“He’s the one who got me into climbing,” Jackson said after a while. “I was fifteen when he took me out the first time, out at Mount Diablo.”
“Aren’t there gyms for people to practice that stuff?”
“Adam never went to a gym.”
“So you learned like that, out in the open?”
“Yep. We went every weekend in the summer.”
We kept walking, both of us quiet for a few minutes. Finally I asked, “What happened?”
“There’s this saying, there are bold climbers and old climbers.’” He shrugged. “Adam was bold.”
“He fell?”
Jackson nodded. “He liked to free-climb, no harness. He could pull—like Cass.”
I nodded. Cass could draw energy from people and her surroundings, like Ryan, the man who’d attacked me. It made her exceptionally strong.
“He could hold himself up for hours. He liked feeling like he wasn’t tied down.” He looked away. “It took us two days to find his body.”
“Oh my God.”
He tilted his head sideways. “I’ll never forget it. I already knew he was dead—my father and I, we could both tell.” I nodded, understanding perfectly. “My mother was still holding out hope, but we knew it. He was her stepson—Adam’s mother died before I was born. Anyway, the site where he’d been climbing...We’d gone there together more times than I can remember. I was supposed to go with him that day, but I had to work. It wasn’t even a dangerous wall. But Adam—he made everything so...” He trailed off.
“I understand,” I said.
“I felt it when he hit,” Jackson said. “They told us he broke his neck, that it was fast. But I swear I felt the pain for hours.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t make it easy.”
He stopped at the edge of the water and turned to face me. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”
I stepped closer to him, into the circle of his arms, and tucked my head against his chest. We sheltered each other from the wind, the space between us warm. He stroked the back of my neck with wind-chilled hands, and I snuggled closer, trying to stop the transfer, feeling it stutter and stop like a weak radio station.
“Are you going to ask me in now?” Jackson murmured.
“Do you want me to?” I shifted my head up so I could look at him.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He leaned down and kissed me, almost chastely, and slid his cold hands to cup my face.
“Come on,” I said. “It’s too cold out here anyway.” We put our backs to the ocean and walked, and Jackson kept hold of my hand.
It didn’t register at first when I heard the gunshot. I thought it must have been fireworks or a car backfiring. Then Jackson staggered and put his hand to his arm. It came away bloody.
“Wha—?” I said, and then he tackled me.
Chapter Seventeen
I ate sand. Seawater soaked my clothes and more shots hit the water behind us with ridiculously tiny splashes.
“Wha—? Who—?”
Jackson was covering me, practically pressing the breath out of me. “The wall,” he said. “On three. Ready? One. Two. Three!”
I didn’t have time to overthink it. We ran. I slipped in the soft sand farther up the beach, and Jackson grabbed hold of my hand to drag me along. I wanted to pull away from him, sure he needed his powers, but he wouldn’t let go. We made it to the cement wall bordering the beach and put our backs to it.
“Are you okay?” I was panting. I made to touch his injured arm, but stopped myself. The last thing he needed was more of his powers grounded.
“Fine. Just a flesh wound.” Sand sprayed up behind us as another bullet hit, and we flattened ourselves against the wall. There was another shot, closer, but wherever the shooter was, he wasn’t going to be able to hit us now. As long as we didn’t move.
“Eight,” Jackson said.
“Huh?”
He ignored me and walked forward, out of the lee of the wall, craning his neck as though trying to see over it. He jerked to the right, and another bullet struck the sand. It looked as though it had missed him by inches.
“Nine.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
But Jackson was pulling a knife out of a sheath strapped to his calf underneath his pant leg. I goggled at him. He wasn’t watching me. He was looking up at the top of the cement wall as if he were trying to decide whether or not he could jump it. It was seven feet tall. No—too late. He took a few running steps and leaped up, grabbing the ledge and launching himself over.
“Jackson!” I hissed as he stood up. “Get back down here!” Even as I spoke, the smack of a bullet hitting concrete made me jump. Jackson didn’t flinch.
“Ten.” He squared his shoulders and flipped the knife once, catching it by the blade. Then he threw it. There was a satisfying thunk a second later, followed by a muffled shout. Jackson leaped down on the other side of the wall and started running.
“Hey!” I yelled. No way was I letting him leave me here. Then again, no way was I jumping a seven foot wall. I ran awkwardly in deep sand until I got to a set of concrete steps.
Jackson was already sprinting after our attacker. I was yards behind, and I couldn’t make out much, but I took off after him. He was getting away from us, and I didn’t know if the drops of blood I kept encountering were his or Jackson’s. I yelled at him to stop, but I wasn’t sure he even heard me over the sound of the ocean and the wind.
The shooter stopped, and I increased my speed, hoping to get to Jackson in time to help. He could be reloading, but it was too late now. We’d left the safety of the wall, and it was catch him or get shot. I was less than a hundred yards away when the buzzing engine of a motorized bike cut through the noise of the wind. The shooter took off, spraying sand from the road into the air, and Jackson sprinted behind him until he disappeared.
“Motherfucker!” Jackson said, and he trotted to a stop, leaning over with his hands on his thighs, breathing hard. The blood was definitely his. Even yards away, I could see it dripping from his arm to the pavement.
By the time I reached him, he’d moved off the street to sit down on a concrete bench overlooking the ocean. He was on his phone, holding it against his ear with his good shoulder. His good hand was pressed to the wound on his other arm, and as he spoke, he lifted his palm to check it. His hand was covered with blood; the sleeve of his shirt was absolutely soaked. For the first time in my life, I thought it might actually be a good idea for me to tear my shirt into strips for bandages. I was about to start doing it, but Jackson beat me to it. He ripped the bottom half of his undershirt off and wrapped it around his biceps, all while talking into the phone.
“...it’s too late...No, he got away on a motorized bike...No, no plates. I’m not even sure it’s street legal.” A pause. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Just a flesh wound. The bleeding’s mostly stopped...Yes, I’m sure...Well, let me check.” He looked at me and covered the mouthpiece.
“Caleb’s still tapped out. Can you drive me to the hospital?”
“No, I think I’ll make you drive yourself. It’s ‘just a flesh wound.’”
He smiled and uncovered the phone. “I have a ride. Thank you. Yes, same to you.”
He hung up. “You know how to drive a stick, right?”
* * *
It was awful. Every time I killed the car, Jackson winced, which made me wince, which made it inevitable that I’d kill the car the next time I tried to start it, too. Despite what he’d said, his wound was still bleeding, and I worried he’d pass out and I’d have to drag him into the emergency room. There was no way I’d be able to lift him. The car died at a red light and horns blared behind me while I got it started again.
“Who taught you h
ow to drive?”
“Shut up and concentrate on staying conscious.”
“I’m fine. Once I get stitched up, we’re having a driving lesson.”
“Maybe you should not get shot again, ever, and then it won’t be necessary.”
He laughed, and I shook my head. The hospital, blissfully, appeared ahead of me, and I turned into the emergency room loading area. I parked on a red curb—if I couldn’t now, when could I?—and went around to open Jackson’s door and help him out.
“It’s only my arm,” he said gently, but he let me support him as we walked to the entrance.
The emergency room was busy, but since Jackson was still bleeding, the triage nurse got him into a room quickly. I had to wait outside while a doctor stitched him up, and I spent an hour pacing the waiting area and staring at the door, whipping around every time someone came out. My nerves weren’t improved when two uniformed police officers came in and disappeared into the patient area, but they came out again after a few minutes. I held my breath, expecting them to stop and question me, but they left without even glancing my way. I stared after them, wishing I could have read their minds.
“You got to relax, honey,” said an older woman. She’d parked herself in front of the television, which was showing a cooking show. They were frying fish. I stared at the oil spattering in the pan and tried to breathe deeply.
“Hey.” I jumped. Jackson was back. They’d cut his shirtsleeve off, and his arm was wrapped in clean white gauze.
“You sure are hard on shirts,” I said.
He tried to shrug but winced.
“I’ll drive you home,” I said. He didn’t argue, and we walked to the garage where I’d parked the car while I’d been waiting. I drove him haltingly back to his place.
“Do you want to come up?” he asked me.
I nodded. I didn’t like the idea of him being alone.
“So, what did the police say?” I asked him as we walked into the lobby.
“I told them it was a mugging. They seemed to buy it.”
“They didn’t ask me anything.”
“I didn’t tell them you were there.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I hit the button for his floor in the elevator. “It’s weird, right? I mean, the beach isn’t exactly a high-crime area.”
“I agree with you. The only question is whether he was after me, or you.”
“Why would he be after me?”
He gave me a severe look. “You’ve grounded half a dozen shadowminds. Some of them aren’t very nice.” The elevator dinged at the twenty-seventh floor, and we got out.
“Yeah, well you’re the one who puts their asses in jail.”
“Fair point.”
“Besides, you’re the one he hit.”
“He didn’t seem to have particularly good aim.”
“True.” We came to his apartment, and he paused while he fit his key into the deadbolt. “But if he was after me, it must be someone who knows what you’re capable of.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I heard the bike drive up right after we got to the beach. He was watching us. He had a clear shot for a good fifteen minutes—he didn’t take it until we’d been in contact awhile. Whoever it was knows how hard it is to kill a converter.”
“You mean he waited until he thought I’d grounded you so you wouldn’t be able to stop the bleeding?”
Jackson gave a funny, side-to-side nod. “Could be. Possible he even knew Caleb would be tapped out from healing you.”
“But that can’t be many people. I mean...”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe he was just trying to scare us. If he wanted you dead, why not go for a head shot?”
“As pleasant as that prospect is, I think he was aiming for something easier to hit.”
“You do have a nice broad chest.” I grinned, and Jackson wiggled his eyebrows at me.
“So I am making an impression on you. And here I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
He opened the door for me and gave me a little mock bow, motioning me in. My body craved sleep so badly I felt nauseated. Jackson couldn’t be much better off, and no matter what he said, the wound must have been painful. We walked through the dark entry hall, exhausted. I stopped short when I hit the living room, and Jackson ran into me. He stammered an apology, but went quiet when he looked up.
There was a woman sitting in the dark, her face half-lit by the pale light coming through the window. She looked right at Jackson.
“This had better be important,” she said.
Chapter Eighteen
“Cream and sugar?” Jackson asked from the kitchen. He was making a fresh pot of coffee. I was sitting on the couch with the woman who, as I’d guessed when Jackson didn’t attack her, was Cameron.
“Black, no sugar.” She gave me a thin smile.
Cameron was tall and slim, with muscular arms and a strong, straight nose. Her hair was boy-short and almost black, but her green eyes were incongruously big and feminine. She was wearing all black, and I got the feeling it was all she ever wore. She seemed relaxed on Jackson’s couch, one arm stretched out along the back, but the muscles in her neck were tense. Ready to bolt. Jackson came in with three mugs floating in front of him and lowered them down on his glass coffee table. I picked mine up immediately, eager for something to do with my hands, not to mention the caffeine.
“I got your message,” she said. Her voice was controlled, not quite flat, but careful. No unnecessary lilts or dips.
“I wasn’t sure you still checked that account.” Jackson sat in an armchair across from the couch and folded one leg over the other.
“Every now and then.”
“Thanks for coming.”
She nodded.
“Sorry I didn’t go into more detail in the email. I wasn’t sure...”
“It’s secure.”
“Of course.” He sipped his coffee. “Do Tim and Maggie know you’re in town?”
“No.” She was looking out the window. It might have been a nice view if it weren’t for the fog. The atmosphere hadn’t been exactly relaxed, but it got a few degrees more tense during the silence. Cameron finally blew out a breath. “Sorry,” she said, looking at Jackson. “Part of me thought this was some sort of ploy to get me back here.”
Jackson looked genuinely hurt. “Cam. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“I know. Or I should’ve.” She paused. “What happened to your arm?”
Jackson looked down at himself. The right sleeve of his pale blue button-up had been hacked off, and blood had soaked his shoulder and spattered across his chest. “Right. Guess I should change.”
Cameron shrugged. “Not on my account.”
Jackson opened his mouth, closed it again and disappeared into his bedroom.
“So,” Cameron said. “You two together?”
“Um...”
“Meaning you don’t want to tell me, or you don’t know?”
“The second one.”
“Well, that’s only on your side. Just so you know.” She didn’t lean in or drop her voice to that conspiratorial whisper some people used when sharing gossip. She just said the words.
“Uh, thanks.”
“I’ve known him a long time. You can trust him.”
“That’s...good to know.”
She nodded once, crisply, and I had no idea how to make small talk after what had just passed. Luckily, Jackson came out of his bedroom, smoothing a dark blue long-sleeved shirt over his chest.
“Better?” he said, smiling at me. He was still holding his injured arm carefully.
“Much.” I didn’t trust myself to meet Cameron’s eyes.
She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, hand
s clasped lightly between them. “Tell me why you need a bender.”
Jackson explained about the kid, the drugs. Cameron listened, expressionless, nearly motionless, while he spoke. Every so often she nodded once. When Jackson stopped talking, she leaned back. “So you need me to unbend him?”
“If you can.”
“But he’s a shadowmind.”
“Someone bent him in the first place. Maybe he’s susceptible.”
Cameron looked skeptical but said, “I’ll try.”
Sleep was going to have to wait a little longer.
* * *
Cameron had a motorcycle—the fast, Japanese import kind—parked on the street. I found this totally unsurprising. She followed us to Featherweight’s, keeping close on the nearly empty streets.
“Not much for small talk, is she?” I said.
“Definitely not.”
The coffee hadn’t made a dent in my fatigue. If anything, it was contributing to the loopy, hysterical feeling growing in my head. Even my vision was swimming. I wondered how Jackson was able to drive, especially with his injured arm, but he managed.
We parked at the entrance to the alley, and I used my key to let us all in through the back door. We took the side passage to the dungeon, and if Cameron was surprised to see it she didn’t let on. She didn’t let on much, actually, and I wondered what her thoughts would sound like if I’d been able to hear them. I guessed she’d be one of those rare types who’d achieved perfect mental calm.
Thomas was asleep on his cot, but he stirred and woke as Jackson flipped on the lights in his cell. He unlocked the door, and Cameron stepped through.
“Will she be all right?” I asked him in an undertone.
“Cam can take care of herself.”
“What do you want?” Thomas said. “Trying to sleep, here.”
“Just don’t try anything,” Jackson said.
He looked at Cameron, who was now kneeling on the floor in front of him. Her face was perfectly impassive in a don’t-fuck-with-me sort of way.
Broken Shadows Page 19
