11 Roman
Roman
Training for crisis scenarios gets repetitive, but there is a method to the madness. Muscle memory. A learned and automatic reaction. The brain doesn’t have to think as the body moves in the way it was trained.
I was grateful for all the hours I’d put into training now as my heart lurched into my throat when the masked man threw something at Meg through the window.
My vision tunneled. I watched in slow motion as fractures splintered across the windowed wall of the restaurant and the glass exploded into diamonds.
Ironically, I was just telling the officer who’d stopped by that this location for the arranged reporter photo ops was a logistical nightmare.
“Assailant fleeing on foot,” I yelled into the headset as I rushed forward, eyes never leaving Meg. “Five ten. Business suit. Graying hair under the knit black mask he was wearing.”
Meg tilted the table forward, spilling their lunch everywhere, and dragged a screaming Justus behind the cover. She was capable. Smart. That knowledge still wasn’t enough to slow my heart.
Sirens blasted on the street. The officer I’d left in the back of the restaurant moved to isolate the waitstaff.
“Science,” I cursed under my breath, seeing the blood. I should’ve been chasing the assailant—should’ve checked Justus first, because he was my charge—but I needed to look her over for injuries.
“Where are you hurt?” I asked.
“My hand,” Justus moaned. “I cut my hand.”
Meg gasped as I grabbed her by the shoulder, and her eyes widened slightly in question as I leaned closer, turning her chin to make sure she wasn’t harmed.
Ten feet away. That’s how far I was.
“I’m fine,” she whispered. “It’s his blood.”
I could see it now. The handprint smeared across her shirt from where Justus had held her sleeve and she’d dragged him back. Meg was okay. No scratches. No new bruises or rips or tears.
Everything was the same as it was this morning, except for the shining ring on her finger.
“Stay here,” I barked out the order, motioning for the officer to get Justus. “Rabbit needs a medic.
“Will you stop calling me that, for fucks’ sake?” He hissed as he cradled his hand. “I’m injured.”
“You’re fine,” I said. He’d be screaming worse if it were truly that serious, and I needed to move.
“The two of you follow the officer out back to where Staff Sgt. Marcus is waiting in the vehicle.” I jumped over the broken glass in the window frame.
The perp was already gone. I’d seen him run. The cameras watching above would clock him, and my call would send out an alert to every camera in the vicinity to pick up his profile and digital imprint. We didn’t need to chase him to know where he’d go.
No one can outrun science.
The conveyor belt on the sidewalk had stopped moving, no doubt arranged by the councilwoman to provide the press with the perfect opportunity to snap photos for the media networks.
I cursed again, wishing that any of them would listen to me. I’d said this was a bad idea. Why they thought parading a wolf shifter woman from the wild around the city wouldn’t stir up civil unrest was beyond me.
But I wasn’t getting paid to think. Not like they’d listen to what I had to say anyway.
Officers from the local police unit piled onto the street, surrounding the stunned citizens who’d stayed to watch the aftermath of the destruction.
They’d be questioned, and any visual or audio evidence that didn’t fit the council’s narrative would be wiped from their devices.
“We’ve got an ambulance back here for Rabbit,” Sgt. Marcus spoke through my headset. “Medics are getting him a bandage and a lollipop.”
I couldn’t even smile knowing that nothing had turned out as bad as it could’ve. My heart was still lodged in my throat.
I searched the crowd, wishing that the asshole had stuck around so I could dole out justice myself.
But that would’ve been too easy. Now there’d be protocol to follow.
He’d be locked somewhere in a dark cell until they decided if he’d stand trial—depending on what the council wanted the headlines to say, of course.
Ethica was a perfectly orchestrated society built on a bed of lies and cultivated truths. And I was powerless in it. Just another cog in the machine.
Glass crunched underfoot behind me.
One of the women being interrogated by the officers on the street gasped. So did another.
A whisper came from the faceless crowd. “That’s the mutant.”
Instinctually, I turned, moving to shield her body with my own. “It’s not safe out here, miss.” I schooled my expression. “Let’s get you off this street.”
“Is everything okay?” Meg ignored me. “Do you need help chasing the guy down? I can try and sniff him out.”
The whispers behind me grew to murmurs, and the officer on the street caught my eye. I didn’t need to hear him to know what he was thinking.
I had to get Meg out of here. She belonged behind glass, but something stronger and more bulletproof than the windows on the streets’ displays.
“I’m going to take you home,” I said, guiding her back toward the restaurant. She was just a mark. A job to do. I needed to remember that.
“Yeah, go home, you mutant freak,” someone bold in the crowd muttered just loud enough for us all to hear.
Meg winced, but her steps didn’t falter, and she forced a smile. She held her chin high as she stepped over the broken glass window and walked back inside.
I turned to the officer in charge of the street cleanup. “Arrest them all. And I want the loudmouth sent to the military brig.”
*
In the kitchen, Meg was talking with the chef.
“This was the best thing I’ve eaten in Ethica so far,” she told him. “I’m sorry your restaurant got ruined.”
The officer still inside the building eyed me funnily, as if to say, “Can you believe this?”
The chef beamed under her praise and even boxed up dessert for her to go.
My adrenaline was still reeling from the chaos, and my hand sparked like a live wire when I touched the small of her back, intending to guide her outside to the alley where the vehicles were waiting.
But the warmth made me slow my steps.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked, needing to hear her voice. To make sure she was truly okay. She’d said shifters healed fast, but I knew words could wound deep.
“Never better.” She held up the cardboard box the chef gave her. “I have cake.”
The laughter that bubbled out of me felt foreign. Meg smiled as she glanced over her shoulder, and when our eyes met, I felt something I had no business feeling.
It’s the post-crisis come-down, I told myself as I released her and held open the door.
“What took you both so long?” Justus cried from the backseat as he held up his hand. “I needed medical attention.”
“It looks like you got some,” Meg said.
Justus frowned. “Did you stop and get food on the way?”
“No. The chef insisted I take dessert.” She put the box down beside her.
“Why would he do that?” Justus asked.
“Maybe because I was polite to him,” she snapped back. “Honestly, I didn’t realize humans were all so rude to the people working for them.”
It seemed the newly engaged couple was back at each other’s throats again. What had I thought would happen after I’d forced Justus to propose to her the correct way? That they’d fall in love and live happily ever after?
A strange feeling churned in my gut.
I slammed the door closed and used the half-second it took to get to the passenger side to release the breath I’d been holding. A drop of water hit my cheek, but I didn’t think anything of it as I hastily wiped it off.
“Roll out,” I told Sgt. Marcus as I buckled my seatbelt.
I could’ve closed the partition between us and the back seat of the armor-plated limo, but a sick part of me needed to hear them argue. To assure myself that Meg—and Justus, of course—were both okay.
She wasn’t planning on sharing her cake with him. I smiled to myself, feeling the knife twist deeper in my stomach.
The police cars guarding the back alley moved, allowing Marcus room to pass, and the unmarked black sedans ran security details as they flanked us on the road.
“Well, that was something.” Sgt. Marcus glanced at the rearview mirror. “Colonel is going to be pissed.”
I grunted in response.
The tension still wouldn’t leave, even as we left the entertainment district and turned toward the government housing.
A drop of water hit the windshield. Then another. The sound caught as hundreds joined in, blurring the sights of the gardens we approached.
“Uh… Lieutenant Miller…” Sgt. Marcus’s eyes widened as he turned on the wipers. “Is it scheduled to rain today?”