Invasion of Justice (Shadows of Justice) (5 page)

"You mean the man he is."

"Watch your tone." Pamela lowered a disapproving brow. "We're all terribly upset. The fact remains it's likely his gift pushed him over the edge. You are not to go flying off alone. I couldn't bear it if you got lost or fell victim to whatever claimed him."

"That's not what happened," Petra insisted. "If you'd listen–"

"No. I can't listen to any more contrived theories. Not even those contrived to soothe." Pamela shook her head, her swinging hair a soft counterbalance to the hard set of her jaw. "I can't. More, I won't. Do not go off alone again, Petra. Do not go looking into your brother for a good that's no longer there."

Pamela's eyes misted, but Petra knew no tears would fall. Her mother never really cried. "Mom, please."

"I couldn't bear to lose you, honey. Please, please! Do as I say." Pamela shivered delicately, then moved to pour a tall glass of water, insisting Petra drink it all. "All right. Now that we're settled," she said, taking the empty glass, "tell me how many more years I have to put up with your father."

Petra forced a smile, but the old joke wasn't funny today.
"Sorry, Mom. Prophecy was Nate's thing. I guess you'll just have to wait it out. Where is Dad?"

"Right here, Pet," he said from the doorway. "How're you feeling?"

Three floors up, Gideon watched Petra with her parents. He refused to listen in real time, though his systems recorded every word for later analysis. Bodies spoke louder than words and he'd bet good money that classical crap was still playing.

He knew it was stupid to be insulted, but the woman hadn't even thanked him for saving her life. He'd been the one to restore order when the witnesses lost it. He'd intimidated the thug hovering behind her on the street and had the bone-deep ache in his shoulder to prove it. Gideon rubbed said shoulder. As if that wasn't enough, he'd sunk so low he was whining.

Within a few minutes he'd found the birth certificates for both Nathan and Petra and deciphered the medical codes that indicated in-vitro pregnancies. Finding Pamela's obstetrical chart, he learned her eggs had been fertilized at the same time but the embryos implanted not only at different development stages, but also in different years.

Gideon was still trying to sort out the how and why behind that concept when his pager hummed under his skin.

"Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute," he grumbled in the direction of his biceps.

Sixty seconds later, his laptop announced an incoming message.

So he did have a receiver in his arm. Life just got better and better. He'd like a few minutes alone with the techno-dweeb who'd managed that.

With a final roll of his shoulder, he slumped into the chair. Opening his email he read the order to file an immediate report about the incident at the docks and Petra's current whereabouts.

Gideon considered how best to answer. He clicked over for the live feed of Petra's suite.

"Subject is in her room," he typed.

Any audio?

She
girly-chats with nasty-ass boys, gets throttled for her effort, and roams the city without thought to her safety. She was in way over her head. Maybe he should speak to Kincaid and get her off this case. Trouble was, either way she'd still be his case.

The computer beeped.
Any audio?

Gideon kept his comments in his head. Surely they didn't have his brainwaves tapped.
Yet.

"Hold for audio," he typed.

He'd planted the audio receivers, regretting the move, considering her lousy taste for tunes. Turning it up now, he heard the classical music droning on. With a few keystrokes he recorded and sent the audio file up the line.

They confirmed receipt and signed off with orders to maintain his position and assignment.

Again, Gideon kept silent rather than add to the long list of 'questionable attitude concern' notes in his personnel file.

With a last disgusted glance at his assignment still under the parental umbrella, Gideon moved away from the monitor for another round of rehab exercises.

Mozart's Requiem waned into a pleasant silence and Petra stood, giving her knees a minute to catch up with the rest of her. Her brain swirled in the midst of a fog as she tried to sort recent events into manageable parts.

She risked a glance at her father. He looked just as polished and warm as ever. How naïve to think he'd suddenly develop a stamp on his forehead claiming him a father of three. Of course, a sister could've resulted from an early indiscretion by her mother, but somehow that didn't fit Petra's image of the ever-proper Pamela.

The vivid dream-memory and the pervading sensation that Petra was the lost one kept her from demanding answers to myriad questions. She could wait on Kelly's research. Stroking the soreness out of her neck, her hand drifted to her hip–to soothe an ache that wasn't her own. This tenderness had been drawn from her sister during flight. Petra could only hope she'd helped, because she had no recollection of the interaction.

She smiled, shaking off the idea that her mother was right about her limitations, her weaker gifts, and the inherent risks in that combination.

"I thought you two were headed to Florida this spring."

"Not if you're working here," Pamela said. "We need to be together right now."

Petra cocked her head. "To show a unified front for Nathan?"

"For you," Randall corrected, slipping an arm around Petra's shoulders. "You don't want to jeopardize your professional reputation."

"And flying off alone won't help," Pamela interjected.

Petra held up a staying hand, and stepped away from her father's embrace, immediately feeling the loss of his comforting touch. "We've been down that road and I appreciate your concern. I'm here on an unrelated case. I didn't even know anything about Nathan until a few hours ago. I wish more than anything I could clear his name."

Her mother's face paled and her lips thinned.

"Look at that! Our girl's grown a spine," her father declared. His eyes sparkled with pride, but then they'd always enjoyed a lighter rapport than she shared with her mother.

She wondered if he shared the same tender connection with any other daughters. She sighed. "Thank you for helping me back, Mom." She kissed her cheek and guided her parents toward the main door. "I've been ordered away from Nathan's case and I'll be careful not to jeopardize my career or his future." She was determined her brother would have a future.

The sudden pounding of a fist to her hotel room door silenced her mother's protests. Petra consulted the security viewer to find Kincaid on the other side, ready to pound again.

She opened the door, hiding behind it so his fist didn't collide with her face.

"Where have you been?" he asked, pushing inside and slamming the door behind him.

"Right here," she replied, sending out a calming vibe.

"Don't try to settle me. You look tired. You've been flying around without a grounding person," he accused.

"We've already scolded her, Agent Kincaid," Pamela said.

"Having succeeded, now they're off to rest up.
Right, Dad?"

Her father's soft chuckle eased the tension. He shook Kincaid's hand. "It's good to see the real Kincaid at last. If you need anything, either of you," he looked at Kincaid and then at Petra, "don't hesitate to call."

Her parents left Petra alone with Kincaid and their case. For a woman who normally enjoyed people, she decided she needed to find a few more of the lower-maintenance variety.

"So they know you went flying off alone," Kincaid began.

She shrugged. "It was CRIA who told me to leave Kelly home." Kincaid advanced, backing her up until her legs bumped into the couch. She wouldn't let him push her down. "What's wrong with you?"

"Don't make this about me." He took a deep breath and moved away. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."

She sat now, by choice. "You left me hanging, remember? I'm sorry to concern you. What's happened?"

"Our Cincinnati suspect had nothing to do with the crap at the train, did he?"

"No. You knew that before I went in. Talk to me."

He sighed. "I just got a redline notice that a local cop's filed a protest about the official cause of his partner's death. He's claiming the whole thing's some sort of sabotage.
But why? The partner, Ferguson, was a Chicago native and as low profile as they come. It doesn't make sense."

"What sort of case were they working when he died?"

"That's the thing. They were a standard evidence crew, trained to respond to emergency calls, begin the initial collection, and offer support to the arresting officers. Ferguson's got no priors and no known enemies on the street."

"You think our Cincinnati killer and the local saboteur are one and the same?"

"I think it's possible," he hedged. "Though I don't see what makes Ferguson a target."

"Could the surviving officer have been the target?"

"That'd be Officer Loomis." Kincaid scrubbed at the stubble shading his chin. "Again, it's possible. I won't know until we review the crime scene."

"Which is the van?"

Kincaid nodded.

"Are you waiting for me to volunteer or am I waiting for your orders?"

"I worry about overworking you, Petra." Kincaid laughed bitterly. "I'd be better off worrying about you overworking yourself."

She refused to dignify that with a comment. "What call were they responding to the night Ferguson died?"

"A break-in signal at the Field."

"Which field?"

"The Field Museum of Natural History."

She nodded, understanding. "So what makes that a target?"

"Got me. I've never been there."

Standing, she grabbed her sweater and walked to the door. "Then I guess
it's past time to enrich your education."

"The van's in the police wreckage lot."

Leave it to Kincaid to be reasonable when she felt a persistent urge to get to that museum. Now. Her penchant for honesty was taking a beating by not shooting straight with Kincaid. Her urges might tie in with their case, but Petra preferred to think, or hope, it could be personal.

Saboteur or not, she wanted to find this sister she kept sensing. "Let's start with walking the original scene."

The pain woke Gideon as the meds wore off. Admitting the sleep helped, he rose and crossed to his monitoring set up to check in on the empath and cursed–mentally–to find her suite empty.

Where the hell would she be–he looked outside and squinted at the clock to confirm–at not quite dawn?

If they found out he'd lost her twice in not quite as many days he'd never get a decent assignment when his shoulder healed. He'd be damned if he'd be chained to this sort of crap, or whatever was less exciting than babysitting, for the rest of his working days.

Rewinding the recorded feed didn't ease Gideon's concern for his future career. He tweaked the audio settings, but realized nothing would improve the static sound quality that began the moment Kincaid stepped into Petra's suite.

So the Special Agent carried signal jammers with him when he dropped in on his empath. Interesting.

Rewinding again, this time he muted even the static to better read the body language. Years of fieldwork and covert observation, had honed his instincts and he could tell the woman was up to something more than her boss was requesting. He'd seen her in action on several crime scenes–two up close–and she'd never shown this hum of anticipation in her shoulders and mouth. Hell, she'd practically dragged Kincaid out the door.

Well, her 'abilities' and soft eyes might fool the Special Agent, but Gideon could see right through her. He sure wasn't liking the view.

He bent over and yanked his duffel bag from under the table, swearing when his shoulder complained mightily. Lord, he needed a real assignment.
One that pushed him hard enough mentally to block the physical pain.

His superiors would say Petra Neiman was the first step in both his physical and career recovery. He'd say otherwise–if he had any damn say at all.