“The children are alive and in protective services for now.”
Quinn put her face in her hands. Those two boys. That young girl with the big blue eyes. It was all too much.
“Quinn,” Yolanda said quietly. “We’re as shocked as you are. If we’d even suspected this could happen, we would never have sent you or Jones in.”
Quinn nodded, believing Yolanda. There were things she still hated about the Protectorate, but at least they hadn’t been toying with her and Jones or hiding important information from them. They couldn’t have prepared them for an enemy they didn’t know they had.
In reality, it was Quinn who was hiding the truth from them.
Yolanda sat back. “You and Jones went above and beyond the call of duty here. You performed at a level achieved only by our best, and on a very dangerous job. We don’t know the Black Jays’ mission, but we know it isn’t good. We will need every good agent we have.” She paused. “Which is why I’m promoting you to Tier One.”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really. You’ve earned it. You’ll also receive a bonus to compensate you for the losses sustained on this job.”
A ray of happiness ran through Quinn, but then she hesitated. “I’m grateful, Yolanda. But I’m surprised. To be honest, the way you acted before… it almost seemed like you wanted me to fail.”
Yolanda stared at her. “Quite the opposite.”
Quinn waited for Yolanda to say more, but she didn’t. She merely sat there, as inscrutable as usual. Quinn wanted to question her more, but she had more pressing things on her mind.
“What about Jones?”
“Jones will receive a strong commendation, and the same bonus. If he doesn’t survive, his family will be compensated.”
There was a ringing sound. Yolanda’s phone. She checked it, then got up and went to another room to take the call.
Quinn sat there, stunned. She was going to be a Tier One mindjacker. Finally. But she could hardly celebrate. Not when Jones lay in the hospital, possibly dead.
When Yolanda returned, her expression looked serious. “That was the hospital.”
Quinn held her breath.
“Jones made it through the surgery.”
Chapter 42
Quinn sat on the subway, wishing the damned thing would hurry up.
She wore a skirt and her newly acquired El Diablo denim jacket, which she was convinced looked more appropriate on her than on whatever spoiled Midtowner had tossed it into the dumpster. She could afford to buy a new jacket now, but she kind of liked the dumpster find. It reminded her of her darkest hour, and that she’d finally managed to crawl her way out of it.
She didn’t need a jacket that day, but it covered the wound on her arm, which was too much of a giveaway to anyone who might be tracking her. They probably weren’t… the Protectorate had eyes on her and her apartment, and they hadn’t seen any signs of Black Jays or police.
Still, Quinn had stayed at the safe house for the last few days, resting and helping the Protectorate come up with new guidelines and more robust mind invasion training for the other agents. The Protectorate had cancelled all jobs for the time being so they could prepare themselves to face this new enemy. They had their special ops agents doing deep research on the Black Jays, but it would take time to gather useful intel about the rogue group and their mission.
When she finally arrived in Midtown, Quinn stepped off the train and took the escalator stairs two at a time. Once outside, she squinted at the bright sun, the midday heat finally beginning to wane a little as they moved into autumn. She walked briskly, weaving past all the business people until she finally arrived at Midtown General Hospital.
She strode right past reception, bypassing the slow elevator and scurrying up the stairs to the third floor. Finally, she found the room number she’d memorized. The door was open.
Jones sat in the hospital bed, his bulky tattooed self watching the Demons game. His scalp was freshly shaven and his shirtless midsection wrapped in bandages.
Sensing someone in the room, Jones’s eyes immediately shifted to her. And for just a moment, Quinn thought she saw them glimmer with happiness. Unable to help herself, Quinn smiled, relief flooding her at how good he looked, that Jones was once again his vibrant, full-of-life self and not the half-dead man she feared for in the taxi on that terrible night. He muted the television.
“About fucken time you visited.”
She shrugged. “Not my fault. The little princess needed his rest.”
He laughed at that, then put his hand on his gut. “Don’t make me laugh, girl. Them fuckers tore up my laughing muscles.”
Quinn sat down in the chair next to his bed, her smile fading. “They tore up a lot more than that.”
“Doc says they mostly got the bowel. Fortunately, we got plenty of it and it’s easy to remove the bad parts. Looks like I’ll be back on my feet soon enough.”
She smiled again. “I’m so glad, Jones.”
Jones’s face got more serious, and then he glanced at the door. Quinn got up and closed it before sitting back down.
“How the fuck are we here and not in the clink?” he said quietly. “That cop saw us. Did I hallucinate that shit? I didn’t mention it to Avery when he came by this morning… just in case…”
Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. She’d wanted to get here before Jones’s ops manager did, before he questioned Jones, but Avery had gotten to him first. Fortunately, Jones had decided to be discerning with the information he provided. He’d done the right thing. Again.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. “You’re alive, I’m alive, we got the data, and the cops… they just missed us. The data support that, and so do the police reports.”
Jones eyed her, recognizing her smile and overly optimistic tone, understanding what she was saying—and not saying—but still not understanding how it was possible.
She understood his confusion. It confused her, too, that Noah would let them go like that. Several days and more data analysis hadn’t yielded any answers there.
“What happened?” she asked. “While I was under?”
A shadow fell across his face. “Everything was goin’ to plan, and next thing I know these two guys in black appear, and they got weapons. Energy weapons. Like yours.” He shook his head. “I took a shot at one… I was aiming for his hand ’cause I figured I can’t fight two of ’em… anyway, I got him there and in the leg and he dropped his weapon, and I dove out of the other one’s line of fire and managed to pull your nodes. I took a shot at the other one, but the first guy attacked me and I lost the weapon. It was just chaos after that…” He shrugged. “That weapon saved our asses.”
“You saved our asses.”
Jones hesitated at that, like he didn’t know what to do with the compliment. “Avery told me the whole story, or at least what they got from the data.” He shook his head. “That’s some fucked-up shit. I mean, Borelli was a dick, but killing him like that… that shit ain’t right.”
“It’s not right. These Jays are dangerous, and now the Protectorate is scrambling to deal with them. And they couldn’t do that without us. They owe us. You’ll be getting a bonus, too.”
“I’m just fucken glad we still got jobs, but I’ll take any other gifts they wanna throw our way.” He paused, eyeing her. “That was stupid, Quinn. You shoulda left me there. Taken the data and left. You coulda been long gone by the time the cops showed…”
She shook her head. “They didn’t get there in time, remember?”
“Maybe. But that shit could bite us later. You hear what I’m saying?”
She nodded. She most certainly did. “Let’s just consider ourselves lucky this time.”
“I’ll take all the luck I can get.” Jones paused, and there was a wrinkle between his brows, as if considering what to say next. “Look… I know we’ve had our differences, and maybe we ain’t the best match, work wise. But we did good, and we did good ’cause both of us looked
out for each other. You said I saved us, but the truth is you came prepared. And you coulda left my ass there and been justified. But you stuck around and helped me, which means you helped my family. I won’t forget that, Quinn.”
She shrugged. “Hey, I leave you for dead, and next thing I know Jeffrey’s coming after me, trying to kill me. I don’t need that kind of trouble.” Jones laughed, gripping his gut again. “Besides, I had to save your thug ass. Because I made Tier One… and I need a partner.”
Jones stared at her. “You don’t mean me…”
“I do mean you. You more than proved your worth on that terrible job, Jones. Yeah, we don’t always see eye-to-eye and you’re stubborn and bossy, but… I trust you. And that means more to me than anything else. I need you, man.”
It was true. She did need Jones. She needed his street savvy, his muscle, and his willingness to put himself on the line for his partner and for the job. She’d lost Daria, a close friend and partner. But now she had a new one, one she respected, who was devoted to their mission.
Jones was silent. For the first time, Quinn considered that Jones might not feel the same way.
“If you don’t want the job,” she added, “you can just say it. I know I can be difficult at times, and—”
“I’m in.”
“You are?”
He nodded. “You fight like you gotta win and you never give up. You got heart, and I respect that.”
Quinn smiled at the compliment. “So do you, my friend.”
“It’s ’cause we’re Downtownies, girl. There’s nothin’ these Uptown motherfuckers can throw at us that we haven’t already faced. Growin’ up without… makes you tougher.”
“Maybe you’re right.” She stood up from her chair and stuck out her hand. “Shake on it, partner?”
Jones put his big hand in hers and she felt his firm squeeze. And before she could stop herself, she reached over and put her arms around him, hugging him lightly to avoid pressing on his healing wound. Jones hesitated for a moment, then hugged her back.
She backed away. “Heal up, princess. We’ve got work to do and a new enemy to fight. Not to mention some money to make.”
Jones grinned. “Will do, girl.”
Chapter 43
Quinn put her hands in her jacket pockets, ensuring her two best friends—her brass knuckles and her energy weapon—were still there. She probably wouldn’t need either, but she wasn’t about to take chances. Not now, when things were finally going well.
She arrived at her apartment building, checking her alert system and scanning the entire area for suspect people or vehicles, and finding none. She headed up to her floor and into the hallway.
That day, the hallway seemed drab and even oppressive with its plain tile flooring, beige walls, and stuffy temperature. She couldn’t wait to move into her new place, in the stone apartment building on Hillcrest Avenue that she’d eyed for ages, the one filled with young couples and professionals her age. She’d leased under a pseudonym and refused to offer up her federal identification number, with the excuse that she’d been the victim of identity theft in the past. A lie, but a necessary one. Safety came before morality. The landlord tried to argue, but her paying three months in advance—in cash—had shut him up.
Jones, mostly healed and home with his family again, had no interest in moving yet, not wanting to upset his brother’s equilibrium with that much change after Jones had been gone so long. He would probably never move to Midtown—it was too pretentious for him, and he would stand out too much with his appearance—but he’d talked about relocating to Downtown’s Sunnyside neighborhood. There, Jones and his family could live in a safe high-rise with good AC, and be reasonably close to a facility that offered treatment, education, and activities for adults with mental disabilities.
Quinn began unlocking her apartment door, glancing around like a paranoid, not knowing whose appearance would terrify her more: the Black Jays with their shiny energy weapons, or Sergeant Noah Martinez with his shiny badge. But the only person she saw was an older neighbor who recognized her and offered a nod in passing.
She slowly tiptoed inside, her weapon drawn. Luckily, her place was small enough that hiding wasn’t an option, except possibly for the bathroom. She checked; it was empty.
Her place looked normal: bed made, clothing put away, desk emptied of her computer. No sign of invasion. Her delphiniums still lay on her desk, brown and wilted.
It was time to pack up her belongings. Once finished, she would lug them downstairs and into a taxi truck, leaving her desk and bed for anyone who wanted them. But when she headed over to bag up her clothes, something on her bedside table caught her eye. Something dark. What had she left there? She walked over, and the closer she got, the more she got a bad feeling.
Finally, she got close enough to see the small table more clearly. And there, on its surface, lay the Blue Banner butterfly print in its black frame, the one Noah had given her. It had a hole in it, right through the butterfly itself, the glass around the hole cracked.
Quinn blinked a few times, staring at the destroyed art.
Then her eyes shifted to something else, a small dark object next to the art. It was a figurine. A bird, black with red eyes.
A Black Jay.
Thank You
Thank you for reading Mindjacker and for supporting my work. Much appreciated! If you want to find out when the next book will be released, sign up for my email list. I only email once per month, where I keep you updated on what I’m up to, offer special deals on good sci-fi books, and include occasional sci-fi-related articles or news.
You probably already know that book reviews and ratings are like bread and butter to authors, especially indies. As unfair as it may seem, the more ratings I have, the more people recognize my work. Which means more time to write stories for you. Even one or two lines (“I loved this book! I can’t wait for the next one…”) is awesome. Here’s a link to review, and thanks a million.
Happy reading!
Christie
Also by C.A. Hartman
Korvali Chronicles series
(Space Opera)
The Refugee
The Operative
The Forbidden Planet
Daughters of Anarchy series
(Dystopian Sci-Fi Thriller)
Book 1
Book 2
Book 3
Book 4
Mindjacker series
(Dystopian Sci-Fi Thriller)
Mindjacker
Acknowledgments
A story becomes a published book because a writer chooses to sit her butt down and write it, but also because she gets help from her friends.
Thank you to author and WMD specialist Natasha Bajema for our chat at the Smarter Artist Summit. We talked about genre and books and science, and you mentioned the current “mind reading” research that had me running off to investigate and that ultimately shifted the focus of this book. Your wealth of knowledge is amazing!
And a big thanks to my beta readers, who read Mindjacker before everyone else and gave me suggestions as well as the green light to publish it. Thanks also to those who offered feedback during the cover creation process, making a difficult decision easier.
Finally, a giant hug to those of you who’ve supported my work, read my stuff, visited me at Comic Con, and spread the good word. You know who you are, and you’re a big reason I keep creating stories.
C
About the Author
C.A. Hartman specializes in writing science fiction with badass female leads. An academic scientist gone rogue, Hartman’s books have been praised for their great characters, intricate worlds, and their intriguing but understandable science. A graduate of the University of Colorado, Hartman earned her PhD in Behavioral Genetics and worked as a scientist for 11 years. She lives in Denver with her husband, artist Chris Voeller, and has a special fondness for good TV, the desert, aviator sunglasses, and dark roast coffee (decaf, of course, because you DON'T want
to be around her when she's caffeinated).
Mindjacker Page 21
