Mind Sync

by Kirsten Harrell

  Mind Sync

  Instant Karma Book 1

  Kirsten Harrell

  Castle Rock Press

  Copyright © 2019 by Kirsten Harrell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  Cover by RicherDesigns.net

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Dear Reader:

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  “You’re a total ass-hat, Scarecrow.” Bree slammed her mug down on the table, spilling beer, and glared at the bastard who’d just beat her in two of three games of pool and had the nerve to grin about it.

  “Aw, come on, Bree… don’t be such a sore loser.” Scarecrow teased.

  “What, I should be a happy loser?” Scowling, Bree leaned her pool cue up against the table and straddled the chair. “I went easy on you since this is your going away party, so don’t get too excited, hot shot.”

  “If you need to believe that to protect your giant ego, go right ahead.” Scarecrow chuckled and winked at Bree.

  “Damn it. Fine. You won. Fair and square.” Of course, she hadn’t truly played at her best. Concentration proved a bit difficult, due to the shitstorm of events that’d turned the entire world upside down over the last few months and fucked with her life plans. Some idiots claimed to be happy about the changes, but she hated Instant Karma and everything about it. Now, to top it off, Scarecrow was moving to Australia, which felt more like a kick to the gut than a joyous occasion.

  “I’m sorry. I’m going to miss the hell out of you too.” Scarecrow’s face softened as he locked eyes with hers.

  “Oh shut up, jackass. We still have phones and computers.” Her voice cracked. Damn him. He could always read her and get to the heart of the matter. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now. But, damn. They’d been best friends and inseparable since they were twelve, when Bree’s family moved to Sedona from Phoenix. “Unless the alien bastards decide to shut those down.”

  “Settle down, Bree. They’re not gonna take away our technology.” Scarecrow gave a half smile. “Let’s not talk about all that bullshit tonight. Let’s just have some good old-fashioned drunken fun without talk of IK or the KGs.”

  “Pfft. The Karma goons can kiss my unemployed, soon-to-be-drunk ass!” Bree raised her glass in a mock toast to the KG. Her right hand slid down to the Glock 19 in her thigh holster. They might have taken away her livelihood as a Security Specialist, but so far the Instant Karma Judicial System hadn’t outlawed humans carrying weapons. Yet. The corner of her mouth curled up, thinking about what she’d like to do to any alien - or human, for that matter - who would try to take her guns away. Thankfully, the damn KGs didn’t come after people for their thoughts.

  Scarecrow nodded toward Bree’s right hand and gave her a pointed look. “What’s the point in carrying that when you can’t use it?”

  “When did you become a spokesperson for the Karma Guard?” Bree’s muscles tightened. She ran her fingers through her short hair. He did have a point, though. She could carry her guns, but firing one at another living being would get her k-snagged and taken to the stasis chambers on the Kusharian space ships. It didn’t matter; she was naked without at least a few weapons. In her career, being without weapons was practically suicidal.

  “Right about…never.” Scarecrow shook his head and sat down at the table. “You’re wound extra tight tonight. I think even I’m afraid of you.” He ducked his head.

  “Well, that’s not saying much, Scared-y-crow. Keep it up and I’ll give you a reason to duck, dickhead!” Bree chugged the rest of her beer and slid the empty mug toward the pitcher.

  Scarecrow rolled his eyes, refilled her mug, then slid it back to her.

  Bree didn’t particularly like draft beer, but she’d paid the bar to have a keg of Scarecrow’s favorite beer on tap for the party. It would get the job done. At least this event gave her a semi-valid excuse to drink enough alcohol to forget her troubles. In fact, she was considering staying drunk for a month or two, rather than picking up the pieces of her life.

  “Have you figured out what you’re gonna do?” Scarecrow pinned her with a serious look.

  “I don’t have a fucking clue. Unlike some people, I’m not retiring at the ripe old age of twenty-eight and running off on an extended adventure. It’s not like you’re gonna escape IK down there.” Bree glared at Scarecrow. Making friends wasn’t one of her strong suits. She still didn’t know how Scarecrow slipped past her walls all those years ago, but he did. He understood her and liked her despite her rough edges. She’d come to rely on him and now the bastard was leaving for an indefinite amount of time. Her gut twisted at that thought. She shoved the emotions down with a long sip of beer.

  “You could retire too. We both made obscene amounts of money. The offer to come stay with us for a while is still good. Let this IK shit settle and then you can figure out what to do with the rest of your life.”

  “Shit. I’d go crazy if I stopped working.” Bree cocked her head and gave a side smile. “Crazier than I already am. I’m screwed. My only offer has come from Dad.” Bree’s father, an energy medicine practitioner, and her step-mother, a psychologist, owned a popular healing center in town that drew clients from all over the country.

  Scarecrow laughed and sprayed beer all over the table. He wiped the tears rolling down his cheeks as he struggled to regain composure. “That’s hysterical! I can just see you there greeting the spiritual Woo Woos as they come in for their Zen treatments.”

  “What? You don’t think I could do it?” Despite great effort, Bree cracked a small smile.

  Suppressing more laughter, Scarecrow said, “Well, I think you would need a personality makeover. Maybe a wardrobe makeover too.”

  “Shut up, asshole.”

  Scarecrow ducked when Bree hurled her keys at his head.

  Unfortunately, he was right.

  “Case. In. Point.” Scarecrow picked up the keys from the floor and put them on the table, still chuckling.

  “What’s wrong with my clothes anyway?” Bree’s eyebrows knitted together as she looked down at her sleeveless turquoise tee-shirt, which showed off the colorful tats spiraling down her arms, perfectly worn-in jeans, and her beloved Frye boots.

  “Nothing, when
you’re chasing murderers, thieves, and pervs, but I don’t think you’ve got the right look for your dad’s place.” Scarecrow leaned toward Bree, cupped one hand around his mouth and spoke sotto voce, “definitely not the right temperament.”

  “Gee, thanks, dickhead.” Bree let out a big sigh. “But you’re right, I don’t think I’d last there for more than a day. Which leads me back to my problem. I can’t imagine doing anything but security. Or some type of law enforcement. Why don’t you stick around and maybe we can find a way to kick some alien ass? That’d be fun.”

  “As much fun as that sounds, we both know that’s not an option. Besides, Rachel would kill me if I back out of this move.”

  Scarecrow’s wife probably would kill him, then the Karma Guards would take Rachel and Scarecrow would haunt Bree from the grave for the rest of her life. So that wouldn’t be any fun. “Fine. Whatever. Run away, Scared-y-crow. Leave me to fend for myself.” Bree raised her forefinger to the waitress, letting her know they were ready for another pitcher of beer.

  “You’ll live without me. Besides, tonight is about partying and getting shit-faced, so let’s have some fun, ‘kay?” Scarecrow gave her a sad puppy dog face.

  “Damn it! I hate when you do the face.” Bree wished she had something else to throw at him. She took in a big breath and let it out slowly through pursed lips. “Okay. Your wish is my command. Fucker.” She waved as some of their friends arrived and made their way to the table. “Let’s do this.” She forced a half-smile and shifted into party mode.

  Around midnight, a group of loud and obnoxious tourists wandered into the bar. Bree’s group ignored the young drunk fools.

  Until they couldn’t.

  Shouts erupted from the corner near one of the pool tables. Bree dropped the nacho she was about to put in her mouth and whipped around until she found the source of the commotion: Two guys standing face-to-face, chests puffed out, yelling at each other, and a scantily-clad young woman with boobs displayed in an act of gravity-defying wonder.

  Fucking testosterone and alcohol. Bree slid off her chair and scanned the bar until she locked eyes with Scarecrow. A simple exchange of nods set them both on a path through the crowd toward the arguing tourists.

  “I saw her first, you mother fucker!” Idiot number one, a blond guy, yelled.

  “I’m warning you, back off asshole.” Drunken fool number two, with a shaved head, stepped closer to his friend-turned-rival.

  Aww, hell. Bree’s adrenaline spiked. These guys were gonna draw the Karma goons. Had they missed the fact that the world had changed? Gone were the days when a black eye and a hangover were the only consequences of a drunken bar fight. She moved with a purpose, hoping she could get there in time to break them up.

  “You’re the one who needs to back off, cocksucker. She’s mine.” Blondie gave a creepy smile to the young woman. She smiled back as she took a sip from her froufrou drink.

  “You douchebag. You wouldn’t even stand a chance with her so shut up and get the fuck out of my way.” Buzzcut’s body tensed and hands fisted.

  Still not close enough to intervene, Bree yelled, “Okay, you Neanderthals, shut it down before someone gets k-snagged.”

  Buzzcut froze for a second and turned to see who had yelled.

  Unfortunately, Blondie took advantage of the opportunity and swung his pool cue like a baseball bat. He swung hard. Nailed Buzzcut in the head. Had the guy been sober, he might have dodged the blow. Instead, he slumped to the ground. The young woman let out a scream.

  Bree and Scarecrow stopped. They didn’t dare get any closer now. It was too late.

  Two hulking, black-armored KGs materialized in the corner, one on each side of the jackass with the pool stick.

  Bree’s stomach knotted. The guy might be a foolish drunken dickhead, but he was still human, and she couldn’t do anything to save him from the Karma cocoons at this point.

  She hated the Karma goons and Instant fucking Karma. She glared at the goon closest to her. Lot of good that would do. She couldn’t even tell if he was looking at her because of the opaque face plate on their black helmets.

  Both KGs placed a huge gloved hand on Blondie’s arms. They towered over the guy. Their alien rifles, held in their free hands and secured with a strap over their shoulders, were pointed out toward the crowd.

  Bree swallowed hard.

  Without a sound or warning, the two KGs disappeared, taking their target with them. One second there, the next… gone. Poof.

  “Oh my God! Somebody help him!” The young woman screeched. Either too drunk to remember or not very bright, boobed-wonder looked around like she expected someone to go after him. Even though it had only been a few months since IK started, most people understood that getting k-snagged was final. No hearings. No trials. If you committed an act of violence, the goons took you to the Kusharian stasis chambers, the great karma cocoons in the sky.

  Period.

  Game over.

  “Holy shit. What’d you do?” One of the remaining guys yelled at Buzzcut, who had looked dazed as he stood up and rubbed at his head where he’d been hit.

  Despite the temptation to let nature takes its course with these dipshidiots, Bree moved in with Scarecrow to attempt some damage control.

  “I’m sorry, but you know it’s too late for him. The rest of you need to calm down right now so you don’t draw the KG back here.” Scarecrow spoke in a low, calm voice.

  Asshole number three balled his hands into fists and glared at Scarecrow. “Who the hell’re you to tell us what to do?” His words were a drunken slur.

  Scarecrow put his hands out in front of him. “Hey, if you guys wanna follow your friend to the Karma cocoons, be my guest. But at least have the decency to step outside so you don’t take anyone else with you.”

  “Devin.” Buzzcut put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “He’s right. Come on, we need to chill out here, bro. We can’t lose you, too.”

  Devin shrugged to get free of his friend’s hand. “Fuck you. Those freaks just took my best friend. They better not come back in here or I’ll kick their asses.”

  Bree laughed. “You think you got something better than the hundreds of thousands of people who tried kicking their asses and ended up k-snagged?” She shrugged. “I’d kinda like to watch that. Let’s see this special power of yours.”

  The assclown grumbled but didn’t answer.

  Of course he couldn’t kick the KGs’ asses. Forceful resistance was futile.

  2

  Bree gunned her bike down Highway 89-A toward the Red Rock Coffee Shop. The engine of her beloved Harley Dyna Super Glide Sport roared in response, a sound that normally soothed her soul. Today, the sound only made her headache worse, even with its street legal, EPA-quiet exhaust system; not the blow your eardrums, look-how-macho-I-am Screaming Eagle slip-ons that so many Dynas had.

  She enjoyed the freedom she felt when riding her motorcycle: not all boxed in and trapped like she did in enclosed vehicles.

  Damn it! Not now.

  She’d been free of flashbacks for a while. But in that moment for some reason - maybe the hangover, maybe the fact that her life had been turned upside down - the mere thought of being in a car caused painful memories from the car-jacking and tragic death of her mother to flood her conscious mind:

  “Start driving now!” The gunman had yelled from the backseat as he’d pressed the cold barrel of his gun against her temple.

  Bree had reached over to grab her mom’s hand, but hadn’t dared move her head.

  Her brother Jason, six years her junior and only six at the time, had begun crying. His cries had torn at her heart, but she’d been completely helpless and unable to comfort him.

  “Shut the fuck up!” The gunman had yelled at Jason, but this only made Jase cry harder. The pressure from the muzzle of the gun against her temple disappeared and then Bree had heard a sickening sound behind her. She’d turned to see the bastard smash the butt of his gun into Jason’s head. Her bab
y brother had slumped over, blood flowing from a wound on his head. Her mom had yelled out, slamming on the brakes.

  “Keep driving, bitch, or I’m gonna shoot the lovely young lady here in the head!” With that threat, the gunman had pressed his gun against Bree’s temple again and the car had lurched forward.

  Helpless. She’d been totally helpless.

  The sun peered over Munds Mountain, nearly blinding her as she cruised down Highway 89-A, bringing her attention back to the present. She blinked a few times to clear her eyes. Misty from the sun, she told herself, not the memory of the bastard who’d murdered her mother and given her brother brain damage. She wouldn’t let that asshole have that kind of control over her. Not anymore.

  She squinted through her sunglasses to focus on the road, even though she could probably get to her destination blindfolded. She needed to keep the rest of that fucking memory from flooding her. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.

  Coffee. Focus on coffee. She could almost smell the delightful aroma of the coffee shop as she pulled into the parking lot.

  Coffee would make it all better. Well, it wouldn’t help everything, but caffeine and a little food would at least help lessen the impact of her hangover.

  Bree peeled off her leather riding gloves, hung her helmet on the back of her seat, and hopped off her bike. Her boots hit the blacktop with a thud. She tucked her keys in the pocket of her lightweight leather jacket with one hand and yanked open the door of Red Rock Coffee with the other.