Deadly Genesis (Boomers Book 2) (9 page)

“I’d like to do another MRI, and an EEG, study the readouts, and maybe even a CT Scan. The chelation therapy seems to have worked. All the metal is out of your system. But there’s still a chance for neurological damage. Is Simon still holding you together?” Like a bucket full of icy water, the question dampened her enthusiasm and her ardor.

Are you?
She wasn’t sure.

Yes. Partially. Your mind is still healing. I’m not sure how much of it is physiological or cognitive. I’m—
His mental voice sounded almost embarrassed.
I’m not an expert on the brain.

“Simon isn’t sure if the issues are physiological or cognitive.” What issues? Would she need Simon to hold her together forever? Was she Humpty Dumpty, broken forever?

Amanda…

No, I’m a big girl. Don’t try to coddle me. Let’s see if the vaunted neuro-doc can fix me.
She sucked her lip between her teeth. Ilsa’s expression turned studious and introspective. “So how do we determine which?”

“We start physiologically. We do the scans. We work it by the numbers. Eliminate all issues—”

Holding up her hand, Amanda asked for silence from the doctor’s analysis. “Ilsa, woman to woman, if it’s physiological—what are the chances that I can heal? That I can survive on my own?”

The doctor’s silence was answer enough. She wrapped the stethoscope around her neck and sighed. “You can’t think that way. First, we have to know. Speculating right now is just that, speculation. You can’t rush a brain injury. But, that said, brain injuries can be overcome. Survival rates increase every day the more we learn. Patience is necessary.”

“I’m not the most patient person.” She swung her legs off the bed and stood. “I don’t like being cooped up. At least with Simon holding me together, maybe I can head out for a bit? You know, get some air?”

No.

“Not a good idea.”

Simon’s mental rebuke, and Ilsa’s verbal one echoed the same hurried sentiment.

We do not know if your captors are still hunting you.
“We don’t know the extent of your injuries yet. It could do more harm than good.”

Amanda sat back down on the edge of the bed. “Fine.” Defeat rippled through her, and she shied away from the sympathy in Simon. “I want to shower, and then you can run all the tests you want.”

“Okay. We have one down here. Would you like me to grab you a change of clothes?” Ilsa touched a hand to her shoulder and squeezed it. Her bedside manner was outstanding, but Amanda shrugged off the contact.

“That would be great.” She pasted on a smile. “You know something low cut and sexy. At least if I am going to go nuts, I can look good doing it.”

Amanda…I’m coming down.

She shook her head.
Don’t. Just leave me alone in my pity party. I’ll be fine.
It wasn’t a lie. She intended to be fine.

Hell, she would be better than fine. She would be amazing. And then she was going to light a bitch up when they tracked down the minds behind her incarceration. Her head ached and Simon’s disapproval echoed, but she retreated from it. Dragging up her oomph, she headed for the shower. At least she got laid.

There were worse ways to start the day.

She faked the false cheer all the way through the shower. Hot water and a good shampoo helped transform her mood. Shaving her legs was just a kindness. Not that she planned on taking advantage of her mental guardian again. She believed in faking it until a body could make it. She had done the same thing when she’d moved to The Program. The boarding school idea sounded fantastic on paper—moving away from parental authority, living nearer to a big city and having a roommate her own age—all perks she embraced until the day she arrived. The mixture of homesick melancholy and loneliness had surprised the hell out of her.

But she didn’t know who to confide in. Her roommate was a hellraiser, so she just played along. The trouble she and Rory got into… Amanda’s lips quirked into a smile, and she rinsed the soap from her hair. At least those memories were still intact. Toweling off, she studied herself in the mirror. She had lost weight.

A lot of it. The hollows around her ribs seemed worrisome.
Did my breasts shrink?
They seemed smaller somehow.

I thought they were rather perfect.
Simon’s voice drifted through her mind like a lazy caress.

He’d lavished attention to them, and just thinking about it hardened her nipples. Scowling at the mirror, she finished drying and brushed her hair. The blue needed a touch up in more than one place. But somehow the color stayed in—

How the fuck did that happen?

What?
Alertness sharpened his tone.

My hair. I color it. You didn’t think it was blue naturally, right?
She didn’t wait for his response.
It’s still mostly blue. My roots aren’t that bad. But if they had me for months, shouldn’t it have grown out more?

He didn’t answer. Course, what would he know about coloring hair? She sorted through the stack of clothes Ilsa brought her, choosing shorts, a sports bra and a tank top. She might get cold, but at least she’d look good doing it. Still brushing her hair, she walked out to find Ilsa.

Maybe the doc could explain the hair color issue. Because if she’d had time to color her hair in the last few months, what the hell else had she done?

“We work and travel in pairs, more if we can manage it. The surveillance at Ilsa’s apartment has been upped. Drake and Rex followed a division of the soldiers from the warehouse district into Manhattan. They are performing a grid search.” Michael tapped the table and brought up a layout of the island of Manhattan. “They are working their way up from the lower east side and continuing through midtown. They tagged at least four of their SUVs, if the other ten they weren’t able to tag are working in direct concert…” The screen illuminated color corridors through the streets, a different shade for each vehicle.

“So why up the ante for the search now? We pulled her out days ago.” As if to reassure himself, Simon slid his mental attention sideways. He tried to occupy as little of her mental real estate as possible, tucking himself into a comfortable corner and keeping the fragile landscape intact. The strain required a certain amount of vigilance, but he didn’t mind. She was undergoing the MRI—his lips quirked. She was also bored.

Do-re-me-fa-so-la-ti! Doe, a deer, a female deer. Ray, a drop of golden sun…
Swallowing a smile, he focused his attention on Michael and Garrett.

“Maybe they aren’t looking for her.” Garrett tapped a gloved finger to the warehouse district. “We know they pulled some of their scientists in here. They’ve got it layered in security, and now they are doing patrols and sweeps. Maybe they’re not looking for escapees, but fresh targets.”

A gong went off inside Michael, the audible ratcheting of a bullet being loaded into a chamber of his mind. “They’re looking for Rory’s team.”

“Could be, but they’re—” Simon swept the house. Rory, Josh and Curtis weren’t in the residence. “Where the hell are they?”

“An incident in Stuytown. They left thirty minutes ago.” Michael pulled out a phone and dialed. Simon divided his internal focus, tucking Amanda back further from the worry eating through him, and he reached toward the city. He could track Rory—her ties to Michael and her time with them were enough of a leap.

He skimmed the edge of her mind, avoiding the chaotic whirl of her thoughts, the data her mind could process flitting past like a film stuck in fast-forward. He located Josh and leaped from Rory’s thoughts to Josh’s—the man’s mind was more disciplined, easier to see through and he was fighting a fire. A large fire raged through the upper level of one of the apartment buildings. Rory worked her way through ahead of the firefighters, pulling people out.

Peeking through Josh’s eyes, he saw no sign of their black-garbed hunters. “They’re fine. So far.” He pulled away from Josh and reached for Drake. The strongman welcomed him with a mental ping.
Rory and her team are in Stuytown. Some kind of fire. Back them up and keep an eye out in case those hunters are trolling for another hero to grab.

Drake acknowledged and Simon switched tracks back to Rory’s team. She was in the thick of the black smoke. It occluded her vision, but she didn’t slow down. A door shattered inward and she found a woman collapsed on the floor. Simon spared her a thought. She was alive. Rory picked her up and headed back to the stairs. She encountered a firefighter on the fourth floor, and he took the woman in hand.

Rory went back up.
Dammit, Rory, you’re going to give Michael a heart attack.

Fuck me, don’t do that, Simon.
The mental exclamation surged with electrical activity and he withdrew from the mental storm of data rolling in.
I’m busy.
She tuned him out, her attention elsewhere. He left off and searched the area for Curtis. The earth bending freak wasn’t inside Rory’s building but two over. He ripped open the earth between the buildings and sent it rippling up—a firebreak. The fire was on the upper levels, so he built the wall until it stood as high as the structure.

“She’s not picking up.” Worry tightened Michael’s voice.

“She’s preoccupied, but she’s safe.” He continued his mental leapfrog. The three were split apart, but worked in perfect precision. A collapsing roof showered sparks and flaming debris at Rory, but a hard breeze sucked the air away from it, extinguishing the flames as she pressed on. Her white uniform was sooty black, her face smudged. But she’d switched to a rebreather, protecting her lungs from the smoke.

Curtis smothered the flames on the roof with showers of dirt and the firefighters poured water onto the blaze. Nothing was out of place—but Curtis’ gaze swept over a black figure and Simon nudged his mind to glance back once more. Recognizing the uniform, Simon diverted immediately to Drake and gave Curtis a push to change his location. If they kept moving, it made them harder targets to take down.

“Easy, Michael, Simon’s tracking them. Look at his hands.” Garrett’s voice drifted over him, but Simon shut it down. He was dividing his attention in too many directions and he needed all of his focus. Drake and Rex were still there, blocks away. No black-garbed figures seemed to be near Rory, but it was damn hard to see, and she was almost to the roof, having evacuated two more smoke inhalation victims. Josh soared higher and started windmilling the water from one of the more powerful hoses, spreading its effectiveness against another outbreak on the lee side of the building.

On the other roof—
Simon sent the warning.
Three men in black, armed and they are watching you. Avoid contact.

Josh’s mental jerk wavered his control, and he plummeted a couple of feet before he caught himself up. He spun and saw the men. Anger flashed through his mind.
Who are they?

Do not engage.
Simon repeated the order, but Josh already made the connection.
Drake, Josh is the target and he’s airborne.

Almost there…
They weren’t close enough. Josh swooped toward the roof. Weapons glinted in their hands.

Rory.
Simon cut his attention to fifths, stretching his capacity. It was a calculated risk—one Michael wouldn’t appreciate. But he shut down that concern, since he didn’t have time to process it.
Josh is in danger. Three men, west side roof. Fifteen meters from your position, up and over.

He didn’t have to tell her twice. She raced up the stairs and burst out onto the crumbling and damaged roof. She dashed across the broken tiles and cracked concrete, hitting the edge of the building and flinging herself across the gap. Her mind calculated the distance, the speed needed and the angle of lift. She landed in a roll and slammed right into the first man.

Curtis rose up on a boulder and the door behind the men shattered open. Drake charged, hitting another three attackers Simon hadn’t seen.

Six.
Josh plummeted, his mind winking out. The drag sucked Simon into a vortex, but he took control of his abilities, fighting to keep Josh from hitting the street below.

Drugs.

Warning all of them, he divided his focus, spotting the soldier taking aim at Rory and paralyzing his mind. He held his fingers rigid so he couldn’t pull the trigger. Sweat slicked his face and began to drip down his back. More men appeared along with a helicopter.

It was a trap.

An explosion rolled under his feet and jerked Simon back to the present. He whirled. Garrett and Michael were already racing from the room.

Amanda…
Simon staggered.

Amanda hadn’t been this bored in years. Lying still while the MRI clinked and clanged and banged around her left her more restless than ever. The doc offered her some earphones and music, but choosing show tunes hadn’t been her brightest idea. The
Sound of Music
hummed in her ears, and she sang along with it. Of all the times for Simon to not be in a chatty mood. She could totally have gone for some mental sex.

Could he do mental sex?

The idea sparked shivers of anticipation beneath her skin. How did one propose such a mental exercise? Simon’s amusement brushed her, but it was more of an absent pat than any real attention. In her mind, she could almost see him looking away—his attention was focused elsewhere. Not for the first time, she wished she could see what he saw, that she could look into his mind as he looked into hers. She gave a nudge, but he didn’t answer.

Sighing, she stopped an automatic stretch. How long did an MRI take anyway? She couldn’t even ask, not with the music blaring away in her head. The hills were alive and all that rot, but it wasn’t doing much for her. Closing her eyes, she wandered around the rocky hill with its sprouts of green grass. Kicking a pebble to the side, she glanced at Simon’s turned back and frowned. He was almost translucent, as if he was there, but not really.