Invasion of Justice (Shadows of Justice) (21 page)

Petra surrendered and thanked God they hadn't touched her yet. Bracing herself for the inevitable, she planned her escape.

Rough hands hauled her to her feet, pushing her forward, off the path and away from potential witnesses.

Not a single defensive move from Jaden's brief instruction came to mind. Her only choice was to follow the touch and hope her strength held. Her mind was feeling so compartmentalized already, but she couldn't afford the luxury of doubt in this critical time.

She tapped into his emotion, the surge of power and dominance. She seized on it, making it her own and draining him.

His grip loosened and she turned to look at her assailants full on. One could only be described as befuddled, the other growing angrier at the apparent defection of his friend. It would be easy for her to identify them later and slowly that reality dawned on them.

"I'll make you a deal," she offered in a cocky voice that barely resembled her own.

"Get me to the Ritz downtown and I won't press charges."

Thug number two charged, catching her around the neck. She heard a hiss and flick of metal, and realized he'd pulled a knife.

She took his aggression into her. Took his need to dominate and swelled with the power of it.

The knife clattered to the ground and he released her abruptly. Petra picked up the blade, tucking it safely away.

"I think I just earned a free escort downtown.
How 'bout it?"

"Sure lady, whatever," said thug one.

"Got a car?" she asked.

Thug two grunted and shook his head.

"Just local yokels out to terrorize women?" She chuckled softly.

For a moment she thought they'd bolt, but her theft of their dominance seemed to paralyze them, making it easy to bend them to her will.

"Well come on and make yourselves useful. Walk me to the el platform."

With a man on either side, she strutted like a peacock. In her personal brain space she hoped she'd remember how to move like this when she needed to swagger in the future.

Her laughter made them jump. "Relax, boys. A woman's entitled to savor a defining moment."

They didn't speak.

At the stairs to the el, she thanked them but kept the knife. "Better luck next time." Then she dashed up the stairs to catch the arriving train.

She had no idea where she was going or why. She figured her best bet was to get to the Ritz make a few notes. She needed to be sure both Kincaid and Brian had Simon's description. Everyone who could offer protection should know just what sort of threat
Lorine and her son were facing.

These thoughts occupied her as the el raced around its programmed circuit through Chicago, but they were soon overcome by other, more personal demands. She had some tough questions for her parents and she wanted the answers–now. The aggression she'd absorbed from thug one and thug two still pounded through her blood, pushing her into a decision that, while not entirely prudent, she was helpless to deny.

Checking the routes and platforms map superimposed above the windows, Petra plotted her course toward Lakeshore Towers and the long overdue confrontation with her parents.

Smiling her way past the doorman, she ascended the express elevator to the penthouse. They hadn't given her a security code for this new place, and her first, numerical attempt at the panel was denied. She selected the guest on the board and held her thumb steady over the square for a laser scan. The door began to swing open on silent hinges with a soft whoosh, but Petra put the force of her new attitude behind it and rushed into the dark foyer, calling out to her parents.

Faced with a moment of no reply that stretched interminably, Petra feared Kristoff's Simon had beaten her. Then, finally, lights filtered in from the hallway and irritated voices came closer.

"Petra," her mother gasped, rushing forward. "You look horrible. What's happened?"

"Thanks, Mom." Petra dodged the potential smothering embrace by sidestepping to face her father. "We need to talk. I want the truth and I want it now."

"Now?"
He tilted his head. "Do you need a drink?"

"Randall, you know Petra doesn't drink."

Petra ignored her mother's surprise. "Sure, Dad. You'd better pour a double for both of us." Petra rolled her eyes at Pamela's automatic lecture about mental and physical health and stability. With an effort, she put the more personal issues on hold until her technical questions were answered. "I don't have time to dance around tonight. I'll ask, you answer, and we'll see where we end up. Okay?"

Randall nodded, handing Petra a crystal highball glass half full of amber liquid. Petra sniffed and swirled, and braced herself for impact before tossing down the entire thing. The burn was welcome–a stark, hot confirmation of her human limitations. She settled into a micro-suede loveseat to expose those same human failings in her parents.

"I understand you and Mom sought a fertility expert when you had problems conceiving. Why did you choose Leo Kristoff?"

"Easy answer–he had the best success rate." Her father sipped his drink before elaborating. "He was also a friend of an associate and I put a great deal of stock in the recommendation."

"This associate's name?" Petra demanded.

"Judge Albertson."

Petra stared into her empty glass, regretting her hasty consumption. She should've known. If she looked through her mother's albums, she'd probably find pictures of her family with the Judge at some highbrow event or another. "I see. Were you aware that you two could've conceived without in vitro assistance?"

"No," Randall answered, paling slightly.

"This is absurd," Pamela declared. "You have no idea what we went through to start this family. You have no concept of the pain of losing several babies along the way. You–"

Petra held up a hand to silence her. "I may not share the physical experience, but I've seen the records and brushed up against the emotions. You were specifically manipulated into
Kristoff's office. I need to be sure it wasn't a group effort."

"To what end?" Randall asked.

Petra spread her arms to indicate her whole self, then the penthouse in general. "This end. Gifted children, a beautiful life, an extremely comfortable retirement."

"I won't listen to this ungrateful display a moment more." Pamela rose to leave.

"You'll sit and help me figure this out, or you won't ever see Nathan or myself free of this debacle you created with Kristoff."

Randall tugged on Pamela's wrist to bring her down beside him,
then he laced his fingers with hers. "Petra those were difficult days. All we wanted was a healthy child. Our every attempt ended in heartbreak and I couldn't watch your mother go through it all again. I did what was necessary to make our dreams come true."

"Just how much was necessary?"

"For the record, we were told another normal pregnancy attempt might kill your mother."

Petra had seen this notation, Kelly had pointed out the tweaked diagnosis coding.

"I refused to put her in further jeopardy." He squeezed Pamela's hand. "I went to the clinic, made several donations to the sperm bank and then had a vasectomy."

"
Kristoff recommended all of this?"

"Yes. And we didn't waste any more time with debate or doubt. He was the best."

"Where was your career at this point?"

His brows dove toward the bridge of his nose. "On the rise, I suppose." He looked to Pamela for the answer. "Where was I working thirty years ago?"

"You were with the research firm studying bio-tech-something-or-others. They laid you off just as we committed to the first in vitro." Her mouth wobbled the slightest bit and she stared at their linked hands. "We lost the insurance coverage, but Dr. Kristoff gave us some options."

"I bet he did." Petra's heart felt cold and sluggish, as if her blood was suddenly too thick to squeeze through her system. "Did you ever tell Dad about these options?"

"No." Her chin shot up in defense. "I just handled it. Those sorts of financial decisions always fell to me. Randall had enough on his mind, like finding another job. Dr. Kristoff offered me a miracle and I seized it."

"The grand plan for your children, right?"

Pamela sniffed. "I did my best, but in the end you made your own unfortunate choices."

"So how much interest is
Kristoff charging these days, Mom?"

It was Randall's turn to leap to his feet. "What are you implying, Petra?"

"I'm not implying anything. I've inferred from my recent experience and the records that have been dredged up that Mom let Kristoff play some genetic games with the Burkhardt embryos."

Randall's gaze dropped to his wife, who now sat wringing her hands. "He told me it was baseline research," she whispered. "He suggested if our children turned out to be unique that we should guide them into healthcare and related fields. He promised they'd always have work with him, no matter what. If I didn't agree, we could've been bankrupted or worse–denied care."

Randall stomped to the bar, refilled his drink, and tossed it back.

"He fed on your fears," Petra said, unable to deny offering what little comfort she could. Her temper seemed to be gone, her need to conquer this conversation forgotten. "You weren't the only parents he used this way."

"There are more?"

Petra nodded.
"Oh, most definitely. He's a veritable monster who's planned and worked to get as much power as he can. There's no room for error, which is why he's stalking me now. When did you give him my room number at the hotel?"

Pamela's eyes glistened and her chin trembled. "I never meant to put you in jeopardy. He promised he could bring you into a safer position. You know how I hate what you do," Pamela finished on a sob.

"Yes, Mom I know. It's why I use Neiman instead of Burkhardt." It was all she could manage. Her mother was crying, shedding real tears and real emotion. The uncharacteristic display threatened her self-control. After wishing again for another drink and refusing to ask, she addressed her father once more. "You realize Kristoff likely organized your lay-off and the loss of benefits?"

"A distraction and added stressor to keep us off balance?"

"He created havoc and desperation where there wasn't any."

Randall massaged his neck and studied the floor. His aura practically crackled with pent-up hate and Petra understood all too well how he felt. "Neither of you are to blame," she soothed. "You did your best with the information you had.
Kristoff's a maestro when it comes to playing people."

"It might get worse before it gets better, love." Randall spun away toward the kitchen, leaving Petra alone with her quietly sobbing mother.

She couldn't handle it. She'd been through too much already today. Her mother never cried, never risked showing Petra any depth of her feelings. Inexplicably, that unbridgeable gap had always made Petra feel steadier somehow. Tonight, whatever walls her mother had erected were crumbling and Petra didn't like the pure anguish pouring off Pamela.

Standing, eager to escape, Petra paused when Pamela whispered her name.

"Oh, Petra. I'm so sorry, baby." She choked on yet another sob. "He duped me every step of the way. I've lost such precious years with you, holding back like this. I've lost your brother…"

Petra couldn't help herself. She reached out with her hand and her heart. "Nathan's innocent, Mom. You've got to believe in him." Words failed Pamela, but an uncensored wave of love and acceptance swamped Petra. She couldn't recall a time when her mother had ever been so open. The warmth went a long way toward healing years of misconceptions and hurts. The affection reminded her of the diary Jaden had shared earlier. Hope bloomed in the purest part of her spirit and she locked it away, safe from the hours ahead of her.

"Pet!" Randall's panicked voice summoned her to the kitchen.

She rushed around the corner to find her father shuffling through plastic-coated papers on the counter, the freezer door hanging open behind him. "What's wrong?" She moved to close the freezer but he stopped her with an iron grip.