Beyond the Dark

by Angela Knight

  “We’re not going to hurt you. Not if you let your family go.” But if you kill them, I’ll personally put a bullet between your eyes. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do.

  Arial took a deep breath and fought to inject her voice with a calm she didn’t feel. “Look, nobody’s been injured. We can still help you. But if you let your anger run away with you, you’re going to ruin everything for your children, your wife, and yourself. There won’t be any going back.”

  “You think you can take me?” He’d reeled from fear back to defiance. “Did you see what I did to that robot?”

  “I saw. But we’re still not going to let you kill those people, Tommy. Let us help you.”

  He fell silent. Children sobbed softly. A woman’s voice spoke. “Listen to her, Tommy! I won’t leave you, I swear. Just don’t hurt the kids—”

  “You’re lying,” he roared. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’re trying to play me!”

  The call cut off.

  “Shit.” Arial hit redial. The phone rang repeatedly, but there was no answer.

  Sheriff Davis walked over to her, the captain of the SWAT team at his heels. Davis’s normally ruddy face looked pale. “Are we out of time?”

  She raked her hair back from her face. “Let me try to get him back on the phone. As long as I’ve got him talking, he’s not cooking anybody.” The fact that she’d kept him on the phone for two hours was actually a good sign. At least he was willing to talk. Too often in this kind of situation, the hostage taker wouldn’t answer the phone at all.

  “You think he’s going to blow?”

  Arial shrugged. “Blasting the robot was a bad sign. And from what I gather, new Hypers are emotionally unstable. Something about the brain chemistry…”

  “So if I lead my guys in, we could end up like the robot.” Gaines drummed his gloved fingers on his holster, a ferocious frown on his face. “But if we don’t go in, the woman and the kids could end up crispy critters. I don’t like either of those options.”

  “Neither do I. Let me get Phillips back on the phone. Maybe I can still talk him out.” She hit redial again.

  No answer.

  Suddenly the radio crackled. “Hey, Sheriff? Tracker’s here.”

  “Thank God!” Davis said. “Let him through.”

  Arial hit redial again. “Answer, dammit.”

  She was listening to the phone ring when the RV’s door slid open. A man stepped onto the bus and strode down the aisle toward them. Arial looked up—and almost dropped her cell.

  A long duster swung around his booted ankles, emphasizing the width of broad shoulders and powerful chest. He wore something black and gleaming beneath the coat, a one-piece suit constructed in jointed segments that suggested very expensive, very high-tech body armor. A black mask covered his head and the upper part of his face, its thickness obviously designed more to protect his skull than disguise his identity. Red lenses shielded his eyes, making it impossible to determine their color. The end result called attention to the broad line of his jaw and the sensuality of his mouth.

  He sure as hell didn’t look like any Fed she’d ever seen.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” he said in a deep male rumble. “I gather there’s a problem.”

  “You could say that,” Arial muttered, hitting redial.

  “All right, bitch,” Phillips growled, picking up at last. “Tell me again why I shouldn’t blow this trailer to Kingdom Come—along with every cop for ten miles around.”

  “Yeah,” Tracker said. “That does sound like a problem.”

  AFTER a less than encouraging briefing from Sheriff Davis, Josiah stepped outside the RV to sample the air and listen. With his Hyper senses, he could easily pick out the sounds of muffled sobbing coming from the trailer. It made his gut coil into a knot. Keeping Phillips’s wife and little girls alive was going to take every bit of skill and strength he had. Not to mention sheer, dumb luck.

  He wondered if the asshole had any other powers than the ability to melt robots into slag. He hated dealing with new Hypers. You never knew what they were capable of. Plus, they tended to be batshit crazy. It could be weeks before they regained enough judgment and experience to control their powers, and in the meantime, they could do a hell of a lot of damage.

  Josiah’s initial delight at getting the call from John Myers had vanished as soon as the agent started describing the situation. Unless he could get his ass to James County in a hurry, he was about to have a lot of dead cops and civilians on his hands.

  Five minutes later, he’d hit I–85 with light and sirens screaming. He’d floored his black SUV all the way.

  Though he wasn’t technically an employee of the federal government, Josiah’s quasi-official status made his life much simpler. For one thing, it meant he didn’t have to worry about being arrested as an unlicensed Hyper vigilante.

  The badge did come with strings, of course: the understanding that if he screwed up, he could go to jail. The Feds had his true identity on record, though it was kept secret to protect any family and friends from other Hypers who might be harboring a grudge. And of course, the deal also meant he had to answer midnight calls to risk his ass against nut jobs like Phillips.

  His armor might be fire resistant, but he had the ugly feeling this new Hyper could dish out more than it could take. If he wasn’t fast—and lucky—he could end up a crispy critter himself.

  But better him than Phillips’s wife and kids.

  Josiah glanced back at the RV. The pretty hostage negotiator was still sweet-talking, which was why he hadn’t already kicked in the trailer door. He’d rather give her the chance to get the bastard out peacefully than risk a confrontation that might end with dead bodies.

  One of the dim interior lights spilled across the woman’s face, illuminating her elegant profile. Her eyes were large, a deep, lustrous brown that precisely matched the long, straight sweep of her hair.

  She had the kind of bone structure a supermodel would envy, and her mouth was full, sensual, and soft. The only flaw he could see was a small silver scar that sliced down her stubborn little chin. The contrast between the looks and the scar was intriguing. He wondered how she’d gotten it.

  Her voice went with the face, a husky whiskey purr that gave a hint of phone sex to even the deadly serious conversation she was having with Phillips. No wonder the asshole was willing to stay on the line with her. That voice was a weapon all by itself.

  Once Tracker would have taken one look and started making plans to seduce himself a pretty cop. But even if that had been an option now, his Hyper senses picked up a faint smoky blue glow surrounding her. He scratched his jaw and sighed. He’d have to warn her before she got herself into real trouble.

  She glanced out the window at him. He gave her a smile, but she didn’t smile back.

  Great. She was one of those. A lot of people hated Hypers, even the good guys. He’d encountered that kind of bigotry more times than he could count in the five years since his transformation, but he’d never gotten used to it.

  He looked back across the woods. The dog was yapping again, shrill and relentless. It was getting on his nerves.

  As if on cue, a male voice rang through the trees. “Pugly, shut the fuck up!”

  BOOM!

  A single, agonized yelp. Three female voices began to scream.

  Josiah’s head jerked around, and he met the negotiator’s horrified eyes. He could see in her face exactly what he was thinking.

  The kids are next.

  ARIAL saw Tracker run for the trailer at a speed an Olympic sprinter would envy. She was up and running for the RV’s exit before she even had time to process what she was going to do. “Sheriff, Tracker’s going in!”

  Someone cursed as she stopped at the door to jerk the fire extinguisher out of its rack. She slammed the door open and hit the ground running. Behind her, Davis bellowed, “Dean! What the hell are you doing?”

  He was right. I’m the hostage negotiator. I don’t
do this. This is SWAT’s job.

  But there were little girls in that trailer. Little girls like Jenny. Somebody had to get them to safety, and Tracker was going to have his hands full with Phillips.

  Swinging the fire extinguisher up on her shoulder, Arial ran faster. As she raced through the woods, she heard Gaines bellow behind her, “We’re going in!”

  The members of the SWAT team lunged from their concealment in the surrounding woods, vengeful black-clad ghosts. Brush crunched as they began to run, male voices rising in shouts. “Police!”

  Just ahead, Tracker cleared the railing of the trailer’s tiny porch and hit the door in midair. It crumpled like tin foil with a thunderous screech. Shrieks rang—the cry of the mother, the shriller screams of the children. Phillips howled obscenities.

  Arial leaped up the steps after Tracker to find the minuscule den full of smoke. She coughed and squinted, barely making out the two male figures writhing on the floor in the thick black cloud.

  Tracker was straddling his opponent face-down on the ground, holding Phillips’s palms pinned against the back of his head. Smart. Phillips couldn’t blast without incinerating himself. The agent’s massive arms bulged as he fought to control the Hyper, who heaved and bucked in an effort to throw him off.

  Beside them, an overturned coffee table blazed furiously, the flames licking at the surrounding carpet, edging dangerously close to the drapes. If they caught, the whole trailer would go up in five minutes flat.

  Arial shouldered past the broken door and pointed the extinguisher at the fire. A stream of cold foam snuffed it with a hiss.

  “Get the kids out!” she yelled at Phillips’s wife, who huddled on the couch with her children, one of whom clutched a small, cowering dog.

  What do you know, Phillips’s potshot at the dog missed.

  Jolted, the woman jerked her youngest into her arms, grabbed her five-year-old by the hand, and darted past Arial, dragging the child behind her. The dog fled after them, tail tucked. All four hesitated at the bent and broken door that blocked their escape.

  Arial turned and kicked the door the rest of the way open. The woman scurried outside just as the SWAT team arrived at the front steps. One of the men swept the five-year-old into his arms, while two others hustled Mrs. Phillips and her daughter to safety, the dog yapping in pursuit.

  Arial started to step back for the rest of the team. As she pivoted, she felt something clamp ferociously hard around her ankle. She looked down and realized, with a sense of sick horror, that Phillips had grabbed her leg.

  The world went a sharp, electric blue. Pain smashed into her consciousness like a freight train.

  And then she saw nothing at all.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Josiah watched in horror as a blue-white crackle of energy threw Phillips and the hostage negotiator in opposite directions. She slammed into the wall as the fire extinguisher went flying. Cursing himself, he pounced on Phillips.

  Not only was the fucker a fire-caster, he was also strong as a bull. Which was how he’d managed to slam an elbow into Josiah’s head and get away.

  But he’d miscalculated badly in his choice of hostage. Phillips obviously hadn’t realized the consequences of grabbing a Potential. The energy discharge had knocked him for a loop.

  He was too stunned to resist as Josiah grabbed him and slammed a fist in his face. The Hyper’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  Snarling a curse, Josiah straddled him and dragged his lax arms behind his back, then pulled a pair of blocker cuffs out of his coat pocket. He clamped them on the Hyper’s thick wrists and sat back with a mental sigh of relief. The cuffs would nullify Phillips’s powers until the Feds could get him into a cell.

  Wearily, Josiah climbed to his feet and turned to see several members of the SWAT team gathered around the negotiator, who was out cold.

  Well, Josiah thought grimly, this sucks.

  INVISIBLE thanks to the slave by her side, Kali stared through the trailer doorway, thoroughly disgusted. If Tommy Phillips had held off his meltdown for one more day, she could have gotten to him before the cops did.

  She’d spotted him at the truck stop the week before. The smoking glow around him told her Phillips was a Potential, so she’d touched him. It had been pure whim; she’d had no idea what he’d turn out to be.

  Finding out was half the fun.

  Kali did wish she’d been able to track Phillips down sooner—preferably before he attracted the attention of the cops. A fire-caster would have been a useful addition to her stable. And adding him would have been no problem, since from what she’d seen, Phillips’s will would have been no match for her psi. She’d have put him under control with very little effort.

  Unlike Tracker, who’d damn near ripped her head off when she’d tried that trick on him.

  She was tempted to send a team in to recover Phillips anyway. Brute’s strength was very nearly a match for Tracker’s, and with Ghost making him invisible, he could keep the bastard busy while the others grabbed the fire-caster.

  But that would have gotten the Feds involved. They could command a far larger stable of Hypers than Kali could, and she had no desire to end up wearing a pair of blocker cuffs. The minute she lost her powers, one of her slaves would probably kill her.

  So, no. She had no choice except to write Phillips off as a loss.

  Brooding, Kali watched as one of the SWAT team officers helped the female cop to her feet. Seen with Kali’s Hyper senses, energy popped and flared around the woman, who staggered woozily.

  Kali’s eyes narrowed as she watched the play of developing forces surging through her aura. Phillips, the idiot, had Triggered the cop’s powers when he’d grabbed her. Kali had a feeling her abilities would turn out to be really impressive, though it was impossible to tell exactly what they were this early.

  Perhaps this little adventure hadn’t been a total loss after all.

  “Come on, boys,” she murmured to the six slaves surrounding her. Together, they faded back into the woods to watch.

  PALE blue lights flashed like fireflies in Arial’s peripheral vision. Automatically, she waved a hand to shoo them away—and realized the sheriff was eyeing her as he drove. He’d insisted on taking her home from the hospital, despite her protests.

  Pulling up in front of her apartment complex, he stopped the big unmarked Crown Vic and turned to her. She resisted the urge to squirm as he studied her in the light of a streetlamp. “I want you to take the next couple of days off, Sergeant.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff, but that’s not necessary. You heard the ER doc. The X-rays and CT scan were fine.”

  “Yeah, I can tell that by the way you’re batting at things that aren’t there. Phillips blew your ass across the room, Dean, and you were out cold for fifteen minutes. I want you to make an appointment with your doctor. I don’t like the look in your eyes.”

  She stiffened. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m sure you will be.” The steely note in his voice told her it was time to stop arguing.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Arial swung open the car door and got out, somehow managing not to stagger as those damn blue lights darted around her head.

  The sheriff frowned at her, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “You get some rest now.”

  She gave him a stiff nod and closed the car door. He flicked her a half-salute and pulled off.

  Arial watched the Crown Vic rumble out of the parking lot. As soon as it was out of sight, she turned and limped for her building. The cold night air felt bracing, and she sighed in relief as the fuzziness in her head began to lift for the first time since Phillips had hit her.

  Still, every muscle and joint she had ached from slamming into that wall. She needed a painkiller and bed.

  Maybe those days off would be welcome after all.

  Wearily, she started climbing the wooden steps to her third-floor apartment. The complex was relatively new, and most of the tenants were young profess
ionals saving for their first homes. Glancing across the parking lot at the adjacent building, she noticed darkened Christmas trees in her neighbors’ windows draped in swags of garland and hung with colorful ornaments.

  Maybe she should use her days off to decorate her own apartment. Christmas was only a week away, but she’d been too busy to even think about it.

  When she reached her floor, something glowing and gold attracted her attention. A tiger, reclining like the Sphinx on the wooden floor, striped in light and darkness. Apparently one of her neighbors had weird taste in Christmas decorations.

  Then it looked at her and licked its chops.

  Arial froze, her eyes widening in astonished fear.

  A gloved hand flicked on the switch beside her front door. Blinding yellow light washed the tiger away, leaving Tracker standing in its place. “Sergeant Dean?”

  She must have been imagining things. Fear made her voice sharp. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  His masked head tilted. “We need to talk.”

  “Tracker, it’s four in the morning, and I’ve had a rough night. It can wait.” Her heels rang on the wooden floor as she headed for her door.

  “No, actually. It can’t.” He took a step closer, tall and broad and imposing. She stopped warily as the awareness of him flooded her senses—his scent, his size, his warmth, radiating across the narrow space to envelop her.

  Arial shook off the impression and dug her keys from the pocket of her jeans. “Fine. Come inside. No point in freezing our butts off out here.”

  But despite her crisp words, her hand was shaking too badly to get the key in the lock. Leather-clad fingers closed over hers. “Let me.”

  She released the key as if it burned and watched him turn it. He opened the door and stepped inside with the air of a man alert to possible threats. His back looked damn near as wide as the door. Deep inside her, something purred feminine approval.

  Arial forced herself to ignore it and stepped inside after him. She flicked on the overhead light and watched him prowl around her living room like a cat. He looked big and dark surrounded by the sunny yellow walls and cheery orange furniture. All black leather and outrageous masculinity.