They were trying to shoot her for real now, probably hoping to wing, slow her down.A sweet tinkling of shattered glass, a bright note in the song of exhaustion her body had become.The stitch bloomed in her side, gripping along ribs almost all the way up to her armpit.
It didn’t matter.
Justin!Where are you?She’d heard him, and sheknewhe was here.Heat simmered up from the pavement, and she was sweating, but goose bumps thrilled across her skin as if she was cold.
Bam!
A hammer smashed her right shoulder, drilling fiery pain.Rowan stumbled, saw spatters of bright blood bloom on pavement.She kept going, but tripped over her own feet and almost fell headlong.Heavy warmth flowed down her right arm, slipping against the inside of her coat sleeve, the lining now slicked with blood, heavy drips off her fingertips.The leaden weight fighting every step eased.She had made it through the concentric rings of psychic pressure.
The black van appeared like a gift, its side door open.Boomer leaned out, face contorted with effort as his limited telepathic ability reached, a fine, thin thread of help Rowan grabbed at, and she fell gratefully into his arms.He yanked her inside; Henderson jammed the accelerator down as Cath dragged the door shut.
But Rowan didn’t care.She closed her eyes, leftover pressure of Sigma psions snapping the moment she was fully in the van’s shielded interior.The vehicle swayed as Henderson took a corner, rocketing toward the freeway on-ramp, zigging at the last second to plunge the van into the shadow of a tree-lined lane.The Sig net was left behind, and there was no pursuit.The cops were too busy trying to sort out the mess at Lew’s office building.
“Lew?”she whispered in a cracked voice.
Nine-tenths of her didn’t care, was hunting frantically for thecontact.It had been familiar, as her own breath.It washim, and she’d felt the dizzying electrical crackling over her skin that told her he was close.Very close.
“She’s bleeding pretty bad,” Boomer said.“Winged her, went right through the meat in the upper arm.Damn lucky there’s no bone.”
“We got him, Ro,” Cath said.
More pain grated in Rowan’s shoulder as someone’s hand clamped over the bloody wound.There was the rip of a pack of sterile gauze and the hiss of an antiseptic pack.“Just relax.Lew’s safe.”
“Justin,” Rowan whispered, and passed out.
CHAPTER4
Delgado leanedagainst the alley’s wall, head pounding no less than his blurring heart.What the hell did I just do?
If he wasn’t so sure he was sane, he might’ve wondered if the Zed had finally cracked him.Andrews was in the van, leaning out the open side door while collating and doing damage control, conferring with two handlers while warily eyeing Agent Breaker.Delgado wasn’t needed, so he simply stood with his back against brick, his only avenue of escape blocked by the van, arms folded, apparently composed.Inside, his pulse labored and his lungs threatened to short out completely.
One moment they’d been tightening the net, ready to bring in Price and the precog—Emberson, whoever the hell he was—and snare the other Society members as well.
The next moment it had all gone to hell in a handbasket.The woman thought quickly on her feet.She had worked the crowd like a pro, and also managed to tangle up the collective will of several Society psions set in a circle around the site, all concentrating on bringing her down.
Incredible.He wouldn’t have believed it, if he hadn’t seen it himself.
But the most incredible thing of all had been the wave of fear and pain rocketing from Price, as if she’d been shot.Delgado’s stomach had flipped, every psion in sensing range flinched.Hard on the heels of that psychic cry, Del realized she was deliberately broadcasting to throw them off, and the knowledge had frozen him in place.
Should have beenimpossible, both for her to do it and for him to know her intent.Andrews had shoved him out of the van; he’d moved smoothly and habitually into the prescribed guard position, unwilling to let Andrews suspect Agent Breaker was having any deep philosophical thoughts.
Bitter copper flooded his mouth, the taste of adrenaline.The heat was incredible, simmering even in the alley’s shadow.A hot stink of garbage, which everyone ignored.Comms inside the van crackled—cleanup taking place, the Sigs coordinating.
If the van hadn’t been there, Delgado might have tried to disappear.
“Get me a trace,” Andrews said.“Something, anything.Now.”
Delgado filled his lungs, tried to force his heart to stop pounding.She hadlinkedwith him, a clean warm mind sliding through his with apparent ease and familiarity.
And she knew the name he’d left behind as dead.Nobodycalled him that, it was Del, Delgado, or “Breaker,” notJustin.She’d said it like an old habit; hearing it was like waking up in his own grave with a mouth full of dirt, his skin wet with mud.
Had he known Rowan Price?Was that what he’dpushedhimself to forget?How well had he known her?Had they been friends?Teacher and student?
Justin, no!Her horrified mental scream rang inside his head again.
Lovers?No, probably not that.He was too damaged.
It’s me.Don’t you remember?A lovely contralto huskiness that made his body tighten with recognition, a wash of complex feeling boiling through—desperation, relief, a deep aching he couldn’t name.If she hadn’t been so hurried he might have gone a little further, instead of simply reaching through her to strike at the Sig with the close-cropped hair, then guiding Price free of the net.The instinct to protect her had been deep, immediate, and full of a terrible fury.
