The Escape (3 page)

“The line should move soon,” Keene said.

I joined him for a moment in scanning the room but refocused on the vice president as a small group of friends finished their individual pictures and left together, leaving a large gap in the line. We stepped forward.

I pushed harder, and a throbbing began at the base of my skull, something I hadn’t felt in weeks. It only meant my brain was tiring from all the scanning, but I was nowhere near ready to give up. I began absorbing from the air, regaining my strength. A posh hotel right before dinner was a great place for absorbing, all those molecules with expensive, organic nutrients floating about begging to be taken in through my pores. In seconds, the throbbing eased.

Focusing more tightly, I watched the vice president shake hands with another couple and smile for the camera. More worry seeped from him. Something wasn’t right. The fact that he worried so much about his adult son, who was supposedly holding his own in politics, seemed to underscore our intel.

“Erin!”

Keene’s voice, but the warning came too late. Hard fingers bit painfully into the flesh of my shoulder.

S
TIFLING AN URGE TO REACH
for my knives, I turned to stare into the face of the Unbounded who had been at the door. He had dark brown hair and was tall enough that I had to look up to meet his gaze. A pleasant, average sort of face, but his mouth was tight and his pale blue eyes hard. The hand that wasn’t causing me discomfort was in the pocket of his pants, probably holding a weapon. At his side were two Secret Service agents, who appeared ready to draw their guns.

“Hello,” he said in a curiously flat voice. “I thought I recognized you.”

Unlike the shields of the Hunters, this Unbounded’s barrier resembled a thick black wall, strong and unyielding. Practiced. Definitely Emporium. I rammed my thoughts against it, seeing a momentary white flash that sent a trail of electric shocks through my temple. Ignoring the pain, I pushed with more force. If I made it inside, I could use my ability against him. I’d also be able to use his talent—whatever it was. So far I’d channeled Ritter’s combat ability, as well as my younger brother Jace’s. Channeling other gifts in our group, I’d also managed to teleport, or shift as we called it, and I’d had one lesson in technopathy. I was far from adept at any of these talents, but all of them were more instinctive than anything else, so the key was a good mental connection with the possessor of the ability. The drawback, of course, was that the Unbounded whose ability I was borrowing needed to remain in sensing range, and some abilities were more complicated than others.

“Oh?” I said to the man with a calm smile that belied the hammering of my heart. I didn’t shake off his fingers because contact only heightened my attack on his mind, and I hadn’t yet managed to force my way inside his shield. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

“No, but I know
of
you.” His attention went briefly to Keene. “And him.”

Keene shook his head, his voice calm despite the dangerous glint in his eyes. “You must be mistaken. We’ve never met. Who are you?” That told me Keene didn’t know him because Keene never, ever lied, except by omission. Some might argue that was every bit as bad, but given the world of intrigue that surrounds the Unbounded, it was something I admired.

Unlike Keene, I recognized the man now that we were so close from the pictures Stella had shown me, though he appeared significantly different in real life. Plainer somehow, despite his overpriced tux and flashy scarlet tie. Dread came with the recognition. No way should this man be Unbounded.

Keene dropped his eyes to the hand on my shoulder, his nostrils flaring slightly. I knew his tight control was the only reason he hadn’t started throwing punches. This was why Ava had sent him with me instead of Jace. Though my brother’s combat ability made him a better fighter, his rashness and inexperience might not have allowed him Keene’s restraint.

“Oh, look,” squealed the woman with the pointed nose, motioning to her companions. “It’s Patrick Mann.” She took a few steps toward us. “Do you remember me? I’m Sophie Brinker, Finley’s mother. You and she were so close in college.”

Patrick’s hand dropped from my shoulder, but I had already used his touch to help pound a tiny hole in his barrier and wriggle inside. If he wasn’t a sensing Unbounded, he wouldn’t know I was there as long as I didn’t insert any thoughts or try to communicate mentally. I wouldn’t be able to sift through his memories as I could if he were unconscious, but I should be able to get a sense of what his purpose was in confronting us.

“Mann?” Keene mouthed at me.

Patrick Mann, the vice president’s son to be exact, and given his Unbounded condition, his father had every right to worry about him. I knew from the data that he was thirty-six, which put him at Keene’s age, but he looked at least five years younger—and aging at only two years for every hundred, like most Unbounded, he’d still look the same at his parents’ funerals. If he continued on in politics like his father, and became the president of the United States, he wouldn’t be the first Unbounded to do so, as Kennedy had also been one of us, but Patrick’s possible connection with the Emporium might mean that a mortal would never again hold the position.

Now that I was inside his mind, I could see Patrick was lying. He hadn’t recognized us. Someone had pointed us out to him, a man who’d seen us arrive, a sensing Unbounded posted to watch for Renegades. Whoever it was had used his ability to mask his presence because I hadn’t sighted him.

“Finley. Of course,” Patrick murmured. Mentally, he dismissed the woman and her comment. His concern was us; she didn’t matter at all.

This was worse than our intel had hinted. We’d thought maybe Vice President Mann had been offered a deal in exchange for advanced medical care by an Emporium healer after his son’s near fatal skydiving episode a few months earlier. We hadn’t considered the possibility of the son being an Emporium agent himself. That fact only spelled trouble for the entire nation, and eventually the world.

Yet Keene didn’t recognize him from his years at the Emporium, so what did that mean? Perhaps not much. Keene’s father was a member of the Emporium Triad, their ruling body, but even while he’d served them, Keene’s mortality would have prevented him from being privy to their most important secrets.

“Oh, yes, I recognize you now from your pictures.” I extended my hand to Patrick Mann. “Nice to meet you in person.” I waited several heartbeats before adding with a glance at the reddened finger marks now quickly fading from the skin of my shoulder, “I think.”

Jumbled thoughts came from the sand stream of his mind. Surprise and wariness. Worry that he’d made a mistake in challenging us without Emporium backup, especially given our known prowess in combat. While he could expect the aid of the Secret Service agents, we might not choose to go with him peacefully. Two agents plus the half dozen others close to the camera weren’t nearly enough to subdue us unless they opened fire, and that would start a stampede of guests and negative publicity they didn’t need.

These images were followed by more scrambled emotions I couldn’t separate. Then finally a clear thought:
They don’t seem to know about me or the plan so they aren’t here to eliminate dear old Dad. I’ll let the others deal with them.
The thought disappeared before it ran to its conclusion, the jumbled sand stream taking over again. Multiple images careened past me, but none of them seemed related or worth examining.

I needed to know more. What was it Patrick thought we didn’t know? That he was Unbounded? But how would that relate to a possible assassination attempt on his mortal father? Unless the vice president was also working for the Emporium. While that was exactly what I’d come here to determine, I could tell from Patrick’s thoughts that he didn’t know I could sense, so he wasn’t worried about me discovering whether or not his father was an agent. No, he thought we’d come to kill his father because of intel we already possessed before our arrival—and now he’d decided we didn’t have it after all. Interesting.

Only a second had passed since my remark, though it seemed much longer to me from the viewpoint of our joined minds. Patrick took my proffered hand in a firm grip. “I believe I mistook you for someone else,” he said with an easy laugh that was echoed by the two couples in front of us, who were avidly watching the scene unfold. “Someone who’s created a tad of difficulty for my father in the past.” He let my hand go, leaving behind a touch of nervous moistness.

“Couldn’t be them,” said the man in glasses, stepping closer to his sharp-nosed wife. “They’re from out west with—what did you say your firm’s name was?” This last to Keene, who relaxed marginally with the question.

I let the chitchat slide over me as I pushed farther into Patrick’s mind, not touching the sand stream of thoughts but examining them closer. I clearly saw images of known Emporium agents, so his allegiance was clear, but there were no more mental references to his father or any type of plan—only the determination to play out this game so we wouldn’t suspect. Or at least not until it was too late.

Too late for what?

Something in his mind caught my attention. A shiny, black, snakelike cord stretching the entire length of his visible thought stream, but unlike the other thoughts and images, it didn’t slide forward and disappear with the rest, only moved up and down inside the sand, mostly buried and out of sight. Chill spread through me as I recognized the black cord. I’d created a similar substance in a corner of my own mind, a box where I’d locked up my fear of heights. While I wasn’t completely cured, I could function when it mattered. This black cord, however, was far more elegant, undulating with a hypnotic call. I moved closer.

Was he a sensing Unbounded after all? Had he created this to hide important thoughts? No. I hadn’t been quiet or careful getting past his barriers, and he would have noticed me. Besides, this black cord wasn’t quite the same thing as my box. The signature was different—and I recognized it.

With a shudder, I pulled away. I’d felt this mark in my ex-boyfriend before his death, and I’d suspected then that something had been done to his mind. Now I was sure. It belonged to Delia Vesey, a member of the Emporium Triad and also a sensing Unbounded who had the ability to control people using mere thoughts.

I could feel the cord pulsating, seeming to beckon me to take it into my hands, to caress its length and steal its secrets. Except not only would disrupting the stream alert the Unbounded to my mental presence, but everything in my mind screamed out that Delia wouldn’t go to such effort unless she was sure no average sensing Unbounded would be able to extract the hidden information safely.

No average Unbounded. What about me?

I backed off, staying in his mind but keeping clear of the thought stream. We didn’t know much about how the sensing gift worked, but I’d learned that mental damage sometimes didn’t heal like our physical bodies did, and for all I knew the cord could contain some sort of a mental bomb.

“I do apologize for the interruption,” Patrick said.

“An honest mistake, I’m sure.” I was trying to decide how to handle this. A fist to his jaw would be my preferred manner, but that would blow our cover entirely. For now we appeared safe, his thoughts revealing his desire to signal his Emporium cronies to come deal with us. Either we kept him from doing that with conversation or we made a run for it, which might be impossible given our place in line and the presence of so many Secret Service agents—even we could be temporarily incapacitated by their guns.

An idea occurred to me. “I know how you can make it up to us, Mr. Mann, and I’m sure Mrs. Brinker here will agree. Will you stand in my picture with me and your parents? My friends will never believe that I met the entire family if you don’t.” I tried to force enough enthusiasm into my voice to make the request sound real, but Keene’s pained look told me I fell short.

Mrs. Brinker’s nose twitched. “What a wonderful idea! Would you stand in ours, too? I would love to send a copy to Finley.”

Patrick took a step back. “Well, I was about to—”

“Please, I insist.” Mrs. Brinker put her arm through the hook made by his elbow. “We are one of your father’s largest contributors, you know, and I anticipate that we will support you as well when it’s your turn.” She patted his arm. “Oh, it
is
good to see you. I don’t spend enough time with Finley these days. We were all so worried when we heard about your skydiving accident. What a miracle you survived.”

A rush of anger from Patrick jabbed into my mind, and I rubbed the base of my skull to relieve the throbbing. Yet now that I’d backed away from the thoughts and emotions in his sand stream, something else was bothering me about him, something familiar. I could almost hear a mental humming speeding through his synapses. Was this another side effect of my breakthrough in Mexico? I couldn’t be sure. But there was a clear pattern to the humming.

Could I follow it? The impulses were going far too fast for me to trace without inserting my thoughts into them. Maybe if I just reached out and—a bright flash momentarily blinded me, and suddenly I felt connected to Patrick’s entire body, as if I’d sprouted a million arms and legs that connected everything together. Then just as suddenly, it was gone, and I was outside Patrick’s shield again, with no little hole in sight.