Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“He got away with murder because he had time to plan it,” Adam said, “but he doesn’t think fast on his feet.”
He’d witnessed that himself while in the air one day.
A child had run across Main Street without looking, while Jocasta Whitten and Hendricks had both been nearby. It was Hendricks who’d been facing the child, but it was Whitten who’d sprung into action to grab the boy off the street—while Hendricks blinked indecisively.
Adam had seen that because he’d landed by then, having dived the instant he saw the child step onto the street.
“I think you’re right,” Beaufort said. “Man never did react well to unexpected changes. I should’ve known something was up when he was so calm and helpful after we found the chief. Even offering to go in and tidy up. Christ.”
Bram spoke again. “It’s not your fault. Psychopaths have the ability to wear a mask so well that no one sees beneath. Nice, quiet neighbor, would’ve never thought it was him. Sound familiar?”
“Yeah.” But from the tone of the other man’s voice, it’d take him time to get his head around the fact that one of his deputies had been murdering women while working under him.
Spying the entrance to the Canyon garage up ahead, Adam ended the call soon afterward. “You claustrophobic?”
“No. Why?”
“We’re going to go deep,” he said, and drove straight through the garage to a large roller door on the other side that stayed shut most of the time.
Today, it was up, with two falcon soldiers on guard outside it.
“Close it behind me,” he told the women as he passed.
It was already being rolled down as they passed through.
“This was built as a winged escape tunnel during the Territorial Wars,” Adam told Bram, “but my grandmother had it enlarged to fit vehicles.”
“Impressive.”
“My wing-second, Dahlia, put Hendricks in the deepest part of the Canyon, the farthest possible spot from any unshielded human minds.” She’d also offered to interrogate the male on the subject of the other possible victims, but Adam wasn’t about to put that on her.
Some things, a wing leader had to shoulder.
He drove on through the unlit tunnel, his headlights making the minerals in the rock sparkle. “Until today, I never truly understood the vulnerability humans live with on a daily basis.”
Unlike changelings, most humans had no natural shields, and thus just had to trust the Psy around them not to violate their minds. “That takes incredible strength.”
Bram nodded. “Give them a shield and humans could rise to become the most powerful of the three races—they’ve been honed by centuries upon centuries of forced sheer, blind courage.”
“My sister’s trying to come up with a solution for Eleri’s shields,” Adam said as he navigated a tight corner with care. “If it works, it might work for humans, too.”
“An artificial shield for Psy?” Bram sat up straighter. “Has she liaised with the people working on a human shield?”
Adam’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. “Are they ahead of the curve? Will they help with Eleri?”
“No,” Bram said after a pause. “No, I think it’s better your sister works in isolation. All attempts at artificial shields so far have failed. Better she start from a clean slate.”
All attempts at artificial shields so far have failed.
The headlights caught Dahlia waiting for them beside the small chamber where she’d stashed Hendricks. Leaving the rugged vehicle where it was, Adam turned off the lights and allowed their eyes to adjust to the more muted glow provided by the electric lantern in Dahlia’s hand.
“What’s he doing?” Adam asked after he and Bram joined her.
“I have two people inside with him at all times and they say he’s basically either raving at them, threatening their lives, or trying to sweet-talk them into letting him go.” Dahlia’s upper lip curled. “Man is batshit, but he definitely understood what he was doing and that it was wrong. No fucking insanity plea for him if we decide to let him out to face the courts.”
“Any luck tracing his bloodline?”
A hard shake of the head. “He was surrendered by his birth mother at a hospital—literally left in the bassinet they keep there for that purpose. No record of who she was, or his paternal line. Dead end.
“Don’t feel too sorry for him, though—folks who fostered him that night ended up adopting him. They’re genuinely nice people and you know I don’t make that judgment lightly. They have two other adopted children who turned into caring adults. One teaches kindergarten; the other’s a paramedic who volunteers at homeless shelters in his off time.”
She paused, her expression torn. “No signs of abuse from external forces during his childhood, though I guess no one would know if he didn’t talk. Not that it would excuse any of what he did, but at least it’d be a reason instead of Hendricks just being born wrong. I don’t like saying that about any child.”