Justice Incarnate

Justice Incarnate

Shadows of Justice Book One

Regan Black

Published by Getaway Reads

Copyright 2010 R. Bailey

Cover art by Karl Warren

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission from the author.

Praise for Regan Black

Justice Incarnate

"Move over Lara Croft -- Jaden Michaels is the quintessential heroine of the twenty-first century, full of heart and totally lethal! Get ready because Justice Incarnate is one thrilling ride!" ~Bestselling suspense author Debra Webb

"This was a fantastically wonderful story. The tension and mystery were both built to a perfect level and maintained throughout the length of the book. Ms. Black brought her intricate world and the characters to believable life and spun a tale of cliff hanging suspense. I could not put it down. It is well worth another read." ~Coffee Time Romance

Famous Last Words

"…a change of pace… It intrigued me, surprised me, and made me think. …an interesting and inventive plot twist... Bravo for coming up with a unique approach to the age old 'he done me wrong now I want revenge' theme. I highly recommend this very short but extremely enjoyable and memorable read." ~Fallen Angels Reviews

Justice Incarnate by Regan Black

Dedication:

I'm blessed and grateful for every person God put in my path at just the right time to bring my dreams to life. Thanks to you all for the encouraging words and limitless belief. And to the hero of my heart, my Mark: for every time you picked me up, dusted me off, and convoluted my plot plans - I couldn't have done it without you!

Chapter One

"There are a thousand hacking at the branches of evil to one who is striking at the root."

–
Henry David Thoreau

Chicago: 2096

Jaden Michaels splashed the last of her best Merlot into the only clean glass in the kitchen. Presentation didn't matter when a woman only needed to rinse the taste of a poor lover from her lips.

And poor he'd been. She'd almost been able to catch up on her sleep as he bounced rhythmically. But the indulgence would've cost her a source of invaluable information.

Bouncy-boy reported to another in the criminal food chain, this one with enough clout to bring her closer to her target.

She swirled the wine in the glass and her mind flashed with timeless, bloody memories. She tossed it back and imagined the day when she could rest. She prayed this life would break the cycle.

The wine at last relieved her of the stale taste of her informant. He needed advice in the sex department, but Jaden wouldn't waste her time. She'd probably serve him better by teaching him to defend himself against the wrath of dissatisfied women. On the off chance one of them would care.

She stripped the sheets from her bed, unwilling to sleep amidst the smells of a sweaty bar fly. Cocooning herself into a clean blanket she closed her eyes, willing her elusive quarry to behave himself tonight.

Then the crying began. The frightened, jittery tears of an innocent child pushed into a new world of horrors. Naturally, he couldn't be less than the demon he was.

The bastard.

Jaden had tried for years to tune out the echoes of pain and terror that sounded in her mind each time he struck. She'd even grown cold enough to sleep through the attacks occasionally, if the new victim happened to be too shocked to do more than whimper. But she knew anyway.

Her body harbored the same residual grief in the morning. It's what fueled her to keep slugging her way through the bottom dwellers, the middlemen, the lieutenants and bodyguards until she could take the head off the beast–permanently.

The cries escalated as the current victim panicked. "No sleep tonight."

She rolled from bed and crossed her apartment to work off her useless fury.

This unbreakable connection between the demonic entity living as the Honorable Stewart Albertson and her would only cease when he did. And he wouldn't cease his perverse brand of torture without her help. Her violent, fatal brand of help.

Jaden punctuated each thought with a kick or punch into the bag. Not a fan of the technical marvel of today's electronic sparring partners, she kept an antique, sand-filled bag of 120 kilos. She liked the challenge it gave her body, the technology would've spoiled her. Besides, if she needed a sparring partner, she could just hit the streets.

She lunged into an uppercut, sending the bag swinging. Then the girl shrieked and Jaden froze. But the bag finished its arc and knocked her to the floor.

"Damn you," she hissed, rubbing her head where the weighted canvas connected. "You'll pay for this Albertson. The moment I find you, this time you'll pay with your soul."

Wasn't that the same thing she'd been vowing for centuries? To make him pay for all the evil he'd committed against her and countless others. The same evil she'd failed to dispatch for all these centuries.

In every life she'd come up against him. Never really knowing him until it was too late. Until she was the girl screaming for mercy. Until she was the woman too terrified to whisper. Until in the lacy light of predawn she recognized an ageless predator; recognized her greater purpose and vowed to expose him. To exact justice.

"For all the good that's done."

Here she sat, a martial artist bested by a sandbag, while he continued to wreak havoc on innocence and purity. Nearby, if the volume in her head was any indicator.

She'd searched the neighboring warehouses and failed to find his current house of horrors. She knew his home address. She'd snuck into his chambers at the courthouse more than once. She'd even had opportunity to cut him down, but had hesitated.

"Coward."

Jaden stood, knowing the lie for what it was. Frustration and fatigue. Moving her body through a soothing yoga routine she reviewed the facts.

Her hesitation had not stemmed from cowardice. Sure, an armed deputy had accompanied him, but death wasn't a scary unknown to her. She'd aborted her rash attack at the sight of his daughter. How much should one child suffer?

"Dunno? How much?"

Jaden whirled, furious that she'd spoken aloud, more so that she hadn't heard the 'friendly' intruder.

"Cleveland." Her heart slowed at the sight of the pale, narrow face. "How'd you get in here?"

"I used the key you gave me."

"I didn't give you a key," Jaden said, glaring at her not-so-reformed burglar friend.

"Does it really matter? I'd never rip from you, kid."

"Thanks. I think."

His bark of laughter made her jump.

"So how much should one child suffer? And why do we wanna know?"

Jaden ground her teeth. "Children shouldn't suffer at all." Innocence should be guarded, especially in this wide-open, free-for-all time.

Cleveland gave her a wide berth as he walked through the kitchen toward the wall with a fire escape to the alley. "A little late for that, don't ya think?" He jerked his thumb to indicate all the societal injustices within easy view.

"Whatever. It's late, what d'you want?"

"Got a live one here, Jade."

She shrugged and filled a glass with water, trying not to notice the murky color. She'd lived how many lives? A little pollution wouldn't hurt. Not much anyway.

"C'mon, babe. Show a little interest?"

She swallowed.

"Fine. Spoil my fun. But he's got cold cash and a bunch of frightened mules."

She shrugged.

"Female mules."

Cleveland knew just what button to push. Regardless of the Common Era's perceptions, Jaden acted from a view of right and wrong molded by centuries of experience. Anyone less fortunate deserved her help, but especially the female side of a population. She'd witnessed countless sacrifices made by women determined to survive and protect the next generation.

This era 'juiced' its men with a human growth hormone cocktail for war's sake and women from all walks of life suffered from the physical iniquity. Jaden gave her time and expertise in an effort to balance the scales.

Employing the combat conditioning she'd originally learned at the turn of the twenty-first century, she taught women how to protect themselves regardless of physical differentials.

"What are they afraid of?"

Cleveland barked another laugh. "Him, probably." He walked over and tucked the business card into the strap of her tank top. "Nah, more like the rivals. Someone's making a move and all the little people are worrying."

"Like that'd help."

"Look, if you want more money to stuff your mattress, make the call."

Cleveland left as quietly as he'd come, only this time via the fire escape.

Jaden shook her head. She wanted more money all right. But not to squirrel away. She wanted money to fund her research into the perfect weapon to dispatch one particular evil entity. And paying the rent on time wouldn't hurt, either.

After the interruption, Jaden tried to meditate to clear the girl's pain from her psyche. Successful at last, but unwilling to risk sleep, she resumed her Internet search for legendary weapons.

Swords, axes, stars, and blades of every metal and configuration. Guns small and large, silver bullets valued only because of an early author's imagination. Rare and common poisons delivered in a variety of ways.

She sighed. The piece she needed had to be somewhere.

Scrolling through the sludge of information she already knew, a surprising teaser popped up. It advertised a new acquisition on display at the Museum of Natural History.

A bitter laugh spilled from her.

She was on display. Or rather, one of the earlier versions of her. A distinct shiver ran down her spine as she faced her past.

This woman's rare brand of true compassion during the Victorian era hid an alternate personality, not unlike Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Though it would seem from her diary that this fair lady sought to avenge wrongs rather than wreak havoc...

Naturally the article continued, for a modest fee, or interested parties could visit the exhibit in person. Jaden didn't need to read on. She knew the darkest of the details intimately. But a personal visit...well, that could be worthwhile. Especially knowing she wasn't the only Chicago resident familiar with the true motives of the long-dead woman on display.

Donning her black catsuit and a cloak to guard against the night chill, Jaden strapped on matched daggers at wrist and ankle. Securing the electronic code-breaking card at the small of her back she felt ready to face the jungle of the street.

She'd had ample time to wonder precisely when her perpetual opponent gained his past life memories. At the moment of attacking her? Or at the moment she struck him down?

In this most recent incarnation, her increased sensitivity forced her to consider that his skills might be changing too.

The new and improved elevated train rumbled along above her, but she preferred the street for moods and tasks like hers tonight. And she'd never quite trusted the el, having seen it constructed all those years ago. Jaden stumbled as the flash of old memories veiled her current reality.

"Watch it witch," a raspy voice threatened from the gutter.

Close enough, she thought, in both his advice and labels as she walked on.

"You need an escort."

She ignored the bogus offer, focused on her destination and purpose.

"Wasn't a question," the street rat persisted, falling into step beside her and earning Jaden's full attention.