by Aubrey Ross
Surprised by his caring, Miranda watched the thick length of his cock disappear into Aysha’s body. Her nails dug into her cheeks and she whimpered, obviously uncomfortable despite the lube.
The man didn’t stop until his body was flush with hers. “You can let go now.”
Aysha moved her hands to the edge of the desk and released her pent-up breath. “That wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought.”
“Nicay never should have hurt you.” He slipped one hand between her body and the desk as he drew his hips back. “Concentrate on the slide of my cock in your ass.”
She closed her eyes and shivered as he filled her again and again. He caressed her pussy from the front while he fucked her ass with long, steady strokes. Her panting soon turned to cries of pleasure, and Nicay turned his face away.
“Harder.” Aysha’s throaty cry snapped Nicay’s attention back to the desk. “Fuck me harder! Never stop.”
Grasping her elbows, the man drew her arms back and increased the speed of his thrusting. “Is this what you want, my greedy whore?” His voice was a barely discernable growl. “Beg me or I won’t let you come.”
“Please,” she whimpered.
“Please, what?”
“Please let me come.”
He rammed into her over and over. She dissolved into rhythmic groans, her head tossing from side to side. Nicay released the doorframe and lowered his hand as he stumbled away.
The image faded, leaving Miranda shaken. From their first session on, Aysha had painted herself as the hapless victim, manipulated and misused by men. Learning of Aysha’s duplicity hadn’t brought Miranda any closer to uncovering what had happened to Nicay. Had he left the ring for Aysha knowing she would bring it to Miranda? Even if he had, who was responsible for the compulsion? To her knowledge, Nicay had no paranormal abilities.
Miranda studied the ring more closely, activating only the most superficial scan. She had no desire to witness more of Aysha’s misbehavior. The emerald was organic, as was the setting. Highly concentrated energy swirled around and emanated from the polished alloy and the gem. This was no memory echo. Something far more complex had left its mark on the ring.
Reinforcing her mental shields, she hesitantly accessed the psychic energy. Searing pain stabbed into her brain. White light burst behind her eyes and drove the breath from her lungs. Images bombarded her brain in a sickening barrage. The harder she tried to control the inundation, the more intense the sensation became.
Screams of pain and the stench of fear, flailing arms and convulsing bodies, contorted features and rivers of blood, she couldn’t escape the horror. She watched life after life fade from terrified eyes. Like a clumsy montage, the images overlapped and melded.
Suddenly the office came back into focus and the action slowed. Aysha was nowhere in sight, but her lover was arguing with a stout blond man. Although Miranda couldn’t understand their words, she’d heard the language before. The quarrel escalated, and Aysha’s lover backhanded the blond. Blood flew from his nose as his head snapped to the side.
“Kisauk taylin evanta stee,” he shouted at Aysha’s lover. With his ire spent, the blond trembled and sank to his knees, arms raised to ward off his attacker. He begged, terror clear in his wide blue eyes. Miranda couldn’t comprehend his rapid speech, and the older man was unmoved by the pleas.
With lethal calm, Aysha’s lover pulled a metallic wand from his pocket and touched it to the side of the blond man’s neck. The blond convulsed violently, writhing at the other man’s feet. He gasped and gagged, while blood oozed from his nose and mouth. Aysha’s lover stared down at the blond with icy indifference until his flailing stilled.
As abruptly as the image began, it ended. Miranda staggered back and pressed her fists to her temples. It felt as if her brain was trying to escape the confines of her skull and she hadn’t even touched the ring! Panting harshly, she rubbed her stinging eyes with one hand and braced herself against the edge of the desk with the other.
What the hell had just happened?
Even as violent as the memories had been, they didn’t account for the pain. She’d heard of psy-bombs, but she’d never experienced one before. Her head throbbed, her scalp tingled, and her lips had gone numb. Had Nicay been present for the murders or was his role more direct? What other explanation could there be for the images?
She took a deep breath and then another. The ring belonged to Nicay, but it was possible he was sending her a message as opposed to confessing his crimes. Or Aysha and her lover could be using the ring to frame Nicay.
Shaking away the speculation, Miranda calmed her thoughts. Her top priority had to be identifying Aysha’s lover and his blond victim. That image had been unmistakable. Once she solved the first mystery, she’d unravel the rest. Rubbing her temples with firm circles, she forced herself to think through the pain.
There was no way she could do this alone. Pulling out her desk chair, she slipped in behind her workstation and activated the communications console.
E. Ritter. She’d worked with him for three years and still didn’t know if E was his first initial or his designation as an Enforcer. She honestly didn’t care. Ritter was the only person on the Coalition Security Force who had ever taken her seriously.
Trepidation raced down her spine. Believing in her abilities was a nice consolation. Ritter would need to protect her from a man who amused himself with another man’s wife and killed without changing his expression.
Chapter Two
Drake O’Bannon activated the autopilot on the patrol cruiser and pivoted to face his partner. “Are you going to tell me what this is about or should I verify our destination with dispatch?”
Everett Ritter was fidgeting, and Ritter never fidgeted. “I’ve tried to leave you out of these situations as much as I can.”
“These situations?” Drake shook his head and glanced out the window as the cruiser turned into the heart of the pleasure district. Brightly lit cabarets, sexual salons, and casinos towered on either side of the thoroughfare. In accordance with decency ordinances, the holographic advertisements remained scantily clad, though come-hither smiles and provocative poses left no doubt about the sorts of entertainments available inside the glitzy buildings.
“I need to meet with one of my informants,” Ritter muttered. “She sounded pretty rattled, and this one doesn’t spook easily.”
“This is one of your paranormal informants?” It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes. “Does she read minds, see visions, or talk to the dead?”
“Just wait in the cruiser. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Why do you put up with this bullshit?” Drake reactivated manual navigation, needing something to occupy his hands. Although they’d worked together for six years, Drake had only learned of Ritter’s fascination with paranormal phenomenon in the past few months. “None of their mumbo-jumbo is admissible in court. We still have to find real evidence even when one of your mystics offers you tidbits from beyond.”
Ritter’s chin came up, and Drake hid his smile. He’d done it now. Ritter would defend his paranormal informants until their shift ended ‑‑ if he spoke at all. Drake knew better than to question the value of his partner’s precious mystics. Ritter hadn’t confided the reason for his devotion to their cause, but it ran deep.
“Out of our last six arrests, how many resulted in convictions because of information provided by gifted informants?”
“None. Each case was proved with a combination of meticulous investigation and a variety of forensic evidence.”
“You’re full of shit and we both know it. We wouldn’t have known where to collect all that precious evidence if it hadn’t been for my ‘mystics.’ I predict a time, not too far in the future, when paranormal teams will be part of every precinct in New Shardrake.”
“Is that your opinion, or do you have it from a mystic authority?”
“You can be a real asshole; you know that, don’t you?”
Drake laughed. �
��You make sure I never forget.”
Ritter waved away the subject and pointed to an especially shabby hotel on their right. “Set down in front of room nine. We’re responding to a complaint of disorderly conduct.”
Drake snorted. “Finding an occupant in a place like this who isn’t being disorderly would be far more remarkable.”
“If I’d had more time to plan the meeting, I wouldn’t have arrived in a CSF cruiser. Admin might consider this unmarked, but no one down here is fooled.” Drake started to get out and Ritter waved him back into the small ship. “This one is special. I don’t want her to bolt. It really might be better if you wait out here.”
“You have a partner for a reason. I won’t say a word.”
Ritter paused for a chuckle. “If you make it through this exchange without speaking, I’ll resign.”
After scrunching his face into a mock sneer, Drake said, “And have to break in a new partner? Not a chance.” He drew his pistol, but kept it out of sight while Ritter moved toward the door.
The portal swung inward before Ritter could tap his knuckles against the warped surface. Both men ducked into the dimly lit hotel room, and Drake made a quick security assessment as Ritter engaged the informant. The adjoining room was a utilitarian bathroom and the only visible window faced the shuttle lot.
The stale smell of cheap perfume vied for attention with spilled liquor, and undertones Drake didn’t want to identify. The shabby carpet and ramshackle furniture only made the elegant informant appear all the more out of place. She stood in the center of the room with her hands buried in the pockets of her synthleather coat as if she were afraid to touch anything. Silky black hair brushed her shoulders and exotic eyes dominated her delicate features. Although tall and curvaceous, there was something almost elfish about her appearance.
“Who is he?” she asked Ritter, but her gold-flecked brown eyes were fixed on Drake.
“My partner. I didn’t have time to ditch him.” Ritter ended the statement with a shrug. “Ignore the scowl. He’s one of the good guys.”
“With or without a scowling partner, I’m not sure how much I can tell you.”
Ritter groaned. “If you’re going to retreat into that doctor-patient confidentiality bullshit, why did you contact me?”
“I think someone tried to kill me.”
“What?” Ritter circled her still form, obviously reluctant to touch her. “Are you injured? What happened?”
She glanced at Drake before pulling one of her hands from her coat pocket. “One of my patients asked me to scan this ring. When I did… It’s hard to explain. I reinforced my mental shields before it did any real damage, but I’ve never experienced anything like it before. It was far more complex and powerful than a memory echo. I suspect it was meant to incapacitate if not kill me.”
“You in particular or anyone who scanned the ring?” Drake asked.
Ritter laughed and slapped Drake on the back. “I knew my career was safe with you.”
“I’m glad you find this amusing,” the dark-haired beauty said in a cool, clipped tone. “My head is still pounding and what’s to say they won’t try again if they find out the ring failed?”
“Miranda, we weren’t laughing at you. It was a private joke.”
“Private jokes are rude, and nothing about this is funny.”
“Miranda Kayten?” Drake took a slow step forward. He should have realized. Even without the digital enhancements utilized in advertisements and interactive broadcasts, she was stunning. Miranda’s reputation was legendary. She had a cult following and the reluctant respect of many hardcore skeptics. Her picture-perfect face hadn’t hurt her popularity, but how had Ritter crossed paths with this enigmatic celebrity?
“Drake O’Bannon, this is Miranda Kayten.” Ritter’s dark gaze gleamed and a knowing smile curved his lips. “She’s my most dependable mystic, by far.”
Before Drake could explain the sarcasm in his partner’s tone, she waved away his concern.
“I don’t consider mystic an insult, and even if I did, I’ve been called far worse.”
She turned toward the tiny table near the window and placed the ring on a bed of tissues. Her coat parted, treating Drake to a glimpse of sleekly curved legs. Her slim skirt ended at midthigh, but his imagination was happy to fill in the blanks. He saw her dressed in seamed stockings and high heels, leaning over the desk to better display her sweetly curved ass…
You really are a bastard, O’Bannon. Get your mind back on the job!
“I didn’t sense anything unusual at first,” she told Ritter. “The image was unexpected, but nothing I hadn’t witnessed before. Then the ring took control of the connection. It’s either infused with psychic compulsion or there’s some sort of device imbedded in the setting.”
Ritter glanced toward the door. “I need to get some things from the cruiser. Do you promise to behave?” He directed the question to Drake.
“I’ll make sure he does,” Mirada replied with the hint of a smile.
Surprised by her subtle charm, Drake holstered his gun as Ritter slipped out of the hotel room. “How long have you worked for CSF?”
“I don’t work for CSF. Prefect VinDerley approached me about four years ago asking for my unofficial assistance with several delicate situations. When he was satisfied with my results and confident in my discretion, he recruited me as a consultant, still unofficially, of course.”
“Of course.” The Enforcers were a division of CSF, yet they remained separate from ordinary security officers. Most of their cases were classified and information was dispersed on a need to know basis. Consultants always operated off the grid. Even so, he was Ritter’s partner. Why had he kept his interaction with Miranda a secret? “Is Ritter your only contact?”
“No, just my favorite.” The hint of a smile turned up the corners of her mouth.
After a short pause, he asked, “Who gave you the ring?”
“I doubt the person who gave me the ring is responsible for whatever it’s doing. At worst, she’s an accomplice, at best an unknowing pawn.”
Her neat sidestep sent his suspicion into overdrive. “Who are you trying to protect? An imminent threat to yourself or someone else frees you from confidentiality laws. You were attacked. You’re exempt from legal repercussions.”
“Most of what I know is potentially dangerous to someone in some way. Where should I draw the line? If my patients can’t trust me, I’m of no use to them.”
“Are you a medical doctor or some sort of counselor?”
“I’m a psychiatrist who happens to be psychic.” She leaned her hip against the edge of the writing desk and allowed a smile to part her lips. “I can read your mind while I’m shrinking your head. It’s no surprise suits like you want to keep me in the shadows.”
“I’m not even wearing a jacket, much less a suit,” he objected, indicating his casual attire.
“I’m not fooled by the clothes, Enforcer O’Bannon. You’re a suit, and suits don’t trust mystics.”
“Genuine psychics are few and far between.” Genuine or fraud, this one was easy on the eyes.
Ritter returned with a sculpted alloy case. “You haven’t strangled him. That’s a good sign.”
“Is he really so hard to get along with?”
“He can be.”
Opening the case across the desk beside the ring, Ritter removed a scanner Drake had never seen before. “Who’s funding your pet project? CSF doesn’t have the budget for…what the hell is that thing?”
“Psychic energy, like any other form of energy, creates various patterns. This allows me to determine which kind is present and measure the saturation. It will also detect any foreign object imbedded in the emerald or alloy.” Ritter used the tissues to insulate his fingers from the ring and positioned it upright against the desktop. After several seconds and numerous adjustments to the scanner’s control pad, he said, “I don’t think it’s a psy-bomb. Whatever you felt must have ‑‑”
A
shaft of light burst from the emerald and shot through scanner, illuminating Ritter’s face. Ritter screamed, barely managing to turn his head to the side. Drake swept the desktop with his forearm, batting the ring out of Ritter’s hand. Miranda pried the smoking scanner from his seared fingers as the stench of burning flesh erupted in the room.
“What the fuck just happened?” Drake caught Ritter as his legs gave out beneath him. Ritter squeezed his eyes shut and shook convulsively. Miranda tossed the scanner aside and helped Drake lower Ritter to the floor. They knelt side by side, Ritter spread out in front of them.
Reaching for his comlink, Drake prepared to call medassist.
“Don’t!” Ritter gritted out between clenched teeth. He’d opened his eyes, but his features remained tense and pale. “We can’t explain this without revealing her location.”
“I’ll protect her. You need help now!”
Miranda placed her hand on his shoulder and soothing warmth swept into his chest. “Let me see what I can do; then we’ll work out a story.” Without further explanation, she covered Ritter’s eyes with one hand and his burned hand with the other.
Disbelief washed over Drake. They couldn’t expect him to kneel here uselessly while his partner died!
Drake’s heart lurched and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he watched Miranda. He couldn’t actually see the transfer, but he sensed energy stirring all around him. Her hands trembled and her lips moved in a soundless chant.
Ritter moaned and Drake leaned closer, afraid to speak, unwilling to distract her in any way. She eased her hold on Ritter’s hand, stroking his fingers until he unclenched his fist. An imprint of the scanner had been branded into his palm. Drake’s stomach tightened; he was sickened more by the excruciating pain Ritter must be feeling than the sight of charred flesh.
Over and over, she circled his hand, hovering above the wound. With growing amazement, Drake watched the flesh mend a bit more with each rotation. This couldn’t be real. Mystic healing had never been proved in a controlled environment. So how was it happening before his eyes?