Chapter 4
Delgado leaned against the alley’s wall, head pounding no less than his blurring heart. What the hell did I just do?
If he wasn’t so sure he was sane, he might’ve wondered if the Zed had finally cracked him.
Andrews was in the van, leaning out the open side door while collating and doing damage control, conferring with two handlers while warily eyeing Agent Breaker.
Delgado wasn’t needed, so he simply stood with his back against brick, his only avenue of escape blocked by the van, arms folded, apparently composed.
Inside, his pulse labored and his lungs threatened to short out completely.
One moment they’d been tightening the net, ready to bring in Price and the precog—Emberson, whoever the hell he was—and snare the other Society members as well.
The next moment it had all gone to hell in a handbasket. The woman thought quickly on her feet. She had worked the crowd like a pro, and also managed to tangle up the collective will of several Society psions set in a circle around the site, all concentrating on bringing her down.
Incredible. He wouldn’t have believed it, if he hadn’t seen it himself.
But the most incredible thing of all had been the wave of fear and pain rocketing from Price, as if she’d been shot.
Delgado’s stomach had flipped, every psion in sensing range flinched.
Hard on the heels of that psychic cry, Del realized she was deliberately broadcasting to throw them off, and the knowledge had frozen him in place.
Should have been impossible, both for her to do it and for him to know her intent. Andrews had shoved him out of the van; he’d moved smoothly and habitually into the prescribed guard position, unwilling to let Andrews suspect Agent Breaker was having any deep philosophical thoughts.
Bitter copper flooded his mouth, the taste of adrenaline. The heat was incredible, simmering even in the alley’s shadow. A hot stink of garbage, which everyone ignored. Comms inside the van crackled—cleanup taking place, the Sigs coordinating.
If the van hadn’t been there, Delgado might have tried to disappear.
“Get me a trace,” Andrews said. “Something, anything. Now.”
Delgado filled his lungs, tried to force his heart to stop pounding. She had linked with him, a clean warm mind sliding through his with apparent ease and familiarity.
And she knew the name he’d left behind as dead. Nobody called him that, it was Del, Delgado, or “Breaker,” not Justin. She’d said it like an old habit; hearing it was like waking up in his own grave with a mouth full of dirt, his skin wet with mud.
Had he known Rowan Price? Was that what he’d pushed himself to forget? How well had he known her? Had they been friends? Teacher and student?
Justin, no! Her horrified mental scream rang inside his head again.
Lovers? No, probably not that. He was too damaged.
It’s me. Don’t you remember? A lovely contralto huskiness that made his body tighten with recognition, a wash of complex feeling boiling through—desperation, relief, a deep aching he couldn’t name.
If she hadn’t been so hurried he might have gone a little further, instead of simply reaching through her to strike at the Sig with the close-cropped hair, then guiding Price free of the net.
The instinct to protect her had been deep, immediate, and full of a terrible fury.
But the most incredible, absolutely unbelievable part? It hadn’t hurt.
Agent Breaker, whose talent could crack a mind like an eggshell given the proper motivation, had one severe drawback. His Talent killed or drove people mad. He literally couldn’t make mental contact without intense pain for his subject and himself.
But linking with her hadn’t hurt at all. Suddenly, he was intensely hungry to do it again—feel the brush of that clean deep mind against his, feel the strange sense of calm sinking into his skin with a crackling electric glaze.
“Delgado,” Andrews barked.
Kill him now, or later? It was tempting.
For a moment Del considered unleashing his talent on Andrews.
It would be satisfying, if agonizing, to break the Colonel’s lapdog.
Then he could elude the Sigs and follow the woman who had turned all their careful plans and procedures into a complete clusterfuck.
Easy as pie, right?
Only one consideration stopped him. He had to get as much information as he could from Sigma before he made the break. It was the way he’d done it before.
A mind I can make contact with, without pain.
And she knew something about him, something he’d pushed himself to forget.
The hypo-marks in his arms burned, reminding him that very soon he’d need another dose of Zed.
If he wanted to break the addiction again, could he? It had been hell the first time.
Now he had an objective to pursue, not just a simple escape to plan. If there was anything Sigma had trained him for, it was the single-minded pursuit of a target.
“Delgado!” Andrews repeated. Del stiffened reflexively.
“What?” Good luck catching her now. I must have trained her; she’s too good for anything else.
Anderson’s blue eyes blazed. For a moment Del wondered if he was going to unleash his own Talent on Del. Which wouldn’t be comfortable for either of them.
Maybe Andrews remembered, because he only snarled, “You fucking well trained her, what’s she going to do now?”
Yap, yap, little dog. That’s the wrong question.
The right question is, what is Henderson going to do now?
He’ll wait for a little less than twenty-four hours, then break camp and move everyone out, after Sigma thinks he’s already blown town.
If you want to catch them, you’d better start setting up grids now.
“They’ll be heading out of town,” Agent Breaker lied, smoothly. “As fast as fucking possible, they’ll head for the city limits. They’ll be gone in two hours max. Not enough time to get a full-scale grid going.”
For you, Miss Price. I’m not going to let them catch you until I’ve had a little personal chat or two.
The woman probably couldn’t hear him; there was no answering echo inside his head. The need to feel her again was almost as bad as the need for Zed. If he put the two addictions together, which one would win out?
I don’t want to be caught in the middle of that.
He was still trying to track down the third emotion she’d drowned him with.
Desperation, relief, and what else? It bothered him that he couldn’t find a word to describe such a clear beautiful emotion.
It was too pure, and he had nothing to compare it to.
Andrews’s blue eyes narrowed. “Why?” he challenged.
“Because it’s what I’d do.” I wouldn’t. I’d button everyone down and stay tight unless you were running grids. “And I supposedly trained her.”
“Did you train her?” Andrews hopped out of the van-turned-impromptu-command-center, landing lightly as a cat. If Del was going to attack him, the time was now.
He let the moment pass. “She’s too good for anything else.” His voice was steady, and his pulse had returned to its regular rhythm.
“Where’s she going next? How can we track her?”
Get a fucking grid going now, you idiot. “Set up check teams on every major avenue out of town for the next couple of hours. Then you’re going to have to shift to chatscan.” Delgado shrugged. “If you sent me out with a full team and support, you might have a chance.”
Andrews laughed mirthlessly, his hand on a pistol-butt. If he draws I’m going to take him, Delgado thought, and felt the clear calm of adrenaline freeze lower over him. And if I take him, I have to take everyone in the van, too, and then figure out some way to get the hell out of here.
“You think I’m going to send you out with a full team? I’d never hear the end of it. All right, we’ll set up check teams and do chatscans as well. One of the snipers got her in the shoulder. The rats’ll have a wounded golden girl to get out of the city, and that’ll slow them down.”
Not likely. Everything he’d seen pointed to a resourceful enemy who wouldn’t let a wound slow her.
And if Henderson was able to command a severely-compromised group away from the wreck and ruin of the Society’s Headquarters, he was capable of getting a team with one wounded member to safety. All things should be so easy.
But the thought of her hurt, the idea of a bullet in the body that housed that clean, deep mind… He had to exert control, keep himself still and collected.
“—the Tracker,” Andrews said.
Del replayed his mental footage. They’re going to send us the Tracker.
What the hell?
“You mean that blind guy?” Delgado’s skin went cold.
Please tell me I didn’t just hear that. “With the skinny-ass bodyguard?” The one that never loses his target—or he didn’t, until they set him to hunting me.
I’m the only one that got away from him, and I had to nearly get killed to do it.
If it wasn’t for Henderson I would have been dead.
“Yeah.” Andrews grinned like a death’s head. “I’m waiting for confirmation from the Colonel, but I think we’ll get him out here by tomorrow with that Jap watchdog. Your favorite buddy Jilssen, too. And then we’ll hunt her down like a dog.”
The grin widened when Agent Breaker didn’t respond. “Cheer up, Del. When we catch her, I might even let you have a taste.”