It was a pudgy white-haired man, his sweatshirt torn and khakis dewed with blood, scrabbling weakly on the floor.
The owner of the rotted-out voice.A knifehilt protruded from his throat.
A shattered pair of sunglasses crunched under Justin’s boot.“That’s my girl,” he said, calmly enough.He winced—she could feel the dragging pain in his chest, his scalp, his arm on fire.What had happened to him while she lay useless on the floor?
“Hurt.”Her wrist throbbed with pain.“You’re hurt.”
“Doesn’t matter.”He half-carried her down the hall.The elevator’s blank white doors loomed.
Elevator?“I thought you said—”Help me, please.God help me.Blurred, and shifted—she could no longer remember why it was so necessary he use his talent on her.The entire concept hovered just out of reach, her battered memory cringing from the last few minutes.
“This is an emergency.”The doors folded open, and she managed to help him drag her recalcitrant body inside.“You okay?He hit you pretty hard.He’s good at cracking empaths.”
“H-hurts.”That was an understatement.Lethargy and agony, a terrible restless duo, nerves twisting like insects pricking with needlelike feet.It wasn’t normal.Something was happening inside her head.The elevator dinged, and he pushed the button for the ground floor.“How b-bad are y-you?—”
“Don’t worry about me.”He hissed in a breath, shifted his weight.The weightlessness of an elevator descending tugged at her stomach.
What if Sigma’s out there?She didn’t mean for him to hear the thought, but he did, and a flood of reassurance tingled through her tired, battered head.
God, even a normal person’s open sewer of a mind was better than that blind, rotting touch, squirming like maggots inside her skull.Justin’s clear, cold calm dispelled the fog of pain, made it easier to think.She had the uncomfortable feeling that a mental door between them had been blown off its hinges and she might not be able to put it back on.
Something else taunted her, something about what had just happened dancing just outside her mental reach.
Then I’ll get us out,Justin’s mind whispered.Brew and Yosh can’t stay forever.If they’re gone we’ll have to steal a car.Have to stop and wash up, get the blood off.Chest hurts.Don’t think about that.Did he get me with that damn stiletto?Ouch.
Beating under his thoughts was a collage of aches and burning.The needles all over her skin were his, from the Zed withdrawal.
“Justin.”She laid her head against his shoulder.Whatever the other man had done, she needed a few minutes to close her eyes and find the wellspring of calm inside herself.She felt filthy, every thought or emotion dipped in slime.Her wrist hurt, a sharp pain under the fuzziness of approaching unconsciousness.“Glad you’re h-here.”
“Me too, angel.”He eased a gun out of the holster, gathered himself to blur them.It hurt; he discarded the pain.Rowan helped as much as she could, but she was exhausted.She doubted she could useanyof her talent without passing out.“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
The elevator slowed.“Please,” Rowan whispered, not sure who or evenwhatshe was asking.
The doors opened, and Justin went still and cold beside her.But Rowan couldn’t worry about it, because her tenuous grasp on consciousness failed entirely.
CHAPTER20
It wasn’t the lobby.It was a short hall with blank doors on either side and the double glass numbers giving out onto the front parking lot.Brew and Yoshi should be gone by now.Going to have to steal a car.
As if the thought had summoned them, a black SUV glide to a stop outside the glass doors, streetlamp shine sliding wetly off its paint.
I am going to court-martial both of them.He dragged Rowan along.Thankfully, she had passed out.He wasn’t sure if he could stand feeling the agonizing pain beating inside her skull—or the sense of violation.Carson had damn near raped her mind, smashing in to take control, to break her the way he’d broken plenty of other psions.It was ironic in the extreme that if she hadn’t been so goddamn gifted the blind man would’ve had a harder time.He wasn’t so effective when it came to precogs or telekinetics, but other telepaths and empaths were critically vulnerable to the Tracker.
He hurt her.Rage rose; Del smothered it.He couldn’t afford to get angry and lose his focus.
The SUV’s back driver’s-side door opened smoothly.“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he said, manhandling Rowan into the car.Yoshi leaned over on the passenger side and helped as much as he could, pulling her to safety.Then Del was in, sucking at a deep breath that hurt all the way down.
The stiletto hit deep.Hope it didn’t scratch a lung.No, I’d be having more trouble breathing if it did.
Yoshi’s dark gaze met his as Brew pressed the accelerator.Pavement slid under broad tires.
“You look awful.”Yoshi offered a was of wet-wipes.“What happened?”
“Carson.”Del rubbed at his face, wiping away blood.The scalp wound itched hard.“Got to Ro somehow.I put his goddamn psychopath down and hit the blind man with everything I had.Hope it was enough.Goddammit, Brew, can’t you go any faster?”
“If you want to be arrested, I can.”Brew, used to post-combat jitters, didn’t take offense.Yoshi, still leaning over the front seat, watched Delgado.Then his dark, eloquent gaze shifted to Rowan, slumped against a pile of hurriedly-stacked gear.Her pale hair had shaken loose, glowing in the faint light.
It was the darkest part of early morning, the time when old men died.One old man died tonight, I hope.If he recovers from thatpushhe’ll… No, he won’t.I sank a knife in his throat, he can’t have survived that.Please tell me I’ve killed the two men that nearly killed me the first time I escaped.Have I gotten better or have they gotten worse?
