Justice Incarnate (30 page)

Petra looked at the old diesel engine sitting frozen on the tracks with three disconnected cars behind it. Petra walked inside the now empty area and just absorbed the lingering energies.

Fury. Fear. Survival. Salvation.

She took the electronic data pad Kincaid offered and checked his notes. Jane Doe was dead and three other men, all refusing to speak, had apparently watched it happen. Those three sat propped against the train wheels, awaiting her questions.

Mentally she ticked off her interview goals. She wanted to know which of them knew how to drive the antique diesel engine. She wanted to know the contents of the three cars. Evidence crews had found random hairs and prints and a half dozen sterling armbands in an infinity pattern.

"Need some help with a video?" a man's voice asked.

Petra whirled around, startled that anyone had slipped under her senses. She thought she'd seen him before, but couldn't put a name with the face.

"Have we met, sir?"

"Nope. I'm Gideon Callahan," he said.

She stepped back from the smile that didn't reach his eyes and the extended hand she couldn't accept. "A pleasure to meet you," she lied, through her most professional smile. "I'll pass on the video." She slid the data pad into her tote and withdrew a spiral notebook and pencil. "This'll do for today." She climbed up into the engine and opened herself to the residual feelings.

Gideon followed her. "So what the hell happened here?"

Petra began to put words to her thoughts and impressions. "This was quite a struggle. A battle for more than life." She crossed to the side wall where scratches marked the progress of the Jane Doe's attempt to escape her bonds.

Here was the fury. Complete and violent fury that the mission had gone off course.

"But whose course?"

"What?" Gideon asked.

She ignored him. "Two opposing forces determined to win. Why didn't the men struggle? Why didn't they help Jane Doe?"

"Cat fight."

"I beg your pardon?" Petra turned at last to study the man who wouldn't take the hint and disappear.

He had dark hair that would curl if not for the strict cut, straight boned features, a Van Dyke beard and deep brown eyes that didn't evoke warmth, but warning. She didn't need the warning from his eyes as his aura hummed with an evasive quality she didn't trust. And she'd never liked bearded men.

"Haven't you seen the autopsy report?"

This time she took personal blame for the irritation she felt with this man. She flipped pages, but couldn't find a hard copy. Pulling out her palmtop, she scanned the official email from the coroner via Kincaid.

"Give it up. The words don't do it justice. Take a look here."

Forcing herself to remain calm, she lifted her gaze to the holographic display open in his hand. The coroner's clinical voice detailed every injury Jane Doe earned in her final fight. Scratches, offensive and defensive, lacerations and the blade strike that ended it. Even in death, the woman looked wild and intimidating. Well over six feet with extreme musculature that made it easy to believe she'd been juicing.

"See," Gideon persisted, "cat fight. I don't know a guy that'll jump between two women out for blood. Especially juicers. Not sure I wanna see the bird who won."

I do. The thought came unbidden and nearly escaped verbally. She wanted, needed, to know more about the second woman she'd sensed here. The connection felt deeper than any other she'd felt before–including the link she shared with her only sibling, her brother Nathan.

"She fights but she doesn't juice."

"Not anymore." Gideon flipped off the hologram. "But women haven't looked like that since the days of the Amazon."

"Not the Jane Doe. The other woman." Petra stomped on her frustration. This issue could wait. "Bring in the witnesses, please."

"Okay, but they won't talk."

"I wish the same could be said of you," she muttered. His bark of laughter told her he had ears like a bat.

Putting Gideon out of her mind, she calmed herself with breath as she watched the witnesses file in. All three were nervous, but the first man was the target of hostile energy from the other two.

She didn't need them to talk as much as remember and feel. When she tapped those feelings, conversation would follow.

According to her notes, they'd been found less than twenty-four hours ago, along with the decaying Jane Doe. Men or not, she didn't think she'd have trouble getting a read on their emotions.

"The lady here wants to know why you didn't help your girl," Gideon blurted.

The men stared back at him with one surly expression in triplicate.

Petra knew her expression differed. If Gideon bothered to spare her a glance, he'd see the unruffled calm she practiced to perfection. But inside she plotted how best to remove him from the investigation–preferably in tiny pieces.

She walked, wishing she could swagger, to the testosterone-heavy end of the engine. "The lady here wants to know why the three of you are working on a decrepit railroad."

Reading the body language of all three, Petra quickly identified and mentally tapped the man the other two didn't respect. His sense of failure went deep and was mixed with a healthy dose of fear and insecurity.

Her prodding produced the expected result.

"J-just a job."

The other two groaned, but Gideon kept them from moving on the talker.

"We got nothing else to lose," he said to his associates. "We just h-hauled cargo."

"And where is that cargo now?" Gideon demanded before Petra could speak.

"W-we, I mean I, don't know. Just gone I guess."

"Drugs? Juice? Caffeine?" Gideon demanded. "That sort of cargo would need legs to just go anywhere."

"Women," Petra interrupted. "Girls and women." She felt Gideon turn to stare at her, but she kept her eyes on the three other men. "Hauling females to a slave auction." She sighed. Kincaid's instincts were right on target–as usual. Maybe they'd finally recover and close some of their stalled kidnapping cases. "Okay. Considering you're all undereducated, I can see the lure of the money here."

Beside her, Gideon shuffled and seethed. Well, he clearly needed a lesson in role reversal. It was past time for her shot at these thugs.

"But what happened? Who released your prisoners?" she continued.

The expressions on the two sterner faces flickered. And Mr. Talkative went pale.

"Sit," Gideon ordered the three men.

She saw the benefit. By sitting, they'd be closer to re-enacting the recent fright. She followed his lead. "A woman breaks free of the cargo hold and overpowers four guards?"

"Who was driving?" Gideon added.

Not one answered verbally, but Petra knew. And she knew her big picture was off. "None of you can drive this thing. The engineer went with the cargo. With the women. And you," she knelt in front of Mr. Talkative, "You're glad the Amazon's dead."

"'Course he is. She woulda killed him next," one of the others muttered.

Petra kept her eyes on the chatty guard. "Then I guess I owe someone my thanks. Who?"

"W-we don't know. She stormed in, took my weapons, and tazed me. When I c-came around we were all t-tied up."

Gideon coughed into his hand, but the expletive was clear enough.

"Think you coulda done better?" the biggest thug said with a clear challenge to Gideon.

"Yeah, I believe I coulda done better than the sorry group of you three combined."

"Awright. Come prove it." The third man surged to his feet, snagged Petra's arm and spun her so her back landed against his hard chest. His thick forearm clamped over her throat, locking her in place and allowing her just enough air to stay conscious.

But the instant, unexpected physical contact provided a connection Petra never risked without preparation. And she wasn't anywhere close to prepared for the onslaught of this criminal.

It felt like being sucked into a whirlpool. His memories circled her, recent and not, and drowning seemed preferable to the rush of anger and fear washing off him and over her.

She heard strident male voices, but Petra couldn't sort out any actual words. If only she could latch onto one specific memory amidst the torrent and gain control. As if her thought and his actions summoned it, she seized on his recollection of the Amazon's last battle.

Here too was strangulation–the Amazon had the neck of a smaller blonde woman wrapped in the chain of her handcuffs. Petra watched, then mimicked the blonde's escape by pushing her fingers under the man's arm and letting her legs give way. The upward push combined with her suddenly dead weight threw her attacker off balance and she dropped to the floor and rolled out of the way.

Gulping air, leaning against the wall of the engine, Petra waited as the rest of the memory played out–all the way through the victorious slide of the blonde's dagger into the Amazon's ribcage.

And when the blonde turned to the man who owned this memory, Petra saw through the bravado to the pain hidden deep in the woman's green eyes. Here was the face that matched a dream she'd been having since childhood.

A sister. My sister. The knowledge bubbled up from a depth of awareness Petra had never known–not even with Nathan.

"Hey? You okay?" Gideon asked.

Petra shut him out, curling into a tight ball. She wanted to remain with the memory, to explore all she could of this new connection before dealing with the reality at hand.

"Stay back," Kincaid demanded, entering the engine. "Don't touch her."

Gideon sneered. "What if she's hurt?"

"I'm not," Petra said, putting an end to yet another pissing contest. They seemed to be Gideon's specialty.

"Can you lift your head?" Kincaid asked.

Petra obliged, raising her chin for his visual inspection, but keeping her eyes closed.

The men made noises about bruising and soft tissue damage, but Petra wasn't worried. "I'm fine." She'd learned years ago how best to heal herself. Opening her eyes to ease their concern, she asked about the status of the guards.

"All on their way to the city lockup," Kincaid replied. "Want a hand?"

"Thought we couldn't touch her."

"Actual contact is possible if I'm prepared," Petra explained.

Gideon's eyes narrowed. "Prepared for what?"

Oh, the temptation to shock him with his own ignorance. She managed to control herself. Barely. "Touch enhances my ability to read emotion." And memory, she left unsaid.

Gideon leveled his sharp gaze at Kincaid. "You hired an empath? It was bad enough when I thought she was psychic."

"She's been of great assistance to CRIA–"

Petra gained her feet and gave up on them both. "I'm going to the hotel to write your report, Kincaid," she called on her way out.

"Wait!" Kincaid jumped out of the engine after her. "You get anything on the victims?"

"They're safe. Escaped on a ferry headed up the Michigan coastline."

"Destination?"

Petra just shrugged.

"And the Jane Doe?"

"That was self-defense, not murder." Petra shook her head. "She was one scary woman."

"What about those arm bands?"

Petra sighed. "I don't know. Things went haywire before I could prod that out of them. If I'd been alone maybe I could've gotten more." She refused to look at Gideon.

"If you'd been alone, you'd be dead by now," Gideon said, joining them.

Petra looked at him, then away. But the docks weren't any improvement. The bleak, dismal view left an impression she didn't want to cloud her senses later. The very air smelled of disuse and decay. "I need to get out of here."

"I'll drive you," Kincaid offered. "We're at the Ritz downtown."

"Nice. But no thanks. I'll take the el." But as she walked the few blocks to the platform, her nerves got worse instead of better. Only after forcing herself through the security scanner and into the elevated train, did Petra realize the feelings weren't her own.

My sister.

Pushing aside the layer of anxiety, Petra smiled. Her sister hated the el. It was fascinating to discover such a detail about a person who'd been a figment of her imagination until an hour ago. Mentally, Petra reached out and waited for a reply. When nothing but emptiness returned to her, Petra sent out as much warmth as she could generate after the ordeal at the docks.

Once in her hotel suite, she wrote her first draft of the report and then ran through a brief healing meditation. When she felt restored, she put on her music and sent herself in search of the sister she'd never known.

The incessant summons of her phone brought her back before she'd made any real progress. But the distinctive chirp told her it was another CRIA call. Maybe they'd found the victim in the lab at last.

"Petra Neiman."

"It's Kincaid."

The tension in those words brought her to full alert. "Let me guess. Genetics researcher dead by self-evisceration. Pretty fresh scene, I'd bet. It got funneled to me–"