The Psy-Changeling Collection (155 page)

He took it. He didn’t trust her, but she’d been up front about calling him a bargaining chip. That, he believed. So she’d keep him alive until it suited her to do otherwise. “Thank you.”

A knock came on the door. It was Ashaya’s cue to leave while the corridors were clear and the cameras had been looped to cover her retreat. Ming LeBon might have tried to seize control of her lab, but she commanded the loyalty of most of her staff. It helped that the Council had forced them all under a psychic blackout, in effect amputating a limb. A Psy was a psychic being by definition—to cut off their access to the PsyNet was a punishment. An undeserved one.

Standing, she pulled up the mask and looked down at the stubborn countenance of the boy. His recalcitrance didn’t matter. Talin was an unusual name and she had Jonquil’s entire file.

She went straight to that file upon reaching her private quarters. She wasn’t stupid enough to assume they weren’t keeping tabs on her even in there, but she did know they couldn’t access the organizer she carried twenty-four/seven. The size of a small notebook, it had the capacity to store large amounts of data as well as act as a mobile comm device. It was where she kept files that could compromise her.

Files such as the heavily encrypted e-mail she had received an hour ago.

If you plan to act, do it now
.

The e-mail had been unsigned, could well be a setup. However, it might also be an attempt to initiate contact by the underground rebels who were currently making the Councilors’ lives very difficult. She had ways of getting news despite the psychic blackout and she knew these rebels were doing more damage than most people knew. She also knew that the Ghost, the most lethal rebel of them all, was an expert at finding classified information—such as Ashaya’s very well hidden covert e-mail address.

Setup or not, she’d already made her decision. Things were getting problematic with Ming. Either she acted now, or she could find herself permanently compromised. The Councilor was a master of mental combat—should he decide that the deterioration in her productivity would be balanced out by her guaranteed allegiance, he wouldn’t hesitate to imprison her mind. The humans called it mind control. It was exactly that.

Ashaya had no intention of becoming one of Ming’s puppets.

She also had no intention of allowing him to take control of her son.

So she would take this calculated chance and trust the probability matrix to hold true. If she had made an error in her calculations, both she and Keenan were dead. But if she did nothing, the outcome was
certain
death. Of course, there was one other person she could go to for help, but the price Amara would demand was not one Ashaya was willing to pay. This was the only viable option.

Taking a seat in the corner she had arranged to shield her from surveillance equipment while appearing natural, she brought up the file on Jonquil Duchslaya. She didn’t need to look very far before finding his Talin.

Talin McKade was listed both as Jonquil’s point of contact at the Shine Foundation and as his next of kin. According to the file, the woman was part of Shine’s street team, holding the official title of Senior Guardian.

It wasn’t what Ashaya had wanted to find. This Talin was not going to have the kind of influence or contacts Ashaya needed. She’d have to take the chance that, as a Senior Guardian, the woman could somehow attract the attention of the Shine board. Ashaya did not like to take chances without statistical support, especially not now, with so much at stake.

But the young girl—Noor—was even more of a loss in terms of a powerful network. Excepting a few recent mistakes that appeared to have sprung from Larsen’s increasing lack of discipline, the scouts for this genocide labeled an experiment had been careful to choose isolated children. They were all linked to Shine, but as the humans had proven over and over, it was the emotional connection that drove the greatest efforts.

A single committed parent or family member could achieve more than an entire organization—especially an organization such as Shine, which, according to her data, was hamstrung by a board full of old men and women who didn’t want to accept the fact that the Forgotten were still being hunted … still being exterminated.

If they wanted proof, she would give it to them.

But first, she had to strike a bargain.

CHAPTER 36

Talin threw a
small bag containing water and food into the plane. If all went according to plan, they would be in and out overnight. “How come you have a pilot’s license? Is that what you do for a living?” she asked the tall, blond, and stupidly good-looking pilot. The last time she’d met him had been outside of Joe’s Bar. Her gut twisted at the memory of what she’d revealed to Clay that day, the truth that sat a sullen intruder between them. “Dorian?”

Dorian scowled. “How come you’re such a smart-ass?”

She winced, realizing he hadn’t forgotten their meeting either. “Um, genetic flaw?”

To her surprise, his cool expression segued into a smile so charming, she felt sucker-punched. “You’re sort of little. I like little.”

Talin looked around. Where was Clay? He’d gone to grab something from the Tank, which was parked a short distance away. She wished he’d hurry the hell up. It looked like his “friend” was hitting on her. “I’m taken.”

“I know. I can smell Clay on you.” He pushed up the brim of his baseball cap. “And I’m an architect—flying’s a hobby.”

“Oh.” She shifted her feet, wondering if she’d ever get
used to changeling sensory abilities. It was unsettling to realize his pack would know beyond a doubt that she and Clay had been intimate. But … it was also kind of nice. Because if she carried his scent, that meant he had to carry hers, too, didn’t it? “Why are you staring?” she asked when Dorian didn’t look away, his blue eyes bright in the midmorning light.

“Curiosity.” His tone betrayed the fact that, charming or not, he suffered from the same arrogant masculine streak as Clay. “Wanted to know what you had that was strong enough to bring Clay down.”

She bristled. “I don’t think he thinks he’s been brought down.”

A grunt. “I figure if I know in advance, it’ll be harder for a pretty woman to sideswipe me.”

“How about an ugly one?” she snapped, irritated by the way he was making it sound as though she’d trapped Clay.

“No such thing,” he responded, and there was an honesty beneath the charm that got to her. “I like women.”

She had a feeling women liked him right back—when he could be bothered to lay on the charm as he was doing now. That time she’d seen him hauling the teenagers out of the bar, he’d been pure, lethal predator. “If you like women,” she said, wondering why she merited the charm, “why are you so scared of committing to one?”

Those surfer-blue eyes were suddenly chrome—cold, flat, dangerous. “It’s more a case of having things to do, people to kill, before I set up house.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

Talin froze, able to sense his deep-seated anger. She felt tension begin to knot up her spine. Male anger was not something she did well with. That level of trust—for them to not turn on her even when angry—she had only with Clay. And the depth of that trust was a revelation, one that awoke wonder in her.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She answered his bluntness with the same. “I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

She could’ve left it at that, but … “Being that angry, holding
it so close, it’s not good for you.” She could almost touch the vicious rage hidden beneath his handsome facade.

“I get enough of that from Sascha,” he said with a scowl. “Why don’t you stick to babying Clay?”

“How do you think he’d react?”

Dorian’s smile returned, slow and more than a little satisfied. “I think you’re the one person who could get away with it.”

She hunched her shoulders, uncomfortable. “I don’t have that much power.” Wouldn’t know what to do with it if she had. All she wanted was the chance to love Clay, to wipe away the past with the beauty of the present. Before this fucking disease ended everything. Her own ever-present anger grew a dull flame in her gut.

“You got him blind drunk. Clay doesn’t drink.”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“He went on a bender the day you came back into his life.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you two have a history.”

“Something like that,” she muttered, sick at the thought of what Dorian had described, but trying not to betray what the knowledge had done to her.

Somehow, he knew. Taking off his cap, he put it on her head. “Suits you.”

It was a gesture of affection, pure and simple. Her heart melted a tiny bit. “Thanks.”

“And don’t worry about Clay—he needed to cut loose.” He grinned. “Man has a right to get drunk over a woman who matters. I’d have been more worried if he hadn’t started acting crazy.”

The words were light, but she got the picture. It seemed she hadn’t been alone in putting her emotions in deep freeze. “If I wasn’t already taken,” she said, liking him for telling her what she needed to know, “I would kiss you.”

“You’re welcome to.” He tapped his cheek. “Or how about one with tongue?”

She’d just begun to frown when she felt Clay’s hand land on her hip. The growl that came from his throat vibrated into her bones. “Find your own damn woman.”

Dorian shoved a hand through his hair, an unabashed grin on his face. “I kind of like yours, smart mouth and all.”

“Clay, he said he’s an architect—is that true?” she teased, easy now that Clay was back, but also because Dorian had grown on her. She was under no illusion as to how dangerous he was—his charm was a cover for an incredible amount of anger, but it was also a part of him. When he wasn’t filled up with that deep-seated rage, she had a feeling he could charm the birds out of the trees.

“That’s what it says on the degree on his wall.”

Talin smirked, pretending amusement, though her stomach was a pit of nausea as she tried not to think about what Jon might be suffering at that very moment. “So, Boy Genius, what did you do—take an online course and get your degree in ninety days?”

“Clay, can I bite her?”

“No.” Clay scowled at her. “I’ll do it for you. We ready to go?”

“Yeah. You organized the other end?”

Clay nodded, reaching up to rub absently at his temple. “A guy I know will drop off a truck near the landing zone. It’ll look beat up but it’s been retrofitted for speed and defense.”

“What about your snake friend? Any luck tracking her down?” Talin asked.

“No, so let’s hope we don’t need her. You’re the easiest to disguise,” he said, “so you’ll drive into Cinnamon Springs, with—”

Her phone beeped. “Sorry,” she said, scrambling to pull it out of her pocket. “Probably one of Rangi’s kids.” She flipped it open. “Hello.”

Clay and Dorian were already turning to finish loading up the plane with what looked like surveillance gear.

“Talin. It’s Dev.” The Shine director’s tone was edgy.

Very aware of both men returning to her side, she slid her arm around Clay and spread her hand against the stiff line of his spine. “Dev?”

“You with the cat?”

“Yes.”

“He can probably hear this conversation then.”

She looked up. Clay and Dorian both nodded. “Yes.”

“Good,” came the surprising response. “Someone’s been trying to contact you through your Shine e-mail account.”

Her hand clenched on the phone. “And you know this because you’ve been spying on me?”

“No.” His voice turned cutting, then he sighed, as if in frustration. “Because of the kidnappings, I recently put in place a secret macro program. It scans
everything
going through our servers, red-flags and sends me a copy of anything that sets off certain triggers.”

Her outrage disappeared. “You were trying to catch the mole.”

“Yeah.” Ice came through the lines. “I know it’s a breach of privacy, but I don’t give a shit. Shine is meant to be a safe place and I’ll make it safe again even if I have to rip open every fuc—”

Suddenly, the phone was no longer in her hand. Startled, she found Clay had taken it. “Stop yelling at Talin,” he ordered.

Scowling, she held out her hand. He returned the phone, but only after another comment. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” she asked him as he handed it back.

“Nothing.”

Muttering about chauvinist pigs, she put the phone to her ear. “Dev, I want to find these bastards, too. This e-mail—when did it come in?”

“Four minutes ago. I could send it to your phone but I’d rather do it through a more secure channel. Any options?”

“Wait.” Reaching into the plane, Dorian pulled out a sleek silver something from his knapsack before motioning for the phone. She handed it over and he said some technobabble on it before handing it back and flipping open the device, placing it on the floor of the plane.

She put the phone to her ear. “Did you get that?”

“Yes. Give me a second.”

She nodded at the device Dorian was messing with. “Very tiny laptop?”

He shot her a distracted grin. “You could say that. This sweet thing is our attempt at creating a Psy organizer. The versions they allow on the market are nothing compared to the goods they keep for themsel—Tell Dev I’ve got it.”

Moving around Clay to stand between the two men, she bit off her impatience as Dorian opened up a miniature e-mail
screen. Clay’s hand rested on her back, but then Dorian put one of his on her shoulder as he straightened and moved to let her take the central position.

The contact startled her, but it was okay. Dorian was … Pack. Shaking her head at that odd thought, she focused on the message.

Jonquil Duchslaya is alive, but he won’t remain that way if you don’t fight for him within the next twelve hours. I’m willing to help you with that task, but you must do something for me—something of equal value—in return. The risk-benefit ratio is too unbalanced otherwise.

“That’s it?” she said, trembling.