He looked to Janis for direction.
A small W-shaped crease formed between her closed eyes.
“The meeting began up there,” she said, nodding toward the staircase.
“Meeting?”
Eyes still sealed, she walked past him and began ascending toward the doorway. Realizing that the steep staircase had no handrail, Scott scrambled to catch up. But upon arriving behind her, he could see how sure her steps were. She was perceiving their environment on another, perhaps clearer, level.
At the top of the steps, Janis extended an arm. At the far end of the room, a chain jerked and a bulb blinked on, manifesting a yellow sphere of light. What appeared to have been an office was cluttered with rotten furniture and file boxes.
“Jesse is standing right here,” Janis said, her voice trancelike. “He’s talking to a man over there.”
Scott started, expecting to see their hulking former teammate. Instead, he followed her pointed finger to a space beyond the dangling bulb where junk had been heaped. There was no Jesse. No man, either.
“He’s wearing an eye patch.”
Scott recalled the photo Director Kilmer had shown them.
“Henry Tillman!” he blurted out and then clamped a hand over his mouth. He understood that Janis was following a past event, an ability that seemed to come and go of its own choosing. An ability he was threatening to disrupt. “Former Champion, now a member of the Scale,” he added in a whisper.
Janis gave the barest nod, eyes shifting behind her closed lids.
“Jesse wants something,” she continued after a moment, pacing slowly toward the junk heap. “The man gives it to him, a piece of paper, but Jesse’s not happy. The two start fighting.”
Scott tried to imagine those bruisers going at it, surprised the warehouse was still standing.
Janis flinched, hands flying to her stomach.
“What?” Scott asked in alarm.
“Jesse’s hit. He goes through the wall.”
Scott turned to take in a sizeable hole in the corrugated metal. Judging by the blow out, Jesse had been nailed pretty frigging hard. By the time Scott looked back, Janis had already moved past him and was descending the stairs.
He followed her down.
“He lands here,” Janis said from the middle of the room. She rotated until she was facing a space between two wooden posts. “He tries to get away in his car, but the man punches him through the window.”
“So he was coerced,” Scott said, hope filling him.
“Now they’re talking again.”
Huh?
“Coming to an agreement.”
Uh-oh.
“Jesse’s nodding his head.”
Well, crap. Scott’s shoulders sagged.
Janis’s eyes opened. Whatever she had been seeing seemed to dissolve from her clearing gaze. “A team arrived to clean up the site and arrange the crash. They came and left in some sort of stealth chopper. Jesse was complicit. Director Kilmer needs to know that.”
Whatever residual hope remained in Scott evaporated. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, he does.”
“But we might just have a lead back to the Scale.”
He perked up. “We do?”
“Jesse was given a Walkman to communicate with, remember? Assuming the thing’s still operable…”
“It might link to another transceiver,” he finished for her.
She raised her eyebrows in expectation.
Scott hated to kill the idea, especially since they were running dangerously short on them. “I’ve thought about that, but there are some not-so-minor problems. First, the Scale would have thought about that, too. Which means they’ve probably gotten rid of the device on their end. And even if they haven’t, my powers aren’t very effective without a medium to conduct them. I can follow an airborne signal for a short distance, but that’s about it.”
“But you’ll try?” she asked, urgency filling her voice.
He took her shoulders in his hands and dipped his face to hers.
“Definitely.”
11
Janis collapsed onto her bed, fully dressed. Walking home from the Grove, she hadn’t let on to Scott just how awful she felt, how far the day’s outing had pushed her. The knife-like pain that throbbed in the deep crevices of her brain carried a clear message: you came dangerously close to your limits.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Janis mumbled, burying her face into her pillow.
But what choice did she have? Her premonitions were becoming stronger, not fainter. She needed to do whatever she could to prevent them from becoming reality. That meant getting a jump on the Scale.
Unfortunately, she and Scott were no closer in the task than they had been that morning. Besides learning about Jesse’s true allegiance—information Janis had passed onto Agent Dutch—the day had been largely a miss. Unless, of course, Scott could learn something from the Walkman.
Either way, Janis was tagging out for the day. She needed sleep in the worst way. Maybe her dreams would reveal something she had missed. Her intuition was often more active at night. Toeing her shoes off, she drew her legs under the covers and rolled onto her side. The fog of sleep was just clouding over her thoughts and aching head when her bedroom light snapped on.
“What are you doing?” someone asked.
Janis cracked her eyelids to find Margaret standing inside the doorway to her room. She was wearing a white button-down shirt tucked into dark jeans and holding a thick book she had closed around a pencil.
“What does it look like?” Janis muttered.
“Since when do you go to bed at five o’clock? Are you sick?”
“Just tired.”
Margaret set the book down on Janis’s desk and came to her bedside. She pressed a hand to Janis’s brow. “The last time you looked like this was after you took out that missile in Missouri.” Her eyes narrowed. “Where were you today?”
Ugh. A Margaret interrogation was the last thing she needed.
“With Scott,” she said, “up in the Grove.” She hoped the half truth would be enough to get Margaret off her back.
“No you weren’t.”
The fog whirled from Janis’s mind. “What do you mean I wasn’t?”
“I was up there today. Twice. The Grove is on my walking circuit. I never saw you or Scott.”
“Well, we weren’t up there all day.”
“Okay. Where else were you?”
Rather than lie, Janis forced a snort. “You auditioning for the role of Dad?”
Margaret didn’t smile. Neither did she back off. Janis winced as the throbbing set up shop in her head again.
Margaret lowered her voice to an accusatory whisper. “Did you leave the neighborhood?”
Janis leveled her gaze at Margaret. “And how would I have done that?”
The suspicion written across her sister’s face only deepened. “All right, what are you two up to?”
“What are you talking about? We’re not up to anything.”
Janis hated lying, but she had promised Director Kilmer that she wouldn’t reveal her and Scott’s mission to her teammates, and that included Margaret. She shut her eyes and nestled into her sheets as though to suggest she really would like to get some sleep now, thanks for stopping by.
But instead of leaving, Margaret dragged Janis’s desk chair to the bedside and sat down.
“I’ve always been straight with you.”
Janis twisted around to face her. “Like when you told me I was crazy for believing the neighborhood was watching us when you’d known the truth for months? Give me a break.”
“So you know what it feels like to be left out of the loop.”
“Nice save,” Janis muttered, even as guilt tugged on her stomach.
“Please tell me what’s going on.”
Janis looked from her sister’s hand, which had gently enclosed one of her own, to her softening face. A pleasant force moved over Janis’s thoughts. It was subtle, but she sensed her
will dissolving. Subtle too was the shift of her sister’s eye color as it transformed into a deeper shade of green.
Oh, I don’t believe this.
“There’s nothing to tell.” Janis withdrew her hand and blocked her sister’s influence.
The tidal force receded. Frustration flashed across Margaret’s face. She looked down and pretended to straighten the folded sleeves of her shirt. Janis should have been angry, furious, but instead she felt afraid. The ease with which she had just repelled Margaret’s intrusion underscored her sister’s vulnerability. Margaret’s powers were effective against the average Joe, sure, but if Janis had been a member of the Scale just now, Margaret would be dead.
“Listen …”
“Fine,” Margaret said, standing abruptly. “Keep your secrets.”
She cut the light and closed the door firmly behind her. Janis stared into the darkness for several moments. Amid the hot throbs of her resurrected headache, she wondered what was more important: a pledge she had made to Director Kilmer or her responsibility to her own sister.
That night, Janis dreamed she was in a misty field, looking at her distant teammates. They were dressed in Champions uniforms, standing idly, and Janis knew something bad was about to happen.
She tried to run toward them, to warn them, but her limbs felt like blocks of cement.
She opened her mouth to scream, but there was no air. Her warning emerged a faint cry, too soft.
Across the distance, she recognized each of her teammates by shape and posture. They were all there. Scott, tall with the importance he carried anytime he wore the uniform. Tyler, tired-looking, his upper back rounded. Margaret, hair cascaded over a shoulder, one hip cocked. Jesse, with his squat head and hulking form. Creed, slender and sinuous.
Janis felt a desperate love for them all.
She tried to connect to them telepathically, to warn them, but the dull nausea she had felt at Mr. Shine’s house flooded the connection. Her vision clouded over.
When she could see clearly again, she was among her teammates. They stood before her in sharp detail. Janis relaxed in relief. She could protect them now. But when she tried to reach for Scott, both her hands remained gripped to something. In horror, she realized she was holding a rifle, and she was not among her teammates, but viewing them through a scope.
The sound of a shot tore her from dreaming into a pulse-slamming waking. But not before she’d witnessed a blast of blood.
12
Friday, December 20
12:05 p.m.
Tyler followed his brother into Kilmer’s office and closed the door behind them. Kilmer had just briefed the team about new information on Jesse, and Tyler guessed this was some sort of follow up. As they all settled into their chairs, Kilmer got straight to the point.
“I called you in here because you two are Jesse’s closest friends.”
“What about it?” Creed challenged.
“The information we received—that Jesse was complicit in his own abduction—means we have to consider him the enemy. For all intents and purposes, he’s a member of the Scale now.”
“So?” Creed said.
Tyler knew his brother well enough to tell when he was putting up a front. Beyond the tough talk, Creed was upset. He had just learned that his closest friend—his only friend—had defected, walked out on him.
Like he believed their father had.
“It’s not out of the question that you’ll have to face him one day,” Kilmer said.
Creed’s face screwed up. He and Tyler were still in their yellow training suits, and Creed raised his right glove. Four titanium blades flashed out. “Well, tell that tub of tits to bring it on.”
Tyler could see that their director remained unconvinced. Creed could, too, apparently.
“What? You think I’m gonna hop on the Hog Hoag bandwagon? Switch teams?” A dark redness filled his cheeks. He aimed one of his bladed fingers at Kilmer’s face. “I don’t like what you’re getting at, chief.”
Kilmer didn’t flinch. “I’m more concerned you’ll pull your punches.”
“Listen, Jesse made his bed the second he decided to take off. Screw him.”
Kilmer studied Creed for another moment before nodding. “All right,” he said. “Given your history with him, it would be natural to have some doubts. Come talk to me if that happens.”
“It ain’t gonna,” Creed promised, sheathing his blades.
Kilmer’s gaze shifted to Tyler. “What about you?”
Tyler cleared his throat. “I understand the score.”
In a strange way, he was closer to Jesse than his brother. He could read him better, anyway. A code of fairness drove Jesse, and Tyler wondered what it had taken to subvert that code, to turn it against his former teammates. Tyler had none of his brother’s rage. Only questions.
“And you’ll be able to face him in battle?” Kilmer asked.
“If it comes to it.”
Creed blew a harsh breath. “If it comes to it? Didn’t you hear what the boss man just said? Jess is the enemy now. You bet your ass it’s gonna come to it. What are you pussy-footing around for?”
Tyler waited for Kilmer to cut off the tirade, but their director appeared to want a firmer commitment, too. Irritation crackled in Tyler’s head. He didn’t like being ganged up on.
“Look, I’m prepared to do whatever’s required.”
“There you go again!” Creed cried in exasperation.
Kilmer held up a hand this time. “Agent Steel is designing training sessions to confront the threat of Jesse. You’ll learn how to attack his weaknesses. You will be prepared. But I have to know that you won’t hold back.”
“I won’t,” Tyler said.
“All right. I’ll tell you the same thing I told your brother. If you have doubts, come talk to me.”
Tyler nodded.
“You’re both dismissed.”
As they reached the door, Tyler felt a sharp poke in his low back. “You’re gonna need to get your priorities straight, embryo.”
Tyler didn’t know whether it was the physical or psychological prodding, but anger detonated bright white in his head. He wheeled, both fists crackling with energy. “Back off.”
“Or what, gonna charge my double A’s?”
But Creed retreated enough for Tyler to pull the heavy door open. And had that flash across his brother’s mug been fear? The thought ended at the sight of Janis standing in the hallway outside, Scott beside her.
Tyler discharged the energy from his hands, hoping she hadn’t caught his anger.
Janis flashed her killer smile. “Hey, guys.”
“Hey,” he answered hoarsely.
A void inside him ached where a part of Janis had once resided. He became overwhelmed by the urge to touch and hold her, to fill that space again. Janis’s smile faltered, her gaze retreating behind her eyes.
Had she sensed his thoughts? Tyler looked away.
Janis grasped his upper arm, tenderly, earnestly. Tyler tried to read her clearing eyes, but her gaze, as well as her contact, broke off as their momentum carried them past one another.
What was that about? he wondered.
He turned his head and watched the door close behind her sheet of red hair. Whatever the explanation, her gesture blew apart any doubts Tyler had about facing Jesse. If the man was a threat to the Champions, he was a threat to her.
“You’re right,” he said.
“Right about what?” Creed asked sharply.
“Screw Jesse.”
The scene in Janis’s visual field changed suddenly, violently. The only constant was Tyler. In one moment, he was walking from Kilmer’s office, Creed at his back, and in the next, he was down on the ground, a distressing amount of blood blotting through the front of his suit.
Tyler!
Her thoughts jagged back to the dream she’d had the night before: Aiming a sniper rifle at her teammates. Hearing a shot.
She reached for her fallen teammate, her
hand closing around his arm. But the muscles inside her grip felt warm, vital. She blinked twice. Tyler was standing again, his pale, passing eyes regarding her uncertainly.
She examined the front of his jumpsuit. Bloodless. She exhaled. He was all right.
For now.
Janis gave his arm a final squeeze before entering Director Kilmer’s office. She lowered herself onto one of the padded chairs, still shaken by the bloody vision of her friend and teammate.
If she failed to alter the course of events, would he be the one to die?
Just as disturbing to Janis was the certainty that she would be responsible, somehow. Not for failing to prevent the event but for causing it. The rifle she held in her nightmare seemed to suggest as much.
Janis shivered. She knew the difference between dreams and premonitions, and last night’s experience fell into the second grouping.
Are you all right? Scott asked in her thoughts.
Yeah, she answered. No. I’ll tell you later.
“You wanted to talk?” Kilmer said.
Janis retrained her focus on the task at hand. “I see you got some new information on our absent friend,” she said, referring to their recently-concluded team meeting about Jesse.
“Yes, we received some new intelligence,” he answered neutrally. Which meant Steel’s number two had communicated her and Scott’s findings to him.
“Scott thinks he might be able to add to that intelligence.”
Kilmer’s dark eyes shifted over, brows raised.
“Right,” Scott said. “After Jesse disappeared, that Walkman was found in his room, right?—well, a transceiver disguised as a Walkman. I was wondering if I could take a look at it, see if it leads anywhere.”
Janis could hear the doubt in Scott’s voice as much as she could feel it around him. She tried not to let it influence her own thoughts.
XGeneration (Book 6): Greatest Good Page 6