Invasion of Justice (Shadows of Justice)

by Regan Black

  "Why did you choose my family for your experiments?" she blurted, knowing immediately that he wouldn't answer. Instead, he raised the bell and she heard and felt the sound in and out of her head. An involuntary response tingled through her bloodstream.

  He smirked, watching his control over her. "Such a simple cue." He set the bell down. "Though for years I wasn't certain it would work."

  "You can't make me a Simon. I've no desire to kill."

  "Of course not. I don't need you in that capacity." He waved his hand dismissing her flawed theory. "Simon is a specialized weapon. My generalized team grows more dependent on the juice, more subservient to me. For you, the bell is merely a signal to open your mind to new possibilities."

  "You sound like a demented villain from an old movie."

  He leaned against the sideboard and Petra thought it fitting that he used heavy, metal furnishings. Anything less would've been too soft for such a hard man.

  "I've an offer for you, dear. An offer you really cannot refuse, though I suspect you'll try." He came close again, this time taking her elbow and leading her toward the chairs beneath the tall windows.

  Eight stories up, jumping might not help her, but it might kink up his plans. She didn't cast the idea aside, but she did continue to look for alternatives.

  "Just listen to my offer. Thoughts of escape aren't necessary. I'll give you time to consider your options once you have all the facts."

  That sounded way too easy.

  "When your parents came to me, they were desperate for a child, as were most of my clients. I gave them their happiest dream. A son." He leaned forward. "I gave them a gift as well. Their new son had extraordinary talents."

  She frowned. Tell her something she didn't know.

  "Ah. Sibling rivalry's been a bit of a thorn has it? All the better my offer will sound." He leaned back, crossing his legs as if they were discussing the weather during Sunday brunch.

  "Your brother turned out stronger than even I anticipated. A fine young man, but I moved too late and his potential use to me was gone."

  "Gee thanks. So nice to be second choice."

  He surged forward again, nearly out of the chair this time, thumping his hands on his knees. "Oh, my girl, you're no one's second choice!" He reached toward her. "I need your precise skills. Astral flight can bypass any security system. That opens up a whole new definition of wealth. More important, with the right guidance you can learn to direct your flights, reaching back to reclaim wisdom long lost. Think of the possibilities, the fame."

  He stood, arms gesturing wildly. "Can't you see it? Dr. Kristoff National Health Chair, the single most authority on all things beneficial. We could wipe out nasty smugglers. Eliminate hard-core drug runners. Find more natural cures. The world would be a better place."

  She wasn't fool enough to believe this was his real story or purpose. "How will you go National with a warrant for your arrest hanging over your head?"

  "Simon's already at work removing that obstacle. My men have gone to ground and, with no physical specimens to prove or disprove my research, the charges will drop and eventually the hubbub will die."

  It sounded weak to her, but then, she wasn't insane with greed.

  "Don't you remember your early years of training? Oh, I miss those days. You would race into my arms, eager to play our games."

  She fought to stifle the memory he'd broken loose. When he touched her, stroking her hair, she lived it all again.

  They had played cards, but she wasn't good at the guessing. He'd shown her pictures that made her laugh and cry in extremes. They'd shared ice cream–

  "Wait! We never had ice cream," she said, disgusted. "Get out of my head."

  "My dear girl, I don't believe I can. We are linked as indelibly as father and child. All I've done is show you the way home. Your future is here, with me. Your duty is to help my cause. To resist is weak, futile and honestly, quite beneath you."

  Jumping from the window was becoming a more attractive solution by the minute. "If I say no?"

  "You'll have to outrun Simon. I can't let you live, knowing what you do."

  Petra concentrated. What did she really know? Not enough to bring him in or relieve him from his post. "I assume you'll order me to sever all ties with my family."

  His hand swatted at her concern. "They've never appreciated you. You can at least admit that much."

  "They've worried and doted. They love me."

  "But they don't see your true worth!"

  She bit her tongue. Neither agreement nor argument would help anything here. He was insane and she didn't care if he could see her opinion in blazing neon across her forehead.

  He squatted down before her, careful not to touch. "You're getting stronger with every flight, correct?"

  She refused to answer.

  "Who better to counsel you on these changes, than the man who put them into motion?"

  He had a point there.

  "Show me how far you've come. Try to see through Simon's eyes."

  "I don't care for that particular view."

  "Look anyway."

  The cajoling tone was gone, she'd pushed his patience to the wall. This was an order she knew she must obey.

  Simon watched a young woman and a small boy feasting on pizza in a corner booth. She could feel his excitement, the influx of pleasure in the hunt. She wanted to turn him away from the target, but instead she was being sucked into his darker desire and the urge to kill with him. He ran his fingers along the wicked curves of the Keris. She felt the metal warm beneath his touch. Tonight was too soon. He was savoring, anticipating, knowing this job was so special to Dr. Leo.

  Then the part of her she'd buried realized this must be Lorine, the scientist, and niece of Kristoff, who'd outed her uncle as a fraud and threat to humanity.

  "No!" She shouted it. "I won't be a part of this. Get him out of my head."

  "I'll separate you when you agree to my terms. Not before."

  Tears rolled freely down her face. "You can't possibly think watching him slay a child will make me comply with your outrageous demands."

  Kristoff paused to look at her with such vivid scorn she had to suppress a shudder.

  "Don't think to play me, child. I created you!"

  "With all your omnipotence you surely know my answer," she sniped.

  He smiled, slow and satisfied, revealing that her outburst convinced him she'd do anything to spare the child. "You win." She released an escalating growl of frustration for effect. "Let me put some things together. My parents will worry if I don't leave some explanation."

  "I can handle nosy parents," he offered too quickly.

  "I can make it so they won't snoop after me," Petra countered logically. "They are rather prominent in their circles. If they simply disappear there will be talk." She tried to gain at least one concession. "If they come to harm our agreement is void."

  He waved a hand in dismissal. "Fine. You have forty-eight hours. If you're not here I'll send–"

  She raised her palm in surrender. She didn't need to hear what would happen if she didn't show up. Conversation only made it harder to keep him thinking she was cowed enough to join him.

  Somehow she managed to walk from Kristoff's presence to the elevator and get herself to the street level. Out of the building and into the night, she took a deep breath of freedom and quickly walled it up so that neither Simon nor Kristoff and his stupid bell could touch it.

  She wandered for blocks, shivering, utterly alone in a city she didn't really know. Late traffic on Lakeshore was a remote hum on the night air in Jackson Park. She could head that way and get lost in whatever crowd she might find. With Kristoff's lethal pet on her trail, that would only put more people in jeopardy. This was her one shot to prevent a crime. She couldn't blow it.

  Thinking of Simon reminded her of Lorine and her son. Petra whipped out her cell card and checked the recording. A moment before she could upload the file to Kincaid, she was knocked to the pavem
ent.

  "We'll take that," announced a cruel-sounding voice behind her.

  "And whatever else you've got," a second, equally nasty, voice ordered.

  Two men against her. She shouldn't feel like laughing. Wouldn't it be something if she were killed before Simon or Kristoff could use her for their own purposes? But then Lorine's little boy would be another notch in Simon's belt. Not to mention whoever else might get in Kristoff's way.

  Petra surrendered and thanked God they hadn't touched her yet. Bracing herself for the inevitable, she planned her escape.

  Rough hands hauled her to her feet, pushing her forward, off the path and away from potential witnesses.

  Not a single defensive move from Jaden's brief instruction came to mind. Her only choice was to follow the touch and hope her strength held. Her mind was feeling so compartmentalized already, but she couldn't afford the luxury of doubt in this critical time.

  She tapped into his emotion, the surge of power and dominance. She seized on it, making it her own and draining him.

  His grip loosened and she turned to look at her assailants full on. One could only be described as befuddled, the other growing angrier at the apparent defection of his friend. It would be easy for her to identify them later and slowly that reality dawned on them.

  "I'll make you a deal," she offered in a cocky voice that barely resembled her own.

  "Get me to the Ritz downtown and I won't press charges."

  Thug number two charged, catching her around the neck. She heard a hiss and flick of metal, and realized he'd pulled a knife.

  She took his aggression into her. Took his need to dominate and swelled with the power of it.

  The knife clattered to the ground and he released her abruptly. Petra picked up the blade, tucking it safely away.

  "I think I just earned a free escort downtown. How 'bout it?"

  "Sure lady, whatever," said thug one.

  "Got a car?" she asked.

  Thug two grunted and shook his head.

  "Just local yokels out to terrorize women?" She chuckled softly.

  For a moment she thought they'd bolt, but her theft of their dominance seemed to paralyze them, making it easy to bend them to her will.

  "Well come on and make yourselves useful. Walk me to the el platform."

  With a man on either side, she strutted like a peacock. In her personal brain space she hoped she'd remember how to move like this when she needed to swagger in the future.

  Her laughter made them jump. "Relax, boys. A woman's entitled to savor a defining moment."

  They didn't speak.

  At the stairs to the el, she thanked them but kept the knife. "Better luck next time." Then she dashed up the stairs to catch the arriving train.

  She had no idea where she was going or why. She figured her best bet was to get to the Ritz make a few notes. She needed to be sure both Kincaid and Brian had Simon's description. Everyone who could offer protection should know just what sort of threat Lorine and her son were facing.

  These thoughts occupied her as the el raced around its programmed circuit through Chicago, but they were soon overcome by other, more personal demands. She had some tough questions for her parents and she wanted the answers–now. The aggression she'd absorbed from thug one and thug two still pounded through her blood, pushing her into a decision that, while not entirely prudent, she was helpless to deny.

  Checking the routes and platforms map superimposed above the windows, Petra plotted her course toward Lakeshore Towers and the long overdue confrontation with her parents.

  Smiling her way past the doorman, she ascended the express elevator to the penthouse. They hadn't given her a security code for this new place, and her first, numerical attempt at the panel was denied. She selected the guest on the board and held her thumb steady over the square for a laser scan. The door began to swing open on silent hinges with a soft whoosh, but Petra put the force of her new attitude behind it and rushed into the dark foyer, calling out to her parents.

  Faced with a moment of no reply that stretched interminably, Petra feared Kristoff's Simon had beaten her. Then, finally, lights filtered in from the hallway and irritated voices came closer.

  "Petra," her mother gasped, rushing forward. "You look horrible. What's happened?"

  "Thanks, Mom." Petra dodged the potential smothering embrace by sidestepping to face her father. "We need to talk. I want the truth and I want it now."

  "Now?" He tilted his head. "Do you need a drink?"

  "Randall, you know Petra doesn't drink."

  Petra ignored her mother's surprise. "Sure, Dad. You'd better pour a double for both of us." Petra rolled her eyes at Pamela's automatic lecture about mental and physical health and stability. With an effort, she put the more personal issues on hold until her technical questions were answered. "I don't have time to dance around tonight. I'll ask, you answer, and we'll see where we end up. Okay?"

  Randall nodded, handing Petra a crystal highball glass half full of amber liquid. Petra sniffed and swirled, and braced herself for impact before tossing down the entire thing. The burn was welcome–a stark, hot confirmation of her human limitations. She settled into a micro-suede loveseat to expose those same human failings in her parents.

  "I understand you and Mom sought a fertility expert when you had problems conceiving. Why did you choose Leo Kristoff?"

  "Easy answer–he had the best success rate." Her father sipped his drink before elaborating. "He was also a friend of an associate and I put a great deal of stock in the recommendation."

  "This associate's name?" Petra demanded.

  "Judge Albertson."

  Petra stared into her empty glass, regretting her hasty consumption. She should've known. If she looked through her mother's albums, she'd probably find pictures of her family with the Judge at some highbrow event or another. "I see. Were you aware that you two could've conceived without in vitro assistance?"

  "No," Randall answered, paling slightly.

  "This is absurd," Pamela declared. "You have no idea what we went through to start this family. You have no concept of the pain of losing several babies along the way. You–"

  Petra held up a hand to silence her. "I may not share the physical experience, but I've seen the records and brushed up against the emotions. You were specifically manipulated into Kristoff's office. I need to be sure it wasn't a group effort."

  "To what end?" Randall asked.

  Petra spread her arms to indicate her whole self, then the penthouse in general. "This end. Gifted children, a beautiful life, an extremely comfortable retirement."

  "I won't listen to this ungrateful display a moment more." Pamela rose to leave.

  "You'll sit and help me figure this out, or you won't ever see Nathan or myself free of this debacle you created with Kristoff."

  Randall tugged on Pamela's wrist to bring her down beside him, then he laced his fingers with hers. "Petra those were difficult days. All we wanted was a healthy child. Our every attempt ended in heartbreak and I couldn't watch your mother go through it all again. I did what was necessary to make our dreams come true."

  "Just how much was necessary?"

  "For the record, we were told another normal pregnancy attempt might kill your mother."

  Petra had seen this notation, Kelly had pointed out the tweaked diagnosis coding.

  "I refused to put her in further jeopardy." He squeezed Pamela's hand. "I went to the clinic, made several donations to the sperm bank and then had a vasectomy."

  "Kristoff recommended all of this?"

  "Yes. And we didn't waste any more time with debate or doubt. He was the best."

  "Where was your career at this point?"

  His brows dove toward the bridge of his nose. "On the rise, I suppose." He looked to Pamela for the answer. "Where was I working thirty years ago?"

  "You were with the research firm studying bio-tech-something-or-others. They laid you off just as we committed to the first in vitro." Her mou
th wobbled the slightest bit and she stared at their linked hands. "We lost the insurance coverage, but Dr. Kristoff gave us some options."

  "I bet he did." Petra's heart felt cold and sluggish, as if her blood was suddenly too thick to squeeze through her system. "Did you ever tell Dad about these options?"

  "No." Her chin shot up in defense. "I just handled it. Those sorts of financial decisions always fell to me. Randall had enough on his mind, like finding another job. Dr. Kristoff offered me a miracle and I seized it."

  "The grand plan for your children, right?"

  Pamela sniffed. "I did my best, but in the end you made your own unfortunate choices."

  "So how much interest is Kristoff charging these days, Mom?"

  It was Randall's turn to leap to his feet. "What are you implying, Petra?"

  "I'm not implying anything. I've inferred from my recent experience and the records that have been dredged up that Mom let Kristoff play some genetic games with the Burkhardt embryos."

  Randall's gaze dropped to his wife, who now sat wringing her hands. "He told me it was baseline research," she whispered. "He suggested if our children turned out to be unique that we should guide them into healthcare and related fields. He promised they'd always have work with him, no matter what. If I didn't agree, we could've been bankrupted or worse–denied care."

  Randall stomped to the bar, refilled his drink, and tossed it back.

  "He fed on your fears," Petra said, unable to deny offering what little comfort she could. Her temper seemed to be gone, her need to conquer this conversation forgotten. "You weren't the only parents he used this way."

  "There are more?"

  Petra nodded. "Oh, most definitely. He's a veritable monster who's planned and worked to get as much power as he can. There's no room for error, which is why he's stalking me now. When did you give him my room number at the hotel?"

  Pamela's eyes glistened and her chin trembled. "I never meant to put you in jeopardy. He promised he could bring you into a safer position. You know how I hate what you do," Pamela finished on a sob.

  "Yes, Mom I know. It's why I use Neiman instead of Burkhardt." It was all she could manage. Her mother was crying, shedding real tears and real emotion. The uncharacteristic display threatened her self-control. After wishing again for another drink and refusing to ask, she addressed her father once more. "You realize Kristoff likely organized your lay-off and the loss of benefits?"