Burgess fires and fires as if he doesn’t comprehend why his target hasn’t dropped dead.
Eventually, he pulls the trigger and his gun clicks.Empty.
“You done?”Rex growls.“My turn.”He lunges forward and grabs Burgess by the throat.
The detective is large but doesn’t stand a chance.Rex lifts him off the ground.Burgess’s face turns redder than usual.He claws at the gauntleted arm, his feet kicking, suspended.
“Rex!”I shout.“Stop.”
It’s too late.
Rex tosses Burgess to the ground.The detective crumples into a pile as I taste bile in the back of my throat.
Did Rex just murder my partner?A cop?
A dirty cop, but still.
I still hear the echo of gunshots firing over and over again.Or maybe it’s my heartbeat.
“Inara.”Rex whirls, striding to me.He grabs the bars.“Are you hurt?I’ll get you out.Stand back.”
I back away as he fixes a small black box to the bars.
“Cover your ears.”I crouch behind the desk and avert my eyes, too.There’s another bang and then a shrieking sound as Rex pulls the metal gate aside.
He doesn’t waste any time slipping in and pulling me out.I shield my face from the smoke and let him guide me out.The place smells like burning metal.
My throat is gritty.I cough, blinking to clear my streaming eyes.“How did you know where I was?”I rasp.
“Tracker.Are you hurt?”He stops to check me over.
I click the safety on my gun and holster it in an automatic move.Then I cough again, doubling over.
Burgess’ fallen form is nearby.My head throbs, and I decide I’m dealing with too much to think about him.I avert my eyes.
Rex must decide I’m unhurt because he takes my arm to raise me up.“Let’s get out of here.”He propels me through the warehouse and to the door.
“What about Burgess?”
“I’ll send a clean-up crew,” he remarks grimly, dragging me out of the building.He barely avoids stomping on the trail of dead birds.I stumble, trying to keep from stepping on any of them.It doesn’t matter.My psychic senses torture me.I can hear their fragile bones breaking, the feathers crackling underfoot.
I’m grateful when Rex finally scoops me up, carrying me until we’re in the alley.Outside, the fresh air is a welcome relief.I turn my face to the sun.
Rex sets me down but keeps pulling me along, away from the warehouse.There’s a huge black sports car idling close to the brown sedan Burgess borrowed from the lot.“We need to get out of here.”
I wrench my arm out of his grip.I have to see if he was hurt.“He shot you.”I’m panting with adrenaline.My eyes are still watering from the smoke, my ears still ringing.But I’m half sick with fear that, under all that black body armor, Rex is bleeding out.I know he was shot.
Except the armor is smooth.None of the bullets penetrated.
Impossible.
I run my hands over his chest, looking for dents in the thick armor.“How...?”
He retracts his faceplate, and suddenly, I’m staring at his face.“Bulletproof.”
I’ve worn Kevlar plenty before.The material absorbs the bullet and mitigates the impact, but it doesn’t repel bullets.No body armor is this good.What is this material?How did Rex survive a full round to the chest?
I shake my head, unable to speak.
