Invasion of Justice (Shadows of Justice) (7 page)

Keeping his head low, he sprayed the room with the rest of his clip as he darted for the shelter of the kneeling man. Using the stunned soldier as a shield, Gideon dumped the spent clip, reloaded with the rubber bullets, and sprayed the new ammo into the faces of the remaining two men while they shot up their comrade in an attempt to kill Gideon.

The effect was minimal, reminding Gideon of movies where horses flicked tails at pesky flies. For now, he rolled through the doorway and behind the reinforced wall, smacking at the control panel to lock out his attackers.

Bullets continued to pepper the barrier, but it would hold indefinitely once Gideon finished frying the circuits. Gulping in a deep breath at last, Gideon caught the thick scent of copper in the air.

Turning away from the camera showing the two surviving juice-jerks finally leaving, the dreadful picture of the office etched itself into his memory.

Five bodies.

All slumped or prone.
All leaking blood. All his friends.

Gideon vomited at the sight. When fury burned off the shock, he rinsed his mouth with a slug of Jeremy's still-warm coffee,
then spat into the trashcan. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he closed the man's eyes. Then he took a critical look at the scene.

The three had come in guns blazing. Only Rico, whose desk was in the back corner, had even managed to draw his weapon.

There was only one way past the AID–definitive recognition. Which meant someone had outfitted those three brutes with secure identification. Gideon walked through the wreckage until he found the computer with the fewest holes and a limping hard drive.

The search did nothing to improve his mood. His first run-through showed the last access had been granted the previous day. Quickly he bypassed the false entry to find his own service code listed as the most recent inquiry. His suspicions as good as confirmed
, Gideon downloaded what he could salvage of the hard drive.

On his way out, he paused at the conference room where his body would likely be if he'd been on time. He pushed open the door and looked in, braced to see the bloody remnants of his boss, but the Commandant wasn't there. It should've relieved him, instead it only fueled his theory that something much bigger was going down.

His recovery complete, he programmed the control panel to release an alarm two hours after he left, when he'd be long gone. Taking a last look at the surveillance camera feeds, he decided on his egress and headed for the fire stairs.

Six flights down his head started to ache. He slowed, using the handrail as his vision blurred and doubled. Someone had activated the lethal virus in his sub-dermal pager. Who and how? To his knowledge only the Commandant and operation medic had that power. By the time he reached the street, driving was suicide and walking nearly impossible. Gideon stumbled toward a big yellow vehicle, opened the back door, and gave the driver orders to head for the Ritz.

"Funny. Now get out."

"You're off duty?"

"Sure." The driver twisted around to scowl at Gideon. "Anyone with half a brain can see the difference between my restored classic baby and one of those chopped modern cabs."

Gideon groaned. He didn't give a damn about any restoration but his own. "I need a lift."

The driver grunted. "And I've got places to be."

"Places anywhere near the hotel?" Gideon persisted. He wasn't sure he could drag himself out of the vehicle just yet. "I can make it worth your time." He fumbled with his jacket, trying to get to the inside pocket.

"I doubt that. You look more contagious than capable."

Gideon shook his head to reassure the driver and the motion caused his stomach to rebel.

"Don't go heavin' in my car, man."

"Callahan."

"No pleasure to meet you, Callahan. I'm Cleveland. And dumb as I am, I'll run you over to the hospital."

"No.
The Ritz. I've got a room there."

"Right.
Look, man, you need medical attention and County General takes indigents."

More movement his stomach disliked, this time from the car. Gideon dug deep for the energy to exert some influence. He lurched for the front seat, managing to trap the driver's throat with his forearm. "I said the Ritz." He tossed the cash he'd finally located onto the front seat. If the man was an antique addict, real cash might convince him to help. Besides, actual cash was worth far more now that the electronic banking laws were in force worldwide.

"Whoa, baby," Cleveland rasped through Gideon's constricting arm. "Is this real?"

Praise God for history buffs.
"Yeah. Now, the Ritz–kitchen entrance–and your silence." His arm went limp, gravity pulling it into the back seat to land with a thud on his chest.

The car leaped forward as the driver raced toward the posh hotel. Too weak to steady himself, his body slid around on the seat as the driver took the turns too quickly and finally slammed to a halt.

Peeling his cheek off the back of the front seat, Gideon focused his vision enough to recognize the alley and kitchen entrance. "Thanks," he muttered as the driver helped him out of the car.

"Sure thing," Cleveland replied, getting back behind the wheel to hurry away.

Gideon dragged himself into the kitchen, ignoring the stares aimed his way. He didn't give a damn what they thought, he just needed to get to his room. Sooner, rather than later. Whoever activated the virus would just have to try a direct route next time. He had no intention of dying in the line of surveillance duty.

Knowing the antidote was only a few floors up, he forced his body to keep moving toward the service elevator when he would've preferred to collapse in the fetal position in the hallway. His joints ached, his muscles twitched and he was giving serious thought to peeling off his burning skin.

At last, the doors opened and Gideon used the wall for support on the way to his door. His open door. Suppressing a groan, he prepared to take out whoever stood between him and his antidote.

He wasn't prepared for Petra. In spiked heels and a filmy purple dress, she stood in the middle of the suite, turning, clearly absorbing his quasi-personal space. She surely recognized his equipment from her work with Kincaid, but he couldn't tell if she realized she was the object his equipment was trained on.

"How'd you get in here?" he asked, trying for abrasive and coming up short. His body was losing the battle with every second of delay.

"Your note."
She paused, her mouth slack as she stared back at him. Then she shrugged. "Your door was open."

He fought to keep his mental focus as the fever and pain threatened to swamp him. He staggered past her, searching for the original intruder with as much stealth as his condition allowed.

The intruder moved first, bursting through the door and into the sitting room. It was a blur to Gideon's overloaded senses. He swore as what he hoped was only one man dressed in black hauled Petra out into the hallway.

To her credit she didn't scream or pass out, but her kicking and struggling proved ineffective. For just a moment, Gideon toyed with giving up and letting the damned virus and bleak circumstances win.

Nate's potential commentary on such a result spurred him into action. With his last shred of energy, Gideon lunged for Petra, catching her around the knees and hanging on for life.

The intruder stutter-stepped, then let go of their combined weight to make a dash for the stairs.

Gideon released Petra and rolled away. "Hit the fire alarm. Go!" The order delivered, he began crawling back to his suite and the life-saving antidote no one knew he had.

Chapter Five

This couple is ideal and their return fortuitous.
The first child, male, already shows mental aptitude far beyond the norm. The proud parents suspect a prodigy, but I doubt they understand all that he can become.

However, today marks a new milestone. I've implanted a gifted girl who should one day hear her true calling and return to me. Therein lies my success and no one will thwart my plan. If patience is a virtue, I am destined for sainthood. –From the office journal of Dr. Leo
Kristoff

Petra tossed the cell card into her purse, and thought about Kincaid's warning. No, she really didn't know Gideon Callahan. But knowing he'd saved her and knowing herself, she couldn't leave him alone in his present condition. Team player or not, the man needed help and she owed him.

She'd ditched her heels as soon as she sounded the alarm,
then scrambled to follow Gideon into his suite. Once there, she realized the severity of his condition and assisted him despite his protests.

They'd avoided the commotion in the hallway, but Kincaid had called her directly and, to prevent an all-out search, she'd answered.

Now she knelt beside Gideon, mopping sweat from his forehead. The man burned with an intense fever. The hypo spray she'd helped him locate didn't seem to be working. He remained incapacitated on the floor, eyes closed, body twitching.

He was too big for her to wrestle into the shower. It probably didn't matter. The normal ionic setting wouldn't help and cold water would likely send him deeper into shock.

That left one option. Petra readied herself to draw off his symptoms and give his body some relief. It took a concentrated effort to slow her breathing, a telltale sign of her nerves. She'd take time to examine the 'why' of that later.

Reaching out, she placed her fingertips on his temples and envisioned the heat wicking up into her hands and away from him. The surge was fast and intense, but she held on. Other symptoms followed the fever into her. The physical anguish pouring out of him gave her a greater respect for his endurance. Under the same assault she would've been immobilized.

Petra absorbed more, feeling her muscles convulse with the strain. She took an internal inventory, ready to break the connection to protect herself. She felt empowered instead of depleted. The exhaustion she anticipated never came.

At last Gideon's body went slack beneath her fingers and Petra sat back, watching him. He breathed deep and steady, his muscles still. She eased back and went to find a blanket to cover him, surprised to discover that an unprecedented two hours had passed while she worked on him. She'd never had that sort of stamina before.

She'd never had this sort of post-empathic high either. Using it, she read the suite for any evidence of their attacker. She stood in the bathroom, eyes closed, mind open. It wasn't the same degree of dark efficiency that sabotaged the evidence van or intruded on her dreams, but there was an undeniable connection to that source.

"You still here?"
Gideon called, interrupting her.

There wasn't reason to be irritated; she'd gotten all she could for the moment. She went out to join him and found him slouched on the couch, head back, shirt off, and a small knife in his left hand.

Aside from his incredibly muscled torso, she didn't like the picture. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm prepping for surgery."

She approached him slowly, stopping by the mini-fridge for a bottle of water. She held it out to him. "Do I really want to know?"

He opened one eye and took the bottle with his right hand, a small grimace the only indicator of his pain. "You should let me help with that shoulder." She should've taken the pain away when he was passed out.

"You should learn to defend yourself," he countered. "Learn how to fight. I could teach you..." His voice was rough with exhaustion.

Petra gaped at him. He was serious.
Seriously deluded. "No. I don't need to fight. I can keep things under control." He shook his head, doubt stamped on his weary face. Tired or not, she itched to slap the look away. "I don't need your approval or help or anything. I'm a grown woman capable of taking care of myself."

"Right."

"I don't care for your tone."

"Makes two of us."
He sighed. "Truce?"

Startled into silence, she nodded.

"Think you can you help with a techno-ectomy?" He lifted the knife toward her. "I'll talk you through it."

"Oh. I–I don't know." Petra panicked. He couldn't possibly be asking her to cut into his flesh.

"I'm left handed, but damned tired." He reached over and traced a small oval on his right biceps. "There's a little stick in here that I'm ready to part with."

She hovered, uncertain which way to run. He solved her dilemma by catching her wrist and pulling her down to the couch beside him.

"I promise not to whine." He took the knife back and used it to sketch an incision line. "Just cut quick and deep and I'll pop it right out." He pressed the knife into her hand.

"Do you have a laser to close the wound?"

He shook his head. "We'll use the shirt to tie it."

"But–"

"I heal fast." One positive lingering effect of the mandatory juicing. "Just do it." He let his head fall back and he closed his eyes. "Remember–quick and deep."

She stared at the thin line of blood on his arm. The knife felt like lead in her hand. He held so still his control scared her. "This thing in your arm made you sick?"

He grunted an affirmative.

She pushed the knife into his flesh, the sharp blade moving smoothly through his firm skin and taut muscle. She followed the line precisely, clamping down on the nausea roiling her stomach.

As promised, Gideon reached over and squeezed, popping out a small, narrow cylinder. Gideon's blood slid away from the iridescent silver tube until it gleamed like new.

Petra pulled back, ready to comment, but he signaled for silence. She turned her attention to bandaging his wound, while he snapped the tube in half and dropped it into the water bottle.

"Now you can talk," he said.

"As if there were words," she muttered, moving away. "I'm outta here."

"Not alone you're not."

The audacity of the man! "I can take care of myself."

"With the right skills, maybe. Whoever left you a note and opened my door, didn't ask me. That means you were set up and not aware enough to know it. You really want to go another round with that guy tonight?" He arched a dark brow.

She scowled, but refused to rise to the bait. 'That guy' was long gone. Gideon might be infuriating, but from his perspective, she supposed he thought he had a point. Studying him, she thought of what he'd been through. She should cut him some slack.
"Fair enough. What exactly would you teach me?"

His eyes sparked,
then resumed the disinterested veil. "Tonight, not much. In the morning I'll take you to an instructor I know. You'll like her."

"Her?"

"Careful, your gender bias is starting to show."

She wanted to punch his tender arm. Why he brought out the worst in her, she couldn't say. Only the pale cast to his skin kept her in line. She changed the subject and moved to a chair several feet away. "Tell me about this 'her'." She hoped in the telling she'd learn a little more about him.

He rested his head back again. "She's an expert in all things lethal. Hand-to-hand, knives, stunners, guns. The lady knows her weaponry, old and new."

"You know her how?"

"Jealous much?" He chuckled. "You need to rest. Go use the bed. We'll see her tomorrow."

Petra swallowed a sharp retort. She closed her eyes, thought of a serene meadow, and calmed herself. She opened her eyes when the meadow began snoring. Stepping closer, a feather light touch to Gideon's brow gave her just enough access to confirm he wasn't faking.

Determined to be reasonable, she conceded he had a point, but he didn't have to make resting look so easy.

Dodging the sleep issue, Petra tried to leave Kelly a message at the office. The call took a brief eternity to connect, then went unanswered. Her computer never picked up.

Frustrated, she walked into the bedroom and crawled under the covers, too tired to care that she was stealing the man's bed. She struggled to get comfortable, wrestling with her dress and losing the battle. Aside from nudity, she didn't have sleepwear alternatives, unless she dashed downstairs for a few personal items. Trying to be quiet, she was at Gideon's door when the bells sounded.

Her knees gave out and she slid to the floor, covering her ears, despite knowing the sound was inside her head. Eyes squeezed tight, she did everything she knew to block it out, but the shadows came to life behind her lids.

She could just make out the silhouette. Long limbed, one or two kilos heavier than wiry. She knew from experience how strong he was. She'd felt these hands on the other victims. Petra could deny it no longer–she was inexorably linked to this killer. This was the assassin from the genetics lab; the undiluted malevolence who'd framed her brother.

His hands landed heavy on her.
Brushed over her face, down her neck, rubbing too hard. Brutal fingers circled her throat, constricting, crushing.

She clawed at him, desperate, trying to scream. She felt her own terror and beside it, his glee. Her fear and fight fed his emotional high.

An icy wave doused her, breaking the connection. Petra blinked against the shocking white of the brightly lit bathroom. She found herself shivering on the floor of the shower.

"What the–"

"Hell," Gideon finished. "You were screaming loud enough to wake the dead."

"Stop wasting water." She moved to stand, slipped, and Gideon caught her. She jerked away and smacked at the control panel until the water stopped flowing.

"I-I wasn't screaming." Her teeth chattered. "I couldn't breathe."

Gideon grunted. "You had enough air to deafen me." He tossed her a towel.

She blotted her hair and wrapped the towel around her shoulders. "He was crushing my throat."

"You were clawing your own throat," Gideon said, leaving the bathroom.

Petra chanced a look in the mirror. Long, raw stripes marred the front of her neck, near her larynx. She grimaced at the sight of skin and blood under her own nails, her concern growing. Crossing the red stripes, dark bruises began to create a vicious latticework. A serial killer who could cause her to harm herself was a danger she'd never considered. Had something similar happened to Nathan? If so, why them?

"
Here. This'll help."

She jumped at Gideon's return.

"Easy, now. Just offering first aid." He dropped a handful of supplies on the counter. "Take it or leave it."

An uncharitable suggestion of where he could take it almost launched from her mouth. Then she recognized the logo on one wrapper. "Where did you get real
Band-aids? Wow, these take me back. Oh how my mother would groan when I used to insist on these as a kid. She had to buy them online–" She stopped when she saw Gideon staring at her like she'd sprouted a second head. "What?"

His raised brows finally fell. "Great skip down memory lane, but I'll pass on the deluxe package tour." He tossed her a T-shirt and left her alone again.

She closed and locked the bathroom door before peeling off her wet dress. Then she used a cooling antiseptic spray to treat her throat. She toyed with applying the small flesh-colored circles to some of the deeper gouges, but wasting them bothered her. Sliding his T-shirt over her body momentarily obliterated her concerns. She enjoyed the clean masculinity and odd sense of safety in the oversized shirt.

Returning to the bedroom she found Gideon asleep–this time on the bed. She tiptoed past, but his bat-like hearing caught the movement.

"There's room over here."

"No, thank you."

"I want you close."