Caressed By Ice (8 page)

A jumble of sensory input, acrid fear on her tongue, a pulsating kind of panic. She'd made a mistake and now it had to be cleaned up
—

Snatches of sound. A laughing child. Fear. Joy. Birthday cake
—

He was so sexy, she wanted to
—

Fear. A salty/wrong/bad scent. It was a mess. Had to be cleaned up
—

Brenna moaned and turned onto her side. If someone had been in the room with her, they might've nudged her awake. But she was alone, and she was dreaming in inexplicable fragments, seeing broken snatches of thought. Her mind searched for an anchor and found the way blocked. It shouldn't have been.

A moment of clarity, of anger:
He shouldn't have done that!

A second later, she was dreaming again.

 

Judd walked away
as the first flames began to rise behind him, hands thrust into his pockets and head covered by the pulled-up hood of a black sweatshirt that turned him from Arrow to hoodlum. Even if he had been caught on surveillance equipment—highly unlikely, given his skills—his identity would be impossible to determine. To further muddy the waters, he'd gone to considerable trouble to ensure the blast bore no Psy fingerprint, using materials available to humans and changelings as well as Psy.

Alarms sounded behind him, followed by the hiss of sprinkler systems being deployed. That posed no threat. He'd designed the blast radius to take out a key section without reliance on the destructive powers of fire. Nothing inside that square should be salvageable if his explosives had functioned as they were meant to. And he had no doubts that they had—after all, he'd been trained by Councilor Ming LeBon himself.

The guards
didn't notice his telekinetically blurred body as he slid right past them and into the four a.m. darkness of the quiet street. The Council had made a cold calculation and located this lab in a suburban area, believing that here, among civilians, it would escape discovery and attack. They should've known better.

Fading into the shadows on the other side of the street, he checked the buildings on either side of the lab, ready to throw up a Tk shield to ensure their safety—because, unlike the Council, he didn't consider civilian casualties necessary collateral damage. His caution proved redundant. Not even a spark had escaped the confines of the target compound.

A perfect strike.

Lights began flicking on up and down the street as he watched. At the same instant, security personnel pounded out of the compound, searching for a trail that had gone cold the second after he'd walked out. It had taken them at least two minutes to respond. Sloppy. Whoever was running this op had become cocky after going undetected for over a year.

It was exactly the reaction Judd and the Ghost had planned on.

Satisfied, he took one last look at the rapidly dying flames and turned to cut through the middle-of-the-night black of a family's backyard. As he negotiated the garden and swingset, he found his eyes drawn to the still-dark window on the second floor. That room held a child, a small half-human, half-changeling boy with more energy than coordination. Judd had seen him several times during his trips to scout the area.

The child's presence had made the disguised lab across the road even more of an obscenity. Because what had been going on in that place was meant to destroy the minds and lives of children just like that boy. The room light finally came on as Judd scaled the back fence with grace even a cat might have envied, and landed in an even darker yard. No one was home here and wouldn't be for several days. He'd done his homework.

Deactivating the alarmed lock took him a quarter of a minute. Once inside, he stood with his back to the doorway, not going any farther. These people hadn't invited him in and he wouldn't violate their refuge. However, when he tried to relax his body and mind without falling asleep—a trick all soldiers learned early on—he found he couldn't. There was pressure on the back of his skull, a hard push he might've taken for an attempt to penetrate his shields had the pressure not seemed to come from
inside
his mind.

He rechecked his basic armor against psychic attack. No cracks. He was about to go deeper when the pressure simply halted. Unable to follow it any longer, he put the problem down to a lack of sleep and sent his mind into rest-and-repair mode. His concentration was so tightly focused, it was no wonder he missed the telltale signature in that mental push, a harbinger of something far more dangerous than any Psy weapon.

Three hours later, he left the house to blend seamlessly into the steady stream of early morning joggers and walkers. More than one changeling had pointed out that he looked Psy even when dressed otherwise, so he'd spent time watching young human and changeling males, and now affected their careless swagger. But it wasn't natural for him—he was a soldier, with a soldier's bearing, and that would never change.

He passed several Psy patrols without incident, aware they were illegally mind-scanning everyone who passed. What they would read off him were the fuzzy thoughts of a hungover human male. Meanwhile, he noted everything about them. Their black uniforms were indistinguishable from other units in the Psy forces, but for the small gold insignia on the left shoulder—two snakes twisted in combat.

He recognized it at once. These men were part of Ming LeBon's private army. Which meant that Councilor LeBon had been placed in charge of this little enterprise. Not what he would've expected, given Nikita Duncan's proximity to the area. Ming's home base, on the other hand, was in Europe.

Unless Ming had decided to relocate…perhaps to track down a rebel Arrow.

 

Judd
still wasn't back when Brenna went to find him after waking from nightmare-laced dreams that had left her sweaty and gritty-eyed. “Where are you?” She wanted to cry, she was that desperate for him.

Cry?

The reaction was so unlike her, it slapped her fully awake. Frowning, she made a conscious effort to pull herself together. She wasn't one of those females who was constantly in heat. Though if she were, she knew who she would choose to rub up against. That hard soldier's body made her want to do all sorts of deliciously erotic things—she wondered if he had enough spare flesh on him to bite or if her teeth would slide off.

“Hello…Earth to Brenna Shane.” Indigo's curious face came into her line of sight. “Why are you standing zoned out in the middle of the corridor?”

Brenna hoped her cheeks weren't as red as they felt. What was going on? Sure, she was attracted to Judd, but this raw sexual hunger was like nothing she'd ever before experienced. “Ah…” Her disrupted night had made her a bit slow. Wait, that was the answer. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Indigo jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Walk with me. I'm off to a morning session with Her Majesty.”

“Who?”

“Sienna ‘I'm a cardinal Psy and don't need combat training' Lauren. Damn juveniles. They all think they're invincible.” Indigo scowled. “So what's up?”

“The murder,” she said, wondering if Judd knew about his niece's recalcitrance. “Do you have any more information?”

Indigo's face closed over. “That's on a need-to-know basis and last time I looked, you weren't part of Security.”

“I qualify.” Brenna set her jaw. “Was it a Psy?”

To her surprise, Indigo responded without further argument. “Inconclusive. No distinctive scent, but we all know not every Psy gives off that metallic smell.”

None of the Laurens did. Indigo didn't have to point out which one of the family had the skill to commit the crime. Heart chilling, Brenna gripped the lieutenant's arm. “You don't seriously think it could've been Judd. He wouldn't—”

“How well do you know him, Brenna?” Indigo shook her head. “The man's a fucking shadow. No, I don't think it was him—if it had been, we would have never found a body—but you're kidding yourself if you think he isn't capable of executing someone.”

Brenna's gut was a huge knot. “Could it have been one of us?”

“You didn't hear this from me.” Indigo's namesake eyes narrowed. “Hell, I don't know why I'm telling you—maybe to piss off your brothers. Why do you let them get away with that overprotective shit?”

She didn't want to go there today. “You were telling me about Timothy.”

The other woman snorted. “Charming son of a bitch. Had a talent for sweet-talking his way into beds he shouldn't have been in.”

“That's not a motive.” Wolf changelings were highly sexual and single packmates often hopped beds. As for mated pairs, they didn't cheat. Ever. “If someone was mad over a stolen lover, they would've just challenged him to prove dominance.” A fight but not to the death.

“Yeah, I think so too, but it's a lead. And that wasn't the only mess he got himself into. Timmy had indications of drug use. If he, for whatever reason, threatened to expose the piece-of-shit dealer and it was one of us…well, everyone knows Hawke's view on drugs.”

Brenna nodded. “He would've sliced the bastard open.” That one of her own pack could be evil enough to deal drugs staggered her. “It wasn't Jax, was it?” she asked with a fresh wave of horror. “He wasn't messed up.” The Psy drug had a devastating effect on changeling bodies, leaving them trapped midshift. Death followed in days if not hours.

“No.” Indigo gave a distasteful shiver. “Ruby Crush, street name, Rush.”

A drug developed by a changeling piece of vermin and adapted to their physiology. “It boosts normal physical strength during the high, right?”

“As it scrambles the brain.” Indigo shook her head. “Rush freaks turn into witless, giggling idiots. Tim had to have been very careful. No one ever saw him high.” She glanced at her timepiece. “Got to go. Tell Judd I need to talk to him if you see him.”

Brenna nodded, but hours passed and Judd didn't appear. Her frustration turned to worry, then jackknifed into anger. Where the hell was he and why couldn't he have called?

…You're kidding yourself if you think he isn't capable of executing someone.

…He's not the kind of man you need…

She tried to ignore the voices, but part of her listened. Part of her finally began to see.

 

Judd met
the Ghost beneath Father Perez's church, having showered and changed in the small room Perez kept for situations like this. It wasn't yet noon, but it might as well have been midnight in the centuries-old crypt under the light-filled building.

“Why do you think some humans feel the need to inter their dead?” The voice came from the black pool where two corners met. “Changelings let their dead turn to dust.”

Judd had neither the time nor the inclination to engage in a philosophical discussion. He wanted to return to the den and see if Brenna was okay. The talk with Faith had appeared to help her, but if she'd had more of those dreams, she could be in trouble. And he was the only one she trusted enough to come to for…comfort.

“Are there other labs?” he asked point-blank, well aware that his urgency to see Brenna was a minor breach of Silence, the first step on the road to temptation. He wouldn't touch her, he justified, simply make sure of her welfare.

“Of course, but the one you disabled this morning was the most important.”

“Are you certain? With Ming involved, we could be looking at Europe.”

“No, the Council would've preferred that—there's a problem with their head scientist, Ashaya Aleine, refusing to relocate.”

“Must be something big if they haven't overridden her objections.” No one stood against the Council without either an unimpeachable reason or an ace in the hole.

“I'm working on it—they've got a blackout around her. Everything's classified.”

“Do you know her designation?”

“Gradient 9.9 M-Psy.”

“Rare.” Most Psy that powerful tended to cross the 0.1 boundary over into cardinal rank. Judd had always considered his own 9.9 Tk status an advantage. The telekinesis, when combined with his 9.4 ability in telepathy, made him far more of a threat than many a cardinal. Yet he didn't have the night-sky eyes that betrayed his power. When he tried
very
hard, he could even appear harmless. “How much damage did we do?” It might've only been a few hours, but data traveled fast in the Net.

“Unconfirmed reports state the prototype was destroyed. If that's true, it'll take them at least six months to reconstruct it. However, if we take Aleine out of the equation, we set them back years. She's the brains behind the entire project.”

Judd had killed before. And he'd done so with clean efficiency. Not one of his hits had ever been labeled an execution, much less traced back to the Arrow Squad. “I'll need more data before I make that decision.” He no longer trusted anyone when it came to this aspect of his abilities.

“I want to hold off in any case. We may end up needing the information in her head.” A pause.

Judd's need to return to the den pushed at him to finish this and leave. “What?”

“I've heard rumors that Aleine might not be in full support of Protocol I.”

That she was the scientist in charge of developing the implant nonetheless was no contradiction in terms—the Council had ways of ensuring cooperation. “What are the chances of turning her?”

“Slim to none. She's been in the Council substructure since she turned seventeen. Her entire family consists of a four-year-old son. Keenan Aleine lives off-site in an apartment in San Diego.”

“With his father?” Psy bore children as part of fertilization contracts. Custody depended on the terms of the individual contract.

“No. The child is under Council protection. Lives in the same building as the Rika-Smythe family group.”

“Convenient.”

“That was my thought. I'll attempt to confirm.”

Judd began to head for the exit. “Send me the data when you have it.”

 

The SnowDancer
tunnels were relatively quiet when he got back, but he ran into Indigo almost immediately. Suspicion was a hard edge in her eyes.

“Where were you the night Tim died?”

It was an unexpected question. Circumstances had led him to believe the SnowDancer lieutenant trusted him. Clearly, he'd been wrong. “Alone. In my quarters. And no, that can't be verified. Pity you don't have a Justice-Psy here willing to scan me.”