He shook his head in a futile attempt to wipe her from his mind. He had to concentrate. Thinking about Brenna had a dangerous way of derailing that. She was up to something, of that he was certain. Her expression had been—
Focus!
The church appeared on the other side of the street like an architectural specter, reminding him of who he was and what he did when darkness fell and people thought themselves safe in their beds. He wasn’t so different from Enrique—death was his gift and the only thing he could offer Brenna. That thought finally cemented his focus. He extended his stride, concentrating on the yellow light spilling from the church’s curved windows.
He had never decided whether the Ghost had chosen this as their meeting place out of perversity or hope. The church was small. It had been built after the Second Reformation half a century ago and was filled not with stained glass and candles, but leafy green plants and, in the daytime, bright sunshine. Tonight he entered to find it empty but for a solitary woman kneeling at the altar. He slid into a pew at the back, his eyes on the stars visible through the transparent dome of the roof. It made him remember what he’d given up when he’d left the PsyNet—the cool darkness, the icy flare of millions of minds.
“The young ones don’t kneel, but the old grew up in the time of Rome.” The voice was male and full of the same peace that soaked the walls of this building. It was the single thing this church had in common with the more ornate pre-Second Reformation churches—the sense of hushed reverence, a quiet that was so pervasive it was almost sound.
Judd glanced at the man who’d taken a seat beside him. “Father Perez.”
Perez smiled, teeth flashing white against his teak skin. “That makes me sound like a candidate for the senior citizens’ pension. I’m only twenty-nine.” Wearing the winter uniform of a Second Reformation priest—loose white pants and shirt, the latter bearing a panel on the left side patterned with blue snowflakes, he looked even younger. It was the knowledge in his eyes that made him old.
Judd thought of him not as a priest, but as a fellow soldier. “It’s your title.”
“We’ve been working together for close to six years. Why won’t you call me Xavier? Even our shy friend calls me by my given name.”
Because using Father Perez’s given name would be the first step on the road to friendship and Judd didn’t want a friend. To do what he did, to be what he was, he had to retain his distance. From those who would be friends and the one woman who might be . . . more. “Did he give you something for me?”
A sigh. “No matter what you’ve done, Judd, judgment is not yours to make.” Perez passed over a data crystal encased in protective plasglass. The crystals cost more than the ubiquitous discs, but they were more secure and held larger amounts of data.
Judd slid it into an inner pants pocket. “Thank you.” He didn’t need the data for tonight’s operation, but he would for the next hit.
“The New Book says God does not wish to punish or harm us. God wishes us to learn and grow, to become better souls through the ages.”
To believe that, he’d have to possess a soul. “What about true evil?” Judd asked, mind awash in memories of a blood-drenched room and a woman with bruises ringing her neck. “What does your book say about that?”
“That good men must fight the evil and that bad men will be judged in death.”
Judd looked at the lone parishioner still kneeling at the altar. She was sobbing, the sound soft and almost apologetic. “Sometimes, evil needs to be judged in the moment, before it kills the good, destroys all light.”
“Yes.” Perez’s eyes went to the woman. “That is why I sit with you.”
“How do you balance the two halves of your self—the priest and the soldier?”
The light and the darkness
. It was not a question he should’ve asked, not a possibility he should’ve considered, but it was done and now he waited. Because he needed the answer.
“The same way you balance your todays and tomorrows. With hope and forgiveness.” The other man rose. “I must comfort her. Only you can comfort yourself.”
Judd watched Perez walk down the wide aisle and kneel to place his arm around the shoulders of the woman who wept. She turned into his embrace, finding succor. A simple act, but one that Judd was incapable of. He was a naked blade, his purpose—his gift—to kill. As a child, he’d been deemed unfit to live with others and relocated, brought up among the shadows. He had no business being in the SnowDancer den now that the rest of the family was safe, and absolutely no right to do what he’d been doing with Brenna.
And he had been actively
doing
, allowing her to get closer than he allowed any other being, coming perilously close to breaching Silence. That could not be permitted. Ever. Because while Brenna might see him as a man, the cold, hard truth was that he wasn’t—he was an assassin. Trained. Honed.
And blooded.
Remember,
fire melts ice.
Brenna blushed at the memory of Faith’s words and straightened her short black skirt. Teamed with a soft V-neck sweater in red, it was a perfectly acceptable outfit. Except that the sweater caressed her curves and the skirt shaped her bottom. Her hair still looked like hell, but the rest would do.
Drew scowled when she walked through the living room of the family quarters, but let her go without argument, probably guessing she was going to visit one of her girlfriends—especially since she’d deliberately hinted at that earlier. She knew she was procrastinating, but she had no time to bring up the topic of separate quarters right then. At least her brothers were no longer trying to confine her to quarters now that she’d shown she’d take off if they tried.
She got several slow male grins as she walked down the corridor and one outright request for a date. Though she had to refuse, the invitation bolstered her confidence—SnowDancer men could be incredibly charming when they put their minds to it.
Too bad I seem to have a fixation on the Man of Ice
.
It had taken her all day to work up the courage to follow Faith’s advice. Frankly, part of her remained terrified that she wouldn’t be able to handle anything sexual. It was the first time since the rescue that she’d even contemplated being with a man, the first time the idea hadn’t made her break out in a cold sweat. Santano Enrique had tied her to a bed, kept her naked for his experiments, done other, sickening things . . . things she wanted to erase from her mind.
“Breathe.” Reaching Judd’s door, she unclenched her hands and rubbed them on her skirt before knocking. The memories she crushed into that locked box in her mind. She wasn’t some
victim
, she thought, blood pounding a harsh drumbeat in her skull, she was an adult wolf in full sensual glory.
“Judd,” she called sotto voce when the door remained closed. No response. Her nose backed up the fact that he was out—his scent was there but not as concentrated as it would have been had he been inside. “Brenna, you idiot.” She wanted to kick herself. All this nerve-wracking preparation and she hadn’t bothered to check if he was in. Now what?
Returning to her quarters—thank God neither of her brothers was still home—she put through a call to Judd’s cell phone, expecting to find him elsewhere in the den. It didn’t connect. “Turn it on,” she muttered, then hung up.
Feeling a tad pathetic at being all dressed up with nowhere to go, she got undressed, crawled into her pj’s and took out a book—a hardcover—Riley had given her for her birthday.
“Bloody expensive,” he’d said, but there had been a grin in his eyes.
Her elder brother didn’t smile like that anymore. She knew he blamed himself for not keeping her safe from Enrique, despite the fact that there was nothing he could have done. Riley had always been serious—ten years her senior, he’d pretty much raised both her and Drew, with the pack’s help, after their parents died—but now he never so much as smiled. Drew put on a good front, but her wonderful, funny, smart middle brother was so angry.
Someone knocked on her door. “Bren, you back, too? Want some pizza?”
Tears pricked her eyes as she leaned against the metal bars of the headboard she’d fashioned using nineteenth-century patterns for inspiration. “What’re you doing eating pizza at this hour, Andrew Liam Kincaid?” she said, forcing a smile.
Sure enough, Drew cracked open the door to throw her a grin. “I’m a growing boy.”
“Well, I’m not, so don’t tempt me.” She opened the book. “Shoo.”
“Your loss, baby sister.” Sending her another grin, he pulled the door shut.
She squeezed her eyes closed and then took several deep breaths to think past the lump choking up her throat. But no matter how hard she concentrated, she was too emotionally torn up to focus on anything, much less the book in her hands. All she could think was that she needed Judd, needed him to hold her. She knew that to be a foolish, impossible wish, but the animal in her didn’t care. Where was he? She tried calling him several more times, until finally, she could no longer fight the enveloping wings of sleep. What awaited her was anything but restful.
A jumble of sensory input, acrid fear on her tongue, a pulsating kind of panic. She’d made a mistake and now it had to be cleaned up
—
Snatches of sound. A laughing child. Fear. Joy. Birthday cake
—
He was so sexy, she wanted to
—
Fear. A salty/wrong/bad scent. It was a mess. Had to be cleaned up
—
Brenna moaned and turned onto her side. If someone had been in the room with her, they might’ve nudged her awake. But she was alone, and she was dreaming in inexplicable fragments, seeing broken snatches of thought. Her mind searched for an anchor and found the way blocked. It shouldn’t have been.
A moment of clarity, of anger:
He shouldn’t have done that!
A second later, she was dreaming again.
Judd walked away
as the first flames began to rise behind him, hands thrust into his pockets and head covered by the pulled-up hood of a black sweatshirt that turned him from Arrow to hoodlum. Even if he had been caught on surveillance equipment—highly unlikely, given his skills—his identity would be impossible to determine. To further muddy the waters, he’d gone to considerable trouble to ensure the blast bore no Psy fingerprint, using materials available to humans and changelings as well as Psy.
Alarms sounded behind him, followed by the hiss of sprinkler systems being deployed. That posed no threat. He’d designed the blast radius to take out a key section without reliance on the destructive powers of fire. Nothing inside that square should be salvageable if his explosives had functioned as they were meant to. And he had no doubts that they had—after all, he’d been trained by Councilor Ming LeBon himself.
CHAPTER 9
The guards
didn’t notice his telekinetically blurred body as he slid right past them and into the four a.m. darkness of the quiet street. The Council had made a cold calculation and located this lab in a suburban area, believing that here, among civilians, it would escape discovery and attack. They should’ve known better.
Fading into the shadows on the other side of the street, he checked the buildings on either side of the lab, ready to throw up a Tk shield to ensure their safety—because, unlike the Council, he didn’t consider civilian casualties necessary collateral damage. His caution proved redundant. Not even a spark had escaped the confines of the target compound.
A perfect strike.
Lights began flicking on up and down the street as he watched. At the same instant, security personnel pounded out of the compound, searching for a trail that had gone cold the second after he’d walked out. It had taken them at least two minutes to respond. Sloppy. Whoever was running this op had become cocky after going undetected for over a year.
It was exactly the reaction Judd and the Ghost had planned on.
Satisfied, he took one last look at the rapidly dying flames and turned to cut through the middle-of-the-night black of a family’s backyard. As he negotiated the garden and swingset, he found his eyes drawn to the still-dark window on the second floor. That room held a child, a small half-human, half-changeling boy with more energy than coordination. Judd had seen him several times during his trips to scout the area.
The child’s presence had made the disguised lab across the road even more of an obscenity. Because what had been going on in that place was meant to destroy the minds and lives of children just like that boy. The room light finally came on as Judd scaled the back fence with grace even a cat might have envied, and landed in an even darker yard. No one was home here and wouldn’t be for several days. He’d done his homework.
Deactivating the alarmed lock took him a quarter of a minute. Once inside, he stood with his back to the doorway, not going any farther. These people hadn’t invited him in and he wouldn’t violate their refuge. However, when he tried to relax his body and mind without falling asleep—a trick all soldiers learned early on—he found he couldn’t. There was pressure on the back of his skull, a hard push he might’ve taken for an attempt to penetrate his shields had the pressure not seemed to come from
inside
his mind.
He rechecked his basic armor against psychic attack. No cracks. He was about to go deeper when the pressure simply halted. Unable to follow it any longer, he put the problem down to a lack of sleep and sent his mind into rest-and-repair mode. His concentration was so tightly focused, it was no wonder he missed the telltale signature in that mental push, a harbinger of something far more dangerous than any Psy weapon.
Three hours later, he left the house to blend seamlessly into the steady stream of early morning joggers and walkers. More than one changeling had pointed out that he looked Psy even when dressed otherwise, so he’d spent time watching young human and changeling males, and now affected their careless swagger. But it wasn’t natural for him—he was a soldier, with a soldier’s bearing, and that would never change.