Author: Heather Marie Adkins
Category: Literature
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/heather-marie-adkins/page,8,478501-relics_and_s_anthology.html
Nesbitt was a big guy, all muscles and brawn but not short on brains, either. His blond hair was longer and curlier than the last time I'd seen him. Last I heard, he had an infant at home on top of the toddler and six year old. I imagined fatherhood left little time for haircuts.
“Nez,” he greeted me, his hands resting on his gun belt. He had an easy grin plastered on his sun-darkened face, but his eyes missed nothing.
“Nes,” I greeted back: an inside joke since we were young and dumb going through SEB training together.
Nesbitt motioned behind us at the crowd. “Seems like you have everything well in hand.”
“One-on-one-hundred isn’t good odds, even for me.”
“Do we know anything?”
I holstered my gun. “That was going to be my next question for you.”
Warren cleared his throat. “Ahem. If I may... you might search the cabin over there,—” He flicked his gaze to a line of cabins skirting the edges of the darkness.— “where you will find the victim of the man who put a bullet through my leg.”
Nesbitt and I shared a quick look. I inclined my head toward Warren. Nesbitt snapped his fingers at a greenie with a high-and-tight and strolled away. The newbie shuffled quickly after him, anxious to prove his worth.
Behind me, the other responding SEA and SEB agents were securing the scene. Nes and his rookie faded into the dark cabin. I activated the recorder on my Com and zeroed-in on Warren. “You wanna try this again from the top?”
He smiled beatifically. “Give it a moment, babe.”
I gritted my teeth, ready to ram my fist through his stupid smile. “I don’t like you.”
“That’s a shame. I think you’re pretty badass.”
Unfortunately, the compliment felt kind of nice. I fought the flush of warmth that followed his words, but it wasn’t a battle I was prepared to win.
Before I could respond, a shout stole through the night. I reached for my gun – mimicked by the dozen or so other officers standing around the fire.
Nesbitt appeared in the doorway of a cabin, his face stricken. “It’s Councilman Weston. He’s dead.”
12
I groaned and rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe if I did it hard enough, I’d be back in my mother’s pueblo under a quilt that smelled of hominy and spices. Alas, unlike Warren, I couldn’t bend space and time. I was here, I was awake, and this shit just kept getting better. Or worse, depending on what end of the sarcasm spectrum you rested on.
“Did you kill the councilman?” I asked.
Warren jerked as if I had slapped him, eyes widening. “Why the hell would you think that?”
I pointed at his leg.
“Oh, that. Misfire. The kid that shot the councilman missed the first shot. I was the unlucky recipient.”
“Fucking fuck, Warren. Let’s take this from the top, okay? Spell it out for me like I’m a moron. Slow and steady. How did we get from you taking an accidental bullet to this?” I slashed both palms down, indicating his current predicament of chains and bonfire.
“Oh, that’s not too confusing. I was asleep in my bed.” He lifted his chin toward the cabin, where an officer was stringing crime scene tape. “I awoke to that old man busting through my door. Yelled something about being chased and for me to get him out of there. But then the kid came running in, shot once, hit me, shot twice, hit the dear councilman between the eyes. And the kid left.”
“Kid?”
Warren shrugged. “Small. Skinny. Not normal-adult sized.”
“Did you get a look at their face?”
“Not a perfect look. Kid was quick.”
“Why did the councilman seek you out for help?”
“Nothing like a spot of time travel to get a man out of danger.”
“Do many people around here know that particular, um, quality of yours?”
Warren shook his head. “No. I didn’t know that dude was a councilman until they tried to blame me for his death, but he knew a lot about everyone else. Made it a point to know all, I think.”
“Random killing or premeditated assassination?”
“Assassination is a scary word. But accurate.”
I clenched and unclenched my hands to channel some of the building aggression in me. There was no doubt in my mind it was the Insurgentia. Councilman Weston had been their target from the moment they heard about Rice's death. I didn’t know what to do with the information. On the one hand, my loyalties didn’t lie with the rebels. My loyalties ran deep to the SEB and maintaining the safety of the Hollow.
On the other, if Weston had ordered the hit on my brother, then fuck the Bureau and praise the rebel who had the gonads enough to kill the asshole.
“How did we get from bed to the chains?” I prompted.
Warren winced. “See, the councilman is much loved around here. He keeps the camp in food and such. They call him Papa West. So, he died in my cabin, execution-style, and the kid vanishes. Frolics off into the night like a Senka-damned ninja. The camp then decides I was the one to kill the councilman, regardless of the fact there isn’t a gun anywhere in my cabin.” He said the last loudly, earning some chastised looks from the shadow touched who were being interrogated nearby. “Yet here we are. You have impeccable timing.”
“You leap-frogged me from an earthquake. Just returning the favor.”
He grinned, and then cleared his throat. “Mind moving me a little further from the fire? I think all the hair on my head has been singed off. I’d like to keep my skin, if at all possible.”
I leaned over and grabbed both arms of his chair. It took some muscle, but I managed to drag him into the shadows beyond the firelight. By the time I’d accomplished the move, I was the one sweating.
I stepped back and brushed off my hands. “Better?”
“Much. Thanks for the show.” He winked, and then waggled his eyebrows at my tank top. Even chained to an office chair and bleeding from the leg, he looked good enough to lick.
Licking was not on the agenda, so I rolled my eyes.
A pair of crime scene techs sidled up with bolt cutters, relieving me of Warren duty. As they cut my time-traveling pal free of his chains, I categorized the recording I’d made of his statement and sent it through to be processed. Then I tracked down Nesbitt.
I found him on his Com near the crime scene, stress wrinkling his usually good-natured brow. He tapped his Com to shut down the call and signed. “Shit’s hitting the fan already. Fucking council is losing its mind.”
“You blame ‘em? They just found out one of their highest ranking officials was not only murdered, but shadow touched to boot.”
“Nah, guess I can’t blame them. We're fucked, aren’t we? Senka isn’t doing her job, the government has been infiltrated—”
“Oh, please. Don’t make this sound like a Senka-damned 20th-century crime thriller.”
“Isn’t it?”
He looked more worried than I’d ever seen him. His worry crawled along my exposed skin, chased by the desert wind. I'd seen Nesbitt shoot without hesitation when a shadow touched jumped him five years ago. The man was fearless.
But maybe we had more to fear now than shadow touched.
“Can you take lead on this?” I asked, tracing a thumb over my holstered gun but meaning the crime scene in general. “It’s not really my thing, and you’re so good at being in charge.”
“You slay me. Tell me more lies like that, and I might leave my wife for you.”
I grinned. “Liar. You’re too scared at what Jeannette would do to you.”
Nesbitt clutched his chest dramatically. “You got me. She’s a psychopath, and I love her.”
“In all seriousness?”
He dropped his hand to his side and regarded me thoughtfully. “Not a question, Nez. We appreciate your willingness to respond. We can take it from here.”
I motioned to Warren, who was cracking jokes to the stoic techs as he rubbed feeling back into his arms. “I’m concerned for this man’s safety. Sho
uld we put him under protective custody until we assure the threat doesn’t extend beyond Councilman Weston?”
Nesbitt raised an eyebrow. “He’s shadow touched.”
“Sure, but he’s also a key witness to this murder. I sent his statement to Evidence.”
“Come on, Nez. Why are you really concerned?”
How to answer that without sounding like an absolute idiot? “I know he's shadow touched. But there’s something different about him. Something new. You know how the shadow touched don’t have much life in their eyes?”
Nesbitt nodded.
“This guy doesn’t have that. I can’t pinpoint what’s going on with him right now, but I intend to find out.”
“Ah, good. So you’ll take him, then?”
I took a physical step back. “What? Me?”
“I don’t really have the men to spare right now, what with things getting more and more physical out here. You guys know each other, and you’re one of the best runners I know. You can keep him safe.”
I knew what he was doing. He buttered me up with the “best” comment. Offer up the compliment, let the fish take the bait.
Just call me Barracuda.
“Fine. But the minute you have intel, you better Com me.”
“Aye, aye, Nez.”
I couldn’t take Warren back to the pueblo. Not just because that would be really fucking weird, and I didn’t want him anywhere near my baby sister, but he needed medical attention and a place to sleep. I hadn’t set foot in my apartment in two days, but I’d gotten the all-clear from the CSI team to return. And I needed to track down my brother’s Com, anyway.
So I pointed the Ducati back to the Core and tilted my head at Warren. “We don’t have all night.”
“You expect me to ride that thing with a bullet in my leg?” Warren asked, crossing his arms.
“You walk pretty well on that thing considering there’s a bullet in it.”
He pursed his lips.
“Come on, princess.” I patted the leather seat behind me.
Warren walked around the bike and leaned heavily on my shoulders as he gingerly lifted his bad leg over the bike. The angle of the bike's seat slid him into my back, his hard, warm torso resting against me.
He wrapped his arms around my waist as I turned on the bike. His fingertips rested on the patch of bare skin above my jeans. I really hope the engine covered up the way I shivered beneath his hands. A frisson of something completely otherworldly danced between us. I wasn’t big on using my powers – I was more of a fists and firepower kind of girl – but his touch made my magick undulate inside me.
What the hell was this guy?
13
Dawn had barely begun to light the horizon when I found an empty spot across the street from my building. In the pre-dawn twilight, the street appeared deserted. Not even the wind moved this morning. The hazy half-light coupled with empty streets and doorways felt like an omen.
I helped Warren off the bike. He winced as he moved the injured leg; I had already figured he hurt a little more than he let on. I took the brunt of his weight so his leg didn’t have to, and waited until he steadied himself on the concrete. Under the vestiges of bonfire smoke on his clothes, I could smell his clove cigarettes. The scent did things to me that I wanted to punch into submisssion.
I tossed my bag over my shoulder and pocketed my keys, then slipped an arm around his waist and tugged him gently against me. “Come on. We gotta cross.”
He stared at me for a long minute, face inscrutable, and then put his arm around my shoulders and leaned into me.
We moved stiffly and slowly. I let Warren set the pace. I’d never taken a bullet before, and I had no real hurry to give it a try, but any idiot could know that shit hurt. I’d like to say his discomfort brought up feelings of remorse for all the shadow touched I had shot in my day, but maybe I wasn’t wired that way.
I was wired to do what was necessary, not what was right.
So why the fuck was I taking a shadow touched home with me?
Warren grimaced as we stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of my building.
“Almost there,” I promised, motioning to the front doors, where the red light on the fob pad blinked.
“You live here?” Warren’s gaze traveled up the skyscraper next door.
Every time I saw the damn thing, it looked worse. The council should have torn it down years ago, but abandoned, decaying buildings don’t take priority when people are dying and the Hollow is failing.
“It’s not as bad as it looks on the outside,” I assured him.
“I guess I expected the Reina’s hound to live in luxury.”
I glared. “Don’t call me that. I don’t need luxury.”
“I see that.” His black eyes drifted from the skyscraper to me. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but then he shook his head and leaned into me.
The scanner recognized my Com with no issues. I gritted my teeth and boarded the elevator in deference to Warren’s wound. I kept my eyes firmly on the glowing numbers above the door, counting each floor. 1. 2.
“You okay?”
I spared him a glance, then looked back at the numbers. 3. “I don’t like elevators.”
“The elevator has nothing to do with it. You like to be in control.”
I didn’t look at him. He was right. Perceptive fucker. “You can time travel and disappear at will. Mind reader, too?” 4.
“I wish. Maybe I just get you.”
The door opened with a faint ding. “You'd be the first person who ‘got’ me that didn’t share a womb with me.”
My floor was silent as a graveyard. We shuffled slowly, Warren hanging limply against me. Pain etched his face.
“Adrenaline has worn off, huh?” I joked.
Warren managed a smile. “I told you. Just a flesh wound.”
“Flesh wounds don’t require bullet extraction.”
“Are there rules to flesh wounds now?”
I helped him lean against the wall beside my door and gently extracted myself from beneath his arms. “Yeah. Flesh wounds don’t tear through muscle and bone.”
He straightened. “Bone?”
“Trust me. You’d know if it got that deep.”
The crime scene tape had been removed, though traces of it remained on the doorjamb: a reminder of what had happened here. A reminder of the moment my life began to spiral out of control.
I didn’t want to be here right now. I wasn’t ready to see our home, to see all the memories of Rice spread through the apartment in the detritus he’d left behind. His favorite ball cap hanging on the hook by the door; his sneakers discarded in the living room; empty dishes in the sink from the breakfast we’d shared the morning before he died. Mama was right. Rice would haunt this apartment, but it wouldn’t be his spirit stuck in this world.
It would be stuck in my heart.
I unlocked the door.
The smell of heavy-duty cleaning solution assaulted my nose, and the black void of Rice’s absence gripped me. I ignored both as I helped Warren limp into the apartment and settled him at a chair in the kitchen.
I’d expected the Chinese to still be on the counter, rotting and feeding the resident ants. But the SEB cleaning crew was thorough in their erasure of the events leading up to me finding my brother’s body. The place was probably cleaner than it had been before we moved in.
While Warren looked around my kitchen with interest, I dug the first aid kit out of the cabinet and put a pot of water on to boil.
“Cooking?” Warren asked.
“Take off your pants,” I responded, opening the cabinet over the sink. “No. I’m going to boil the blade to cut out the bullet.”
He paused in the act of untying his sweatpants. “What now?”
I reached for the special liquor. “You have a bullet inside your leg. It has to come out.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“No.” I slammed a bottle of homebrewed whiskey on the table in fr
ont of him. “But you’re shadow touched, and you know the hospitals won’t let you in. So take off your pants. And drink up.”
I avoided looking at him and adjusted the temperature on the stove while he disrobed. But I snuck a peek while he slugged back half the bottle of potent liquor in one go. Plain black boxers and shapely, muscular legs. Fuck.
Warren set the bottle on the tabletop and gasped. “Strong stuff.”
“My landlord makes it.” I dropped a box cutter in the boiling pot and glanced over as he shot back more liquor. “Take it easy. I’m not trying to get you wasted.”
“Shame.” That wolfish grin was back. He slouched in the chair like he owned it, feet planted on the linoleum and t-shirt riding up to expose fine black hairs marching down his toned abdomen.
I swallowed hard and thought about the bullet. Just the bullet. Not too hard to do, since his thigh was covered in blood around a thick, wet wound.
“I’ll be right back,” I told him, wiping my hands on a towel. I left him to guzzle cheap, homemade alcohol while the water heated, and escaped to my room.
Our safe rested beneath the false floorboards of my bedroom closet. It was my doomsday security—a couple thousand bucks in case we ever needed to get the hell out of the Hollow on a dime. Neither me nor Rice ever had need to put anything else in there. We didn’t care for jewelry, and anything that had once held sentimental value to us remained in my mother’s home.
So we both piled money away as we earned it—me, doing what I did best as an enforcement agent. Rice, picking up odd jobs here and there as the mood suited him.
I tugged the chain to illuminate the bare bulb in my closet, then shoved my way into my clothes. The false floorboard looked exactly like the others; if you didn’t know it was there, you’d never find it. But it’s not like the cops had any reason to search my room, anyway. When I opened the safe and stared down at Rice’s familiar Com, nestled among piles of money, my heart constricted.
I slid the Com into a small messenger bag, and as an afterthought, tucked a couple hundred bucks in with it. Mom could use it towards Rice’s funeral.