What’s her story? She single?”

  Quinn raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  He scowled. “Comin’ from someone who nailed a cop.”

  “I’m not lecturing. I just… you don’t even know her.”

  “Gotta start somewhere. Did you see how Jeffrey took to her? He’s a good judge of character, better than anyone I know.”

  “I’ll try not to take it personally that it took me weeks to get that kind of greeting from him.”

  “It ain’t personal. He knows you’re part of what takes me away from him and puts me in danger. He’s intuitive that way. So, Daria. She single or not?”

  Quinn sighed. “She is. But she left the organization for a reason. It’s hurt our friendship, and she’s still prickly about it all. If she learns what you do right away, it’ll scare her away.”

  Jones sighed. “I hear ya.”

  Quinn smiled. “Did you just admit I’m right? Because it sure sounded like you’re telling me I’m right.”

  “Don’t start.”

  Quinn laughed, and she swore she saw a tiny smile on Jones’s face.

  “You talk to Yolanda?” Jones said. “We gotta job or what?”

  “She called earlier. It’s on.”

  “Who’s the target?”

  “The CEO of Saguaro Energy.”

  Chapter 20

  Quinn wiped the sweat from her forehead, already overheated. They’d had a heatwave that day, where the temperature soared to 120 after everyone had gotten used to it being under a hundred. The tall buildings of El Diablo, even the nice shiny ones Uptown, radiated heat like an oven.

  It didn’t help that she was dressed in full-length pants, a jacket, and a wig. She’d worn similar in hotter temperatures many times, but her body wasn’t used to it after months of good weather. She glanced over at Jones, his face glistening and red. His hand sweated in hers as they walked, and when Jones finally pulled his hand away, she felt relief.

  Fortunately, they would find respite indoors soon.

  Once they reached 109th Street, they headed west into a part of town Quinn had never visited. It was so posh that the alleys were paved in pale brick
instead of heat-absorbing black asphalt, lofty cacti with built-in drip systems lined the sidewalks, and tall gates kept the public away from gorgeous buildings with sandstone facades, huge windows, and giant succulent gardens.

  Finally, they turned north again before reaching their destination. Quinn glanced around before she grabbed Jones’s hand and pulled him into the alley and giggled, making it look to any potential onlooker like they were up to something naughty. That, the handholding, the uncomfortable clothing… it was all part of the act. It was what they needed to do to avoid attracting the wrong kind of attention, but tonight it felt exhausting.

  Deeper into the quiet alley they went, and Quinn marveled at how strange it smelled. How clean. No stench from garbage or some rotting bodily fluid. She even felt safe—unheard of for her—like there was no threat that lay deeper in the darkness.

  This was Uptown. Any threats here didn’t lurk in alleyways or bars… they sat in bedrooms and boardrooms, offering a whole different sort of peril, the kind that impacted everybody rather than one vulnerable victim. The kind that nobody recognized until it was too late.

  Carrie Anne Halstead, CEO of Saguaro Energy, was one of those perils. A third generation Uptowner from a family of business school magnates, Halstead was part of the one percent who controlled the other ninety-nine once the drought came and everything got worse. Yet, confirming Quinn’s prediction after the George Hatch job, Halstead was another Black Jay target. They’d already come sniffing around, hoping to steal information and God only knew what else—wipe her memories, influence her decisions—and she too was scared.

  It was official. The Jays had targeted the CEO of a cooling systems monopoly and were now sniffing out Halstead, CEO of an energy monopoly. Not only power players, but the most powerful in the city, controlling the resources everybody needed to survive. Quinn couldn’t help but wonder if the Jays were activists of some sort, looking to challenge the inequities of their city. Could the black-clad men be nothing more than rebels looking to scare these CEOs into breaking up their monopolies? The justice of it intrigued her.