Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Consciousness. Fuzzy, fading. Restraints. Wrist, elbow, knees, ankles, boots bound together, gag in the mouth. Blindfold. Arms twisted behind his back savagely.
First thought: They must have a high opinion of me.
Second thought: Rowan. Did she get out?
He wished he had even a quarter of her talent, so he could tell for sure. Lay perfectly still, trussed up, arm bent uncomfortably underneath, his back strained. He was on something hard and cold, metal. Thrumming metal.
A chopper.
“He’s awake.” A familiar, whistling voice.
Jilssen.
Rage woke in the depths of Delgado’s bones. He pushed it down. He had to think.
But the fuzziness of the tranquilizer was still on him, and the thought that Jilssen was here, that Jilssen had been trying to get Rowan into a telem rig—maybe one tuned to broadcast her location—that Jilssen had been stalking her through Headquarters, blinded him momentarily.
The thought that Jilssen might have used his clearance to turn the security grid off was almost as bad.
A boot in his ribs. “Stay still, Delgado,” a gruff male voice warned him. He placed the voice—up above him, crouched over.
Del reached.
The man stumbled backward as Del’s mental fingers struck, curved into his brain. He could have squeezed the man’s mind for information, but instead he simply burst all the locks and smashed through, vandalizing.
Shouts. The metal floor tipping. Delgado found another mind, curiously unprotected, and forced his way in like a battering ram. The first man was screaming, clawing at his own eyes. The second stumbled toward Delgado, compelled, ready to cut his bonds and set him loose.
If he hadn’t been so slow, so fuzzy from the tranquilizer, it might have worked.
Something jabbed into his arm. Del twisted, trying to strike out, and went limp, a terrible slow creeping fire invading his body.
“Now.” Jilssen’s voice, hot and rancid in his ear. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”
It was Zed. He would know that feeling anywhere, the slow fire taking over muscle and nerves, the languor, the utter lethargic incapableness.
Fight it, fight it. But with what? He’d kicked the habit once and almost gone mad, had no illusions about doing it again.
Rowan.
The sight of her running on the track, pale hair a banner on the breeze she made, lips moving silently with the song in her headphones.
The quick intelligence in wide green eyes.
The feel of her skin against his fingertips, her sleeping curled against him, barely even breathing, trusting him to keep her safe.
Shuddering, arched beneath him, her mind open to his.
Her last despairing cry.
Did they know she could cure a Zed addiction? Did Jilssen know?
He gave himself one more moment to remember her face, then gathered everything together, hurrying, hurrying.
He locked his memories of her away while he could, pushing them deep into the most guarded recesses of his brain.
Then he slammed the door, closing away the sight of her face in the hard, cold, secret part of himself—and before the Zed could reach his head and shut him down, he did the only thing he could.
He pushed one last time, arching and screaming as the compulsion turned inward, tearing through his own brain, a feedback squeal of nerves and neurons pressed too far.
Then he passed out, before the drug could find his aching brain.
When he reached consciousness, it was to fuzzy white light. Too white, too bright, sterile.
Del opened one eye. Then the other. Braced himself.
Sigma has me.
The door whooshed open. They must have been waiting for him to show waking patterns.
Delgado blinked.
The man was tall, white-haired, and in a white linen suit. The face was familiar—Del had, after all, seen it in his nightmares for years. Bland and middle-aged, a regular nose, dead dark eyes, hair in a white buzz-cut.
“Well, well.” Colonel Anton tilted his head slightly. “Agent Breaker. What a pleasant reunion. You’ve done a little bit of damage, old son.” Kindly, an avuncular tone as he limped into the room, leaning heavily on the cane. Freshly-polished shoes squeaked against the whiteness.
An IV pole loomed right next to Delgado. The slow, creeping fire of Zed slid through his fingers, up his arms. He blinked, trying to remember… what?
For a moment he had it—a flash of green eyes, something.
Then it was gone. He stared at Anton, willing himself to remain perfectly still. If the man tried to use telepathy on him, the feedback would be excruciating.
For both of them.
“Andrews mentioned he’d seen you again. You’ve been a very naughty boy.”
Del searched for words. “Go fuck yourself,” he rasped, tongue thick and useless, slurred with the Zed. It was so hard to care about anything when the drug had its claws in you. But when they took the needle out, he’d only have a short time before he started to unravel without that fire.
Oldest trick in the book—get your unwilling operative hooked. A classic, really.
“Language.” Anton waved an admonishing finger.
“We’re going to have a little talk about Miss Price.
And then you’re going to go back into training.
You’ve gone a bit soft. Then you’ll start a regular routine of work until your Talent or your body gives out.
There is…” Here the Colonel paused for effect. “No hope for you.”
Del blinked at him again. I will do whatever I have to do to escape again.
The colonel settled, legs braced, leaning on his cane. “Where is Rowan Price?”
Delgado shook his head. Who?
“Do you want to be tortured? We can go that route again.”
He cleared his throat. “Whatever you’re asking me,” he said slowly, slurred with the drug, “makes no sense. I remember pushing myself to forget.”
Anton stared at him for a moment, then turned on his heel. His cane thumped against the floor.
Just before he reached the door, he paused.
“Training starts tomorrow, Agent Breaker. And the first thing you’ll be doing is hunting down whatever rats escaped our cleanup.”
Colonel Anton limped out of the room.
The door hissed shut.
Del closed his eyes. The Zed reached his head, and everything else faded away.