The Psy-Changeling Collection (318 page)

“Hard-assed?” A snort. “I’ve seen rich men skate off rape charges, politicians bury abuse claims, young girls commit suicide after being hurt. I don’t agree with vigilante justice, but Js aren’t exactly vigilantes are they? They know the exact nature of a particular crime, and they tend to give out punishments perfectly calibrated to that crime—and only in cases where justice would otherwise be defiled.”

“We aren’t judge and jury.” She’d never talked openly about this. Even among Js, it wasn’t ever actually discussed. But they all knew the parameters, understood what the Corps would overlook as the cost of having Js in the system. “We’re the last resort when the tools of justice fail the victims.”

“What,” Max said, coming to a stop in front of the elevators, his body angled to hide her from the surveillance cameras, “is the impact on a J who acts as that last resort . . . as an executioner if necessary.”

“‘Every action has an opposite and equal reaction,’” she said, quoting the well-known law of physics. “That maxim holds true on the psychic plane.”

White lines bracketed Max’s mouth. “So a J would be damaged by the event?”

“Not exactly damaged. I would say . . . changed.”

A long, still pause. “You can’t do it anymore,” he finally said very, very quietly. “Do you understand me, Sophia?”

Her lips quivered for the barest fraction of a moment. “Max, are you trying to fix me?” It was impossible, and she couldn’t bear for him to realize that too late, walk away.

“No. I’m trying to save you.” An implacable, absolute answer. “It’s about choices. I need you to make one to fight those instincts—every time you give in, it eats away a little bit of your psyche.”

The otherness in her—twined with those dark threads that tasted of the Net—stirred, considered, bowed its head. “I can do that.” For Max, only for Max. He was a cop. He’d accepted her past with open eyes and an open heart, but what she did from now on, even if only a few individuals realized the depth of the connection between them, would reflect on him, stain his career—and she was too proud of him to chance that. “It’s a small price to pay to be with you.”

“No price, Sophie, no ultimatums.” An unqualified reassurance that made her want to pull him forward by the lapels of his suit jacket and kiss him again and again. “You belong to me—and I’m keeping you no matter what.”

“That means you belong to me, too.” It came from the dark heart of her, the place where no light had ever shone . . . until this man looked at her with eyes that said she wasn’t a piece of trash to be discarded because she’d proved imperfect. For the first time in her life, she had started to feel whole, the scars, the fractures, simply a part of her.

Max shrugged, that lean dimple flashing in his cheek. “I’m not arguing.”

“So,” she said, everything in her—even the once scared, lonely girl who’d only ever spoken through the hand of cold justice before—determined to stake its claim loud and clear, “if I find a business card from a female in your jacket, she had better be a colleague.”

Max felt a laugh build in his chest, had to fight the urge to tug Sophia into his arms and bite down on that full lower lip in a gesture of open possession. “No one will dare hit on me after I mention my wife is a J with a jealous streak.”

Wife
. Her composure splintered. “Max, no matter what, we could never—”

“I told you, Sophie. You’re mine. End of story.”

CHAPTER 35

In certain types of cases, most cops immediately suspect the father. Nobody thinks of the mother, not at first. Except me. And I wish I didn’t.

—
From the private case notes of Detective Max Shannon

Ryan Asquith entered
the conference room looking as unruffled as ever, but that, of course, was de rigueur for the Psy. Max didn’t say anything for several long seconds after the intern arrived. Taking her cue from him, neither did Sophia. Finally, Ryan glanced at his watch. “Am I early, Detective?”

“You didn’t tell us you’d undergone reconditioning,” Max said, instead of answering his question.

The young male didn’t so much as blink. “Everything is in my file.”

“And you didn’t think to mention the fact that you’d killed using Tk when we’re investigating a murder that may have had a Tk component?”

Ryan’s eyes skated away from Max’s. “I assumed you already knew. The personnel department did a full screen on me when I applied for this position.”

“Interesting thing is,” Max murmured, “seems the department just does a basic screen for short-term interns.”

Sophia put her organizer on the table. “The detective doesn’t understand, Ryan,” she said in a quiet, calm tone.

“Oh?” Max raised an eyebrow.

“Those of us who go through a reconditioning,” Sophia answered, “aren’t considered criminals for any acts committed during the period of fracture, because there is no intent.”

Ryan nodded, holding Sophia’s gaze. “Exactly. I knew if I told you of the incident, you would focus on me, leaving the true murderer to go free.”

“But you can see,” Sophia said, “how this places you in the center of the investigation.”

Ryan glanced down, then up, saying nothing.

Sophia tapped Max’s foot at almost the same instant. Getting the hint, he rose to his feet. “I’m going to grab a bottle of water from outside while Ryan gets his thoughts in order. Sophia?”

“Thank you, some water would be great.”

Watching the door
close behind her cop, Sophia turned her attention to the boy in front of her. And he was just that, only a boy. A boy, who, somewhere deep inside, was terrified of his own abilities. “Tell me what you were hesitating to say in front of Detective Shannon.”

“Will you keep it confidential?”

Right then, Sophia saw something in Ryan’s eyes that she’d never expected. “As long as it doesn’t affect Councilor Duncan’s safety, it won’t go beyond these walls.”

“At the time of Edward Chan’s murder, I’d locked myself in one of the meeting rooms that almost no one uses because I needed to meditate.”

“Do you continue to have trouble with your Silence?”

“Yes.”

It was a confession that could have this boy sent back to the Center, which made Sophia more inclined to believe him. “Why did you tell me?”

Dark gray eyes locked with her own. “You’re a J. I
thought if anyone would understand the pressure, you would.”

Sophia wondered if she was being played very skillfully. “Which meeting room?”

Ryan gave her the details without hesitation. “And I’m not strong enough to teleport,” he said, confirming what they’d already determined. “That’s never been in my skill set.”

“Thank you.”

Ryan opened his mouth, paused, then said, “Nobody really pays attention to an intern.”

“What have you heard?”

“There are rumors in the city that Nikita is as flawed as her daughter.” Ryan’s tone dropped. “I thought, at first, that it was just uninformed talk, but the whispers are gathering in momentum—and that kind of thing doesn’t happen without something, some
one
, feeding the fire.”

“Do you have any idea of who it could be?”

“Not Marsha,” Ryan responded. “She has no genetic offspring. I believe she has given all her loyalty to the Councilor. I can’t narrow it any further.”

The door opened then and Max walked in. Sophia said, “Keep your ears and eyes open, Ryan. Let me know if you hear anything.”

“I will.” Rising, he glanced at Max, his expression opaque, his dress faultless—the perfect Psy . . . on the surface. “Do you have any further questions for me, Detective?”

He left as soon as Max shook his head. “I believe him,” Sophia said after filling Max in. “I think he applied to work for Nikita because of Sascha.”

Max tipped back his chair. “Explain.”

“It’s obvious his reconditioning didn’t work as well as everyone believes.” Reaching out almost automatically, she pushed his chair back on all four feet. “I think he’s hoping that since Nikita has a daughter who feels emotion, she’ll go easier on him if the truth comes out.”

“Nikita’s got a heart of fucking stone and I’m being cruel to the stone there.”

Sophia had heard whispers of how Nikita had ascended to the Council—her sheer cold-blooded nature couldn’t be doubted. “Yes.”

“I hear a ‘but.’”

“She allowed her daughter to grow to adulthood, when it would’ve been far easier for Sascha to have had a fatal ‘accident’ in childhood,” Sophia said, knowing he understood what she didn’t say, the parallels she’d drawn. “And in the end, the reality matters less than the perception. Ryan wants to find something, someone who’ll be on his side.”

“I get why he’d latch on to her,” Max said, “but if Nikita’s the best he can do, the kid’s in serious trouble.” He tapped the two printouts he’d just put on the table. “We take Ryan and Marsha out—I’m with the kid on her loyalty, plus Sascha confirmed they were together when Chan died—and we’re left with Andre Tulane and Quentin Gareth.” Tiny lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. “I’ve got a couple of things I want to check where those two are concerned.”

“Including Tulane’s mysterious weekly appointments?”

Max nodded. “He’s been very careful not to raise any red flags. Could be a case of hiding in plain sight.” It would, Max thought, require balls of steel to pull that off in Nikita’s territory.

“If you don’t need me,” Sophia said, her lips lush and distracting, “I want to go back to the apartment and look through the PsyNet. I have a few ideas.”

He frowned. “I don’t know much about the PsyNet, but what I do know tells me it’ll put a huge amount of pressure on you to be surrounded by so much data, so many minds.”

“My PsyNet shields appear to be adapting to my increasing . . . need,” she said, and he heard the thread of confusion in her tone, “so that shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I don’t like it.” His protective instincts burned a hot white flame. “You’ll be alone if something happens.”

That gave her pause. “There is a risk, but—”

“Faith,” Max interrupted, recalling the almost protective way the F-Psy had looked at Sophia. “Call her. Ask if she’ll spot you while you go diving through the Net.”

“She’s a cardinal F-Psy,” Sophia said. “Her time is worth hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of dollars. Why should she agree to waste it on me?”

Max saw that she truly didn’t understand. “Because DarkRiver’s come to consider me a friend.” And the cats understood—even if they didn’t exactly approve—that Sophia was his. Plus—“You got the message to Nikita when Sascha was threatened. Changelings don’t forget things like that.” He saw her absorb that, give a small nod.

“I’ll call her—but doesn’t the fact that Faith saved our lives cancel out any obligation on their part?”

“It’s not obligation. It’s about building bonds.” Placing his hand on the back of her chair, he met her gaze, the luxuriant softness of her hair brushing his skin. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I don’t want you bleeding out because you’ve been taking risks.”

Her expression never changed, but he could see steam coming out her ears. “I am not stupid, Detective Shannon. Kindly get that thought into your head.”

He wanted to kiss her.

Kaleb walked into
Nikita’s office to find her just ending a conversation with a tall male of mixed ethnicity who didn’t move like a changeling but a human. Kaleb knew who the male was, of course. He’d known all about Max Shannon almost the instant after Nikita requested him. The Enforcement detective wasn’t only good at his job, he was as tenacious and stubborn as a bloodhound.

“Councilor Krychek,” the detective said with a small nod as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind himself.

“What do you need with an Enforcement agent?” he asked Nikita as he took a seat in the chair across from her. “We have Arrows for a reason.”

“The Arrows are Ming’s,” she said. “I needed an impartial party.”

Kaleb thought of the continued attempts to hack his shields, the sense of being very closely observed—and the failed tries to track him through the PsyNet when he didn’t want to be tracked. He could have ended the game days ago, turning the tables on his trackers—though, given their skill, it would’ve taken a concentrated amount of time and effort—but he was intrigued enough to let it continue. Because there was one group and one group alone in the Net with the covert skills to evade the traps he’d laid to date—and if that group had decided to shift its allegiance . . .

“You’re hemorrhaging people,” he said to Nikita, keeping his other thoughts to himself.

“The fact that you’ve noticed puts you at the top of the suspect list.”

“On the contrary. We both know that I do what needs to be done myself. I don’t need to rely on others who might make mistakes.”

Nikita settled back in her chair at his plain speaking. “Have you noticed something in Henry’s pattern of behavior?”

Kaleb hadn’t, and being out of the loop was not something he appreciated. “Tell me.”

“I’d rather show you.” Turning her chair toward the thin comm screen mounted on one wall, she darkened her windows and brought up a map of the world. “The red dots indicate the places where Henry has been in the past six months. The blue dots indicate incidents that took place at the same time.”

There were clusters of blue around every single red dot.

“Incidents have been increasing,” Kaleb said. “It’s not impossible that he could have coincidentally been at the same locations—but I’m assuming the incidents were major enough to have caught your notice.”

“Not the first five or so, no,” Nikita said. “As you say, there have been little outbursts of violence here and there,
so I paid them no notice. But these incidents don’t involve violence—except of the self-inflicted kind.”

“Suicides?” That pricked his interest. Suicide wasn’t considered taboo in Psy culture. The majority of those who recognized their mental patterns as aberrant chose to end their existence rather than face rehabilitation. But the chances of the suicides—ten or more in each location—lining up so neatly with Henry’s travels was exceptionally low.