Invasion of Justice (Shadows of Justice)

by Regan Black

  "Why?" she asked, stifling the small thrill over his support of her hopeful conclusions.

  Gideon's sudden smile warmed her, head to toe.

  "Because she's a scrapper first and foremost. She knew her combat. She really believes in what she's doing."

  "Which is?"

  "Protecting women by teaching them to protect themselves."

  "What does she protect them from?"

  Gideon grunted. "You didn't see that neighborhood?"

  "Of course I did, but I think there was more."

  Two syllable grunt this time. "You think too much." Gideon extended a hand to help her off the lab stool. "Come on. Let's see if we can track her down."

  "For information, not for lessons."

  Gideon wrapped his arms around her waist, cinching her arms to her sides and pressing her body to his, making it hard to breathe.

  "Stop!"

  "Make me."

  Petra squirmed, but he held fast. Her hands flapped uselessly by her hips. She tossed her head back, hoping for any contact, but he bobbed away with a chuckle. The arms tightened even more.

  She needed air and a moment to think, but both were impossible. Her vision began to dim at the edges. Desperate, she tried to stomp on his feet. Then she kicked at his shins. The arms loosened and she filled her lungs, but then he banded her hard, forcing the exhale.

  She hated him. She hated being helpless. She hated him. She hated...

  Soft, sweet bells rang in her head emphasizing her negative mantra. She went limp in his arms and conceded his point. "Okay, you win."

  The moment she was free, she took a fast, deep breath. Then she turned and kicked him in the knee. It was a toss up whether the oxygen or his pained expression was more satisfying. The sensation was new and empowering, and just a little dark.

  She liked it.

  Chapter Six

  I flew to Nathan today for his birthday. He felt me and laughed at my squishy sentiment, but I thought it a fitting gift, and one only I could give! I miss him so much since his transfer to Maryland. Seeing him reminds me that far is only a state of mind. Distance and time just silly perceptions we cling to. –From the October 2092 journal of Petra Neiman

  "You wicked little–"

  Her cell card chimed, interrupting Gideon. She couldn't be more pleased. "Petra Neiman," she answered, sending Gideon a sugary smile.

  "Meet me ASAP," Kincaid ordered. "I'm investigating an anonymous tip in Gary. I'll text the address." The line was dead before she could explain her current status.

  "Nice." She scowled, slipping the card into her back pocket. "Here ends our outing. I've been called in to work. Mind if I take that car?"

  Putting some effort into it, she actually sauntered out the door and up the stairs, leaving Gideon behind. She felt lighter already. Empowered. Whatever Kincaid needed, she'd tackle it.

  Outside, the day seemed brighter and she upped her pace, jogging to the car. It felt good to really move her body again. She'd always valued her business attire for keeping the world at arm's length, without realizing how propriety and isolation managed to smother her, too. Maybe that was the life lesson she could learn from her unfortunate association with Gideon. It felt good to lighten up.

  "Mind if I drive?" Gideon asked, catching her and matching her pace.

  "You don't know where we're going."

  "I could say the same." He jerked his thumb at the intersection they were passing. "Car's that way."

  No appropriate come back came to mind, so she just smiled and turned to follow him. "I've been called out to Gary."

  "No problem. Your buddy's ride there has a turbo booster and he keeps it charged up."

  They took their original places in the vehicle and Gideon sped southeast toward Gary. He hadn't been joking about the power under the hood and with every fast-passing mile she felt the press of darkness around her, over her, and it wasn't coming from the car.

  "What's happening to you?"

  She heard him ask, but wasn't sure how to answer.

  "Dumb to think an empath would be less moody than any other woman," he muttered.

  "I'm not deaf," she said.

  "Acting like it."

  She wanted to snipe at him, but didn't. "You're right. I'm feeling something very dark and heavy. It's closing in around me."

  "Oh goody."

  "Hey, bud, you asked. I felt it the minute I got into Chicago. It should be easing off as we drive away." Petra ignored his sigh and tried to block out his white knuckles on the steering yoke.

  "Whether you're feeling creepy or not, I'm ready for a fight."

  "Why do you stay so angry?"

  "I'm not angry. I'm practical. Call it intuition. Whenever you're around there's plenty of trouble."

  "It's weird." She shivered, but the chill was inside. "I'm usually around after the trouble."

  "Meaning?"

  "My work is done after the crime. Bad guy does bad thing and gets away. I view the scene, pick up his residual energies and usually enough solid details for Kincaid to nail the case."

  "So you're Kincaid's puppet."

  "There are worse services to provide."

  "And better." His dark eyes lit on her. "You could model lingerie."

  On reflex, she smacked him–right on the incision. His overdone wince tripped her guilt button. "Oh! I'm so sorry. Let me fix it." She rolled the short sleeve of his shirt up high. "Hey, where'd it go?"

  Gideon shoved the sleeve back into place. "You tell me."

  She tried to look again, but he brushed her off. "There's not even a scar."

  "I noticed that."

  "Healing isn't my gift."

  "My arm says otherwise." He looked away from the road long enough to raise a skeptical brow. "If the psychic thing doesn't work out, there's a future for you in plastic surgery. Or the lingerie thing."

  Petra rolled her eyes, but bit back the sharp reply when his aura spiked in contradiction with his words. "You're worried."

  He scowled hard at the road. "About Kincaid's directions, maybe."

  She stared through the window as the former steel town came into view. Buildings long abandoned stood like sentinels against the gray sky as if unified in depression. Her heart was a bundle of emotions from fury to despair. Under it all was the sweet familiarity of her sister.

  "Looks like the party started without us." Gideon headed for the collection of government-issue vehicles. They'd converged on an old mill furthest from the American Steelworkers Museum and el station.

  "Get me in there!"

  "Hold on. You can't just barge inside without knowing the layout." He rolled to a stop at the end of the line of cars.

  "Kincaid!" Petra bolted from the car and raced to her boss. "What's happening?"

  "Put this on." Kincaid slid the kev-lite vest onto her. "Shots have been fired and all hell's breaking loose. A local team is trying to contain the suspect as we speak. Our crew is providing cover and support only."

  She nodded once, followed him inside, and up the steps to what had been a supervisor's loft when the mill was operational. Below her the scene bore no similarity to the building's original purpose. A long table was topped with implements she didn't want to fathom. What might be an electric chair was suspended half in, half out of an opening in the floor. A grate glowed with angry heat, illuminating what could only be a branding iron.

  In the midst of it all was her sister. Jaden Michaels. She tested the name in her mind as she took in the swinging braid and the beautiful combination of bold grace and lethal strength. Beside her Gideon whispered Jaden's name, confirming the truth she wanted to hear.

  Her heart soared, and she felt like singing. To find this missing piece of herself, of her family, filled her to overflowing. She was so happy, so focused on Jaden, she'd ignored the complete scene.

  A man circled Jaden in a horrific dance and as Petra watched her emotions tangled. Pure, joyful recognition was marred by fear that her sister wouldn't survive. The man opposin
g her was big and bulky but wielded his sword with vivid expertise. Petra could feel the cold calculation of evil slither around her. She felt it crawl beneath her skin, felt it wanting to clutch her heart until she breathed no more.

  She gripped her elbows and hugged herself, annoyed with the protective vest that impeded her movements. She turned her thoughts to hot chocolate, warm toast with raspberry jam, anything to shield her from the insidious darkness that sought her.

  Metal clashed, splitting the air and sending an excited thrill up her spine. Petra shed the ridiculous reaction. It was her sister down there, the sister she'd yet to meet, fighting for her life against a soulless man. She blinked when the man gave off a violent charge of dark energy and transformed into something indescribable.

  Gideon tried to believe his eyes, but his mind struggled against the input. Maybe some remnant of the virus was causing hallucinations. Better yet, this could just be a nightmare on a nasty detour. He considered pinching himself to wake up, but his life had never been that easy.

  He recognized Jaden by her speed and grace, fighting off a creature the devil himself would hesitate to claim. What had been the pompous ass Gideon knew as Judge Albertson, had transformed into a sinewy beast with a quick, long reach he wasn't sure Jaden could evade. Helpless, he watched the macabre display, trying to ignore Petra, who cried silently beside him.

  "Watch the–" His breath stopped when Jaden lowered her sword and offered her heart. Transfixed, Gideon watched the blade plunge into her chest. The bizarre became more so as a foul cloud of sulfuric yellow enveloped the scene. A roar erupted from the gruesome victor, followed by an ear-splitting shriek, then a staccato shower of bullets. A crusty shout of cease-fire cued an eerie chorus of firearms being safetied.

  Silence bound the scene and when the cloud faded, Jaden lay on the floor, lifeless.

  His ears ringing, the first voice Gideon heard was Kincaid, pleading with Petra.

  "You have to do something, Petra. We can't let that get out."

  Whatever that was. Gideon couldn't see any sign of the creature, but a man hovered over Jaden, the voices too low for him to hear. Voices might be optimistic. No one could've survived that blow.

  "You've got to try," Kincaid pushed.

  "She does not," Gideon answered, when Petra remained silent. "Do your own damage control. She's only an empath."

  An empath standing rigid, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on a distant point. Gideon wanted to get her out of here, but he hesitated to move her when she zoned out like this.

  Kincaid scowled. "So let's hear a better idea."

  "Communal electric shock therapy?" Gideon snickered. Petra's eyes snapped to his, immediately engaged and irritated. "What?" He shrugged. "Beats putting a bullet in each brain. There's always toxic gas, I suppose."

  "Whatever you can do–do it quick," Kincaid begged.

  Petra tuned out the growing voices as people came out of their shock. Ironically, Gideon's suggestion of toxic gas helped the most.

  She thought of what she'd just seen, then pictured what she would've seen if the impossible hadn't happened. Petra envisioned a cloud drifting down over the room and filled it with her modified image. She focused on the collective breathing of the group and let them inhale her new version of the memory. She concentrated on staying grounded while letting the image fly. Then everything went black.

  Gideon caught her as she collapsed. He couldn't believe Kincaid guilted her into it. If he hadn't felt something in his own head, if he didn't hear the murmurs of two dozen people discussing her revised version of the battle below, he wouldn't have believed it. The girl had some real skills after all. Real, interesting skills.

  Cradling Petra, he sank to the floor, wishing she'd wake up so they could vacate this disturbing situation and he could resign his mission. Overnight–hell five minutes ago–he'd lost his professional detachment, for reasons he didn't care to examine.

  In an effort to regain his perspective, he watched the reps from various law enforcement agencies clean up the mess. News, amazing but true, reached him that Michaels survived the battle. Maybe he'd get a chance to ask her what really happened down there. He was sure that somewhere between what his eyes recorded and Petra's memory modifier stood the reality.

  "She wake up yet?" Kincaid asked.

  Gideon shook his head. "Your concern's a little late."

  "I've watched her on more cases than you can imagine. She's tougher than she looks," Kincaid argued.

  "You had no idea she could pull that off."

  "I figured her best effort, effective or not, was better than nothing."

  Kincaid's hands fisted in his pockets and dampened the effect of his casual shrug. The tell of concern bumped him up half a notch on Gideon's scale.

  He looked down into Petra's pale face. "What'll you do if her best effort just killed her?" He hoped he was exaggerating. "Get some help up here."

  Kincaid hailed a team of medics and Gideon handed her over. He watched them work on her and came to his own conclusions when basic reviving techniques failed to rouse her.

  He followed closely as they carried Petra down and loaded her into an ambulance bound for Chicago General. A long, unnecessary ride in his opinion, but Kincaid wouldn't be swayed.

  Gideon leaned on a car, continuing to observe in silence as the mill emptied out, noting that they also routed Michaels to Chicago General.

  When the opportunity presented itself, Gideon fell into step with an evidence crew moving back inside. As they began picking up and tagging every shred of anything, he went on his own exploration. Listening to others going about their jobs, he gathered Judge Albertson owned the old mill. Rumor had it this was his staging area for the abuse and trafficking of women. Gideon took that as viable explanation for Jaden's presence. She'd probably been the one to tip-off the authorities in the first place.

  After a full circuit of the main floor, weaving in and out of the people doing their jobs, he discovered a spiral staircase. Frustrated voices drifted down to him. The Judge's office was too tempting to ignore and Gideon wound his way up. With a flash of badge and his most intimidating vocabulary, he soon had the office–and the search–to himself.

  The reporter's voice gushed from the flat panel screen inset into the custom, brushed steel cabinetry, confirming the rumors that had been trickling in to Dr. Kristoff during the past few hours. His research was officially declared suspect by an unnamed scientist.

  Ha. Not unnamed for long.

  With a few keystrokes of his palmtop, he sent a coded message to begin the search for this so-called scientist. Then he programmed his cell card to send a numeric page ordering all but his most trusted lieutenant into hiding.

  A mere week ago, everything was moving according to plan. Today Judge Albertson, one of his key suppliers, was dead as a direct result of his perverse, pedophile habits.

  Kristoff sighed. He well knew that only change was inevitable.

  A siren wailed outside, announcing the arrival of the authorities, and he resigned himself to the unavoidable challenges ahead. It would be distasteful, but without any actual victims, or further word from the unnamed scientist, the case would be dropped and he would recover. Even if they demanded his resignation from the coveted position as the Midwest Region I Health Chairman, no mere mortal could remove him from his real seat of power.

  Petra opened her eyes to a dim room. A hospital room, if the smell and quiet equipment was any indication. She felt prickly hot and chilled alternately and her skin ached. She sensed someone in the room, but couldn't see anyone clearly.

  "Where am I?"

  "Chicago General," answered a woman beside her bed. "Want to tell me who you are?"

  Petra turned toward the voice, saw her sister, and gasped. "Are you okay? I thought he–it–killed you."

  "Apparently so do a lot of other people. I'm tougher than that. From the looks of things, so are you."

  "You're Jaden. My sister," Petra blurted. "You're the reason I survived
."

  "I'm Jaden Michaels, but the rest is up for debate."

  Petra squirmed, ignoring the pain spiking her skin, so she could sit up. Looking into Jaden's tough, green gaze, she felt an instant connection and the truth of what most would consider impossible. "We are sisters. Born to different families this time, but to the soul, we're sisters," she insisted. "That thing in the warehouse killed me before, am I right?"

  Jaden blinked, once then again. The struggle to believe, to accept played across her face. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but Petra's patience snapped. She latched onto Jaden's hand and let the memories rush over her.

  She didn't bother to sort out the details; she just let the scenes unfold in a peculiar route through a timeline Petra understood merely on instinct.

  "Oh, you've broken the cycle," Petra said with a sigh. It felt like the biggest understatement of the modern era.

  "And you've nearly broken my hand." Jaden withdrew.

  "You're tougher than that," Petra echoed and watched those green eyes light up. She fiddled with the hospital sheet. "I recently experienced those last days of my earlier life. Re-experienced is a better word. I thought I was dreaming at first.

  "I believed you'd come for me. I told him so then." Petra risked another glance at Jaden. "I just thought you'd like to know I believed in you. Then and now." She wanted to push, to somehow make Jaden understand how much this reunion meant to her. It should've upset her, this additional proof that she was unlike the rest of the world, but it filled her with a silly happiness instead.

  Jaden reached out this time, stroking the hair off her forehead. Her hand was cool and gentle, and nothing else came through the touch but caring. "He hurt you to get to me. To prove I couldn't stop him."

  "You stopped him."

  Jaden's mouth tipped into a smile. "Temporarily then. This time forever." She sighed and hitched a hip onto the edge of Petra's bed. "I don't get what you did. Or what's brought us together. Any ideas?"

  Petra felt a spurt of hope that the tenuous connection could grow into something close to a family bond. "You don't feel like a part of this world, do you? You live and work on the fringes, right? People don't understand what's important to you, because they can't see life through your experiences, right?"