The cop wasn’t gentle as he cinched the handcuffs on my wrists.
Despite the fact that I was bloody and beaten, they arrested me and not the family or priest. I couldn’t really blame them. Between my attire, smell, and size, how could they believe that I was the victim?
Who would have believed that a priest had tried to strangle me?
I didn’t bother trying to explain what happened. No one would buy a story about mind control and terrorists. Smith could sort that out for me.
The police officers were confused as hell. They marched me through the graveyard, asking me questions that I didn’t bother answering. We went past the overturned tractor-trailer. No one understood what it had to do with anything.
Watered-down blood seeped out from under the dented metal of the trailer.
The driver had climbed out of the left door of the cab, which now faced the sky. I heard him trying to explain why he’d driven into the cemetery. The officers didn’t know that the bodies under the trailer were federal agents.
“I can’t explain it,” the driver said. Deep lines ran in his forehead as he stared at the truck. “I just felt like I had to drive in here. I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. My mind would think ‘Hit the brakes!’ But my foot pushed on the gas instead.”
The cops cuffed him too. Poor bastard.
Another officer slopped through the muck, coming straight at me, his face set and hard. The man was stocky, his barrel chest coming from genetics rather than the iron game. His metal name tag read Long. His mind told me his first name was James. “What the fuck happened here?”
“I couldn’t explain it in a way that would make sense to you,” I said.
“Looks to me like you crashed a funeral and picked a fight with the wrong family.” The open contempt with which he looked at me told me just as much as his thoughts.
The more I tried to help people lately, the more screwed up my life became.
“And how does that explain the truck?” I asked.
“Fuck if I know.” Long gestured to the cop behind me. “Get him the hell out of here. We’ll have a little chat about this later on, sweetheart.”
My head hurt like a son of a bitch.
Got my ass kicked by The Brady Bunch.
As they shoved me in the back of a cruiser, I kept waiting for the helicopter to come back, for Smith to arrive. Murdock had escaped and their best chance of finding him, me, was being taken to a concrete cell.
They never came.
Half an hour later, I was sitting on a bench in the holding area of the jail, studying the odd mixture of blood and mud covering every square inch of my body. The exertion of the fight had me sweating buckets in the squad car, which reeked of booze.
Portable toilets smelled better than I did.
The other people in the large cell stayed clear of me, crowding together on the other benches. There weren’t many of them because it was only midafternoon. There were a few drunks, a handful of thieves, and one guy who decided to steal money from his employer’s bank account.
No murderers or rapists, fortunately. Reliving their memories would have made me strangle them, and I was in enough trouble already.
I spent most of the time staring at my hands. Did they have more blood on them? I couldn’t tell. Six agents died in that cemetery. I ran through every possible scenario, torturing myself as I tried to think of a way I could have saved them. Having an extraordinary ability also gave me an inordinate amount of guilt if I couldn’t help someone.
Smith only sending six men still weighed on me. They knew how dangerous Murdock was, yet they only had half a dozen people rushing in to contain him. Why not use a sniper and take him out from range?
The puzzles pieces weren’t fitting.
And why could Murdock access the minds of Smith’s men and I couldn’t? Was his power so advanced that he could break through mental defenses that I couldn’t even dent? That didn’t bode well for me.
Drew stepped in front of the cell shortly thereafter. His bald head reflected the light from the ceiling, making him shiny. He looked like Mr. Clean.
“What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” His suit was as immaculate as ever. Drew didn’t like things to be messy or disheveled—basically the opposite of me. “Why do you look like you entered a demolition derby, but forgot that you had to use a car?”
I walked up to the bars, thankful to see a familiar face. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
He crossed his arms. “Try anyway.”
“Can you get me out of here first? I’m a sitting duck in here.”
“A sitting duck? For who, the government?”
“Yeah, and… someone else. Someone worse.”
Drew’s frown deepened. “No such thing as someone worse than the government, you know that. Once they get on your ass, they don’t stop.”
“Believe me. If the guy I was chasing finds out I’m in here, I’m a dead man. You gotta get me out of here.”
“The officer at the front desk said that you assaulted a family in a cemetery. Color me confused.”
“They attacked me.”
“A family.”
“Yeah. Kicked the shit out of me too. Maybe literally, I haven’t checked my underwear yet.”
“That would explain the smell.”
“Are you going to get me out of here or not?”
Drew sighed. “Do you know how much heat you’re bringing down on me? I actually have a job. If I spend my time babysitting you, then I don’t get to my caseload.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is my involvement in trying to catch the senator’s murderer an inconvenience to you?” I squeezed the bars in my hands, holding back my frustration as best I could. I didn’t want to spill everything that had happened yet. There were too many ears around.
Drew’s eyes narrowed. “The senator’s murderer? He committed suicide. You were really adamant about that point earlier.”
I held his gaze, staying quiet.
After several seconds, Drew said, “Let me see what I can do. I know one of the detectives in this precinct.” He disappeared through a metal door, leaving me to stew in the cell.
The other inmates watched as I paced around. Why hadn’t Smith’s goons come to spring me out of jail yet? Murdock got away, why wouldn’t they come get me?
The appearance of their headquarters still bothered me. The industrial, civilian look of it didn’t ring true. Something was off there. My hands scratched at my shoulder again. I really wanted to get my hands on those bastards who grabbed me from the street.
No one stabbed me with a needle and got away with it.
Mr. Embezzler watched me over wire-rimmed glasses. The man couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet.
He’s so big. He’d fold me in half like a pretzel and have his way with me. Why, oh why did I think I could get away with taking Mike’s money? God, if you get me out of this, I’ll spend the rest of my life doing the right things. I can’t survive in here.
I gave him a wink as I walked by.
The color drained from his face.
Drew came back a few minutes later. “Good news—the family isn’t going to press charges. They’re confused about the whole thing. No one upfront understands what happened, but they’re going to release you into my custody after they ask you some more questions. It’ll take an hour or two to get you through the system.”
I stopped by the bars again, frowning. “I don’t know that I have an hour or two.”
“You really did fall into some shit here, didn’t you?”
“Deep shit.”
“I just pulled a ton of strings to get you out of here. I’m not sure that I can get anymore favors.”
“Drew,” I said, leaning in, lowering my voice. “There are other people like me.”
“Assholes?”
“I’m suddenly trying to figure out why we’re friends.”
“Because I’m your only friend. Mind readers? Is that what you’re saying?”
I nodded, looking around to make sure no one could hear us. “One of them can control people. That’s why the family attacked me in the cemetery and why the senator shot himself. If he finds out that I’m here, everyone in this building is as good as dead.”
“He can control your actions?” Drew’s voice grew louder.
“Yeah. I watched him make people jump out of the windows of a government building.”
“Are you talking about the mass suicide that happened at the Cyber Crimes Center?” Drew shook his head. “You’re telling me that this guy made an entire group of people kill themselves? No way.”
“It’s not that big a leap from what I can do.”
“It’s a quantum leap.”
“Fine, it’s Quantum Leap. I’ll call Scott Bakula for help as soon as you get my ass out of here.”
The people sitting on the benches stirred as they overhead our conversation. They’d already assumed I was nuts. Our little powwow cemented their suspicions. Mr. Embezzler was focusing on not pissing his pants as he cringed away from me.
Drew started back to the door again. “Look, I’ll go try to sweet talk the people taking care of your paperwork, but I can’t be sure that it’ll work.” He disappeared again.
I resumed my pacing. Too much time had passed while I sat in the cell. At this point, I didn’t want Smith or any of his crew to come get me. If they came now, after letting me talk to how many other people, then they probably weren’t going to grant me my freedom.
In fact, they might want to take me out too.
I knew a hell of a lot about them now.
Too much for them to let me sit through a few police interrogations.
Drew came back yet again, but this time he had Officer Long in tow. The man had practically spit on me when we talked at the cemetery.
“—no goddamn way. You aren’t taking him out of here, period. I don’t care if you banged Officer Perkins last year. She and I will have a little discussion about that later.” Long fixed his gaze on me. “I’ve got your ass for seventy-two hours, Princess. I don’t give a shit if that family refuses to press charges—I want to know what the fuck happened in that cemetery. You hear me?”
Drew held up a hand. “Look, goddamn it, I already told you that I’m a detective. We’re on the same side here—”
“You know how many shits I give that you’re a detective?”
“I’m guessing not many.” Drew pointed at me. “This man is a veteran with a Distinguished Service Cross and a Purple Heart. He’s not some piece of dirt criminal. He won’t—”
“He can shove those medals up his ass for all I care. My job is to protect the people in my district and by God, that’s what I’m going to do. He was there, he was fighting, and he knows what the fuck is going on around here.”
“By keeping me here, you might be putting all of these people in danger.” I swept my hand around the cell behind me.
The embezzler’s bladder was reaching critical mass.
“Is that a threat, you smarmy piece of—?”
The Bridge formed in my mind, blotting out Officer Long’s words.
I staggered back on wobbly legs and collapsed onto one of the benches, cradling my head in my hands.
Murdock cackled. I’m here to deliver an Asher Benson Special Delivery.
Shook my head, cleared the cobwebs.
Long stood ramrod straight, cheeks twitching. He reached for his pistol.
“What are you doing?” Drew asked.
“Murdock’s here!” I found my feet again. “He’s in Long’s head!”
Drew frowned at me. “What? Who?”
Long pulled his pistol from its holster, raised it. Aimed at my chest.
“Shit!” Drew lunged at him, shoving his arm away as the pistol barked.
The crack was deafening in the cell. Without carpet or furniture to mute the blast, the sound amplified, stabbing at my ears.
Mr. Embezzler stalked forward, his small hands balled into fists.
Nothing funny to say, Benson? Murdock laughed again. Do you speak dickheadese now?
The other inmates stood from their benches, muscles taut, posture unnaturally straight. I counted six of them. They varied in size and levels of physical fitness, but they had the numbers to put me six feet under.
Drew fell to the ground, scrambling for possession of the gun with Long.
It fired again. I cupped my ears against the pain, gritting my teeth.
Mr. Embezzler drew near, tiny fists rearing back.
I dropped him with a punch to the nose.
Cartilage crunched under my knuckles.
He sprawled backward, landing at the feet of the other men, tripping two of them. The others kept coming. Their eyes betrayed their actions. The last thing they wanted to do was pick a fight with the large, rank, crazy man.
Drew cursed as Long drove an elbow into his forehead.
Another prisoner approached. He was larger and fatter, with hands like a catcher’s mitt. I doubted he was stronger than I was, but he had a lot of bulk to throw around. I circled right, getting a row of metal benches between us.
As he threw one leg over the seat, I dropped to a knee and gave him an uppercut to the crotch.
His face went beet-red, eyes ovals of surprise. I wondered if the top of his head might pop off. He fell over, hands cradling his groin.
Ask and you shall receive, I thought. Your special delivery is on the way, Murcock.
The cackling in my head died down, replaced by a building fury.
Drew had rolled on top of Long and was throwing heavy punches at the cop’s face. Three in a row landed before Long went still on the cold concrete. Small groans escaped his open, bleeding mouth.
“Jesus Christ.” Drew sat back and watched through the bars as the other prisoners circled around me.
He scrambled for Long’s gun.
“No,” I said. “Don’t shoot them. They aren’t in control of themselves.”
“But—”
“Just get me out of here! How many times do I have to say it?”
A tall, skinny, malnourished drug addict came at me next. I latched onto his mind with my own, letting my consciousness wrap around his.
That made three of us in his head. It was getting crowded.
I felt his scrambling thoughts as they wallowed under the oppressive control of Murdock. He resisted the foreign programming, striving to regain his own motor skills, but he couldn’t overpower Murdock.
For a moment, I wondered if I could negate the control with my own ability. We had to get out of here before more cops with guns came back and turned me into Swiss cheese. There wasn’t any time to experiment.
I had to deal with the men closing in on me.
My telepathy gave me an unfair advantage in fights.
Most people thought about what they were going to do before they acted. They envisioned throwing a hook or a jab. I’d excelled in my boxing because I was always one step ahead. I knew what was coming. They thought it, and then I countered.
Was it cheating? Yeah. Did I give a shit? No.
The skinny man prepared to throw a looping, overhand right. Unfortunately for him, no one outside of Chuck Liddell could land that punch.
I stepped left, bending at the knees and waist.
Swung a hard hook at his side.
Connected with a liver shot that would have dropped King Kong.
His legs buckled and he fell to the floor in a heap, his body not responding to Murdock’s commands.
A solid blow to the liver was one of the most debilitating strikes you could land. Skinny would be out of commission for a good half a minute, but he’d be fine after that. The effects, while devastating, were only temporary.
Drew searched Long’s pockets. “I’ve got his keys.”
“Hey, take your time. It’s not like I’m fighting off a goddamn mob or anything.”
The next man that reached me was in decent shape, but he’d never been in a fight in his life. His movements were clumsy and stilted as he tried to get a hold of me. The wedding ring on his finger gave me pause. I really didn’t want to hurt these people.
I kept circling the benches, using them as natural barriers.
Gunshots barked from another room.
Drew looked at the closed door leading to the rest of the building. “Now what?”
I didn’t answer as I threw another combination, dropping the married man with a jab and a cross. His teeth sliced into the skin covering my knuckles.
It hurt like hell.
I squeezed the hand into a tight fist as I retreated toward the cell door. Blood pattered the floor, snaking a trail that the final two men followed.
Drew sifted through the keys. “I don’t know which one it is. Hell, he might not even have the key to this door.”
“I don’t want to hear—”
The words caught in my throat when I saw Drew’s body stiffen. The keys fell from his hands.
He brushed the bottom of his jacket back and reached for the pistol holstered on his hip.
Killed by a friend. Poetic, isn’t it?
I reached through the bars with my sliced hand and grabbed Drew’s tie. My blood stained his blue dress shirt.
I put my other hand against the door and yanked back as hard as I could.
Drew lurched forward. His head slammed against the bars. The focus left his eyes as he slid to the floor.
Arms wrapped around my shoulders, dragging me away. My grip on the door tore free as an elbow drove into my wrist. Agony shot up my forearm.
The last two men, both nondescript and reeking of booze, threw me to the floor. They kicked at my sore ribs, sending bolts of pain across my chest.
I kicked low and hard, catching one of them in the ankle. He cried out and stumbled back, the joint struggling to hold his weight. He wanted to bend over and hold his ankle, but Murdock tightened his grip on the man’s mind. He grimaced as he came at me again.
I slid away from them until my back hit a wall. I used it to get back to my feet.
Three more gunshots came from somewhere else in the station. Closer this time.
Someone screamed.
The men came for me. The first dove at me in an attempted tackle. I sidestepped and let him run headfirst into the wall. His body went limp, and he was out of the fight.
The second caught me in the eye with a good punch. My vision went black for a second as I staggered sideways. I’d been punched in the face a lot over the past six months, so I recovered quickly and landed a hard hook, which sent him sprawling.
I angled my way back to the door.
Mr. Embezzler stood by the far wall, his nose tilted at an unnatural angle. Blood coursed over his lips, staining his shirt and trousers. He started toward me again.
The others stirred as Murdock forced them to keep fighting.
I feinted a kick at the nearest man’s crotch.
He dropped his hands to cover up his boys.
I caught him with a teeth-rattling uppercut.
Spun around, reached through the bars.
Grabbed the keys.