Bonds of Justice (39 page)

“Let go of her hand,” the medic said.

Max squeezed Sophia’s fingers. “Are you insane?”

“No.”

Sophia looked at the M-Psy, then back at Max. “Do it slowly,” she said. “I’ll be able to tell if there’s a problem.”

Protective instincts rebelled. “Sophie.”

“I must know.” Her eyes said far more than her words.

Sweat broke out along his spine as he released his grip until only their fingertips touched—then Sophia broke even that contact. He was ready to clasp her wrist at the first sign of trouble but she stared at him before turning her attention to the M-Psy. “I should be dead. The voices should have crashed into my mind—but I can’t hear even a whisper.” The jagged, splintered thoughts that had stabbed into her mind when she first woke were held far at bay, her mind a clear, pristine pond.

“Exactly.” The M-Psy put down the electronic file in his hand. “According to the records I’ve accessed, your shields were a cause for grave concern—to the point where you were on a rehabilitation watchlist. Yet according to my scans, those shields are now airtight.”

Max sucked in a breath beside her, his tall frame held taut. “Is he right?”

“Take me outside, Max,” she said, curling her fingers into the bed beneath the sheets when they would’ve reached for her cop. “I need to be certain.”

 

A cool breeze stroked its way across Sophia’s face as Max wheeled her onto the roof of the private hospital. It was tinged with the salt of the sea and the living beat that was the population of this vibrant city. A thousand smells lingered in the air, from the sweetness of cotton candy to the briny tang of fish, to the wild spice of some exotic restaurant. Noises, too, rose up from the ground. The smooth
shush
of vehicles, the heavy pulse of conversation flowing between thousands of people, the odd siren as emergency vehicles went about their tasks.

“It’s all outside,” she whispered, unable to believe it. Nothing crashed against her skull, or if it did, her shields were so incredibly strong that she didn’t feel even an echo. “Take me farther, Max.”

As he pushed the chair forward, she dared try and manipulate whatever it was that was protecting her, opening the steel walls a mere fraction. Fragments of noise, slivers of thought. She snapped the walls shut. “There’s no question—I have functional shields.” Gripping the chair arms, she rose out of the chair. “
Highly
functional shields.” Better than she’d ever had, even as a child.

Max had his hand out to catch her even as the M-Psy remonstrated with her. She didn’t care. Standing shakily on her feet, she took a deep, deep breath . . . and let the beat of the city flow around her. “I’m free,” she said, though she knew it wasn’t as simple as that. The J Corps wouldn’t release her, not now that she was useful again. But—“And I’ll fight to keep my freedom.” No more acid on her soul.
No more.

Max’s expression held mingled joy and determination, and she heard the words he didn’t say, even as the M-Psy spoke. “You should sit back down, Ms. Russo.”

Since her legs felt a little unsteady, she didn’t argue. “Do you have any idea why my shields have regenerated?”

The M-Psy shook his head. “That’s why I want to keep you here longer—shields as badly damaged as yours
shouldn’t
regenerate. I’ve looked through all our archives without finding another case. I’m concerned the shield will fail again as quickly—”

“In that case,” Sophia said, looking back out over the city, “I’d rather use this time as wisely as I can. Not many Js get a second chance.”

The M-Psy glanced at his chart. “I can only release you if you’ll have someone with you at all times over the next twenty-four hours. The drugs could rebound, trigger a blackout.”

“I’ll make sure she’s never alone,” Max said, his tone implacable. “Sign her out.”

Ten minutes later, Sophia found herself in the passenger seat of Max’s car, being driven back to the apartment. “I’ve lit a fire under security,” he said, his jaw set in a grim line. “Nobody reaches you without having being cleared by me.”

“Max, I know you said to wait for our wedding day, but I really want to tell you something.”

Max’s hands tightened on the wheel. “You’re always in a rush, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

With Max, yes, she thought, she was both impatient and greedy. “I love the way you smell.”

A startled look. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes.” Smiling, content, she closed her eyes and gave in to the slumber that had been pushing at her ever since they entered the vehicle.

She had no awareness of reaching the apartment building, no awareness of being carried up to her bedroom and laid down in bed. Nor did she feel the kiss pressed to her forehead or hear the low, shaken whispers of a man who told her she was his everything.

 

Max sat on Sophia’s sofa, able to think about Nikita’s case for the first time since the nightmare of the abduction. After what Nikita had done to save Sophia, he owed the Councilor far more than what was obligated by his position as an Enforcement detective.

However, though Nikita had been in touch with him on and off over the past day, he’d withheld the information about Ryan Asquith’s attendance at a Pure Psy meeting—gut instinct said the boy was no killer and he’d probably splinter under Nikita’s version of a “chat.” At most, the intern was a mole, one who might lead them to the kingpin.

But Max
had
told Nikita about Quentin Gareth, warned her to watch her back until they could determine where the prematurely silver-haired man had been for those unaccounted-for months in his past.

“Quentin’s in Jordan for business,” Nikita had told him. “He won’t be back for three more days, so we have time to unearth the truth—I’ve already begun deep-level PsyNet scans in relation to this issue.”

Wondering if she’d had any luck, he picked up his cell phone and put through a call. However, the office comm line, her private line, the cell, they all went to voicemail. He was about to try her assistant when his phone rang in his hand. Glancing at it, he raised an eyebrow. “Ryan.”

“Detective Shannon, as you kept our previous discussion confidential,” the intern said without any lead in, “I feel I can trust you with this.”

Max waited.

“I was approached by an individual associated with Pure Psy after my reconditioning last year—they believed I would be open to their message.”

“Good way to pick up recruits.” Ryan had killed when his powers went out of control, would’ve been—on some level—searching for something to make the world seem right again.

“Yes.” Ryan paused. “At first, I went along, but I soon realized my goals didn’t match theirs. However, just as I was about to resign my membership, I got the internship with Councilor Duncan.”

“You’re spying for her?”

“Not officially. She doesn’t know.” A long breath. “I wanted to bring her something that would make her more inclined to keep me on after this internship ends.”

Either the boy was honestly pinning his hopes of survival on Nikita, or he was a very good liar. “What did you find out?”

“Nothing concrete . . . but there was an ‘atmosphere’ at the last meeting I attended, a sense of anticipation. I believe that while the members aren’t aware of the details of what’s about to take place, something is.”

Hanging up after it became clear the intern could tell him nothing more, Max began to check the myriad of messages that had come in during the time he’d been in the hospital with Sophia, his hand locked tight around hers.

There was an e-mail from Dorian.

A second message showed up as coming in only ten minutes ago.

Cop, I hope your girl is okay. Call me.

 

Max input the code. Dorian picked up on the first ring. “How’s Sophia?”

“Good, really good.” His heart twisted, part of him still unable to believe his Sophie was safe. “So, what’ve you got?”

“I’m sorry this is coming in late,” Dorian said. “A motorcycle slid in the rain, broadsided a couple of our soldiers a few minutes after I sent the first e-mail.”

“They okay?”

“Broken arm, broken leg, but they’ll be fine. I’ve been covering their shifts.” A pause, the rustle of paper. “Anyway, I just did some more digging on this KTech Inc. It’s owned by a shell company, which is owned by a shell company ad nauseum. But behind it all, KTech is part of Scott Inc.”

“As in Henry and Shoshanna,” Max completed, all the pieces clicking into place. According to the confidential file Nikita had given Sophia, Henry was the Councilor most involved with Pure Psy. It wasn’t quite a smoking gun when it came to the murders, but it was close enough to put Gareth squarely in the crosshairs. “Thanks, Dorian.” Hanging up, he was about to try Nikita again when he noticed a piece of paper by his foot, as if it had fallen off the coffee table.

Picking it up, he saw Sophia’s handwriting.

There was nothing else. She’d clearly been interrupted before she could finish the thought. Fighting a rush of possessive protectiveness when he realized it had to have happened the morning of her abduction, he glanced into the bedroom, saw that she was sleeping peacefully. There was, he thought with a wrench deep in his heart, no need to disturb her. Except . . . it had to be important if she’d left the milk unopened on the counter to write it—and his Sophie, the gutsy woman who’d refused to give in to a sociopath, was strong enough to handle this.

Going to kneel beside the bed, he cupped her cheek, the thin lines of her scars a familiar pattern. “Sophie?” He couldn’t help tracing the lines with a string of tender kisses.

She stirred, her eyes obviously heavy as she opened them. “Mmm?” Beside her, Morpheus—who hadn’t left her side since she came home—shot him a jaundiced look.

“You heard a rumor about Quentin Gareth.” He dropped little kisses on the corners of her mouth. “What was it?”

Another small sound, and she snuggled closer.

“Report from Prague,” she muttered, as if in her sleep. “Vague rumor.” She turned toward his mouth, a kitten seeking more affection.

“What about the rumor, sweetheart?” He brushed her hair off her face, petting her with more kisses. “Sophie?”

“Gareth might’ve killed a student four months ago.” It was a crystal-clear statement. “Student was on a Center short list.”

“He was considered flawed,” Max murmured out loud.

“Hmm.”

If the rumor was true, Max realized, Quentin wasn’t simply a calculating, high-level mole for Henry Scott, he was a fanatic who believed absolutely in Pure Psy. And that kind of an individual could snap if he sensed any type of a—

The doorbell chimed.

The first thing Max realized was that Security hadn’t called up—every instinct he had went on high alert. “Sophie, sweetheart, wake up.” Shoving off the blankets, he picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, sitting her down with her back against the wall beside the sink. Morpheus followed on silent feet.

Flicking a few drops of water onto Sophia’s face, he roused her. “Lock the door behind me, and stay here until I come for you.”

“Max? What’s wrong?” Her gaze was still a little dazed.

“Maybe I’m being a paranoid fool, but maybe we have some bad company.” Taking his spare stunner from his boot, he put it in her hand. “Just press this if someone comes for you. And take my cell phone—call Enforcement if things turn to shit.” The doorbell chimed again as he put the cell phone in her lap. “Understand?”

At her nod, he pulled the door closed and waited until he heard the lock snick into place before he walked out to the front. He wasn’t surprised to check the surveillance and find Nikita on the other side, with Quentin Gareth beside her. “Nikita,” he said, opening the door, his stunner hidden by his side. “What is it?”

“Quentin has a stunner held flush to the back of my skull,” Nikita said, frigidly unruffled.

Max took a step back as Gareth urged Nikita into the apartment. Max saw Nikita’s eyes sweep the room, wondered what she was searching for. “Sophia’s not here,” he said, testing Gareth’s reaction. “The medics wouldn’t release her.”

“Her brain’s likely mush by now in any case,” the other male said, his eyes glittering in a way that spoke of a disordered mind that had lost any sense of reality. “Detective, if you don’t want the Councilor’s brains to leak out her ears, too, please place your own weapon on the coffee table.”

Max did as asked, having caught Nikita’s eye. For some reason, she was cooperating with Gareth. What, he thought, would make a woman of Nikita’s power hold her fire?

“Good,” Gareth said as Max drew away from the coffee table. “Stand against the counter.”

Max did so, facing Gareth. “What’re you planning to do now?” He heard something from the bedroom, felt his spine lock as he realized Sophia had exited the bathroom.

But Gareth didn’t seem aware of anything but his mission. “Now we wait.”

“For Henry, I assume,” Nikita said. “Does he really think you have the ability to dispose of me?”

“I press this trigger, and your brain is so much liquid three seconds later.”

“I’ve infected you,” Nikita said quietly while Max, for the first time in his life, wished that he’d been born a telepath. What the fuck was Sophia thinking? “Your mind,” Nikita added, “is already being consumed by a mental virus.”

Gareth’s hand didn’t tremble, though the odd shine in his eyes seemed to flare even brighter. “I expected as much. It will be a small price to pay to save the Net.”

Martyrs, Max knew, were even more dangerous than fanatics.