Shards of Hope (9781101605219)

by Singh, Nalini

  Before that, he spoke to the heads of two powerful families and, while they both said all the right things, Kaleb’s instincts went on high alert. “Both Marshall and Rao are up to something,” he said to Sahara when he returned home.

  “Why did you focus on them in the first place?”

  “Rao remains a power player in Southeast Asia, but the family suffered significant losses as a result of the fall of Silence—and those losses may continue.” It made the Rao family prime candidates for discontent. “Pax Marshall, in contrast, has kept the ship steady, but he shows all the signs of being a man who wants the kind of power you can only get at the Council—or Coalition—level.” Kaleb smiled and, because this was Sahara with him, it was real. “He reminds me of me in certain ways.” The only difference was that Pax’s goals might be in opposition to Kaleb’s. “Ambition and pitiless will.”

  “And I know exactly how dangerous you can be.” Sahara rose on tiptoe to kiss him, her hands braced on his shoulders. “We can’t ignore the other races, either, especially given how cleverly humans and changelings have been targeted by this conspiracy.” A frown forming over the dark blue of her eyes. “The Psy civil war, followed by the fall of Silence, destabilized the financial world in general, but the nimble businesses are surviving. A number of non-Psy businesses are actually doing better.”

  “Yes.” It would be in the latter’s interests to undermine the stability fostered by the Ruling Coalition. “There’re too many suspects. We’re going to need further data to unearth the linchpins.” Putting his hands on her hips, he said, “It appears the Ghost is about to come out of retirement.”

  Sahara’s lips curved. “I’ve always found the Ghost mysterious and deliciously sexy.”

  Kaleb kissed her, her smile sunlight in the dark, twisted places inside him.

  Chapter 66

  “NOW THAT YOU and Zaira are a unit, Ivy and I can step out of the media spotlight,” Vasic said to Aden as the two of them put together another cabin the day following Aden’s return from New York.

  Amin’s latest report stated that Blake had been corralled to within a five-block perimeter. It was now a matter of pinning him down. As for the conspiracy and the race to find Persephone, Zaira had already set multiple data-gathering operations in progress, and Aden had spoken to a number of sources earlier in the day.

  Everything that could be was in play.

  The afternoon belonged to the valley and to his Arrows. Difficult as the decision was for Aden to make, given how deeply Persephone’s imprisonment reminded him of Zaira’s childhood, he couldn’t ignore all the other children in his care. Each and every one was just as vulnerable—ignoring them now would undo all progress to date. These children expected betrayal, expected rejection.

  Aden would not put another scar on their hearts.

  Zaira had agreed with him, saying she’d prefer to work in the valley than go around in circles getting angrier and angrier at the lack of any viable leads.

  “It’s not that easy,” he said in response to Vasic’s statement, part of him still thinking about Persephone and considering if they’d left any stone unturned in their search for the innocent little girl. Losing her to the monsters would devastate Zaira.

  The idea of a child dying in a cage was her personal nightmare.

  Jaw muscles tense, he returned to his conversation with Vasic. “Ivy makes you far more accessible to the public at large.”

  “While Zaira is seen as a threat,” Vasic said, going down to pet Rabbit when the dog dropped a piece of wood at his feet in an attempt to be helpful. “Devoted to keeping you safe, but a threat nonetheless.” He looked up at Aden from his crouched position, his eyes no longer remote and cold as they’d once been. “That’s good. Your mate should be a blade in her own right.”

  Yes, she was a blade. Dangerous and devoted and passionate.

  Aden.

  Turning at her voice in his mind, he saw her walking toward him. He wiped the sweat off his brow using the back of his hand, his T-shirt sticking to his body, and waited for her to reach him. He liked watching her move, whether it was in combat or in life. She was so fluid, so light on her feet, her body all curves that belied the lethal focus in her eyes.

  She’d changed out of her Arrow uniform after leaving the empty Venice compound under Mica’s watch, was dressed in old brown cargo pants and a white T-shirt that had streaks of dirt on it from the work she’d been doing helping Ivy and the children with the garden plots. He’d heard Ivy’s laugh ripple out more than once, the two women clearly having become closer friends than he’d realized. Because, while Zaira didn’t laugh, she’d been involved in conversation with Ivy every time he glanced over.

  Reaching him, she stopped with her boots touching his and a starkness in her eyes. “I need you.” The memories are haunting me.

  Not stopping to think about it, he gathered her against him, her own arms coming around him in a steely grip. Stroking his hand over her hair, he spoke softly to her. “Are your PsyNet shields holding?” He knew it was important to her that her emotions remain private from the world. If she needed it, he could wrap his own around hers temporarily.

  A nod against him. “I just needed you.” Her hand fisted in his T-shirt. “Ivy says craving such contact isn’t a weakness, that we’ve all been starved of it all our lives.”

  “Yes.” He ran his hand down her back, allowed her to sense his own need through their psychic connection. It wasn’t a true bond, not with Zaira’s mind shut to his except for a narrow pathway, but it was enough to wet his parched soul. If that was all she could ever give him, it would hurt him deep within, but he’d never blame her for it.

  Zaira had had her ability to trust ground into dust long before they’d met. Yet despite everything, she’d stayed, was fighting for him and the life they could have together. He knew she’d spoken to Ivy, intended to continue working with the empath to find a way to handle the rage that kept stealing her reason without warning. It would’ve been so much easier and safer for her to have backed off, but she had immense courage, his Zaira.

  And she loved him in every way she could.

  Today, she drew away after another five minutes of silent togetherness. Touching his unshaven jaw in an unexpected caress, she went back to Ivy and the children. Aden was aware of multiple Arrows watching her and him in turn, but he returned to his task without saying anything. He couldn’t teach or train his brethren for this aspect of life—each Arrow had to come to his or her own conclusions and decisions on the matter, though if one approached him, he would share everything that wasn’t private.

  A few minutes later, he became aware of another presence at his side.

  Looking down, he found a child staring up at him. She had dirt on her T-shirt, too, her pale blonde hair scraped back into a ponytail and her feet in child-sized boots.

  “Where’s your helmet?” All the children had been taught that if they came near the ongoing work sites, they were to wear helmets.

  Huge blue eyes blinked rapidly before she rubbed away a speck of dirt that was hanging off one lash. “I forgot.”

  “Aden.”

  Catching the small helmet Vasic threw him, having ’ported it in during the conversation, Aden handed it to the child who he now knew was named Carolina. He hadn’t had to access the records for that data—Zaira had telepathed the name to him a second ago, because regardless of how Zaira saw herself, children saw her as safe.

  To her befuddlement, Arrow children gravitated toward her just like little Jojo had done in RainFire; they wanted to be around her when she was near. So she took care of them in her pragmatic and deeply honest fashion. Aden thought the children saw the same thing he did—that Zaira’s heart was as pure as theirs.

  “Here,” he said, reaching down to clip the strap under Carolina’s chin.

  She frowned at him, her conditioning having clearly been
nascent at best when Silence fell and the training protocols were changed to teach psychic and emotional discipline without erasing or sacrificing the ability to experience emotions.

  “Where’s your helmet?” she asked suddenly.

  Aden had taken it off earlier, now put it back on. “You’re right. I should wear it.”

  Nodding, she continued to stare at him, a child of approximately six with lines between her eyebrows.

  “Is there something you need, Carolina?”

  Her smile was glorious. “You know my name!”

  “Zaira told me.”

  “I like Zaira. She’s not mean.” Smile fading, Carolina continued to stare at him.

  He hunkered down in front of her so she didn’t have to crane her neck. “What is it?” he asked, certain she wanted something.

  She shuffled closer and beckoned him with one hand. When he placed his ear next to her mouth, she whispered, “Can I have a hug, too?”

  It felt like a kick to the heart, the shakily spoken words. Closing one arm around her, he rose to his feet, her weight so light, so fragile that he couldn’t wrap his mind around how anyone could’ve ever imagined that torturing a child was an acceptable thing. “You can have a hug anytime you want.”

  Eyes bright and wet, she locked thin, dirt-streaked arms tight around his neck. Placing his free hand against her back to hold her to him, this tiny girl with her breakable bones and her breakable heart, he saw that Zaira and Ivy had both stopped working to look his way.

  Ivy’s mind touched his. Just hold her, Aden. She’ll be okay.

  Following her advice, he decided to walk around and inspect the other homes in progress. His men and women took in his small burden but didn’t comment, instead giving him short updates on their particular projects. Slowly, Carolina raised her head from his tear-wet neck and started to look around.

  When Cris said, “Come here, Caro. You can help sweep the floor clear of the building dust,” the little girl let Cris pull her gently from Aden’s hold and put her on her feet.

  Wiping Carolina’s face with a cloth she’d found from somewhere, Cris gave the child a small brush and a dustpan and led her into the newly finished home. I’ll watch over her, Aden. Zaira says you’ll have more company soon.

  Cris was right.

  Two minutes after he returned to his position working beside Vasic, he found himself talking to a thirteen-year-old boy who didn’t make physical contact, but who stayed with him for over an hour while younger children came by and tugged on his hand or simply raised their arms. The older teens kept their distance but they looked on, taking in the changes in the squad.

  It didn’t surprise him in the least when some of the children went straight to Vasic, Cris, and the others, including a Zaira who didn’t blink an eye at being asked for affectionate contact. Watching her seat a little boy in her lap while she showed him a blooming flower, he realized she’d changed on a far deeper level than he’d understood.

  This Zaira wouldn’t only take care of a child’s practical needs, wouldn’t only protect. She’d make sure his or her spirit was also nurtured. It’s not so hard, she said to him out of the blue. They don’t lie and hide what they need and I can follow instructions and requests.

  Aden felt a smile curve his lips. He didn’t hide it, didn’t show his men and women and the children an impassive face. Except when the instructions are given by me.

  Of course. You need to be challenged on a daily basis.

  Tiny, soft fingers touched his lips in wonder, the child he currently held starting to smile, too. As with Carolina, tears streaked many of the small faces in the valley that day, but smiles soon took them over, hope an incandescent and innocent flame in their eyes. And as the children attached themselves to certain Arrows for reasons of their own—including more than one surprising choice—that flame started to flicker in spurts and startled sparks in the eyes of adult Arrows, too.

  It felt as if the entire valley was coming awake.

  He looked toward Zaira. Your courage started this. She’d come to him in front of everyone, exposing her need, and in so doing, showed the children it was all right. Your fire lives in them now.

  Her mind swirled around his, as if in a psychic kiss.

  Chapter 67

  THEY HAD TURNED him into prey.

  Sweating, his heart thudding, Blake hid in the narrow space behind an overflowing Dumpster. The stench made his stomach churn, the physical response a reminder of how badly he’d fallen. How badly they’d made him fall. They’d made him an animal scrabbling for scraps and a place to rest.

  The hunger to kill was furious in him now, his blood boiling.

  Worse was the physical gnawing in his gut that urged him to look in the trash for food.

  No. He would not stoop to that. Especially not when he had a better option.

  It was time to call in his marker.

  Waiting until Amin’s team had passed, missing his shielded mind by mere inches at most, he pulled out his phone and called his contact. “I need an extraction.” It was then that he realized not all of the stink was from the Dumpster; he was filthy.

  The person on the other end took time to reply. “Who is this?”

  “No games,” Blake gritted out. “You know exactly who I am and I know exactly who you are.” He paused to let that sink in. “You made a mistake, exposed yourself.” It had been a small error, a single slip of the tongue, but that was all he’d needed.

  “I’ll make sure not to make personal contact next time.”

  “You do that. Now I need a fucking extraction.”

  “You’re an Arrow. Act like one.”

  “I also have the entire squad out for my blood. Get me out.”

  A pause on the other end before the other party said, “I can organize it in another twenty-four hours. It’s too hot right now—my sources tell me the city is crawling with Arrows and with Krychek’s people.”

  “I won’t survive twenty-four hours.”

  “You can take a kill,” was the cool response. “Do it. Calm down so you can think.”

  He thought of the amount of attention, the heat, and knew it would be irrational to act now, but the need was violent. And his contact was counting on that, counting on him being stupid. “Twelve hours,” he said. “Or I might decide to talk.”

  “Don’t threaten me.” A rustling sound. “Be at the following location in exactly twelve hours.” The person on the other end of the line gave him the coordinates.

  Hanging up after agreeing, he crawled out of his hiding place, flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, and headed toward the one hidey-hole the squad hadn’t yet found and that Blake had kept in reserve. The small apartment had belonged to a man he’d killed years before. He’d made sure the taxes were paid, as was the rent, and since no one had ever come looking for the dead man, it wasn’t likely anyone would do so now.

  The only problem was that the building was a busy one. Too many eyes, too many witnesses. That, however, didn’t matter now. All he had to do was slide in without attracting any notice, and stay down for twelve hours.

  After that, he’d be free once again.

  Chapter 68

  IT WAS TAMAR who found the smoking gun the next morning. The financially savvy twenty-four-year-old woman whom Aden had saved from an execution order, and who’d been working for him long before the Arrows rebelled against Ming, said, “The money for the apartments where the two saboteurs were found came from a shell corporation, but I was able to strip away the layers to get a name.”

  That name was Hashri Smith.

  It wasn’t difficult to trace the man, given the information Tamar had uncovered. He proved to be a midlevel human businessman based in Singapore. Portly, with a thick head of black hair and round brown eyes that gave him a permanently startled air, he ran an import-export business that appeared to be
fully legitimate. Nothing in his background said he had the kind of contacts or interests that would lead to an attack against Arrows.

  He was, however, making frantic calls to a disconnected comm number night after night. During the day, he constantly mopped up perspiration using a handkerchief, his brown-skinned face haggard. Surveillance images taken from his own security cameras showed him jumping at shadows, as if he expected to be assassinated at any instant.

  “He’s been cut from the fold,” Aden predicted before he made the executive decision to have Smith brought quietly in. Normally, he’d have waited, watched, but his instincts told him that would be a pointless delay—and if there was even a slim chance the human male knew Persephone’s whereabouts or fate, Aden couldn’t justify even a short wait.

  Vasic went in and grabbed Smith while he was sleeping, the teleport made so swiftly that only someone who’d been inside the target’s bedroom and awake at the time would’ve noticed it. Since Smith slept in a separate bedroom from his wife, there was no witness.

  Vasic seated the male in a room deep in Central Command that was a pure black cube. He and Zaira kept watch as Aden talked to Smith; though none of them believed the now shivering man was dangerous, it would be stupid to be complacent.

  “You know who I am?” Aden asked Smith after taking a seat in the chair across from him.

  Dressed in white-striped red flannel pajamas, the whites of his eyes visible and his hands tightly locked together, Smith jerked his head up and down. “Arrow,” he croaked out.

  “Would you like a glass of water?”

  Another jerk.

  I’ll get it, he telepathed to Vasic and Zaira before walking out to do exactly that. I need him to trust me.

  Why? Zaira’s blunt tone. Rip the truth from his mind. Olivia was brought in five days ago. Two or three more days at most and her daughter’s captors will realize Olivia’s memories were permanently damaged.

  Do you really believe this man is anything but the lowest level of pawn?