Invasion of Justice (Shadows of Justice) Read online

  "Easy, now. Just offering first aid." He dropped a handful of supplies on the counter. "Take it or leave it."

  An uncharitable suggestion of where he could take it almost launched from her mouth. Then she recognized the logo on one wrapper. "Where did you get real Band-aids? Wow, these take me back. Oh how my mother would groan when I used to insist on these as a kid. She had to buy them online–" She stopped when she saw Gideon staring at her like she'd sprouted a second head. "What?"

  His raised brows finally fell. "Great skip down memory lane, but I'll pass on the deluxe package tour." He tossed her a T-shirt and left her alone again.

  She closed and locked the bathroom door before peeling off her wet dress. Then she used a cooling antiseptic spray to treat her throat. She toyed with applying the small flesh-colored circles to some of the deeper gouges, but wasting them bothered her. Sliding his T-shirt over her body momentarily obliterated her concerns. She enjoyed the clean masculinity and odd sense of safety in the oversized shirt.

  Returning to the bedroom she found Gideon asleep–this time on the bed. She tiptoed past, but his bat-like hearing caught the movement.

  "There's room over here."

  "No, thank you."

  "I want you close."

  Before she could fathom why that caused her heart to flip, he continued.

  "I fixed the covers to avoid all contact."

  "Oh. How thoughtful," she lied. "I sleep better alone."

  "Yeah, me, too. But if whatever freaked you out strikes again, I'd rather not have to haul you all the way from the front door again."

  "Oh." More logic. Good.

  "Get over here," he ordered.

  "Yes, sir." Too tired to argue further, Petra crawled into the empty side of the bed. True to his word, he'd arranged the bedding so they were completely separate. She didn't feel all that grateful for the distance from his too-tempting torso.

  They weren't friends or colleagues. He didn't strike her as the type to offer comfort even if they had been. And why she was wasting time considering any of this nonsense was beyond her.

  Sleep well, Pet.

  Petra's head swiveled toward Gideon. It had been his voice, but the words were Nathan's. Falling asleep as quickly as earlier, Gideon snored on.

  "As if." No one could sleep through that racket.

  You're safe. Now sleep.

  Petra sighed and lay back on the bed. When her brother was determined, he found a way to make his point. Folding the bedspread over her, Petra closed her eyes and trusted the one person who'd never let her down.

  Some day soon she'd return the favor.

  As Gideon drove them away from the hotel the next morning, Petra couldn't control her urge to compare him with her brother. Both moved through a morning as if facing a firing squad. Both drove with an arrogant ease she wanted to envy. Both used their size and presence to guard what she was just beginning to understand was a wealth of secrets.

  "So are you ever going to tell me how you know this woman?" Petra asked as they left the polish of tourist-safe Chicago behind them. It seemed to her as if the sun itself dimmed. Ages of grime charred the streets and people hovered at the peripheral, reluctant to be seen. If they only knew how much she didn't want to be here either.

  She gasped.

  "What? What's wrong?" Gideon asked.

  "I'm a snob."

  "This is news how?"

  She shot him a look he ignored. "I'm just like my mother. All these years, all this work and I'm just like her."

  "Relax. You're light years apart."

  "How would you know?" she demanded, irritated with herself and his presumptuous nature.

  He laughed and she knew she'd never heard a more welcome sound. Rich, full, and the perfect counterbalance to the bleak streets around them.

  "I met your mom the other day. When...when you were...whatever you were."

  What could she say? Exhaustion induced unanchored flight was the explanation in her journal, but Gideon would only look at her like she was a freak if she said the words aloud.

  For reasons beyond her power to define, she wanted him to look at her as a woman. She gave herself a mental shake. This was an absurd line of thinking that she had neither time nor energy to follow.

  "I meant to thank you for helping me."

  "There's your proof."

  "Of what?"

  "A snob wouldn't bother thanking someone like me."

  She sensed the opening and twisted in her seat. "I've never met anyone like you and I've met a lot of people on both sides of the law."

  This time his laughter was low and edged with bitterness. She didn't have time to call him on it. Her head ached, her heart pounded, and Gideon began swearing as if the pain was his.

  "Stop the car," she ordered, hands clutching her head.

  "No."

  "Yes." Petra looked out her window at the pile of rubble. Her vision hazed with what the building had been. "I need to get out. Go inside."

  "Inside where? It's leveled."

  She thought she might crawl out the window if he didn't stop the car. "That's where I need to be."

  "I would've agreed with you, sugar. That was Michaels' school."

  "Michael's school?" That couldn't be right. She felt her sister here–loud and strong despite the wreckage. "Who's Michael?"

  Gideon growled and fought with the car, yanking the steering yoke hard, careening into the next alley, and muttering about speed. "Who the hell did you piss off?"

  "Me? What do you mean?" Dozens of criminals were suffering injections because of her skills. Well, her skills and their own poor choices, of course.

  "We've been followed. Or the building's being watched. Either way we have an unwelcome guest. Hang on."

  There was no alternative when Gideon found the speed he'd been looking for. Petra couldn't recall ever going this fast in a personal vehicle. Not even Nathan's Mustang.

  They bounced over something Petra hoped was just trash as Gideon pulled another hard right. Her body strained toward him with the force of it, but the belt held. She craned her neck to see who he was running from.

  Mentally, she reached out, wondering why she hadn't felt any surge of negative energy. Instinct told her it wasn't the soulless presence of the wiry butcher behind them. Whoever it was didn't feel like he cared about much at all and she knew first-hand the butcher loved his work.

  "Can you outrun him?"

  "Probably not," he ground out, forcing the car through the next narrow alley.

  "Can I help?" Her head hit the ceiling as the car shot out of the alley and bounced over the curb before Gideon regained control.

  "You tell me," he shouted as vehicles squealed to avoid his erratic attempts to lose the tail.

  "You're only making us more obvious."

  "If I slow down, he's on us."

  "Would that be so bad? What could he want?"

  "Gee, I forgot to ask." Gideon threaded the car through a teeming intersection.

  "Turn around."

  "What?" Gideon hollered.

  "Go back to the flattened school."

  "No way. Our only chance–"

  "Go back." She hoped he'd just do it, because she couldn't explain her reasoning. "I can help if we're there."

  He grumbled about mental telepathy, delusions, and psychobabble, but he changed directions. It was a few blocks before Petra felt the surge of power that emanated from the decimated school.

  She opened her mind and the rush was palpable. She felt alive and strong, somehow more than she'd ever 'felt' before. Whoever Michael was, her sister had spent plenty of time here to leave this kind of residual energy.

  The car behind them kept up the pursuit and as Gideon flew past the bleak gap in the row of grim warehouses Petra heard the pop and felt the tire give.

  Gideon's face was hard with concentration as he tried to bring the car out of the inevitable spin.

  "Let it go," she ordered. She couldn't have explained this either. Whether he co
operated on purpose or simply gave in to fate, she didn't know.

  The momentum carried them up over the curb and into the wreckage of the school. When the world stopped spinning, Petra touched Gideon to assure herself he wasn't hurt. Then she tuned back into their assailant.

  The man approached the car, yanked open her door and cut away her seatbelt. The moment he put his hands on her, she took the mental plunge.

  It wasn't pretty, but it worked. Immediately, she recognized him from his attack last night at the hotel. Skimming back through his memories she listened for names, dates, orders. Then it all went black before she could finish.

  She blinked, her eyes slow to focus on the source of the disruption. Gideon! "I almost had it!"

  "Had what? You were limp as a noodle and he was lugging you away."

  She frowned, realizing Gideon carried her. Again. "You have some serious issues. Put me down. I'm fine."

  "I've heard that before. We've got to get out of sight in case he has friends."

  Petra squirmed and punched Gideon's left shoulder. "Let me down. We've got friends, too."

  "Doll, your friends don't know this side of town exists."

  Petra squirmed again, this time successfully. "God, you're a jerk." She headed straight into the rubble, feeling better than she should, all things considered. "I am not some fragile female kook with more shoes than sense." Ignoring the punch of grief and loss, Petra worked her way to the timing device that brought the building down. "I saw where he'd been and heard the orders. There was a nameplate. I could almost read it when you took him out."

  Gideon shrugged. "Dude's alive. We'll ask when he comes to."

  "He won't talk. He's admired for his ability to withstand pain. They gave him this detail because he was the lowest risk."

  "Of what?"

  Petra recovered the bomber's timing device, then whirled around. "Getting laid would not clear this right up. So while I'm flattered, please stop looking at my a–backside."

  Gideon's jaw went slack.

  Petra ignored him, picking her way through the debris as she passed him. He caught her by the arm and forced the eye contact.

  "I don't know what you're playing at, but if we've got friends, call 'em. If you haven't noticed, we're stranded in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city."

  Gideon was pleased to see that got her attention. Hopefully, it would distract her from his inappropriate perusal of her body.

  Unlike the last time he touched her, she stayed conscious. "Give me the timer. I don't care how you knew where to look. I know a place we can check it out."

  With the car totaled, Gideon aimed her toward their pursuer's vehicle.

  "What about him?" she asked.

  "Let him find his own way out of here." He hesitated when she did. "What? He's got more feelings to share?"

  She shook her head and began moving again. They were three blocks away before she spoke, breaking the silence he preferred. "Who wanted to eliminate your friend?"

  "Doesn't everyone have enemies?"

  "Yes." Her hand hovered over the timing device on the seat between them. "Who's Michael and how is he related to the school?"

  Gideon smiled at her mistake. "He is the school. Michaels is her last name. When I met her that's what she preferred on the rare occasions we had enough breath to speak. I'm telling you, that woman gave new meaning to high-intensity training."

  "I didn't think a man fit the picture."

  "Picture?"

  "The sensations I get." She shrugged. "That guy we left behind? He knew about the bomb, but didn't set it. He's been on surveillance for a while, but it bores him. Until he saw me."

  Her voice trailed off and Gideon let the conversation die. He'd had a few feelings of his own, some about the signature he expected to find on the bomb's timer. More about Jaden Michaels and her demolished school.

  Jaden was making a world of difference by training both covert operatives and equipping civilian women to protect themselves in such unfavorable times. He'd been pushed to his physical limits during his training, and beyond. The experience clarified his goals, his focus, and his inner strength. Lessons learned at her school had saved his ass on more than one mission. He was sure the women in this area would suffer from losing Jaden's hands-on inspiration and empowerment.

  "Kirst," Petra mumbled, staring out a window. "Kirt. Risto."

  Her trial and error pulled Gideon from his reverie. "Kristoff?" he offered, gaining her full attention. He wished he could take it back. Those wide blue eyes of hers should be registered weapons.

  "Maybe. Say it again?"

  "Kristoff."

  She chewed her lip. "Yes, that's it. I think our abandoned friend was dyslexic. You know anyone by that name? Other than the Health Chairman, I mean."

  "Nope." Gideon shook his head. Quite a coincidence that Kristoff's name came up. Whether or not he believed in her powers, he recognized and appreciated instinct. If his instinct and hers were traveling the same path that pretty much ruled out coincidence.

  She stayed quiet, thank God, as he skirted the city on the Loop before aiming back to Hyde Park and the University of Chicago. "I'm dumping the car behind frat row," Gideon's voice broke her train of thought.

  She looked around, clearly unfamiliar with the area. "Leaving us without transportation?"

  "We'll catch the bus later."

  Her chin dropped, but she followed quick enough when he left the car. "The bus? Does it even go to the Ritz?"

  "Probably not. That'd stain their fancy image, wouldn't it? But public transportation can get us close enough to find a cab."

  Her silence was golden. Too bad it didn't last. "I don't think self-defense classes are a good idea."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm not sure I'd be able to keep my hands off you."

  "I get that a lot." He congratulated himself for keeping his tone even and his face straight. Especially when she sputtered.

  "I meant I'd happily kill you if I only knew how."

  He laughed, a little surprised when her response was a smile. "Then I promise not to show you anything lethal." He signaled for her to take the lead down a narrow walkway between two tall brick buildings.

  "Where am I going?" she asked.

  "Just around back. If anyone stops us, I'll tell them we're looking for a quiet place to tongue wrestle."

  She huffed. "Not a chance."

  He laughed again, knowing she didn't see the humor. He heard her mutter something about Kincaid and consultants, something he'd likely thought about her, too.

  The walkway opened to a wide lawn behind the buildings. Gideon cut in front once more and jogged down a short flight of concrete steps. With a swipe of a card, he opened the door and held it for her.

  "Where are we?"

  "Get inside and you'll see."

  With the door closed and locked behind them, he turned on the lab lights. A dozen black scarred tables stretched out in two neat rows. Stainless sinks, dull with age and disuse, lined one wall, and glass fronted cabinets full of jars and books lined the other.

  "This has to date back to the late twentieth century."

  He knew the dedication year, but only shrugged.

  A chill racked her body and her eyes clouded. Signs he'd come to recognize as her intuitive moments. "You okay?"

  Her slow, silent nod didn't convince him.

  "Find a seat while I take this apart." He set the timer on the first table and walked to a bank of cabinets at the end of the room.

  Petra watched him for a moment, then turned her attention to the timer. She let her hands hover over it, and cautiously opened herself to the search. The darkness she expected never came. Instead, her heart filled with that odd comfort, that new awareness of family ties. Her sister had handled this, not the serial killer Kincaid was hunting. It gave her reason to hope her sister might still be alive.

  Relief and joy filled her heart. She let her hands close over the timer to absorb the residual and possibly catch a
glimpse of her sister.

  The vision came fast and strong, telling Petra as much in the approach as in the view. A blond braid brushed her cheek, then was tossed back into place over her shoulder. The timer rested between her hands, surrounded by multicolored wires. Petra understood each piece of the deadly puzzle. She felt her fingers move, echoing her sister's memory. With motion came the soft cadence of motivation: Overcome the evil, regardless of the price.

  "What evil?"

  Gideon's voice broke her connection. She blinked, off balance, only to find herself cradled in a lead apron held by Gideon. Her hands weren't on the timer, they hung limp at her sides.

  "What happened?" she asked, sitting up and turning to face him.

  "The usual, I'd guess." He let the apron fall, but stayed close enough to catch her again. "You drifted away muttering about evil and destroying my potential evidence."

  "The timer isn't pertinent. The person who used this isn't the killer Kincaid's after."

  "What about who I'm after?"

  "I thought I was your assignment." Petra blinked at her own words. Her senses were running away with her. Nathan was the telepath. She was the empath. That was the true and right order of things and she didn't approve of this metamorphosis.

  "Whatever's running around in that pretty little head of yours, I need to examine that timer. Think you can you stay conscious for a minute?"

  His condescending tone served to bring her back to the reality that they weren't a team. "I'll manage somehow."

  Her thoughts wandered as Gideon conducted his examination. Within minutes, he was tossing the device in the air like a ball.

  "Pretty irreverent treatment of the evidence," she groused.

  "Maybe." He caught the timer again and held it. "I recognize the wiring signature. This was set by Jaden Michaels, the woman who owned the school."

  Petra's breath clogged her throat at the sound of her sister's name. "Then we agree it is irrelevant," she managed after a moment. What was irrelevant to his investigation was vital to her search for her sister. What could drive Jaden to blow up her own school? Probably students like Gideon.

  "You know if she blew her own place it's likely she's alive. Which is not only relevant, but important to me. And," he tossed the timer to Petra, "if she blew her own place then something big must be going down around here. She loved that school."