Broken Shadows Read online

  “Oh. Right.” There was no way he’d been flirting. And even if he had, it was a terrible idea. The idea of getting into a relationship with a shadowmind was even more ridiculous now than it had been a month ago. “Um. So, how’s your arm?”

  “Better. I’ll take the stiches out in a few days.” He pulled out into the street, which had more cars than I’d thought it would after midnight on a weekday.

  “What do you tell the people you work with?”

  He’d been coming home from work with his sleeves rolled up, and anyway, the bandage was too big not to show beneath his dress shirts.

  “I go rock climbing,” he said.

  “You tell them you go rock climbing?”

  “I really do go rock climbing.” He smiled crookedly. “It makes me seem adventurous.”

  That explained the calluses. “If they only knew the truth.”

  The day we’d met, I’d taken one look at his high-rise condo and his luxury car and his perfectly parted hair and decided he was the last man in the world I was in danger of falling in love with. But every time I turned around he was surprising me, sewing himself up after knife fights and flirting with me. And walking out of bathrooms half-naked. He smiled at me, and I forgot all about burying the awkward moment on the couch. I was headed straight for awkward moment number two.

  Crap.

  I concentrated quickly and completely on penguins. It was the first thing I could think of. Jackson accelerated rather faster than necessary after a stop sign.

  We got through the rest of the ride without any further blushing on my part. I couldn’t speak for Jackson, since I was avoiding looking at him. He parked on the street in front of a restaurant with a crowd waiting outside. We were on one of the hilliest streets I’d seen yet, and the road sloped steeply down behind us. Jackson turned the wheels into the curb.

  “So,” I said, glad to get out of the car, “where is this place?”

  Jackson stretched his hands over his head. “Around the block.”

  James was parking his sedan a few yards behind us, easing expertly into a parallel parking spot I wouldn’t have attempted for any amount of money. I half wondered if he’d “nudged” the neighboring cars a little. He gave us a nod and headed for an alleyway in front of us. I didn’t know what the plan was once I did my part, and Jackson hadn’t been very forthcoming when I’d asked. “Just concentrate on not getting hurt,” he’d said. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

  I followed Jackson up the street to the bar on the corner. It was a busy place, odd on the deserted street, and as we got closer, I heard music coming through the open door.

  “You didn’t say there was going to be a band.”

  “Is that a problem?” The furrow between his eyebrows deepened.

  “No. It’s fine.” I heard a sax, drums and a piano. Jazz. Not half bad. My chest felt tight.

  Jackson opened his mouth and closed it again. “I can’t come in with you,” he said in an undertone. “He knows me. But I’ll be right behind you, and I won’t let you out of my mindsight. If you get even a little bit nervous, all you have to do is walk away.”

  “All I’m going to do is brush against his arm. It’s not like I’m trying to put cuffs on him in the middle of a crowded bar.”

  Jackson didn’t smile. “Still.”

  I sighed, but I was grateful he’d be watching through my eyes. “Why don’t you just show me where he is.”

  He glanced into the bar, letting his gaze roam around as though he were assessing how busy it was. “At the bar,” he said. “Dark hair, glasses. There’s an empty seat next to him.”

  I looked inside. “The one in the green shirt?” White guy, tall, but narrower in the shoulders than Jackson.

  “Yep. Drinking the Jack-and-Coke.”

  “How do you know it’s a Jack-and-Coke?” I asked. Jackson tapped his forehead. “Oh. Right. Okay then. Showtime.”

  He put his hand on my arm, his fingers pressing through the leather of my coat. “You know I don’t want you to do this.”

  “Not your decision.”

  “Just be careful.”

  I nodded, and he let me go.

  The bar was one of the overly trendy types. Neon blue track lighting on the floor, uncomfortable-looking clear plastic chairs. The walls featured close-up photographs of gas station parts set off in huge, ornate, gilded frames. The stainless steel tables were lit with those glow sticks people use at raves.

  The band was in the middle of a song, and about half the bar was watching them play. The rest were shouting to be heard or staring at their drinks. A year ago, it might’ve been me up there listening to the ones who were listening back. I got a flash of memory—one of my first gigs playing with my ex’s band, my first time playing in front of more than thirty people. It had been one of those golden sets you got a half-dozen times in your life if you were someone like me, the whole crowd totally focused, totally into it, the feedback from their mental participation singing in my head, a symphony of joy called up by the upbeat chords.

  Never again.

  Turner was one of the ones staring at his drink. The plan was for me to brush up against him just long enough to sap his powers. Unfortunately, he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. I’d worn a sleeveless tank under my coat in preparation, but it was cold outside, and I should have expected this. That left his hands and his face. I was going to have to get creative.

  I sat down on one of the bizarre clear plastic barstools next to Turner. He spared me a glance and then looked back at his beer. The bartender, a forty-something woman with a lot of tattoos on her arms, came over and slid a cocktail napkin at me.

  “Beer,” I yelled over the sax. “Got a good IPA?”

  She nodded and went to the tap. I stared at a cluster of neon green glow sticks sitting in a highball glass like a bouquet of radioactive flowers. When I felt sure he wasn’t looking, I glanced at Turner out of the corner of my eye.

  I had to keep my thoughts buried in case he was skimming. I figured I’d have to make contact with him for at least sixty seconds if I was going to really disable him. The bartender came back with my beer and set it down. I slid a ten across the bar to her and she gave me back less change than I’d expected. San Francisco prices. I turned to the man.

  “You drinking alone too?” I had to yell it. So much for sounding flirtatious. The drummer was getting a workout.

  He glanced over at me, gave a sort of snorting laugh, and looked back at his beer.

  “Not good for your health,” I said.

  “Not in the mood for company.”

  There goes plan A, I thought, then chastised myself. If he were listening, thoughts like that would give me away.

  With the way Turner was responding to my feeble attempts at flirting, there was no chance I was going to be able to simper at him and put my hand on his. So I did the only thing I could think of. I knocked my drink over right into his lap.

  “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” I picked up a wad of cocktail napkins and started swiping at his shirt.

  “What the hell!” He lifted his arms away from his body. The song wound down, and the bar went quiet. Everyone was staring at us.

  Now, I thought. I reached for his hand and grabbed it.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Really. I’m such a klutz. Dammit.” He wanted to pull away, but I could tell the eyes of everyone on us kept him from telling me to fuck off.

  “It’s okay,” he said, not sounding like he meant it at all. It had been about ten seconds. I didn’t let go of his hand.

  “I just feel so bad—let me pay to have your shirt cleaned.”

  “Look, you don’t have to do that.” He tugged at his hand. The tingling intensified, a little zap through my palms and fingers. I held fast.

  “But I should, I really
should...”

  He tugged harder, and I had to let go.

  “It’s no big thing.” He was eyeing me suspiciously. “Here,” he said to the bartender, and he slid a bill on the bar. “I gotta get out of here, anyway.” He walked out. The band started another song.

  I shot an apologetic look at the bartender. “Sorry,” I said over the growing sound.

  “Don’t sweat it. Happens all the time.” She turned away and started putting clean glasses on a shelf, two at a time. I backed away from the bar and headed out the side door, which led into an alleyway alongside the building. I stood against the wall with my arms folded, trying to calm my heart back down as I waited. I didn’t think I’d had enough time to ground him completely, but I wasn’t sure how to tell. My hand was tingling where I’d touched him. I walked to the side of the alley, where a fire escape ladder hung down from the second floor. I grabbed it and let the energy flow out of me. No spark, but the air around me heated and the metal felt warm.

  Jackson came striding into the alleyway a moment later. He advanced on me without slowing and grabbed me by the shoulders. “What was that? You want every lowlife in the city to know what you can do?”

  “I wasn’t broadcasting!”

  He kept right on walking until my back hit the alley wall. “I heard you. I heard everything you thought. If I could, so could he.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “It was fine.” I jerked out of his grip. “And aren’t you supposed to be arresting him right now?”

  “My father’s handling it. Someone has to make sure he doesn’t try to retaliate and kill you.”

  “Isn’t that why I neutralized him in the first place? You know, I don’t get why you think I’m so fragile. Simon seems to think I can take care of myself.”

  Jackson’s eyes flashed. “Simon doesn’t know half the things that go on in this city.”

  “Yeah, well at least he’s not constantly trying to protect me from it. He thinks I could be useful.”

  Jackson went totally still. “Could be useful for what?” His voice had gone steel cold.

  “If someone gets out of hand in the bar. He said I could ground guys like Greg.” It had been more of an offhand comment than a suggestion, and I hadn’t even agreed to do it. But Jackson didn’t need to know that.

  “Simon and I are going to have a little talk.” He was speaking more to himself than to me.

  “Hey! Talk to me if you don’t like it. I’m the one he asked, and I’m the one who works for him.”

  “Fine.” His voice had lost its cool edge and gone hot with fury. “You talk to him. Tell him you’ll ground lowlifes in his bar if he can guarantee every drunk asshole who comes in is willing to keep his mouth shut about you. Tell him to hire a goddamn security guard for you twenty-four seven, because once people figure out what you can do, there’s no telling who’s going to come after you. Tell him your life is his fucking responsibility.”

  He’d gotten closer to me. I didn’t notice until I had to look up at him, six-plus feet of angry, broad-chested male. Neither one of us spoke, and he didn’t back off. Another step and he’d be touching me.

  I narrowed my eyes. “I can take care of myself.”

  He opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again before speaking. His eyes went black. I could tell even in the dim light of the alley. Half a breath later, we both heard a strangled shout, and Jackson took off running.

  I sprinted after him, out of the alleyway, past the bar and down the next street to another dimly lit corridor, this one the dead space between a closed clothing boutique and a bookstore. James was slumped against one of the stucco walls, motionless.

  “Oh my God,” I rushed forward meaning to check for a pulse before I remembered I shouldn’t touch him. Jackson put his hand on my shoulder.

  “He’s alive.”

  “Thank God.” His ankle and wrist were both twisted at unnatural angles, but when I looked closely, I saw his chest rising and falling with his breath. We both looked up as a soft clang of metal came from deeper in the alley.

  Jackson’s eyes went distant and black. “Stay here,” he said, and sprinted into the gloom.

  “Hey!” I raced after him.

  I expected him to vault over the chain link fence hemming in our end of the alley, but he blew it off at the hinges with an explosion of focused telekinetic force. I couldn’t suppress a gasp of shock, but Jackson didn’t even break his stride. I kept at his heels.

  Ahead of us, barely visible in the dim light, a dark figure was clambering up an identical fence at the other end. Plastic garbage bins had been overturned in his wake. Jackson leaped over them, closing the distance. Turner saw us, or sensed us, and his efforts grew more frantic. His shirt was tangled in the cut wire at the top and he flailed, tearing fabric, cursing. Jackson stood perfectly still in the center of the alley. The man froze, yelped and fell five feet to the concrete.

  I rushed past Jackson and put my hands on the first exposed part of the man I could reach. It turned out to be his forearm. He grunted and tried to jerk away, but I held on to him until the tiny shocks blooming over my palm told me my powers were working. I had several seconds before Jackson grabbed me.

  “I told you to stay back!”

  “He could have hurt you!”

  Jackson pulled me off of the guy and took out a pair of handcuffs. He looked so furious, for a moment I was afraid he was going to use them on me, but he knelt over Turner, moved him onto his stomach, and secured his hands behind his back.

  Turner groaned. “Fuck this, man, I didn’t do anything.”

  “Quiet.” Jackson pulled him to his knees.

  “Fuck you, and fuck your father and fuck her.” He looked right at me.

  For a moment I was afraid Jackson would hit him. His biceps tensed, and the muscles in his shoulder jumped as though he was about to swing. But he controlled himself and jerked the man to his feet. He patted him down methodically and came up with a baggie of pills.

  “You wanna tell me about these?”

  Turner shut his mouth.

  “Come on. You’re coming with me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jackson shoved a still-handcuffed Turner into the back of his car, then carried his father into his own. He was still out. Jackson arranged him in the passenger seat and shut the door.

  “You could have been hurt.”

  “So could you.” I looked pointedly at his arm. He’d used his power to compensate every time he’d had to use it; I could tell.

  “Let me worry about that,” he said.

  “Yeah? Well you can let me worry about me, too.”

  He huffed out an exasperated breath and shoved a hand through his hair. “Just—follow me with him. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Jackson pulled the keys from James’s pocket and gave them to me, then stalked back to his car as though he planned on getting into a fistfight with it. The sound of his door slamming echoed up and down the dark street.

  I got into James’s car. It was a nice vehicle, leather seats and a sunroof, lots of fancy screens on the dashboard. I had to pull the seat up several inches to reach the wheel and the pedals. When I started the engine, it hummed with quiet power. I hadn’t had a chance to ground the energy I’d stolen from Turner, and the purr of the car matched the way my body felt. I tried to recall my practice session with Simon, willing the energy out, but I was afraid I’d damage the electronics. I was going to have to keep the panic down with sheer willpower.

  Jackson’s brake lights blinked ahead, and I pulled into the street after him, getting used to the sensitive accelerator. It helped to have something to focus on, so I stared at Jackson’s taillights. He drove south through the city, and as we crossed Market Street, James stirred
.

  “Huh?” he said, opening his eyes. He focused on his window, then jerked around, relaxing when he saw me driving. He pushed himself up straight and winced, his breath hissing through his teeth.

  “You all right?” he said, and I had to laugh.

  “I should be asking you that.”

  “You seem pretty tense.”

  “Says the man who was recently unconscious. I should bring you to the hospital.”

  He wasn’t bleeding, but that didn’t mean nothing was broken. He was cradling his wrist carefully in his lap.

  “I’ll be fine.” He waved his uninjured hand. “Just a sprain.”

  I gave him my best you’re-full-of-it look.

  “Just get me to Caleb. I’ll be fine.”

  “The Featherweight’s bartender?” It was easier to ignore the way the power made me shake when I was talking to James, but it was still there. I kept my eyes on Jackson’s taillights.

  “The healer,” he corrected. “He’ll fix me up. Thanks for helping us out tonight. It made a big difference.”

  “I’d hate to see how things go when I’m not around.”

  “Jack isn’t hurt, is he?”

  “No. I finished grounding Turner when Jackson caught him.”

  James nodded. “Good work.”

  I scoffed. “Your son doesn’t think so.”

  “Jack the worrywart. He’ll get over it. He doesn’t like anyone taking risks except himself.”

  I thought again of my first impression of him. How I never would have believed he was the type to chase down criminals in dark alleys. He was so...unexpectedly fearless for himself, but concerned for everyone else. I couldn’t help wondering what he’d thought of me. Had I seemed fragile a year ago, fresh from my ordeal? Did I seem fragile now? Well, I’m not. My hands tightened on the wheel.

  “Hmph,” I said. “He’ll have to get over it.”

  James laughed, a big, inviting sound, his deep voice filling the beautiful car. “I can see why he likes you.”

  I looked at him, surprised, but I didn’t get the chance to ask him to go on, because we’d arrived at Featherweight’s.