Invasion of Justice (Shadows of Justice) (2 page)

"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.

"What happened? Who released your prisoners?" she continued.

The expressions on the two sterner faces flickered. 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 asked.

Not one answered verbally, but Petra knew. 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
tased 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?" said the biggest thug, challenging 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.

The instant, unexpected physical contact provided a connection Petra never risked without preparation. 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 a strangulation–the Amazon had the neck of a smaller blond 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.

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

The incessant summons of her cell card brought her back before she'd made any real progress. 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 evisceration. Looks like suicide. Pretty fresh scene, I'd bet. It got funneled to me–"

"And you didn't report it?"

"CRIA ordered me here. I haven't had a chance to re–"

"Just shut up a minute."

She did. This sort of impatience didn't match with Kincaid's normally temperate personality. Something was very wrong. "You're scaring me."

"About time something did. Meet me downstairs in ten minutes."

The connection died as Petra deciphered their emergency escape code. She had five minutes to meet him in the south stairwell on the tenth floor. Having not bothered to find the landmark when she checked in, she wasted two minutes getting her bearings.

"Are we evacuating?" she asked, gasping from her mad dash up four flights.

"Not yet. Let's go for a walk."

He started back down and she followed him, restraining the urge to comment that they could've met at ground level.
Except anyone listening to the call would've expected that. Petra knew if Kincaid was taking these precautions, there was a reason. She shivered, hoping it was a glitch and not a serious breach in CRIA security.

The stairwell opened into a street level alley. Kincaid helped her negotiate the smelly dumpsters and cluster of homeless men near the street. They merged into the foot traffic and walked for two blocks before Kincaid spoke again.

The tension simmering around him warned her she wouldn't like what he had to say.

"Nathan's been arrested. Apparently for the crime you experienced." He risked a touch to steady her when she stumbled at the news, but he released her quickly. "Why didn't you call me when you felt the scene?"

"I didn't want to believe it was real."

"Did you see the killer?"

She shook her head, forced herself to think logically. Her brother had nothing to do with this. Surely everyone knew better. This was just a formality.

"I was inside him. I felt his anticipation, even the blood on his hands. It wasn't Nathan."

"It was his retina."

"What?" Petra stopped, and was jostled by those around her. Fortunately, nothing stronger than irritation got through. She lowered her voice. "The security scanner's wrong. It can't be Nathan. What I felt was dark and vicious. Nothing like I've ever felt in Nathan."

"The deceased is General Hawthorne."

Petra gasped and began walking again. "I know they didn't always agree, but they were on the same team." She straightened her shoulders. She could do this. "When do we leave?"

"We don't. I'm leaving in an hour."

"But I can help you ID the real assassin."

"Not when I need you here. Not when it's personal. If you were there, you'd threaten the case no matter what you found."

Sudden tears streamed hot down her face. "I have to see him," she begged. "Let me help."

"You can't." They came to a stop in front of the Ritz. "It's too sensitive, Petra. I'm sorry. Don't even try to fly to him. That's an order. It'll just make things worse."

She swiped at her face, struggled to regain her composure. "Where are they holding him?"

"I'm not authorized to tell you."

"Aaron, please!"

He shook his head. "I can't. Go inside and try to get some rest."

"My parents?" she asked before he stepped out of earshot.

"They've been told."

"And?"

Kincaid just shook his head and turned away.

She didn't need to hear the answer. With such damning initial evidence, her parents would've deserted their son for using his unique mental talents for selfish or criminal purposes. The family standards were impossibly high, image and reputation vital. Nathan's choice of a military career was constantly lamented by their mother as an outright rebellion and promotion of violence.

She entered the hotel lobby and, grateful for the empty elevator, let the tears fall. Once inside her suite, the murder she'd been privy to replayed in her mind and she clutched her stomach as the gruesome reality swamped her.

Nathan wasn't capable of the evil she'd witnessed and she would find a way to prove it.

Determined, she lit up her computer and programmed the music for an extended flight. To hell with orders. No one could track her during a spiritual search. Flying without an anchorperson was a risk, but it conveniently eliminated a record of any comments she might make.

Besides, she was flying to Nathan, her brother and best friend. They couldn't hold him anywh
ere that she wouldn't find him.