Hunting the Shadows (10 page)

If this was his method of ensuring he got his way, it was effective. Before she’d gotten out, skin to skin contact had been limited unless a person wore a device to block her from picking up on things they didn’t want her to know.

She’d never been interested in anything physical, but she was curious now. Her neck tingled from his hot breath and her pulse raced as he watched her, waiting for a response. “Back off, J.C. I’m serious.”

His nearness awoke foreign needs in her body. She wanted to lean forward, to close the distance and taste him, to feel his mouth on hers again. To have his hands on her body.

This wasn’t like her. She didn’t feel these…urges. She had to be picking up on the minds of others. Someone had to be projecting their emotions.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Slipping past him, Amy limped back toward the bed. “Just because you’re used to ordering others around doesn’t mean I’ll fall in line because you snap your fingers.”

She caught a flash of something in those amber eyes, but whether it was anger or amusement, she wasn’t sure. His brow arched. “That’s very interesting, but your argument is useless. You’re going to stay here and I’m not going to worry about finding you dead in some hallway because you ignored me. Do you hear me?”

She didn’t answer.

He pushed his fingers into his hair with exasperation, leaving the tips in dark spikes. “What do you know about this place?”

She could hear the irritation in his voice. “We’re at a research lab, designed to train special agents. The specifics were never given to me.”

“We’re part of the Shadow Ops.” He drummed his fingers along his thigh. “This place is a genetics research lab facility owned by a firm in the Shadow Government, everything funded under a cloak of the Black Budget umbrella. It began as simple mental experiments, the creation of soldiers—men and women that could use their minds as weapons. Psychic experiments.

“When the first trials resulted in little satisfactory results, the scientists turned to gene therapy with the use of a virus. They infected the brain cells and using radiation, created broad base mutations.” He pressed his fingertips above his eyes, almost as though he were picking up on her headache. Maybe he was. “They used homeless men and women no one would miss. The first experimental rounds were used to perfect their methods. Those who didn’t fit their ideal image of a psychic were terminated or placed in the psych ward.”

Revulsion chilled her as she listened to J.C. How had the Council gotten away with it? How could this have been allowed to continue? She wrapped her arms around herself, needing that comfort, as small as it was.

“There’s a concept to cell memory, based on the idea that whatever happens in our lives is imprinted throughout our makeup. Our bodies are made up of billions of interacting cells, each reacting to information that it receives from the subconscious mind.” When she frowned, he slowed down. “Think of it like your three types of energies that you mentioned earlier. Your physical body may be dead, but your soul, retaining all those locked away memories, still exists. With cell memory, it’s something similar. There have been documented cases of transplant patients having new and random cravings or habits after surgery…similar or exact to those of the donor. Like a footprint of the soul.

“The scientists opened that door. The capability to have these abilities were always there, passed down to us through our junk DNA. By rewiring, they changed the way the brain functioned, enhancing our mental capacities and unlocking psychic abilities that should probably have been left alone.”

And now the responsibility fell on him to keep it going. She didn’t need to be in his head to know how he felt. His hatred of the project and the Council was there in every word.

“Once a child was born and it was determined that the gene therapy was a success, he or she is then raised in a squad with eight or thirteen other children approximately of the same ages. Once a squad is formed, it’s permanent. For the rest of your life and every waking moment, those would be who you trained with.”

“What was training like?”

He shrugged and suddenly he looked exhausted. She started to go to him but stopped, not wanting to distract him. “A normal day was waking up at five in the morning to do physical training from five-thirty to seven, breakfast at seven-thirty and then classes and mind exercises until six to strengthen our abilities. After dinner we went out to do fieldwork and more physical training until nine or ten. Lights out at eleven.”

“Classes?”

“Oh yeah.” He smirked. “Because out in the real world on missions, we had to at least appear civilized and knowledgeable. Not like the killers and kidnappers we were trained to be. We had tutors in every subject you could think of—from science to math, politics to geography, linguistics to weaponry. Out of the classroom, we trained to strengthen our physical limits and learned how to shoot and blow shit up.”

His words made her frown. Was that all they were? Was their only purpose to be spies?

“Why?”

He glanced over, his gaze colliding with hers. “Why what?”

“Why would they do all this?”

“Because the threat of war is always whispered about, even if society doesn’t know about it. Everyone wants an edge and we are the weapons. In the meantime, our ‘gifts,’ if you can call them that, are utilized in other ways—whether it’s gathering information, making enemies of the Council ‘disappear’ or scouting out new recruits to bring over.”

“What happens if you fail as a psychic agent?”

“Failure to complete the necessary training tests and you received a black mark. Three marks and you’re no use to the Council.”

Not ready to think about what they wanted with her, she asked, “What’s the Abyss?”

He glanced at her, started to lift a hand as though to shrug off the question then stopped. “It’s what we called the rooms with no stimulation. Once you go in, you become lost to the outside world. They throw you in there for awhile and your body goes into a state of shock because there’s nothing for it to process. When they finally lift that barrier and all sensations come back, they overload your body. It’s a favorite form of interrogation because it’s so successful.”

Voice gruff, he began to peel off his shirt. He turned and she wasn’t able to stop her gasp.

His back was marred, deep scars traced over his skin—the raised smooth surfaces similar to chain links…

Chapter Ten

“I was eighteen when I was locked up.” J.C. paused,
unsure whether he should go on or not. In the end, he determined that she needed
to know. “It was a stupid prank gone wrong. We had an important exam coming up,
one that would determine who graduated or not. Stefan and I were always finding
a way to fight. By that point, we couldn’t stand each other anymore and were
always trying to upstage one-another. He dared me to break in to the Centre’s
mainframe and steal the details of the exam.”

Tears brightened Amy’s eyes, spilling down her cheeks as she
moved carefully toward him, her fingers shaking. “What happened?”

“I got caught. Because I’d breached the system, someone hacked
in and stole some files. The Council took the breach seriously, despite the fact
that the stolen files were of non-importance. It was a matter of principle. I
made the Centre vulnerable to the attack and I was punished for it.” They’d made
an example out of him.

He leaned forward, brushing his thumbs at the tears that
glittered on her cheeks. “Caleigh was changed, like you and me, but unlike us,
she became something…someone that thrives on the pain and nightmares of others.
Seeing that as an advantage, the Council made her an Enforcer. That memory you
were caught in was mine.”

“There were some memories of yours that were closed off to me
the other day when I was copying them. I didn’t have access to them so I had no
way of knowing what they were.” She whispered and fresh tears spilled down her
face. “I’m sorry.”

Touched beyond words that she would cry for him, he slid his
lips over her forehead. “It’s not important anymore. The Council likes to remind
everyone that they created us and without them, we’d be nothing. I broke the
rules and I did the time for it.” His words sounded dull and hollow.

He closed his eyes, hearing his screams from that night. He
could still feel the hot whip of the chains and the filth he’d survived in.
Could still hear Caleigh and her delighted laugh when he begged her to stop. By
the time Broderick had come to get him, he’d been nothing more than an empty
shell. It’d taken weeks to feel human again.

He didn’t know Amy had moved behind him. Not until she touched
his back. He jolted, her touch light but shocking as she traced the old scars.
He tried to turn, but something about the gesture entranced him.

“I could take those memories from you if you wanted,” Amy
murmured. Her lips followed, brushing those white lines that dissected his back
before he could pull on his shirt. “You don’t have to remember them, J.C. Or, if
you would rather I leave them alone, I could take the sting out and make them
easier to deal with.”

His feet bumped hers when he turned to face her. The horrors he
felt echoed in her eyes and he wanted to wipe that terror away. “As much as I
don’t want to remember that time, it shaped who I am. I can’t ignore that part
of me because it’s painful.”

Something flickered over her features and she nodded quickly
before she stepped back. “I would never do what Ashton did. I protected your
memories as best as I could, but I have the ability to help you if you wanted me
to.”

His fingers curled. She radiated an innocence and goodness he
hadn’t seen in another in so long. He was unsure what he was doing here with
her. If he touched her, he would only sully that purity. Knowing that he
couldn’t, yet unable to resist, J.C. pulled her closer.

“You’re nothing like him. Ashton tried to change me, to turn me
against the grain of my soul into a person I would never have recognized.”

As painful as the memories were, he needed to remember what had
been done. Take that away and he didn’t know who he’d be.

“How’d you protect my memories, Amy?” However she’d done it
displayed considerable power. She was stronger than he thought possible. She was
a mystery and the scientist in him wanted to know more about what she could do.
How did her brain work?

She crossed over to a chair and settled into it. “I basically
acted like a computer. I copied the memories so that when Ashton was finished, I
would be able to replace them all with your old unchanged ones.”

Stunned, J.C. turned from her. If she could do something so
precise and complicated, there were depths to her ability Rick had yet to tap.
They’d never had someone who did what she could. That meant they had a whole new
set of options in their arsenal. Yes, she was important, but he didn’t care what
the Council would want to use her for. He was more concerned about getting her
to lead him to the killer and maybe this time, it would be over.

* * *

J.C. shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet.
Ariadne moved in as he attacked, her body angling instinctively and the moment
he got close, she thrust her half curled palm upward against his nose. He caught
her fist before it made contact, gripping her by the elbow and flipping her off
her feet. As she landed, she braced herself and rolled backward from him to
spring onto the tips of her toes.

“Is that all you got?” She shoved her hair out of her face and
cocked a brow. She gestured for him to attack again.

The corner of his lips curled upward. He reacted quickly. She
dodged and swiveled with a roundhouse kick aimed high. He trapped her foot,
knocking her back. She edged in, rapid, intricate movements that blurred.

He twisted his body as though starting off into a cartwheel,
flipping around and swinging his legs up and over mid-air without touching the
ground. The aerial drove him forward and he kicked out, his foot catching her
off guard. When he gained his footing again, he took her down until she was flat
on her back.

He towered over her and held out his hand, waiting until she
accepted before he helped her up. “Either get out of the way or move in and get
in your opponent’s space. There’s not a lot of time to act once the flip has
been initiated. You’ll catch them off guard.” With a nod, J.C. let go and walked
over toward the bench to grab a bottle of water, tossing it her way.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the resounding
grunts echoed in the training room. J.C. looked at the other agents in the room
as they worked out, then back to Ariadne.

“You got lucky, nothing more.” She twisted the cap off,
swallowing a mouthful. Her competitive streak burned bright in her eyes. “I want
a re-match. I’ll take you this time.”

He moved around her to an empty bench and lowered himself flat
on his back. Reaching for the dumbbells, he extended them over his chest, then
lowered them. “Not tonight. Practice on someone else.”

“Like who?”

He angled his chin across the room. “Like Rick. He could use
some lessons.”

Hearing his name, the man in question turned toward them. Sweat
glistened over his face, dampening his shirt against his chest. “No. I’m not
signing up to be a punching bag. Find another sucker.”

“You’re such a wimp. I promise I won’t bruise your ego too
badly.” Ariadne shot back.

J.C. ignored them as they tossed insults back and forth. He’d
thought that working out would help clear his head for a few, but it hadn’t.
Nothing could make him forget that somewhere out there, Teresa had been killed.
Or that Amy was up in his room, sleeping in his bed. He’d tried pushing her for
more information, but as frazzled as her mind was, she couldn’t give him
anything else.

“J.C.”

One of these days, he was going to figure out how Amy could
ease into his mind without him knowing. It made no sense that the Council
wouldn’t have tried to use her as a spy. He’d been raised to always know the
enemy, but he had no idea what category she fell into. Friend or foe? Was she
playing him?

Was she working with the Council to gain her freedom?

“Stop it. I told you, I’m not a spy,”
she snapped
. “I’m not pretending to get into your
confidence and then sell you out. I haven’t lied to you once and I’m not
about to start now.”

Freedom would be enough motivation for anyone, let alone
someone who had been locked up for pretty much two decades. He did a set of reps
before he answered.
“Is something wrong?”

He didn’t address her comments about not being a spy. Whether
she was one or not, she was going to help him catch this killer. He would have
to guard his plans as much as he could. It wasn’t that he thought she was,
really, but she drew out things in him, a side he couldn’t show. Not if he
wanted to take the Council down. He had to keep his mind clear and not get
distracted by another woman who needed his help.

Like Leila.

“I had a dream. The body was moved.”

“Where?”
Lowering the weights to
the floor, he reached for a towel and wiped his damp brow.

“You’re not going to like it.”

He already didn’t. Another agent was dead.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to do my job. What can you tell
me?”

“He took her from the gym to…well I don’t know. Once she
was killed, he left her body in the tunnels.”

Where Leila died. The image of her slit throat was a constant
reminder of what happened when people trusted him.

“No, she died because a sick bastard hunted her. You didn’t
kill her. You gave her a reason to hope for a better life. There’s nothing
you could have done.”

His gaze caught on Ariadne and Rick. “I need you two to come
with me. We may have found Teresa.”

And they had. Her body had been discarded like trash tossed in
an alcove to be forgotten. She’d been lovely once. The vivaciousness of the way
she’d lived had faded from her eyes—now wide with the distressed expression of
death.

Like the others, her throat had been slashed.

“Let’s get her to the morgue. There’s a chance we may get
something off her.” J.C. crouched beside Teresa, studying every detail of the
scene. He was sure whatever evidence had been there was gone, but that didn’t
mean they weren’t going to go with protocol. “I want a full work up done on
her.”

“Shit, J.C., don’t you think she’s been violated enough?” Rick
slid his hand from his mouth. He looked ready to throw up, a sentiment J.C.
understood. “We’re not going to find anything.”

J.C. touched Teresa’s cool hand. Turning her palm over, he
studied her nails. Just maybe… “Bag her, Rick. It looks like we may have blood
under her nails.” The words felt thick on his tongue. He swallowed the disgust
and fought to keep his mask of indifference. “Ariadne, are you getting
anything?”

She tore her gaze from the body to his. “No. I can’t get any
readings from her.”

Like the others.

He rose and rubbed absently at a stain on his knee. “Let’s get
the scene recorded.”

* * *

The next day dragged on, wearing on J.C.’s last nerve as
he stared down at the results from the series of tests he’d run on Drake.
Normal. Every test had come back normal for a seven year old, even one whose
genetics had been messed around with since birth.

He stood to work out stiff muscles, sighing as the words
blurred in front of his eyes. After finding Teresa he’d spent the night in the
morgue, going through every little detail. Nothing. Rick had been right about
that. Damn it. The blood beneath her nails had been her own.

He pressed a fist against his temple. The migraine that stalked
him from lack of sleep blew up, exploding across his forehead. He lowered his
hand as Broderick walked in.

“Anything?”

“We’re running tests, but so far nothing of use. No
fingerprints. No stray DNA. We’re still working on the scene.”

Broderick nodded. “And how did you know where to find
Teresa?”

Like a good little soldier, J.C. ground out, “The woman who got
away from the psych ward. She knew where the body would be.” Despite not wanting
Broderick or the Council anywhere near Amy, it would make the situation worse to
lie.

Broderick slapped the file in his hand against his thigh. “Ah
yes, Amy. Tell me, J.C., why is she staying in your dorm?”

“It is easier to keep her close. I didn’t want to bring her to
the psych ward when she might be useful to us.”

“And how might that be?”

He rubbed his brows, frowning. “She’s a telepath. That means we
can use her to track the killer.” He edged along the subject, not wanting to
reveal too much.

“She’s Rick’s case. Not yours. You had no right to take her.”
Broderick’s words hardened. “He’s been working with her for years. She’s
unstable.”

“She’s not unstable. She was attacked by the killer because she
can go into his mind.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because she’s confided in me. She knows things we shouldn’t
dismiss.”

“How do you know she’s not using you, J.C.? I’ve read her file.
She’s manipulated others into helping her in the past.”

“All I’m asking for is a chance with her. If she’s linked to
this killer as I suspect, we can’t put her away yet.”

“No, we can’t. Amy was part of a special project. Now that
she’s out of the confinement of an isolated environment, all the information we
gathered on her over the years is useless. The question is why should I give her
to you when you’re so quick to ignore protocol?”

His knuckles whitened. No, the question was why Rick hadn’t
pursued the idea of her knowing about the killer. How could he have thought her
crazy? “Rick’s done all he can. He was having trouble getting her to work with
him. I can get her to do what I want. She trusts me.”

As sparse as the public file had been, he’d gotten the
impression Rick had been fed up with her. There was more below the surface of
what was in those pages. While he got the impression that Amy was going to be
stubborn and would resist Testing, the file painted her as a nightmare to work
with. He knew Rick and his methods. If Amy was rebellious, she had good reasons
to be.