Renegade's Run Read online

  Jonas would always be watched. It was part of his contract. It amazed him that they still kept such close tabs on him, but he supposed when you were the second most powerful talent in service, people were afraid you’d renegade.

  Twenty minutes later, they stepped off the elevator onto the DoPT secure level. Jonas went through the usual checks: fingerprint, DNA imaging, and a psi scan. He gave the pup doing the scan a tweak for his grating touch.

  Jonas strode into the conference room with Markham at his heels. Baker was there, decked out in his Eseries shield. Flanking him were Childress from the DoD and Bryant from the NSA. Both had their shields on.

  That wasn’t a surprise. This face to face meeting, however, was something of a surprise. Baker didn’t want anything to do with Jonas. The head of DoPT had worn a 5000-series from his first meeting with the fourteen-year-old trainee until the Eseries prototype was developed and tested. He never took a chance with Jonas. The first production model of the Eseries was still used by Barker today.

  Markham didn’t bother with a shield. The Eseries shields were modeled after his mind. E for Evan Markham; how much safer could you get? Markham’s other talents might be weaker than most talented children, but his shields were nearly unequalled. That made him the perfect keeper for a talent like Jonas.

  Baker waved them in. “Sit down, Paige. We have a lot to discuss.”

  He took his seat across the table from them, lounging as if this meeting meant nothing to him. His senses were on high alert. Jonas had never trusted any of these men, Baker least of all. “What are you dragging me back in for?”

  “Griffin went renegade.”

  Jonas whistled a long, low note. Paul Griffin was Alpha one. Until he went renegade, he was the proven top talent with the DoPT. His renegade run meant two things. Jonas would be issued a new badge proclaiming him Alpha One on the way out of the building, and it would be his assignment to stop Paul Griffin before he did irreparable damage, before he killed someone.

  Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  Baker steepled his fingers in front of his face. “We don’t know. Maybe you can ask him.”

  “Maybe this is Griffin’s way of going into retirement. He never did like red tape.”

  Jonas reminded himself to say Griffin and not Paul. Don’t get involved: not with a victim you could lose, not with co-workers who might go renegade, and not with free agents you might have to hunt. If you can help it, don’t get involved personally with anyone. They can be used against you.

  Bryant shook his head. “He did damage on the way out. He can break an Eseries.”

  Jonas rubbed his forehead and glanced at Markham out of the corner of his eye. As usual, his keeper looked unruffled. Only Markham could look unruffled by the news that he was finally taking the same risks as everyone else.

  “Where am I going?” Jonas asked.

  Childress cleared his throat. “Pittsburgh.”

  “Why the hell has he gone there?”

  Baker scowled at the DoD agent. “He hasn’t, but you are.”

  “Shouldn’t I be after Griffin before—”

  Baker shook his head. “The DoD has decided we can’t afford to lose you to this fight. You’re the last Alpha. We need to stack the deck.”

  Jonas tightened his jaw and modulated his shield to an Eseries as Baker touched it. It was an old game between them. Jonas had no doubts that his own shield was sufficient, but he didn’t like to give Baker a lot of time examining his personal shield. Jonas’ ability to mimic other talents’ shields was what made the jump from mechanical to neuro-mechanical shields possible. If Jonas could do it, someone else could. The last thing Jonas wanted was Baker being able to mimic his shield.

  He considered what Baker had just said. He was the last Alpha on the rolls, the last true powerhouse. There was a certain pride that went along with being an Alpha. “I don’t use gimmicks.”

  “No gimmicks. We need you to recruit some reinforcements,” Baker assured him.

  A nervous tremor started in his stomach. Jonas didn’t like the sound of that any better. He rankled at the idea of backup and keepers, but recruitment was a sticky thing. The 2015 Talent Rights Act wasn’t something Jonas wanted to mess with any more than the laws for conduct were.

  “Who?” There were plenty of Alpha-class free agents on the streets, but if they weren’t in service, why try to convince them?

  Childress slid a set of files across to him. “The first two are our target recruits. The other two would be a bonus, but we’re not counting on them.”

  Jonas forced his hand to steady as he took the files from the table. He groaned aloud as he thumbed through the tabs. “You’re insane. They’re free agents. They were a Supreme Court case, the definitive case that wrote the rest of the Act. They’ll never come in on this.”

  Childress darkened, fury written on his slim face. “It’s true we’ve failed in the past—”

  “This one is hopeless.” Jonas tossed the files back. “It’s been tried at least a half dozen times.”

  Baker met his eyes. “Seventeen, to be exact.”

  Jonas laughed harshly. “What’s changed?”

  Bryant trained his cold, blue eyes on him. “You.”

  “I may be the best, but even I’m not that good.”

  “You have special attributes the others didn’t have.”

  “For instance?”

  “You get involved. Your instincts make you reach out to people.”

  Jonas felt the heat rising in his cheeks. They weren’t supposed to know that. He thought Markham was keeping that under wraps, but maybe it leaked through.

  “The others were too practiced at being detached.”

  “Who am I supposed to get close to?” Jonas shifted nervously. Operatives didn’t get close. They weren’t given assignments where they had to get close.

  A new file slid to him. Jonas broke out in a cold sweat as he took it. He flipped it open to the stats page. His eyes locked on a candid shot of a woman with long, dark hair flying around her face in a strong wind. Her blue eyes were compelling, wary even in the picture. He scanned the fact sheet. Sarah Angelique Randall was born January fifth, 2003.

  Jonas furrowed his brow and pulled Steven’s file from the stack Childress pushed back to him. Steven Christopher Randall was born January fifth, 2003. Steven had an official photo from before the courts ruled the drafting of psi talents was unconstitutional. He glared at the camera. At twelve, Steven had lived with enough hate of his captors that he had to be restrained for a simple photograph.

  Jonas rubbed his chest. He remembered the restraints.

  He looked at Baker over the files. “His twin? She saw him dragged off at twelve. They took her brothers, her cousin, and her mother from her. You think she’s going to help you? You’re nuts.”

  Bryant laughed. The sound was strangely chilling. “She doesn’t have to help us.” He gave Jonas a speculative look. “Of course, if you could convince her to allow us to fashion a new series of shield on her, there would be a substantial bonus in it for you.”

  Jonas startled and looked at her file again. “She can shield?”

  Baker cleared his throat. “It’s her only talent—we think. She’s good, Paige. She puts Markham to shame. Every time we tried to get a deeper reading, she hid behind her shield.”

  A smile touched Jonas’ lips. “In a family like that, a good shield would be her only defense.” He sobered. “If she has a shield that good, I don’t understand what you want me to do.”

  Bryant’s smile sent a chill down his spine. “The only reason you’ll be using talent is if you’re forced into it. As far as Sarah Randall is concerned, you’re going to be a normal untalented man.”

  *

  Jonas pulled one of his DoPT Tshirts out of his suitcase and threw it across the room. There’d be no need of those. They might blow his cover. A selection of his DoPT clothes, his badge and ID would be in Markham’s hands for the duration. Jonas growled in frustrat
ion as he pulled nondescript clothing from the drawers. Some were Kevlar silk lined but unmarked by the DoPT logo. He would wear a DoPT T-shirt under a jacket on the plane, but that would be turned over to Markham before they left the Greater Pittsburgh International airport.

  Get close? They don’t want me to get close. Why don’t they use the right word for it? They want me to seduce her. Jonas ground his teeth at the assignment he’d been given. He closed his eyes and visualized the picture of Sarah in her file. Jonas couldn’t imagine any man not wanting to get her into bed. Still, he wasn’t in the habit of getting laid for any cause but his libido.

  Jonas glanced at Markham. Ten years his senior, Evan already looked like an old man. His face was heavily lined, and his light brown hair had gone mostly gray in the last fifteen years.

  Markham crossed his arms over his chest. “It sucks. I know.” He sighed. “Look at it this way. You’ve picked up women in bars before. You’ve picked up women to get a room close to a subject before. It’s sex. Can you honestly say you wouldn’t like to tag that?”

  Jonas groaned. “I never lied about my reasons for getting them there. It was sex. I wasn’t sleeping with them to get something from them. Even when I needed a reason to be where I was, I still wanted laid.”

  “You’re not this time, either. Forget getting her to agree to the shield model. They want you to get her in bed with you. After that, you’re off the hook. So, you draw your paycheck to get laid.” Markham shrugged.

  Jonas stared into the suitcase as he placed the stack of clothes in. “What if I want more, Markham? We’re not supposed to get this close. They’re putting me in a bad place. What if I can’t do what they order me to do this time?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll have to resign and learn to live as free agents.”

  Jonas smiled. “We?” This was the Evan he’d known for the last six years, not the agent who had cameras on him but the one who knew him better than anyone without the cameras.

  “You’ve seen me slip often enough. You know my mind. Where you go, I go. You know that.”

  “You want out of this mess, don’t you?”

  “Don’t you?”

  Jonas sighed. That was a dangerous question, especially when he was so tired. He decided a change of subject was in order.

  “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve tried to pick up a woman?”

  Markham laughed heartily. “Seven months, eighteen days, and two hours. I checked in the SUV. Her name was Susie, and you got laid twice that night. Slow night for you.”

  Jonas stifled a laugh and threw another of his DoPT tshirts at him. “I’ll take your word for it. Hope I’m not rusty.”

  “You’re good at what you do. You always have been.”

  Jonas turned back to the dresser to hide his expression. He wasn’t sure that was what he wanted anymore.

  Chapter Two

  February 15th

  Sarah Randall locked the door to the store and pocketed the keys. It had been a long day, and she was more than ready for bed. Home was only fourteen blocks away, and the evening was cold but clear. She straightened the collar of her peacoat against her neck and started walking.

  Steven would have a fit if he knew she was walking. He’d demand that she wait for the bus at the corner. Sarah smiled and added a little extra power to her shield. Steven wasn’t here.

  For the first three blocks, she reveled in the air on her face. Sarah shivered as she felt the first probe against her shield. She slowed and looked around. Someone was hidden in the darkness, a talent—possibly a renegade.

  She considered her options. There was deserted street for one block ahead and two blocks back. She sped up. There were people as you got further onto the main strip and homes a few blocks further up.

  She sucked in her breath, as a man stepped out in front of her. He was about six feet tall, but she couldn’t tell much more about him between his oversized coat, knit hat, and the dim light that seemed to disappear into the blackness of the trees beside them.

  Sarah felt the spike of pain as he tried to punch through her shield. She pushed away her panic long enough to slam her shields up fully. Usually, she didn’t bother, but this renegade was stronger than the usual. He knew what he was doing. Most of them didn’t. Most of them let a little talent go to their heads and soon discovered what they were dealing with quick enough. This one was different. He was no two-bit hood.

  The man furrowed his brow then smiled and pulled out a knife. “Fine with me, sweetheart. You want to do this the hard way. I can do it the hard way.”

  Sarah pulled out her wallet and tossed it to him. Renegades were easy to handle and unarmed muggers weren’t much harder, but she didn’t tangle with weapons. Mac had taught her better than that. “Take it. It’s all yours.”

  He pocketed the wallet and took a step toward her. He scanned his eyes over Sarah. “Thanks, but that wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

  She took a step back reflexively. Why the hell didn’t I wait for that bus? If she survived this, Mac and her brothers, Steven and Alex, were going to kill her.

  As he closed on her, Sarah considered her options. He was a renegade. That meant he had nothing left to lose. She was fighting for her life now. It was time to pull out the tricks Mac and the guys taught her and hope for the best. If this renegade knew how to defend himself physically, she was in a world of hurt. Her hand-to-hand had always been weak.

  Sarah took him on head on. He was surprised but only for a moment. He blocked her blow and knocked her into the light pole behind her. Flashes of light exploded before her as Sarah hit the ground. For one agonizing moment, she locked on the moonlight glinting off the knife blade. Something blocked her field of vision, and everything went black.

  *

  Sarah groaned as she moved her head against the pillow.

  “Are you okay?”

  She held her breath as her heart took up a frantic rhythm. She didn’t know that voice. Sarah searched her memories for some explanation and grasped at the memory of the man with the knife. It wasn’t his voice either, the man who attacked her. This voice was deeper, warmer.

  Sarah snapped her shield up and curled into a ball on the bed. From the sheets against her cheek, she knew it wasn’t her bed she was in. She had jersey cotton knit. As much as she wanted to know who he was and where she was, she was afraid to open her eyes.

  She could contact Steven, if she never wanted to hear the end of this. No, that definitely wasn’t an option. Wherever she was and whatever was going on, Sarah had to get herself out of it.

  “Sarah, are you okay?” His hand touched her shoulder.

  Sarah scrambled away from him, pushing her back against the headboard and striking out blindly as her eyes adjusted to the light in the room. She blinked several times, taking in the man standing next to the bed. He was tall and broad-shouldered. His black hair curled over his forehead, nearly reaching his deep brown eyes. His hands were up in a calming gesture.

  “It’s all right, Sarah. I won’t hurt you.”

  She shook her head. “How—”

  A blush came up on his cheeks. He pulled her wallet from his back pocket and reached his hand out to her with it. “I took the liberty of getting your wallet back for you. Check it. Everything’s there.”

  Sarah took it from him slowly. “Why did you help me?”

  He shrugged. “You needed help.”

  “Where are we?”

  “My apartment.”

  She moved further away on the bed, automatically searching for an exit.

  “It was close. We weren’t exactly inconspicuous, and I didn’t think you’d want to have your name tacked to that renegade. Things should be calmed down now. I’ll take you home or call someone for you.”

  Sarah got to her feet and pulled her coat on, shoving her wallet in the deep pocket. Steven would be worried sick. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “No.” If Steven sees me with
— “Who are you?”

  “Jonas Paige. Look, either I’m walking you the last six blocks home, calling you a cab, or calling someone for you. Which is it?”

  “Thank you, Jonas, but—”

  He stepped in front of Sarah, as she moved toward the door. “Which one? You’re not leaving here alone.”

  Sarah looked up at him, swallowing a lump in her throat. She didn’t have time to wait for a cab. Steven would have half the force out looking for her soon. She had no choice. She nodded. “Okay. Come on.” She glanced at her watch and groaned. “Steven is going to kill me.” He would have felt the assault on her shield. There was no doubt about that.

  Jonas fell into step beside her, pulling on a coat from the hook beside the door. He wrapped his arm around Sarah when she weaved on the stairs and pulled her to his side as they reached the street. “So, who is Steven?”

  “One of my brothers. He—expected me home over an hour ago.”

  Jonas laughed, and Sarah moved further into the warmth of his body.

  “He’s protective of you?”

  “Extremely.” And it’s about to get worse. “How did you take on that renegade?”

  “E-shield. Without his psi talents, he wasn’t much of a fighter.”

  Sarah glanced up at the skin-tone disk behind his ear. She read his shield, scanning it for continuity. It was an Eseries. As she expected, Jonas didn’t notice her check. She was glad neuro-mechanicals didn’t alert the owner to checks like that. Then again, only Steven could tell when she was doing it. Maybe no one else could.

  “Is he…” she hedged.

  “Yes. Does that bother you? It was him or us.” Jonas looked away, but she saw the blush spread down his neck.

  “No. I guess you didn’t have a choice, and it’s not illegal if you kill a renegade in defense, is it?”

  He shook his head.

  Sarah liked that he wasn’t happy about what he had done. Some people would be boasting about killing a talent. Jonas seemed upset about it.

  “Sarah?” Jonas glanced at her. “This is going to sound really tacky.”