She would call Yolanda. Tell her what she could. Which meant she needed a phone. And there was only one place to find one at that hour.
An hour later, Quinn hid in a Downtown alley, burner in hand. She tried to call Yolanda again. She’d tried earlier and gotten no answer. Not surprising that late at night, especially when Quinn was calling from an unfamiliar phone. She’d then sent a text with her emergency code, hoping Yolanda would call her back. But she hadn’t.
This time, there was no ring. Quinn took a look at the phone, hoping the damned thing hadn’t already crapped out on her. But the screen showed no service. The towers were down again.
She cursed. Every moment that slipped by, Olmos and his crooked band of mind thieves could cover their tracks. And if the Protectorate had sent Jones and Perry out to Olmos’s place, they would walk into a den of rattlesnakes. She had no choice; she would have to risk going to headquarters, and pound on the damned door until they let her in. She took off north again.
About halfway there, she rounded the corner… and came face to face with Noah, a determined look on his face.
Her heart sank. The last person she needed to deal with right now.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he began, frowning at her bandaged leg and disheveled appearance.
“This isn’t a good time,” she said, trying to pass him.
He blocked her. “It never is.”
“I’m serious, Noah,” Quinn said, growing agitated. “I have to go.”
“You need to come with me. Right now.” He reached for her arm.
She yanked it away and tried to leave again, but he blocked her. “Let me go, damn it!”
“Not this time. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Her temper flared. “I don’t owe you shit, sergeant! I’ve already given you plenty of information, and it’s cost me everything, you asshole!”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
She wanted to tell him. But she couldn’t risk it.
“I don’t have time to explain. I’ve got a bad situation I need to take care of—”
“So let me help.”
She shook her head, ignoring the look of genuine concern on Noah’s face. She tried again to leave, only to have him grab her injured arm. Pain stabbed at her, surpassing the effect of the drugs that were already wearing off. Quinn winced and Noah let go.
“Quinn, listen to me. I know what happened at Hector Olmos’s house. The whole department knows. And I know you were involved. Plus, there’s something important you need to know. So either come with me, or I’ll arrest you and interrogate you at the station.”
Quinn’s agitation grew, and she felt the walls close in on her. There was no way out this time. But she couldn’t let Noah take her in. Even if she avoided charges and getting dimed by half the police department, by the time Noah got what he wanted it would be too late. She couldn’t let that happen.
She took a deep breath and looked up at Noah. “I apologize, Noah.”
“For what?” he said, his expression making it clear he hadn’t expected that.
“For this.” She punched him right between the legs.
Noah let out a surprised grunt before he doubled over in pain. Quinn bolted, running as fast as she could.
Many blocks later, breathless and her leg throbbing and beginning to ooze, she tried to call Yolanda again. Still no service.
She let herself catch her breath, trying to block out the memory of Noah doubling over, his cry of pain. But it played on repeat, making her feel even worse. She did what she had to do, but she hated doing it. She hated hurting him.
She ran until she arrived at the entrance to headquarters. She entered the code, but it remained locked. They’d already blocked her access too. So she pounded on the door. She waited, looking around, hoping Noah or some other enemy didn’t appear. Eventually someone had to let her in, right?
She pounded some more, as hard as she could. Several minutes and two sore fists later, Quinn stopped trying. An empty feeling passed over her. Yolanda wouldn’t return her call. And now the Protectorate wouldn’t acknowledge her.
Quinn checked her phone again. Service! She dialed Yolanda’s number, and it went to straight to voicemail.
“Yolanda, it’s Quinn. It’s a trap! Say away from Olmos and all the CEOs—”
Upon hearing a strange sound, Quinn pulled the phone from her ear and checked the display.
Call failed.
There’d been a brief moment of service, just enough to let a call through, but no more. Quinn knew from experience that Yolanda might see another missed call, but would never get that message.
“Damn it,” Quinn cried, desperation mounting. She was tempted to throw her phone onto the asphalt and smash it under her boot.
Leave. It’s too risky here.
She had only one option left. It was a terrible one, but it was her only chance. She would go home. Not to rest or hide, but to wait. Wait for the Protectorate to respond… or for the enemy to find her.
Either way, she would be ready.
In the darkness, Quinn slipped into the alley behind her building. She entered through the rear door and began climbing the stairs in the stifling heat. Her injured leg disliked the effort, and the rest of her exhausted body didn’t find it especially pleasant either. But when she arrived at her floor and opened the door, she saw something she hadn’t expected.
Merritt. Fiddling with the security console on her door.
Quinn, eager to seize her first good opportunity in what felt like ages, sprinted toward Merritt and grabbed her, immediately locking one arm around her neck and the other around her arms.
“Funny seeing you again,” she sneered at Merritt as the redhead tried to wriggle free, to no avail. “I got you, girl.”
Quinn went to enter her security code and drag Merritt into the privacy of her place, where she could take the next step. She knew releasing one arm freed Merritt from waging what would be a powerful attack.
“What’s going on?”
Quinn craned her head around. Devin emerged from the elevator, a concerned look on his face. Suddenly, Quinn felt a sharp pain in her injured leg, enough to cause her to loosen her grip on Merritt. Merritt broke free and sprinted down the hall.
Quinn began to give chase, stumbling due to the intense pain in her leg. She got back up and sped after Merritt, following her into the stairwell. But she’d lost too much time. By the time she got inside, she heard a door slam. Merritt had already escaped to some unknown floor, and Quinn had no way of catching up.
She cursed as she left the stairwell. Yet another missed opportunity.
“What the hell’s going on?” Devin said, his eyes searching her dirty, injured body and her torn-up clothing.
“She was trying to get into my place. I think you were right about her.”
He stared at her for a moment. “I knew it. You okay? What happened to you?”
“It’s a long story. I just… I need a shower and sleep.” She waited for argument, but Devin gave none.
He nodded. “I understand.”
She entered her security code and her door opened. She turned to say goodbye to Devin and tell him she’d call him soon. But next thing she knew, he’d shoved her inside and followed her, slamming the door shut. Quinn blinked in surprise, wondering if Merritt had returned and Devin was trying to protect her. But when he looked at her, something curdled in her stomach.
His expression had changed. Gone was the concern, the protectiveness. Now, his eyes glittered with something dark and dangerous as they stared at her. They seemed to swim with malice.
“Well, Quinn. Looks like I finally got you alone.”
Chapter 33
Quinn stood there, staring into Devin’s almost-black eyes, too many thoughts settling into place.
It was him. Her tormentor. And here she was, alone with him, with no one to help her.
No Protectorate, who still knew nothing of the truth about the Jays.
>
No Jones, with his muscle, his wits, and his dogged determination.
No Noah, who she’d punched in the nuts and escaped from not even an hour ago.
Nobody.
She was alone. And it was the worst fucking feeling in the world.
As Devin’s gaze pierced her, as if contemplating all the ways he would hurt her now that he had unfettered opportunity to do so, she thought about asking him why. Why such hatred for her, for merely having the audacity to want to survive that night at the Lindens’ home? For striking against an enemy she didn’t expect, who’d attacked her first?
But she remained silent. There was little point in conversing with someone of his kind. Instead, she began planning her defense.
Devin approached her with that same deadly gaze, and she realized something else. He was no longer limping.
It happened fast. She went for her weapon, ready to cook Devin from skull to feet. But before she could even think to aim, Devin’s left hand swung around and swatted hers, knocking it out of her hand and sending it flying until it landed with a clatter.
He came for her, his right fist quickly soaring toward her. She instinctively blocked it, turning her body to absorb the second punch she saw coming almost before he executed it. The blow slammed into her ribs and she let out a grunt as pain spread through her, but it bought her time to shove her palm upward into his nose, then plant her foot as she aimed at his knee with the other, putting her entire body into the move. Her boot jammed into the joint, forcing it in the wrong direction, hopefully tearing the fascia into shreds. If executed correctly, the move could hobble him and give her a distinct advantage in what would still be a fight to the death.
But Devin’s knee proved impervious to the assault, too strong to fold under the force. A grimace of fury on his face, he grabbed her and took her to the floor. She hit the tile with a hard thud, hard enough to knock the wind right out of her. Nevertheless, she went on autopilot and elbowed Devin in the ribs twice, then reared her head back, hoping to smash his face into oblivion.
Devin was prepared for both assaults and compensated, and the attacks did little more than stall him before he got her in his grasp again. She began to scream, as loud as she could. It felt strange, and went against every instinct. Anytime she’d fought like this, she’d been on the job, where the goal had always been to avoid attracting attention.
Now, she prayed for attention. That someone, anyone, would hear her screams and call someone.
But her high-pitched wails didn’t last long before Devin silenced her by covering her mouth with his arm. Her screams muffled now, his legs attempted to entrap hers and force her into submission. She quit shouting and bit him in the arm, sinking her teeth so far into flesh that she tasted warm, tangy blood and ropey muscle. When tooth met bone, she pulled her head back, ignoring Devin’s hiss of pain and taking a chunk of flesh with her that she spit out.
Burning pain exploded through her face when Devin’s fist met her cheek, then her nose. She tasted more blood in her mouth, hers this time.
She managed to free one hand and reached back with it, hoping to find purchase in a nostril or eye or any orifice she could, determined to tear it permanently from his face. She grabbed something—she wasn’t sure what—and pulled with all her might as Devin let out another hiss of pain.
He was like a snake. Silent, hissing, poisonous.
Quinn kept at it, knowing that if Devin wanted the carnage to stop, he would have to release part of his hold on her in order to grab her arm. He did, grabbing her free hand with his punching arm, breaking one of her fingers with a snap that made her scream with pain and rage.
And with every punch, every broken finger, every thing he did to her, her rage grew and began to radiate out like black asphalt on a 130-degree afternoon. Then, she only wanted one thing—to end Devin, to tear him apart from limb to limb until he never exhaled again.
Quinn capitalized on her moment of freedom and she shifted her weight and rolled away, then reared her leg back and smashed her boot right into his face. Before he had much time to react, she threw herself against his upper body, pinning him down momentarily. Then she grabbed his head, lifted it, and smashed it onto the tile.
There was a dull, sickening thump as Devin’s skull met with the unforgiving tile. Blood seeped out from behind his head.
Then again, another thump.
His face screwed up in pain, but his eyes still glimmered with hate as he lay there in a daze.
She grabbed his head again, her only thought to keep pounding until those eyes saw no more. Then she could sedate him—
The sedative. In her pocket!
She began rooting through pockets until she found the injector. She grabbed it, but when she pulled it out of her pocket, it slipped out of her hands, which were covered in Devin’s blood. The injector slid across the tile and Quinn scrambled for it. Then she was suddenly knocked backward onto the floor.
Devin had punched her. For a moment, she saw nothing but dark spots. She still brought up her legs and kicked, hoping to keeping him away from her until her vision cleared. She reached for her last hope, her knucks.
But the spots remained. And it was then that the fatigue overwhelmed her. She’d been up all night, fighting with the enemy, getting shot and fried, running for her life. It was all she seemed to do in life… fight, run, fight some more.
Everything slowed down, like she moved underwater. Everything seemed harder, more labored, her lungs crying for oxygen and her muscles burning and shaking.
You’re not done yet, girl. One more round and you got this motherfucker.
Then Devin was coming at her again. She readied herself with her brass-knuckled fist, adjusting her body as she prepared to launch forward and left-hook him right in the jawbone. She made her move, landing the punch on his cheek as he shifted just enough, causing him to grunt loudly. But his jaw remained intact.
Next move. Build on that momentum and strike again.
She did, lobbing another blow. But her arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and he easily dodged the punch as the spots in her eyes got darker. Fatigue overcame her, until she couldn’t even lift her brass-knuckled hand or gain her full balance, like someone had drained the rest of her energy. Then her eyes began to blur a little.
Devin suddenly ceased his assault and drew back, giving Quinn just a moment of relief and recovery. And that’s when she saw it. Her injector in his hand.
The blur grew denser, and then everything faded to nothing.
Chapter 34
The pain was gone.
Her leg didn’t hurt. Her shoulder didn’t hurt, nor did her face or finger. Fatigue still haunted her, but she had no need for energy in this carefree place, where she rested in her comfortable bed with the air conditioning on a comfortable setting. She was finally safe.
But she couldn’t see anything. It was dark, except for one corner of her vision, where she saw the desert outside of El Diablo. It was a sunny day, and she spotted shrubs with silvery leaves, plants with green spines that were three feet long, and cacti as tall as trees towering over everything, their arm-like branches waving hello to her. A spiny iguana with blue streaks scuttled past, and she smiled at the creature. It was the desert of her early childhood, before the worst of the drought. The iguana turned to her, running her way, almost in desperation to get to her. Then he disappeared.
The desert scene faded, and the sun turned to black sky, day into night, and the plants withered to dust. Suddenly she felt cold, and a strange darkness seemed to descend upon her, almost like a shroud of death, a vile force that sent fear to her most protected places.
She wanted to cry out, to shout it away, but she had no voice. When she tried to move, she found she couldn’t. She was stuck there, wherever there was.
But there was someone with her, someone she couldn’t see or hear. But she could feel him.
Dark, evil, unseen.
Devin.
He’d mindjacked her.
Quinn let her mind go blank, preserving her thoughts and mind, still out of his reach. She focused on the darkness instead.
“What’s wrong, Quinn? Not happy to see me?”
She looked around in the darkness. No sign of Devin, or anyone. But it was his voice. What the hell was this?
Then she saw it. The jay. A bird perched on a thin post, big and black and shiny, red eyes staring right at her. He was there, but not there. On the outskirts of her mind, blocked by her training.
She spoke, finding that her voice did work after all. “Why are you doing this?”
“You know why,” the bird said.
“Tell me.”
“I just want to be close to you, Quinn. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Fuck you.”
He tsked. “That’s no way to treat a guest.”
“So which one was it, Devin? Of the two men I fried that night at Linden’s place, which one made your heart go pitter-patter?”
Silence as the bird’s eyes locked onto hers with a sinister gaze.
“The one you killed first. He was my brother.”
His brother.
Quinn recalled that awful night, two men on the floor, dead by her hand. Elliot Carlson, whose father they’d pursued down the wrong path, and the other one. The one she’d fought, smaller and skilled and dark-eyed. Like Devin.
The bird went on. “That was his first real assignment, one that should’ve been simple and straightforward.”
Quinn said nothing. He sounded tired now. Like the memory of his loss had drained the fury right out of him.
“He was a good kid. He wanted no part in the kind of danger you and I live by, but I brought him in because I couldn’t stand to watch him toil away in some greasy, hot restaurant Downtown, working six days a week to barely get by.”
Quinn recalled Pablo’s words to her and Jones, that the man in the second image wasn’t “a player.” Devin’s brother was a newbie.
Mind Thief Page 19
