I was about to comment on their unexpected cuteness when I stopped and stared at the corner of the storeroom, at a spot behind a bit of twisted shelving. Something had shimmered there, in the air. A mirage in the corner?
I rubbed my eyes.
It was gone.
No, there it was again.
Something was standing in the corner of the storeroom, almost invisible to me. No, someone was standing in the corner. I could just make out their shape, which flickered in and out of reality like a glitch in the code of my vision.
I leaned in to Jillian with a small smile, and tucked that one stubborn lock of hair behind her ear, ostensibly to whisper sweet nothings. “There’s someone in here with us at your six. Ten meters behind. A possible invisibility power, or some kind of camouflage.” I was ready to bet that it wasn’t Isabel St. James.
Jillian’s long, pale fingers stroked the edge of her knife as she closed her eyes and inhaled, her breath lasting just long enough for me to know that she was searching for the unknown scent.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she turned around. “Ember?”
A whisper of sound passed through my mind: the gauzy breath of telepathy. Ember did not tell me to remain silent, but I could feel her desire that I do so.
Why the hell was Ember skulking around in the storeroom in secret? Where were the others?
Jillian’s turned to me, a placid, glazed expression in her eyes. “I’ll be in the basement, sweetie. You watch over Terrence.”
My cheeks flushed with anger. Jillian had never asked for Terrence’s name since arriving. Ember had fed her that line.
Ember had probably been feeding people their lines since Jillian and company had arrived. She was playing a game—I didn’t know what type—but now was not the time for her stupidity. Yes, I’d been wrong to threaten her, and I’d apologize. But my patience with Ember and her tantrums had just run out.
Jillian let go of my hand and walked down the hall, humming to herself.
And again, my wife was gone immediately after our reunion. Because of Ember.
I spun around, ready to tear into the infuriating, invisible telepath “What the fu—”
We locked eyes.
She was perfectly visible, weeping, and holding the last can of JM-104.
She swallowed. “Please don’t me mad. I found it when you were in the CEO’s office with Reuben, but I didn’t know what to do. I sent the others packing because I need your help. They’ll just complicate the process.”
“Em, what are you on?”
There was only one way to interpret what she’d said: Ember was trying to run off with an invaluable resource that had fueled a human trafficking conspiracy of which I’d been a victim. It was needed for evidence, and then it would be destroyed.
And she was trying to steal it.
I began to walk towards her, my hand outstretched. “Give me that can.”
She scuttled backwards. “No. You stay right there, mister.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Okay, fine. But you’re going to be honest with me. What the hell is happening right now? Why are you being secretive? Why did you send the others away, but not me?”
A sob escaped her. “I’m going to use it.”
“On who? Me? Knock it off.”
“I’m going to use it on myself!”
I flinched as her scream echoed around the wet room.
She brandished the can. “And you are going to make sure I don’t die, do you hear me? As soon as I figure out how to open this stupid thing, I’m going to slice open a vein and pour it into my bloodstream. You are going to heal me and seal this stuff in.” Tears began to flow faster down her face. “You are. You are going to do that. You’re not going to argue with me, damn it. You’re going to let me l-l-live the w-w-way I want to. This has nothing to do with you. Nothing!”
The pieces of the situation flew apart, shifting and reorganizing to create a new picture.
People did very stupid things when they were scared, when they were in pain. I knew that better than anyone.
“Ember, put down the can.”
“Shut up.” She unsheathed her knife. “I’m doing this.”
“Don’t! Let’s talk this through!”
“Screw you! You were going to kill me! You aimed that gun at me and made me use my power! You’re just like your brother!”
I gulped. “I’m so, so sorry, Em. I’m so sorry. I was suffering, terrified, and crazy. That’s what you’re going through right now. We can fix this. Put down the knife.”
She stared at me with her red eyes, but shoved the knife back in its sheath. “Why do you care so much?”
“Because you’re my friend. I’ve been an awful friend in return these last few hours, but my hand to God, I love you, and I want you to be healthy and safe.” I slowly extended my hand towards her. “A teaspoon of it was all it needed for Reuben and Jillian. Less than that, even. The amount of JM-104 in that can will kill you stone dead. Please give it to me. Please.”
“No.”
“Do you want to go off the radar? Because I can arrange that.” If being used for her powers was the problem, then the answer was to make her go away, not her powers via poison.
But she just rolled her eyes. “Oh, like you could do that. You couldn’t fake your own death for six weeks.”
“I can’t, but I have friends who can. I know people who will print you fake IDs, everything. I have enough money to bankroll a whole new life for you. And Reid, if you want. You’ll never have to worry about being found. I even know people who will do a damn good job of faking your death.” I knew a guy who knew a guy who was connected to the mob.
Her face darkened. “No, and Reid isn’t coming. He’ll just promise me safety again, get me to feel all fuzzy and secure, sleep with me, and then run off when the bullets start flying to play hero boy, or militia man, or whatever role he thinks will bring Stephanie back.”
Ouch.
I dropped my hand. “Then we’re at an impasse, because I’m not going to let you hurt yourself.”
“Why? Because you’d have to explain to Jill or Reid that—”
“Because I love you, and if the roles were reversed, I know you’d do the same.”
Embarrassment passed over her face, followed by regret. “I… that’s not true.”
“Yes, it is. You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. What about all of our talks every Friday night while I learned my medic skills? When we help each other spar because we’re both newbies? When you helped me plan Jillian’s birthday party? All the times we picked out vegan recipes together and shopped for them?”
“Ben, I knew Jill was alive the whole time.”
What?
No.
No, absolutely not. Nobody could be that low. Especially not my friend. Not Ember, of all people. There was no way she’d let me fly to Baltimore in a haze of excruciating mental and emotional pain just to…to what? To have my powers in her back pocket? Just to use me as muscle?
Just to get me away from Jillian. To be mean.
Her phantom hand, a memory but no less powerful for it, grabbed my collar and told me that if I hadn’t left my wife alone, she’d still be alive. Even the recollection of that moment had the power to cause pain, and I winced.
She’d told me that as soon as I’d started asking questions.
“That’s right,” she said, biting her lip. “I was a little angry and crazy, too.”
I snorted. “Was?”
Her face darkened. “Watch it.”
“Screw you. I’m getting Jillian and the others, and then you can tell her your brilliant little plan yourself. And lady, if you go into my mind and mess with me, I’ll punch your lights out. Yeah, I said it. What are you going to do about it?” I twirled my finger in the air. “’Oh no, Benjamin just threatened me, he must be a bad man, oh no.’”
I turned on my heel and shoved a large piece of shelving aside, my vision tunneling out of anger. She didn’t know how to op
en the can, so I was fine with leaving her to cry like an idiot. I didn’t know what I was going to tell Jillian, but—
“Ben, stop.” Her voice was suddenly heavy, like she was holding back an emotion, or trying to communicate something to me.
Whatever. I looked over my shoulder, still walking. “Look at me, not stopping.”
“She said stop.”
I stopped.
My head slowly turned towards the far corner, a dark area of the storeroom by the bay doors that had been partially obscured by wreckage.
Beau was standing by an electrical panel, his metal hand on the controls.
All the doors slammed shut at once, sealing us in with him.
Beau turned his flat expression onto Ember. “Now that I have your attention, you’re going to put down that can, Miss Harris.”
Item Twenty-Eight
Personnel file record, submitted to the Department of Justice circa late August 1994.
Name: Johnson, Jillian
Sex: F
DOB: 21AUG1994
Camp of birth: Chattahoochee
Mother: Gemma Johnson (St. James)
Father: Tobias Johnson
Siblings:
1. Johnson, Allison (non-trainee)
2. Johnson, Mason (non-trainee)
Notes: Child was delivered by mother’s sister Grace St. James (St. James) around midnight. No immediate indications of abilities; mother’s reports of unusual kick strength in utero inconclusive.
At moment of birth, Grace was witnessed by three other people to enter a trance-like state (her listed power: low-level prescience) in which she said, “Oh, hello, Heather.”
Mrs. St. James has no recollection of this event, and it is unclear at this time whether this event is of importance.
28
I was in front of Ember immediately.
“Stay behind me,” I whispered quickly. “Don’t talk to him, not matter what he says. I won’t let him hurt you.”
I thought you hated me. There was an almost childlike confusion in her mental tone.
Lady, for the love of God, learn the difference between “I’m angry at you” and “I hate you.”
Beau studied us for a second, then said, “I take it you’re not armed. You would’ve shot me already.”
Multiple badass replies flew through my mind, but all of them fell flat on my tongue. My monkey-brain instinct screamed at me to run from the most dangerous predator I’d ever known, but my higher brain told me that not only was that pointless, but that we were beyond fists and threats. There was nothing to be gained by haughtily declaring that he’d never have the JM-104.
Also, I’d dropped my revolver at some point.
“No, I’m not armed. Not with a gun, anyway. Why haven’t you shot us, then?”
He drummed his metal fingers on the electrical panel, and the lights flickered in time with him. “The time for fighting is over. I can see that now…the new paradigm. I have new information. I want the JM-104. You want to live. Miss Harris, would you be willing to sell it?”
There were a million creepy aspects about this situation. I didn’t know what the worst was: his inhumanly emotionless face, the fact that he’d sneaked up on us so well, or that we were trapped with him.
She gasped. I can’t tell if he’s serious. I…Ben, I can’t hear his thoughts. Except I can, but they’re not…they’re not…what the hell is he?
Beau tapped his temple and smiled ever so slightly. “Are you poking around in here? You won’t get far. Now, are you willing to sell it or not? I have money, far more than my brother has squirreled away in that little emergency account he thinks I don’t know about.”
Arrogant bastard.
“No, I don’t want money,” Ember squeaked.
“Be quiet,” I hissed. “Don’t engage with him. Let him talk.” My eyes darted all around, looking for any exit, any weapon, any thing that would help us. “Call Jillian.”
I’ve already done that. The whole crowd is coming, but they’re a little angry at me. They figured out that I duped them.
Beau appeared to consider her words. “I’ve met people who don’t want money,” he said, his tone lacking inflection. “But everyone wants something. What do you want, Ember Harris? Do you want fame? Power? Sex? I can give you anything you want.”
Ember clung to my sleeves and pressed her face into the back of my tunic. I just want this to be over. I want my powers gone and men like him to leave me alone forever.
I patted her thigh as tenderly as I could, then squared my shoulders. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Beau, but talking to Ember is a privilege you lost a long time ago. You deal with me, and me alone.”
His flat gaze turned to me, and I saw the difference from before: both of his eyes were mechanical. The pupils kept widening and shifting, no doubt analyzing me—and my weak spots.
He was too calm.
That was the creepiest part.
“Beau, what the hell have you done now? Were you doing surgery on yourself again? Mom hated…”
I caught myself and almost laughed. Fate had put me in a room with Beau Trent for just five minutes, and I’d already resorted to bringing our mother’s displeasure with him into the conversation. Wow.
“I’ve been calling Mom since yesterday,” Beau said. He blinked a few times, then shook his head a little—to clear something out of his digital vision, perhaps. “Why hasn’t she picked up?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You know why.”
The lights flickered again, and for the first time since I’d laid eyes on him, I saw a hint of life in his expression. “She was our mother. She was your family. She was our family. You’re a terrible Trent.”
“And Jillian is my wife! Don’t you dare stand there and pretend you care about family!
My sudden shout echoed oddly around the wet room. Of all the things he could’ve said that would’ve gotten under my skin, that wasn’t one of them. I’d had weeks to digest Jillian’s beautiful vows she’d made in Liberty, and to mull over the meaning of “family.”
Jillian, my exquisite wife, was my family by law and by choice. My team was my family by love. The Trents were my family by genes, and nothing more.
Ember squeezed my arms. Good news! Your ‘exquisite wife’ is outside, in the hallway. They’re all keeping quiet while they figure out a way in. Keep him distracted.
Beau was nonplussed. “Was it you that killed her? Did you murder your own mother? Is that something your new friends taught you how to do?”
I scoffed. “Oh, settle down. It was your sister-in-law. I wasn’t even there.”
“And where’s Will?”
I grinned. “Still in bed.”
“He’s not answering his calls.”
“Did that new hardware lower your IQ? Pick up on the subtext, dumbass.”
Once again, the lights flickered. Beau tapped the heel of his hand to his head, then gave himself a little head-clearing shake.
Though I was playing the role of a cocky adversary, a shudder ran down my back. My revulsion wasn’t from his previous actions or anything like that. It ran deeper. He was like a preserved cadaver—he looked human, but there was an elusive quality about him that whispered “off.”
Again, the calmness was so creepy, but why? He’d always been like this, always…
No, he hadn’t. That wasn’t true.
He’d been calm, sure. Calculating, definitely. But Beau had been as prone to vengeance, caprice, and foul moods as anyone. He’d never been like this before, and clearly his new update had affected his emotional abilities. All of my insults had merely made the lights flicker.
Wait.
All of my insults had made the lights flicker.
That was the key. He was trying to digitally override his emotions, though I couldn’t guess why or how. But the result was incomplete, and his strong feelings were causing little surges. If I could get him riled up, maybe he’d lose control and open the doors.
&
nbsp; As plans went, it wasn’t the best, but what choice did I have? I didn’t know how to handle calm, thoughtful psychos…but I had a growing understanding of hysterical men who were half-mad from their desire to kill and destroy.
Jillian had once fought her own version of Beau with the same tactic. God willing, I’d have the same luck.
And I knew exactly how to needle him. After all, I was his younger brother, and I had younger brother of my own who was very good at this kind of thing. He’d even been so kind as to give me my ammunition.
Ember squeezed the back of my arm. I hear you.
I tapped my foot impatiently. “So you’re not going to go away, huh?”
“No, Benjamin. I’m not going anywhere until I get the JM-104.”
Ember handed me the can, which I tossed to Beau. “Fine, take it.”
His eyes began their little in-and-out dance. “You’re just going to give it to me?”
I laughed. “Uh, yeah. I wanted to keep it from you on principle, but let’s face it, Beau…you’re not going to do anything with it. You’re a crap supervillain.”
He lowered his hand from the panel, and finally a real expression settled on his features: anger. “Excuse me?”
Terrence groaned a few yards from us. We all ignored him.
“Well, let’s see,” I said, rubbing my chin. “You stood by and watched while Dad got his ass handed to him by my buddy Marco. You couldn’t kidnap Ember in the compound. You lost Graham in the fight with Jillian.” I laughed for real. “And she was sick that night, Beau! It was two-something in the morning and she was sick, and you still lost someone. I mean, come on. Oh, and then you believed the biggest, most obvious lie of all. Damned. Time. You really thought the JM-104 was at the hospital, didn’t you?”
He was turning dark red. That couldn’t have been good for the circuitry.
I shook my head in disappointment. “But you know what the most pathetic part is? You had two full days to break Jillian, and in those two days you had three people helping you, a dedicated torture chamber, years of experience, and a sick and injured victim...but Jillian still walked out of that basement, Beau. She walked out under her own power and killed Mom where she was sleeping.”
Mercury Page 30
