Broken Justice (Fractured Minds Series Book 6)

by Kate Allenton

  “Nothing that can’t wait.” He cleared his throat. “Grant will be here soon to take you to see Dr. Cline.” Dread knotted in my gut when he mentioned the military doctor who’d been overseeing all of the patients in the government experiment. Ford rested a gentle palm on my cheek. “If we’re lucky, maybe he knows how to stop the headaches, or even better, he’ll know how to get these people out of your head.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up.” I tried to ease the delivery of my words. “They start with blood work, and even then, the meds they’ve been trying haven’t helped anyone yet.”

  Ford’s look turned to one of determination. “Lucy, you aren’t dying from this. I won’t let you, even if it means that I have to kill every last person in your head…well, other than Sam. I won’t kill Sam.”

  “You’ve already saved my life once; you don’t need to do it again. Besides, I won’t have you turning into a killer like the ones we hunt.”

  Ford was a man of his word. He’d proven that recently, after I’d been kidnapped and almost killed. He loved me beyond words, and I loved him just the same. So much in fact that I’d never let him go down this dark and twisted path. My course was already set. Only one person in my head deserved to die, but even then, I wasn’t sure he’d be enough.

  Chapter 6

  I sat on the hospital bed holding a gauze pad over where they’d just taken my blood. I’d had more tests performed on me than when they’d initially allowed me into the secret program. I’d signed away any concerns if it meant helping to hunt the degenerates of the world.

  The nurse across the room had her back to me. She must have missed the part in my file that mentioned I’d stalked a known killer and put him in a coma. Either that or she felt safe in this environment.

  “When will I get some test results?” I asked.

  “They’re expediting everyone in the program, so you should hear something soon.”

  “Why are they expediting? Have more died?” I asked.

  “I—” she started to say, but the door opened and a man walked inside.

  “Hello Ms. Bray, I’m Dr. Cline,” he said.

  “It’s Dr. Bray,” I said almost automatically.

  “Right, sorry.” He waved off a blush as if he didn’t have time for such things. Dr. Cline’s lab coat hung on him as though he’d bought the wrong size. The dark circles beneath his eyes were telling, as was with his pale complexion. I knew that look well. He was burning the candle at both ends. He glanced in my file, and his brows furrowed. “Dr. Bray, what are you a doctor of? It doesn’t mention it in your file.”

  He poised his pen over the paper, awaiting my response.

  “Psychology and I completed med school. Though I didn’t finish my residency.”

  He lifted his gaze from my chart. The wrinkles around his eyes grew deeper. “And why was that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “You should know if you’d taken the time to review my file, but I’m sure you’re super busy.” I clasped my fingers together before resting them on my lap. “Since you work in the governmental program and have my file, I guess I can tell you.” I tried hard not to roll my eyes that this educated man either didn’t seem to know or maybe just didn’t care about his patient’s history. “I was doing my residency while participating in the program. A serial killer kidnapped my sister and well…I had to track him down. I left him in a coma. I was sentenced to time in a psych ward, and the med school board frowns upon that.”

  His jaw dropped, but he quickly recovered. “Yes, well…I would guess they do.” He left the pen on my file and turned to face me. “Well, I looked at the statement in your file from FBI Agent Noah Roth. I’m aware of your participation in the program, and I have to tell you that I’m concerned about your headaches. You aren’t the first to complain of them since you began mind-hunting.”

  “I’d heard there were more,” I said with a lack of emotion. “Shoot it to me straight, Doc. What am I looking at?”

  “We won’t know for sure until we get your blood test results back. If they determine you’re in the same predicament as the others, then we’ll experiment with different medications until we find something that works.”

  He rose and shoved the stethoscope probes into his ears as he started to check me out as if this were any other doctor visit and I had a cold. What ailed me couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. Maybe this was just his go-to response when he had a patient on the table he couldn’t help.

  I decided to make it easy for him. I took the cold metal disc he’d pressed against my chest and held it to my lips. “Doc, am I going to live or die?”

  He cringed and yanked the ear prongs out.

  “Sorry, was that too loud?”

  “Dr. Bray, that’s a loaded question that I can’t answer yet.”

  “And why is that? I’m not your first case. I’m not even your second if Noah was telling the truth.”

  “You’re my sixth,” he answered, retaking his seat.

  “And what happened to the five before me?”

  “Three died, and two are institutionalized.”

  “Oh well…that’s familiar territory for me, but why them?”

  “Judging by their files and the reports from physicians and psychiatrists, I’d say it’s a snafu in the program, not that you can quote me on that.”

  Now we were getting somewhere. A man of science who had formed a hypothesis and wasn’t afraid to share it without providing the facts.

  “What type of snafu?”

  He sighed. “Think of your mind like a pizza, and on that pizza, each topping is like a memory; some from childhood, some formed with those closest to you, some just random unusable data like common core math.”

  I grinned, understanding his analogy. I’d heard guys at the compound complain of needing Sam’s expert help in solving middle school math problems. It was a convoluted way of teaching math that added more steps than should be legal not to mention just plain stupid.

  “I get it. Continue. My brain is a pizza full of memory toppings.”

  “Now, in some cases, the others before you have hunted between twenty to forty criminals by touching their blood.”

  I nodded.

  “When you absorb the blood, you’re basically getting into the mind of a killer, and with the connection you’re making, you’re getting his thoughts that help you catch him, but you’re also taking on his memories, regardless if you’re accessing them.”

  “That’s a disturbing thought,” I mumbled.

  “So now all of their toppings are now loaded onto your pizza regardless of whether you eat them or, in reality, access them. They’re still there. You do that enough times and the pizza becomes so heavy and bulky that it’s weighed down and all the layers of toppings start to mix.”

  “I currently only have six people in my head, counting myself. Before that, I’d helped track a dozen or more killers.”

  “Yes, well, you have something the other participants didn’t.”

  I raised a brow, waiting for the punch line.

  “You almost died. You lost a lot of the blood and needed a transfusion. With the loss of blood, you severed some of the connections and with it, those memories that weren’t yours. So now instead of say…eighteen in your head depending on how many years you’ve hunted, you only have the six to worry about.”

  “Actually, the other dozen were killed during the apprehension, and with their deaths, their blood connections disappeared.”

  “Yes, well, I can’t have my patients going around killing people.”

  “So, are you saying a transfusion would help?”

  “No,” he said, rising to his feet. “A transfusion is just changing out the toppings. We need to monitor you and continue with medications to help ease the pain while monitoring your progress with those who’ve already made homes in your head. Tapping into these people in real time is one thing, but If you start to take on their memories, then we need to re-evaluate your situation.”


  I hopped off the table when the doctor started walking to the door.

  “Hey, Doc,” I called out.

  He turned with his hand on the knob. “Yes?”

  “There’s something else you need to know.”

  “What’s that, Dr. Bray?”

  “My DNA has started to merge with the others.”

  He left the door and turned to face me. “How do you know your DNA is merging? That hasn’t happened with any other participant.”

  “My eye color has changed, and now I see ghosts.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Not a word I wanted to hear him say.

  He gave a slow nod, though there was distance in his eyes, as if he were already calculating the repercussions from my statement. “We have your blood work from prior to the trials and during the trial period. I’ll compare what we took today against that. Maybe that will shed some light on things.”

  I nodded and held out my hand. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  He nodded as he took my hand and shook it. “You’re welcome, Dr. Bray. I’ll be in touch.”

  Phone in hand, Grant looked up when I entered the waiting room. A few more keystrokes and he rose, putting the mobile in his pocket.

  “How did it go?”

  “I’m not sure. They ran tests and did blood work. I’ll know more soon.” It was the best I could offer, since I was still trying to wrap my head around Dr. Cline’s pizza toppings analogy. For now, my memories were still my own. There weren’t any new uncles that I could recall. That was a good thing, right? But how long could that last, given my circumstances?

  Grant held the door open for me, and I stepped outside under the overcast, gloomy sky. We’d started for his SUV when I heard my name being called from behind.

  A nurse jogged down the stairs. “Dr. Bray. Dr. Cline wanted to give you more meds, should you need them.”

  She handed me a bag that clanked, and I opened it and peered down at the tiny bottles containing clear liquid, along with several prepackaged needle boxes. I pulled one of the bottles out and examined it. It looked similar to what was in my meds that Noah provided.

  “There are instructions in the bag, but he said it’s the same thing you’ve been taking and you’re familiar with it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, as a light drizzle started. I turned to walk backward, watching as the nurse retreated inside the building. The structure looked more like an accountant’s office than a medical facility. The lengths the military went to in order to hide their true business wasn’t surprising. Hell, the FBI was the same way. The base office we were working out of was a damn revamped watermill.

  I climbed into the passenger seat, and Grant slid behind the wheel.

  “I have to head to base and meet with Noah. Do you want me to drop you off at home?” he asked.

  “No. You can drop me off at the police station. I’ll take a cab from there,” I said and glanced at him, hoping the others hadn’t warned him of my plan last night to go check those private properties for signs of buried bodies.

  “Really? The police station?” he asked, lifting a brow. “You hate that place.”

  I shrugged. “I need to see Detective Rowan.”

  “Why?” Grant asked.

  “I need to report a murder.”

  Chapter 7

  Sebastian Elliot

  A knock sounded on Sebastian’s office door. “Come in.”

  James stood in the doorway. “Sir, Roger Williams is here to see you, and Ms. Kenzie called to remind you about the police station.”

  “Of course,” Sebastian said, trying to hold in his excitement. “Please send him in.”

  “Yes, sir.” James disappeared and returned with Sebastian’s visitor.

  Roger walked into the room. His gaze danced around the room before settling on Sebastian.

  He indicated the chair across the desk from him. “Have a seat.”

  “I can’t stay long.” Roger acted like a caged animal. His hair was slicked back. His cheeks were pale and sunken. He was the guy who didn’t ask questions when Sebastian made unusual requests. Roger didn’t care as long as Sebastian paid in cash. Ask, don’t tell was his motto. The fact that Roger was here during daylight and not calling Sebastian on the phone was unusual at best.

  “What are you doing here, Roger? You typically call.”

  “I followed her like you asked,” he said, clicking a few buttons on a camera; he handed the Canon to Sebastian.

  Sebastian flipped through the pictures of Lucy holding up a bottle of clear meds in front of a non-descript building. A nurse wearing scrubs was talking to her. A new man, one who hadn’t been with her last night, stood nearby. She was a busy little girl with all of these men. “When was this taken?”

  “That was fifteen minutes ago.”

  “And where did she go next?” Sebastian asked.

  “To the police station.”

  Sebastian glanced up at Roger’s words. “For what?”

  Roger shrugged. “I don’t know. The guy she was with dropped her off. I left my partner watching to see if she leaves.”

  Sebastian gave a slow nod. “Good.” Sebastian crossed the room and opened the safe. He took out a stack of hundred-dollar bills and held them out to Roger.

  Roger’s eyes lit up. Drool formed at the corner of his mouth. Yet he still seemed hesitant to take the money, almost as if for once, he might be questioning what he’d have to do to earn it.

  “What’s that for?” Roger swallowed.

  “How well do you trust your guy watching her?”

  “With my life. Why?”

  Sebastian’s mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile. “Give me his number and tell him to wait for my call.”

  “Why? I don’t understand.”

  “I think it’s time I put a little fear into the doctor.” Sebastian shoved the cash against Roger’s chest and turned him toward the door. He squeezed Roger’s shoulders. “See that he doesn’t screw this up.”

  Roger nodded and walked out of the office while Sebastian grabbed his coat.

  James met him at the door. “Sir, would you like me to pull the car around?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll drive myself.” Sebastian glanced down at his watch. “I promised Kenzie I’d go to the police station today to check on the progress of her sister’s case.”

  “Sir?” James brows dipped. They always did when he thought Sebastian was playing with fire.

  Sebastian offered him a courteous smile. “It’s fine. I trust that you’ll take care of my other issue in the basement.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll have the area ready for your next tenant.”

  “Pull out all the stops for an extended stay. The next one is special. This will be my biggest prize yet,” Sebastian said.

  “It’s the woman from yesterday, isn’t it?” James asked.

  James had been with Sebastian for ages. James knew Sebastian’s habits and appetites better than anyone else in the world.

  “Yes, and I don’t plan to kill her quickly. Not until I’ve had time to enjoy my catch and find out exactly what she knows about Dorothy’s disappearance.”

  Chapter 8

  Lucy

  I walked into the police station and up to the counter, where I asked for Detective Asher Rowan. I didn’t wait long before the man in question appeared. The stress lines around his eyes softened as he met my gaze.

  “Lucy, I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I know,” I said, tugging the purse strap up my arm. “Do you have a minute? It’s kind of important.”

  “Since you asked nicely, it must be important.” Rowan held the door open for me to follow. “I’m just teasing.”

  “No, you’re not,” I corrected him.

  “You’re right. I’m not. How about we talk in my office?” Asher led me across the room, and held the door open for me. The floor-to-ceiling glass window didn’t allow for much privacy, but I guess I should have been glad that the man had walls, unlike sever
al of the cops sitting in divided cubicles.

  “You’ve really come a long way since we met,” I said as Asher took a seat behind his desk and gestured to one of the chairs for me to sit.

  Our relationship was complicated. He’d made a promise to my dead husband years ago that he would watch out after me, and he had, in secret, until recently.

  “What brings you by, Lucy? I know this isn’t a social visit.”

  I turned a bright smile on him as I took my seat. “I thought we were friends.”

  He grinned. “We are. But you never visit me here….so, power of deduction.”

  “I guess that’s why you’re so good at your job.”

  “Why are you stalling?” he asked.

  “I don’t stall,” I said with a shrug. “I’m here to report an unofficial murder.”

  He began tapping a pen on the paperwork littering his desk. “Have you evolved into predicting murders now?”

  “I wish. That would save us all a lot of time and trouble, but no. I’m not even sure of the barista’s name, much less where she is now.”

  “But you saw it all?”

  “In my head.” That was the only explanation I needed to give him. Asher knew my secret. He was one of the few outside the band of misfits I worked with that knew my post-experimental abilities. I trusted that he wouldn’t call me crazy. “Late twenties, blonde hair, and she was wearing a smock from The Drip coffee shop. Maybe you can track her that way if she hasn’t been reported yet.”

  “How did she die?” Asher asked as he wrote down my description.

  I rose from my seat and started to pace the confined space as I described in detail what Sebastian Elliot had done to that poor woman and how she, like Dorothy, ended up being chased through the woods.

  “Did you see the killer’s face?” he asked, just as movement out of the office caught my eye.

  “Yeah, it’s the same man who killed Dorothy,” I answered and gestured to the man across the room, walking into the police chief’s office directly across from Asher’s. “And there he is.”