by Black, Regan
"Here comes the club manager," said the cop in the driver's seat. "Ten to one he wants us to move." He rolled down his window while his partner cued up a device to record the exchange.
Mira watched with morbid fascination as the conversation deteriorated in a predictable manner. Clearly the officers had no sympathy for the club's bottom line, wanting to get as much mileage as they could out of their presence.
They made lame excuses about tech glitches and waiting for the evidence van to pick up the motorcycle. The manager wasn't buying it, but when the carefully veiled bribe was rejected, he left on a string of foul curses.
They both turned on her when he was out of earshot, resuming their tag team version of question and answer with perfectly functional equipment.
She insisted they'd made a mistake. They countered with harsh statements about how much worse things would get if she didn't confess before the evidence proved her guilty.
Her nerves frayed, she was about to tell them what she really thought when suddenly the driver's face went pale. He gasped for air and reached for his left shoulder. Classic signs of heart attack, but the officer looked way too young for such a problem.
"What's wrong with you?" The tech partner muted the recording. Getting no answer from his partner, he turned an accusing glare at Mira. "What did you do?"
"Nothing!" She jerked on the cuffs holding her in place. "How could I do anything?" Her head swiveled as she searched for any sign of Jameson, or worse an enforcer, closing in on her.
"Call someone," she snapped. "He needs help." The driver groaned again and she knew if it was his heart, she was his only chance. Evidence, exposure and risk aside, she couldn't sit here and do nothing while the man died. "Uncuff me. Let me help him."
The hesitation was enough to have the blue energy pooling in her hands. She thought of Petra, of the potential for a problematic misunderstanding here and smothered it. It wasn't as if she could throw a bit of light at the driver and hope for the best. Could she? She didn't have to try as the partner finally partner relented, freeing her and popping open the back door as he called for an ambulance.
Mira lunged out of the vehicle and around to the driver's side. Placing her hands on the clammy skin of the driver, she realized it was the worst case scenario. She hoped like hell the recording gear was turned off as she pulsed a little healing light into the man's heart. Giving just enough to stabilize him until the ambulance arrived, she used her other hand to loosen his collar and ease his breathing.
The unfamiliar hands on her shoulders surprised her. She assumed it was the partner misinterpreting her assistance, but the partner was shouting and reaching for his weapon even as she was yanked away from her patient.
Not Jameson. Not Lucas either, she realized, twisting around to see who held her so roughly. She didn't recognize anything about the cold face of the man with the vicious grip. With her senses cranked up to heal the patient, she felt a difference in this man's bio signature that told her she was in serious trouble. This was no ordinary enforcer she was dealing with.
"Get off me!" She stumbled back when her assailant dropped to his knees, crumpling as though he'd been hit from behind.
"Run!" Jameson's voice came out of the shadows.
She did. Straight for the motorcycle. No way was she leaving him to deal with this freak alone. The bike was surrounded by onlookers distracted by the fight. Even if she could muscle it through the crowd, she had no way to start the engine. She nearly burst into tears.
"Can anyone start this?"
"How 'bout a trade?" A skinny kid dressed in black from head to toe and pierced within an inch of his life looked like an absolute angel to her as he held out a key.
"Thanks!" She snatched it off his finger and raced over to a small motorbike that lacked all the style and probably most of the power, of the one Jameson had stolen. Mira got it rolling in the right direction, hoping Jameson wasn't seriously hurt yet.
She called his name, willing him to hear her over the shouts of the crowd and the wail of an approaching ambulance. She was startled to see he was still on his feet despite losing the advantage of the stealth suit already. She winced as they traded blows and wanted to cheer when Jameson didn't go down. Maybe her effect on him at the lab was an advantage he wanted to nurture.
Something to discuss when they made it to safety. She looked for any available option to give him a chance to escape. He was too involved in the fight, the enforcer too eager to get to her. Running over the enforcer was out. She didn't have enough experience to control the bike and she didn't want to risk hurting Jameson or anyone else.
The men kept hammering at each other as a sketchy plan formed in her mind. Parking the bike behind the patrol car, she left it running and pulled out her dad's old keys. When the pair got close, she threw herself at the enforcer and stabbed his neck.
He howled in pain and she was tossed onto the patrol car as he thrashed and tried to stop the bleeding.
Jameson caught her hand and they raced for the bike, motoring off into the night.
The ride was completely different this time, the engine a faint imitation of their earlier ride. She wrapped her arms around him for comfort as well as a quick sweep of his vital signs. He was in perfect health.
"Why didn't you steal the bike we had?"
"Couldn't start it. Traded up."
His laughter rumbled through his broad back and straight into her heart. She didn't know where he thought they could hide, didn't know how to contact anyone for help. She only knew she trusted him to find a way.
"Have you ever been to the Water Tower?"
"Not in person." It was always easier, less of a risk, to shop online.
"Good."
They puttered closer to the landmark, barely keeping pace with the flow of traffic on the street. She looked over her shoulder, half afraid the enforcer would catch them on foot. No one showed any special interest in them. She wondered if Brian's influence was keeping the police at bay.
Jameson turned into the parking garage and cruised around until he found a spot to squeeze the bike between two larger cars. "That'll buy us a little time," he said with a nod to the security cameras.
"That guy back there he was new, right?" He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
She nodded. "I didn't see anyone with him."
"Huh. I really didn't think there'd be any enforcers close enough to interfere with the police."
Mira pulled at the edges of her parka as a wind gust blew through the garage. "He might have triggered the heart attack to draw me out, to be sure he had the right person."
"Something to think about. Later." He nudged on toward the warmth of the mall.
"Are we shopping?"
He grinned, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them a bit. "Wouldn't mind a pair of gloves."
"Tis the season," she said with a smile. It amazed her that they could be this relaxed, this easy with everything else going on around them. "I have an account at Nordstrom's."
"Can you power shop?" He draped his arm over her shoulder.
"I'm female. Though I usually do that kind of thing online."
"Let's take an hour. On one condition."
She looked up at him.
"Whatever happens do not heal anyone in this store. I think that enforcer can track you and you must give off some spectacular sort of flare when you're working on someone."
It was an angle she hadn't considered. It made sense, in a way, since the healing gift was mostly about reading and manipulating biometric energy. Just because she hadn't heard of such a thing didn't mean it couldn't happen. From the moment her mother had smuggled her out of the inquiry she'd discovered an entire history she didn't know existed. Just a week ago, she'd never known it was real to have a blue bubble moment, much less how it would so thoroughly change her.
They entered the mall and studiously ignored the sideways glances aimed at their battered and windblown attire. If the high end, perfectly coiffed crowd had
any idea what they were. For once her secret made her smile, simply because of the man at her side.
She felt silly, picking up a nearly duplicate order of all the things she'd just had delivered to Leanore's, but it would be foolish to revisit any place where she'd applied her gift. Which made her wonder just where Jameson planned to stay the night. Neither of them had identification beyond a throw away cell card and a thumbprint that probably didn't match any real records at the moment.
"You do have the next step all thought out, don't you?"
He gave her his dangerous smile as he tried on the display model of a buttery soft leather glove in a chocolate brown. "I've got a few ideas."
Good, because she was fresh out. She checked the size and found the right box wrapped with a big seasonal bow. "Merry Christmas," she said, adding it to the big shopping bag looped over her arm.
"What'd you get?"
"Stuff." She nudged him away when he tried to peek inside. The lingerie that was several degrees above essential was meant to be a surprise. Providing they had some privacy in the near future. She refused to analyze just how and why she'd made time to wander that department.
"You sure you don't mind the rest of this?" He indicated the jeans and sweaters under his arm. "I can pay my own way."
"You have an account here?"
"I have access to my sister's account here," he said with a smirk.
She shook her head. "Let's do your sister's account a favor and call this payment for services rendered."
He stopped walking, his expression caught somewhere between appalled and angry.
"What?" She searched for the threat, saw no one. "What?"
He was nose to nose with her in one stride. "Services rendered?" The hot lick of temper lashed out at her.
She laughed, tried to ignore the heat that was surely staining her face. "Relax." She kissed him, a quick smack on the lips. "I was thinking of the 'saving the damsel in distress' type services. Though it irritates me no end to admit I'm so useless in the field."
"You're not useless. In the field or anywhere else." He kissed her back, and she felt his tension melt away. "Just so we're clear."
She wasn't at all sure they were clear about what was between them or who was gunning for her, but they were definitely in it together. They got in line at the nearest register, roped off with fake holly and the occasional arch decked with mistletoe.
He leaned down and gave her another sweet peck on the lips, then nuzzled her ear. "We've been found."
She froze, the proverbial deer in headlights, but he thawed her out enough to take the next step in line.
"Don't worry about it."
He was the expert, she decided. Reaching the register, she smiled like there wasn't a terrifying man lurking behind them ready to dispose of Jameson and haul her back to the Five.
The idea of that cold, bleak inquiry room put some steel back in her spine. She wasn't going back. Not as a prisoner, not in disgrace and not without her talent. Her newer, stronger talent.
"Great. Stay close to me," Jameson said. "We're just any other infatuated couple, too lost in ourselves to worry about being followed."
She beamed up at him, managed to restrain sticking her tongue out at the enforcer. "We're not going back to the bike, are we?"
"See? Your field senses are just fine."
She raised an eyebrow when he stopped, pulling her close behind a large pillar decorated for the season. He took her hands in his and gave them a warm squeeze. She got the zing and the light flared.
"I think the energy is what he's tracking." He tugged her coat off and turned it inside out, then plopped a Santa hat on her head. "Head for the main escalator. I'll do the stealth suit thing and go the other way. Just a quick test, then we're out of here."
"But what if he's following me just as me?"
His smile soothed her. "Nothing 'just' about you. He won't get close enough, I promise."
She believed him, more she understood the logic. If her transformation made it easy for her order to find her, she needed to know so she could adjust her life accordingly.
As disguised as they could make her in those few seconds, she walked away from him, toward the escalators. It was hard to resist the urge to look over her shoulder, for the enforcer or Jameson, but she managed. With a warm smile for every person she met, she continued on as planned, hoping she didn't look as paranoid as she felt.
She watched for any sign of worry on the faces of the people in front of her, hoping for at least a second's warning if she was about to be attacked. But nothing happened. The Santa hat proved quite effective. She didn't get the sense of being watched, didn't see any fights breaking out on the other side of the store.
Reaching the agreed upon spot, she pretended to be fascinated by the display of fine candies near the busy gift wrap counter.
"There you are." Jameson turned her around and planted a kiss on her mouth. "Looking for stocking stuffers?"
"Um, yeah," she said with a nervous giggle. "For your nephews." It was the closest thing to typical conversation she could manage.
"I had the same idea," he led her away and whispered in her ear. "Get a little healing power going and put it on the next person you see."
"What?"
"Like what you did for Burkhardt's nose."
"Oh." She had all kinds of questions, but she did as he asked wondering just what sort of ailment might be relieved when she bumped into an elderly man. She made her excuses, shook his hand and wished both him and his chattering grandson a happy holiday.
"Good job," Jameson said, rushing her toward whatever the next step was in this cat and mouse game.
"I don't want him to get hurt. Or the boy."
"They won't. He wants you, but he's following your energy or light or whatever. The more people you touch with your gift, the more problem he has finding you specifically."
They were out in the main mall again and he hurried her toward the elevators. The joined the crowd headed to the upper levels, but they didn't get off at the last shopping opportunity. Instead, Jameson pressed his thumb to the discreet security access above the rest of the buttons.
The car rolled upward for a few more seconds, bumped to a stop, and the doors parted on an empty floor. The highly buffed industrial grade linoleum and freshly painted beige walls were the only sign that anyone knew this floor existed.
"The military needs a new decorator," Jameson grumbled.
"The military has offices in Water Tower Place?"
"A lot of businesses do."
"Well, yes." She was too surprised to develop the point sufficiently. "Whatever."
"Office space is office space, right?"
She nodded, feeling like she'd offended him somehow.
"I'm not sure what to expect, but it beats getting caught. There's no way the hunter can get up here."
"Hunter?"
"What would you call whoever or whatever it is that's tracking you so relentlessly? I doubt he's the one calling the shots. When we split up, I hovered around a group of people and watched him struggle with the problem of two energy paths. He whipped out his cell card, probably asking for advice."
It made sense and while the Five had to be upset with her, she didn't think they'd do anything so proactive. They'd wait for her to settle, screw up, and then have her hauled in again.
There was something different about this enforcer, something she'd picked up on when she'd stabbed him with her keys.
"Did you see if his neck was healed?"
"Not even a scratch left."
She held the rest of her questions until they were inside a small and well-appointed reception room. "Wow."
Jameson agreed, taking it in. "This is really new."
"Is it the right office?"
"Only place my badge will work." He locked the door. "Feel free to explore. It's supposed to be stocked with the basics for times when the staff needs to lay low."
"Staff of what?"
"Sorry can't
tell you that." He kissed her instead.
"Doesn't a staff mean we'll have company?"
"Nope. It's a safe house thing. Again, can't go into details. At the moment, I'm hoping they put a Murphy bed in here when they remodeled."
She laughed when he wiggled his eyebrows. How could he make her laugh when everything in her life was so ridiculously out of whack?
He reached for her and she let him take her under with a kiss so hot and full of promise her body shivered with anticipation. His hands in her hair sent the Santa hat to the floor. She clutched his shoulders for balance, and opened to the hot stroke of his tongue against her lips. The vivid images of their encounter at Micky's place danced through her mind.
She wanted more of that, more of him. He was like an addiction she knew she couldn't beat. Didn't want to beat. But that addiction, that dream, was impossible if she were forever on the run. With a small cry, she pushed away.
"I don't know what's next." She blurted it out, embarrassed and frustrated that she couldn't simply enjoy the sweetness of the moment. Unable to face him, she turned away to fiddle with a paperweight on the reception desk.
His hands were feather light on her shoulders, then the only contact she felt were his fingers in her ponytail.
"Why can't this be next? The two of us alone and safe?"
She couldn't bring herself to turn around, didn't dare look him in the eye. "Because I want more and more doesn't look like an option," she whispered.
"Hang on. I think more is a great idea." He nibbled on the back of her neck and her knees turned to jelly. "More now and more later. I guarantee we will sort this out, Mira."
"How? Which part?" She thought of her father's rejection and couldn't help but wonder when Jameson would look at her the same way. Illogical, but such was the state of her heart. She swiped at the tear rolling down her cheek. "What happened to us at the lab? I barely understand the theory behind it. Sure you like the effect now, but what if it wears off? What if you eventually hate it...hate me."
He made a frustrated sound, the perfect expression of all the conflict roiling inside her.
"So what if this is new? It's a challenge and change, but come on." He went around to the desk and rifled through a drawer. Pulling out a stylus he drove it through the soft skin at his wrist.
