by R S Penney
Crossing his arms over his chest, Jack smiled down at himself. “Is that the best you can do?” he asked with a shrug. “'Cause I gotta tell you. I've seen douchebags on Twitter whom I consider to be a more credible threat.”
“Is that so?”
Leo pulled a knife that he had hidden in a pocket, tossing it up to catch the tip. “We will see how you feel in a few minutes,” he growled. Jack steeled himself for the attack that would follow, but the other man did not do as he expected.
Leo spun around to face the porch, tossing the knife with a quick flourish of his hand. It tumbled end over end through the air before landing in the soft skin of Harry's thigh. A painful scream filled the air.
“Deal with that,” Leo said. “I have more important concerns.”
He turned and ran across the front of the house, ducking behind the corner next to the garage. A burst of rage made Jack want to follow, but his calm, rational mind told him to see to his friend first.
He ran to the porch.
Hunched over with hands clinging to the railing, Harry let out a gasp. He turned his head, and tears fell from his cheeks. “I'm okay,” he insisted. “Go after him. He'll kill someone if you don't.”
Jack crouched down.
Chewing his lip, he squinted as he inspected the wound. “Not until I'm sure you're all right,” he said, shaking his head. “If that knife opened a major blood vessel, we've got a serious problem.”
The tip of the blade was buried in the back of Harry's leg, a few centimetres deep at most. In all likelihood, it hadn't done any serious damage. Nevertheless, Jack's first-aid training kicked in.
Lifting his forearm, he swiped a finger across his multi-tool's touchscreen display only to discover that he had no signal. “Damn it!” Jack spat. “Something's preventing me from connecting to the network. I can't call for backup.”
“It's Leo,” Harry explained.
“What do you mean?”
The detective bared his teeth with an angry growl, tossing his head about. “He did something that blocked my phone,” Harry said. “Right after I called you. He must have a device that generates interference.”
“Brilliant,” Jack whispered. “All right, we're going to have to deal with this ourselves. We'll make sure the wound is dressed, then-”
“You have to go after him.”
“No!”
Harry sucked in a deep breath, tears running over his face in long trails. “Jack, he said that he'll come for my kids.” The mental image that conjured was nothing short of hideous. “I didn't mean to get you involved. I'm sorry. I-”
“It's okay,” Jack whispered. “You did the right thing.”
Harry seized his shirt in a firm grip, pulling him close. The intensity in those dark eyes could have crushed whole planets into a black hole. “Even if he doesn't target Claire or Melissa,” Harry began, “he's going to find someone else. Someone else's kids. He'll do something gruesome. Please!”
Every scrap of training that Jack had received told him that his first duty was to an injured civilian. But in this case…A few months ago, decisions had been simple, but ever since Leo had made his first appearance, things had become a lot more murky. In the past month, he had disobeyed the orders of a superior officer, convinced a journalist to print a dubious story, and now he was actually considering whether or not he should disregard standard procedure and leave his friend alone and wounded. Sometimes Jack wondered if he was really cut out for all this morally ambiguous stuff. Harry's right, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. Your friend would gladly give his life to protect this city. You should honour his request.
Fortunately, Jack was fairly certain that the wound wasn't lethal. Running his hand over Harry's leg revealed a very small wet spot in the fabric of his pants. The man wasn't bleeding profusely.
For a moment, he wondered why Leo wouldn't try to inflict a more serious wound. Then it hit him. Leo wanted Jack to chase him. Seriously injuring Harry would make that very unlikely.
Jack removed his coat.
He wrapped it around Harry's leg just above the knife wound, pulling it as tight as he could manage. “I want you to hold that in place,” Jack said. “Do your best to keep it firm. The knife didn't go in very far, and it might fall out on its own. If that happens, put direct pressure on the wound.”
“Okay.”
“Where would Leo go next?”
Harry squeezed his eyes shut, tossing his head back as if gesturing to something behind him. “The street behind my house,” he said. “A few blocks up, they're building a new high school.”
“The construction site that I pass on my way here?” Jack had a queasy feeling when he considered that. That place would be a death-trap. “Yeah…You're probably right. The guy wants to have a show down with me, and that's his arena. Call for help. Make noise. With any luck, someone with a landline will hear you.”
“You're going after him?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “I'm gonna end this.”
The sliding glass door in this hotel room looked out on a small balcony where two chairs were positioned side by side, and beyond that, the skyline of Vancouver stood tall and proud beneath an overcast sky. Afternoon was fading to evening, and the “meeting” she was supposed to attend should have started half an hour ago.
Jena stood with arms folded, frowning as she stared through the window. “Go on and stand me up then,” she said, shaking her head. “It's not like my career is riding on making this bust.”
Ms. Knowles's article in the Star had been perfect, specifying that Peter Tombs was rumored to be meeting with a high-ranking Justice Keeper in Vancouver this afternoon, a meeting in which he would acquire evidence of a cover-up. The young reporter had been kind enough to cite an anonymous source in the RCMP. That should have been enough to lure the traitor into the open. It wouldn't be that difficult for a clever person to get her hands on Peter Tomb's credit records, and that would reveal the location of the hotel. But then Breslan wasn't exactly clever.
Jack was still fretting over the ethics of what he'd done. The kid had an interesting way of doing things. He was quite willing to make the hard choices when push came to shove, but he gave himself no end of grief about it afterward.
Jena saw no reason to feel guilty.
The story was technically true – After all, there was a high-level Keeper present – and when the traitor was exposed, it would be easy enough to convince the media that she had advised Tombs to stay away.
Jena sat on the edge of the bed.
Crossing her arms, she frowned into her own lap. “Of course, if nobody shows up, the Bleakness can take it all,” she said. “That's you, Jen. Always one to go for the high-risk, high-reward plan.”
“If this goes wrong, you'll be dragging Jack down with you,” she said. “Maybe the two of you can share a cell.”
For the hundredth time, she checked her multi-tool.
The little metal disk was sitting on the table opposite the foot of the bed, silently recording everything that happened. The readout on her tool's touchscreen display said it was still active. It would record a few days' worth of video before the battery gave out. So there was nothing left to do but wait.
Jena stretched out on the mattress, folding hands beneath her head. “And you were never very good at that,” she said, eyebrows rising. “You get restless and start talking to yourself.”
So she waited, hoping against hope that someone would show up before she gave up in frustration. She would stay long into the night if she had to. One thing about Jena Morane: when she made a plan, she stuck to it.
The sound of the door handle jiggling.
Jena sat up straight.
A moment later, the door swung open, and Breslan stepped in, dressed in a pair of black pants and a light blue jacket with silver trim along the cuffs of each sleeve. Long blonde hair fell to his shoulders.
Breslan crossed his arms and gave her a withering glare. “You,” he said with a curt nod.
“As I expected. But where is Tombs, and what are you doing on the mattress? Don't tell me you're planning to bed him.”
Grinning like a fool, Jena felt her cheeks redden. “And if I am?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Are you gonna give us some privacy? Or are you the kind of guy who loves a good three-way?”
Breslan scowled, turning his head to avoid looking at her. “You would be the kind of filthy whore who revels in such debauchery,” he said. “Did you really think you could conduct this little meeting without my finding out?”
“Kinda yeah…”
The man bared his teeth and shook his head with such force you'd have expected it to pop right off his neck. “These primitives have no sense of duty or loyalty,” he snapped. “Tell them that something is secret, and the very first thing they do is spread the news to anyone who will listen. Your little scheme made the papers.”
“So what are you doing here?”
He drew aside the jacket to reveal a gun on his hip, then slowly caressed the grip with his fingers. “Isn't it obvious by now?” he asked. “You plan to release evidence of my involvement with Wesley Pennfield. Therefore I'm going to kill you.”
“Multi-tool active!” Jena shouted. “Save recorded footage and forward to mailing list Morane-Inkala-One.” The little disk beeped once in confirmation, and Breslan went pale when he realized that he had been duped.
“I will end you!” he growled.
“Okay,” Jena replied. “I guess I could use a light workout.”
Chapter 27
Breslan approached the foot of the bed.
He pulled aside his jacket and reached for the gun on his hip. In the blink of an eye, he had it out of the holster.
Jena rolled over sideways.
She fell off the mattress, landing on all fours. With a soft hiss, she reached up and touched the bed with one hand. Calling upon her Nassai, she warped space-time to make an artificial gravity field.
The mattress flew forward off the box-spring, hitting Breslan in the stomach and forcing the man to double over. It drove him all the way back to the table on the other side of the room.
Jena got up.
Baring her teeth in a snarl, she winced and tried to ignore the tension in her chest. Time to move, Morane, she thought, turning to the door. The traitorous little bastard won't stay down forever.
Indeed, Breslan was already pushing the mattress off him.
She slid the door open and stepped out onto the balcony. Cold, moist air assaulted her, and she suddenly wished that she hadn't removed her jacket while waiting for her opponent to show up.
No time to waste; he would shoot her through the glass. Jena turned left and ran all the way to the chest-high metal railing. The next room's balcony was just a few paces away. She could make that jump.
Jena leaped.
She flew over the gap with her arms outstretched, dropped hard to the floor and somersaulted across the balcony's surface. She came up on one knee. Choose your terrain, the voice of an old instructor whispered in her mind. Make him fight on your terms.
In her mind's eye, she saw Breslan step through the open door and glance about, searching for her. “Of all the places to run,” he said when he spotted her. “This was not one of the best.”
Jena stood up and faced him with fists raised in a boxer's stance, scowling at the man. “What can I say?” she asked, shaking her head. “I've always been the kind of girl who loves a good view.”
Breslan lifted his chin to sneer at her, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “That good view will be your grave,” he snapped. “I'll make sure of it. So, I think we both know how it goes from here.”
He jumped and flipped through the air, passing over the gap between balconies to land poised just a few feet away. “I pull my gun; you disarm me. Then you pull your gun, and I do the same.”
The man stepped closer, standing tall and prim with hands folded over his stomach. At this range, she could practically smell his breath. Perhaps she should have been afraid – or worried at the very least – but the only thing Jena felt was anticipation. “So allow me to make a proposal,” Breslan went on. “How about we skip the annoying gunplay and get right to the good part.”
“You mean like this?”
Jena punched him in the nose. She spun with a growl, one elbow lashing out to clip him across the chin. The man went stumbling backward, all the way to the metal railing behind him.
He leaped.
As he passed over Jena's head, Breslan kicked the back of her skull, causing her vision to blur and fuzz. She went stumbling all the way to the very edge of the balcony, catching the guardrail.
Momentum sent her toppling over the railing, and the next thing she knew, she was holding onto the bar for dear life with her back pressed to the side of the balcony, a ten-story drop beneath her feet.
The sound of footsteps told her that Breslan was approaching. “Well, well, well,” he said softly as he drew near. “I knew I was going to kill you, but I didn't expect it to be this easy.”
Jena flipped herself back over the railing, her feet coming down upon the man's shoulders. She squeezed his head between her ankles, then flung him sideways, right into the wall. Breslan hit hard.
As she got to her feet, Jena turned to face her opponent. He was pressed up against the wall with his head turned, blood dripping from his nose. “I must admit,” he muttered. “That was a little impressive.”
Jena kicked high.
The man crouched, reaching up with both hands to seize her ankle. A sudden flare of energy that she could only sense through her bond with a Nassai told her that Breslan had crafted a Bending. The fabric of space-time warped around her, creating an artificial gravity field.
Jena was sucked backward, all the way past the edge of the balcony, wind whipping at her hair and clothing. As she watched the building recede into the distance, she knew she had to act fast.
Closing her eyes, Jena threw her head back. The wind blew short auburn hair away from her face. “Come on!” she hissed at her Nassai. “We can do this! It hasn't been that long since we've had to practice.”
Working with the symbiont, she reversed the Bending that was already starting to fade, creating a gravity field that pulled her back in the other direction. The strain was immense – she had to work against not only the normal shape of space-time but also the warping that Breslan had created – and she felt her skin begin to prickle as though she had been stung by a thousand bees.
Jena lurched to a stop in midair.
She flew back toward the building with her arms spread wide, rage boiling in the pit of her stomach. On the balcony, Breslan stood with his back turned, wiping blood off his face with a sniffle.
He turned around at the last second.
Jena's feet slammed into his chest, propelling him backward, right into the sliding glass door. The pane shattered, and she landed atop him in the middle of a well-furnished hotel room.
The man grabbed her legs with both hands. He flung her sideways, causing her to land roughly on the carpet and roll away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the door to the hallway was open. Whoever had been in here must have seen them fighting on the balcony and run for help.
She got to her feet.
Breslan was already rising, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You just won't die,” he said, turning his head to fix a steely gaze on her. “I'm sorry, Morane, but this is no longer amusing.”
He tried to knock her senseless with a high-kick.
Jena ducked and felt the man's foot pass over her head. She watched him bring his leg down, then begin a spinning back-kick that would probably break a couple ribs if he made contact.
Jena caught his ankle.
Bending gravity herself, she lifted him off the floor and flung him sideways into the wall next to the door. He collided with enough force to crack plaster, then dropped to his knees on the carpet.
Breslan pulled aside his jacket, revealing a holster on his hip. He
drew the weapon, then flung his arm out to point it at her.
Jena raised a hand, crafting a Bending despite the pain it caused. At this point, her skin was on fire, and she was nearly ready to pass out. Tiny spikes drilled into her skull. Please, she thought at the Nassai. Just a little longer.
A bullet struck the curtain of rippling air and rebounded, curving slowly to head back in the direction it had come from. She let the Bending drop just in time to watch something knock the gun right out of Breslan's hand.
He knelt there, staring into his open palm, blinking slowly in disbelief. “Oh, you're very good,” he said, shaking his head. “Truly impressive. I have never met someone with such refined control.”
Jena took a step forward.
Wooziness took over, and her vision darkened for half a second. She felt like she might just fall flat on her face. “A little worn out?” Breslan mocked, his voice dull and distant. “Put a little too much strain on your Nassai?”
Sheer force of will kept her on her feet. The hazy image of Breslan came toward her for a final blow, and though her vision was cloudy, she was absolutely certain that he was smiling.
He threw a punch.
Crouching down, Jena reached up with one hand to grab his wrist. She used the other to punch him in the chest. Once, twice, again. Three blows in quick succession left him winded and wheezing.
A final punch to his jaw landed with enough force to send a tooth flying out of his mouth. He stumbled backward, trying to keep his balance. You have to end this before he comes back for more.
Seizing his head in both hands, Jena gave a twist and snapped his neck. Breslan fell to his knees, then flopped over onto his side, his eyes bulging when he realized that he was about to die a most painful death.
Jena bared her teeth, staring down at him. She mopped a hand over her face. “It was fun,” she said. “I really did need to burn off some energy, but you had to know you weren't walking away from this.
She sat down on the floor.
The exhaustion that came from overtaxing her Nassai nearly made her black out again, and she rested her body against the side of the bed. Perhaps she should have felt guilty, but she didn't.