Mind Thief Read online

  Quinn sighed and eased off the accelerator. She could see his point. Sort of. Although they were out in the open desert, where few dared to tread. And safety? Hell, that wasn’t an issue. She knew how to drive a dune buggy, and even if the occasional rollover took place, the buggy was equipped to handle it and keep them safe. Wyatt wouldn’t have told her to slow down. He’d have pushed her to go faster. Then again, Wyatt was dead.

  It was a beautiful night. The late-night hour and leaving the concrete jungle of El Diablo had cooled the air to something downright pleasant. Out here, there was nothing to store heat and radiate it back to them, other than the sandy desert floor. The stars were out too, with no light pollution to obscure them.

  But this was no joyride. This was work. They were heading to the desert escape of one Hector Olmos and his family. Like many of the highest-level power players in El Diablo, Olmos had a place outside the city, where only the wealthiest could afford to drill deep enough to reach water and afford the generated power to keep the air conditioning and other luxuries running.

  Quinn had never been inside, or even near, one of these places. They were scattered in the hills outside town, buried in the landscape and far enough from one another to feel like a real escape. The closest she’d ever come to seeing one was when she and Daria invaded the home of one rogue military man, the one whose energy weapon Quinn had secretly stolen. And his place had been nothing but a small, modest home, now little more than a skeleton of dried wood and concrete that lost its battle with the unforgiving desert.

  “I see it,” Jones said.

  Quinn slowed down and looked ahead. There, in the distance, were lights. Soft lights, almost like little candles, lining the drive up to Olmos’s weekend home. There wasn’t much to see, as the home was mostly submerged into the earth, allowing for maximum privacy and escape from the elements. However, even from a distance, Quinn could spot the landscaping. Plants, trees, lighting. All requiring power, and water.

  “What’s up with the landscaping?” Jones said drily. “Good ole water CEO, settin’ an example.”

  Quinn chuckled. “Exactly.”

  She killed the lights. They would pull off into a spot behind a hill they’d marked on their topo map, and travel the rest of the way on foot. No need to alert the Olmos clan, or anyone else, that they were coming.

  As she and Jones began checking their belongings one last time, Quinn’s phone beeped. She shook her head and ignored it. It was probably her stalker, hoping to continue their fucked-up little game. Quinn didn’t have time for that now.

  But when another louder beep came, followed by several more, she froze. So did Jones. They knew that signal. She looked at Jones and he looked at her, and she picked up her phone and called Yolanda.

  “Quinn,” came Yolanda’s voice.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Near Olmos’s weekend place. What’s going on?” There was no response. “Yolanda?”

  “… abort…”

  “What? You’re breaking up.”

  “… abort the…”

  “You want us to abort?” Jones’s eyes widened as he watched her. Then the line cut out. They were too far out, where coverage was spotty at best. Her phone beeped as a message came through: Abort. To headquarters, immediately. Only you. Confirm.

  “What is it?” Jones asked.

  “We have to abort. And I have to report to headquarters.”

  “You? Or both of us?”

  “Me.”

  “What the hell?”

  Quinn shook her head. This had never happened before.

  She confirmed the message and they returned to the outskirts of the city and dropped the dune buggy off. Jones asked Quinn to let him know what happened as they parted ways, and Quinn took a taxi to headquarters.

  Quinn tried to think about what had gone wrong. What would warrant aborting such an important mission at the last minute, after all that planning? It could be a host of things, most of which revolved around protecting their safety or that of the Protectorate. But if that were the case, why couldn’t Jones come too?

  When she reached headquarters, she entered the code and stepped inside, the cool AC offering relief from the city heat. She marched down the stairs and into the underground tunnels, going through a series of checkpoints to ensure she had the necessary credentials. When she arrived at Yolanda’s office, she expected to see Yolanda sitting there in one of her pretty printed dresses, her fancy handbag next to her and her hair perfect. Instead, three male agents—all spec ops—stood there, weapons in their hands. Yolanda stood nearby.

  “What the hell is going on?” Quinn asked.

  Yolanda stepped forward. “We have evidence that you’ve been collaborating with the El Diablo Police Department.” She pulled up an image.

  Quinn felt a pit in her stomach. The image was of her and Noah, inside the soundproof booth at the electronics shop.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Quinn said.

  “No?” Yolanda nodded at one of the ops guys, who pressed a remote.

  A video projected onto the wall. Her and Noah, the camera capturing her face. And her lips.

  “So you believe our lip readers are lying or incompetent?” Yolanda went on.

  Quinn stood there in silence, her heart pounding and sweat forming in her armpits. Then she said the three most useless words ever. “I can explain.”

  When Yolanda pointed at Quinn’s pockets, the ops guys approached her.

  “Hands up,” one of them ordered.

  Quinn put her hands up, and they began going through her pockets, pulling out all her equipment. When they were finished, Yolanda turned to her.

  “Quinn Hartley, you’re no longer a member of the Protectorate.”

  Chapter 27

  Quinn sat in her nice apartment, sweating in the afternoon heat that blew in from her window. She’d turned off the air conditioning. She couldn’t afford it now that she had no job.

  How had it come to this? She’d gone from favored Tier One to outcast in a matter of a moment.

  They’d canned her and confiscated her equipment. When she pointed out that she’d paid for that equipment, Yolanda merely said in her usual flat tone that Quinn would be reimbursed.

  Quinn could have said more. But what was the point? She’d collaborated with a jacker cop, and spec ops found out. They’d followed her, just like they’d followed her that time when Daria had assisted her remotely on a couple of jobs instead of joining her in the field. Despite Quinn being the Protectorate’s special pet and getting the premium jobs, they still didn’t trust her and went looking for a reason not to.

  She’d broken two steadfast rules: never let the police know what you do, and never collaborate or share information with them. Even more, they knew from that conversation that she and Noah had been more than collaborators. That didn’t help her case.

  Quinn set down her diablo, already a little loopy from the high-quality tequila she would no longer be able to afford. She stood and began to pace.

  There was a solution. There had to be.

  But there wasn’t. Not for this. Even if Yolanda listened to her explanation and could see her perspective, there was still no way around the fact that she’d lied about important things, had gotten herself dimed by a jacker cop who, at least from their perspective, could turn on her anytime he wanted. Justified or not in her choices, she was now a liability the Protectorate couldn’t afford.

  Now, it was a matter of what the Protectorate would do with her. Relieving her from duty wasn’t enough. The documents she signed, the tenets she agreed to… they weren’t enough to ensure she wouldn’t become a threat to the organization. They would have to take stronger measures, measures that would be named later.

  In the meantime, Quinn agreed to wear a tracking device, to let them monitor her movements.

  She paced back and forth like a restless animal in a cage. She was out. Out of the only job she’d ever cared a
bout. Out of income. Out of a future. And soon, out of a place to live. Of course, all that assumed Merritt wouldn’t sneak in and gut her in her sleep.

  She wiped the sweat from her brow. As harsh as all that was, it didn’t mask another problem, one that still haunted her. There was something about the power player jobs that nagged at her, like a thirst she couldn’t quite quench. Like she was missing some key piece of the puzzle, a piece she may have found if she’d done the Olmos job. And the more she paced, the more the idea took hold in her mind like an iguana’s feet clung to a rock.

  She thought about Lucifer and wondered how the quirky little beast was doing. How Devin was doing. She’d been so busy that she hadn’t had a chance to call or return the message he’d left.

  She picked up her phone and messaged him: Hey Devin. Things have been a little nuts. I’ll call you soon. Give Lucifer a kiss.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door. It was Devin, with Lucifer in his arms.

  “Or you can kiss him yourself,” he said drily, smiling a little.

  Quinn grinned and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind her. Lucifer looked at her curiously, so she took him from Devin, his scratchy feet abrading her arms and tickling her a little.

  “How’s my boy?” she cooed, petting him. She looked at Devin. “How are you? Sorry I’ve been busy.”

  He shrugged. “No problem. I’ve been busy myself.” He paused. “You mind if I come in? My bum leg is hurting today.”

  Shame washed over Quinn as she realized how weird she’d been about not letting people into her place. Besides, everything she owned that would make him suspicious was either stowed away or in the Protectorate’s hands.

  When the elevator dinged, Quinn glanced over, and her stomach turned upside down when the doors opened. Merritt emerged, her expression serious, even menacing in a way Quinn had never seen before. Then, when Merritt saw them, her face instantly transformed. Big smile, wide eyes. She hurried over, her tool belt clunking on her hips.

  “Hey Quinn! Hey Devin! How are you?” Before Quinn or Devin could answer, she’d already turned her attention to Lucifer. “Oh, my goodness! My favorite little guy!” She glanced at Devin. “Hope you don’t mind all my gushing… I just love this little guy!”

  As Merritt petted Lucifer and stuck her hand out for him to bite or not bite, Quinn glanced at Devin. His eyes seemed to darken as he stood there, watching Merritt with slightly pent-up anger, like he wanted to tell her to leave but didn’t want to be rude.

  Then Quinn had an idea.

  “You want to hold him?” Quinn asked. Without bothering to get Devin’s permission, she handed off Lucifer to Merritt, whose eyes lit up even more.

  As Merritt played with the creature and cooed affectionate little words that seemed more contrived by the moment, Quinn took the opportunity to observe her. Long red hair. Fit body, trim and firm, with ropy muscles in her arms. Quinn’s eyes moved to Merritt’s wrists, searching for a telltale tattoo that, if found, would prompt a question about its significance.

  Her right wrist was bare, but she wore a leather cuff on the left. Big enough to cover the giveaway marking. Another idea came to her.

  “I love that leather cuff, Merritt! Where did you get it?”

  Merritt glanced at her. “From a secondhand store here in Midtown. I think it was really expensive, but I got a great deal on it.”

  “It looks expensive. Would you mind if I tried it on? I’ve always wanted to see how a cuff would look on me…”

  There it was. The test. Which would win out: Merritt’s innocence and eagerness to please, or her guilt and desire to hide the truth?

  Merritt hesitated, her smile fading. “I… I’d rather not. The clasp is getting ready to break, and I can’t afford to fix it right now.”

  A lie. Quinn had owned a similar cuff once, and the clasps were bomb-proof. And Merritt’s expression made it clear she was lying.

  Quinn nodded, eyeing her. “I understand.”

  There was silence for several moments, and Quinn felt a tingle run through her. She watched Merritt, whose eyes flashed with anger for just a mere moment before she looked away and focused on Lucifer.

  Gotcha, you lying bitch.

  Devin finally stepped in and grabbed his iguana. “I think Lucifer’s had enough attention today.”

  “I need to get going anyway,” Quinn added. “I just remembered I have something I need to take care of.” She glanced at Devin, who did not look happy. “Rain check?”

  He barely had a chance to nod before she turned to Merritt and smiled. “Good to see you, Merritt.”

  “You too,” Merritt said, discomfort now clearly showing on her face.

  Back inside her apartment, Quinn took a deep breath and began to pace again.

  The redheaded demon had made it clear she was everywhere, lurking around the corner and ready to surprise Quinn… and there was nothing Quinn could do about it. But with Quinn’s message and now her leather cuff test, Merritt could make no mistake about Quinn’s intentions.

  Quinn considered telling Devin, sharing her suspicions and getting him on her side. But that would raise a whole slew of questions from Devin. Like who Merritt really was. Who she worked for. Why she’d be after Quinn.

  No, Quinn was on her own. As usual.

  She continued pacing, fear competing with anger at her increasingly desperate situation. Only a crazy person would stick around in the face of all this, instead of packing up her shit and leaving. But maybe crazy was what she needed. Instead of trying to do this the right way, the smart way… maybe she needed to do something different.

  Something crazy.

  And then, like a thunderclap on a hot day, it came to her.

  An hour later, when she was finished with her preparations, she rolled up one pant leg and looked down at the tracking device on her ankle. Then she grabbed her energy weapon and began to slowly disintegrate the metal along one side, careful to avoid damaging the chip or herself. When finished, she pried the thing off and placed it in a cabinet.

  She took one last look around, and left.

  Chapter 28

  Quinn stood on the crowded train, in the far corner where she could see everyone and everything. She wore one of her classic Downtown getups—cargos and a jacket—along with a new wig to cover her blonde hair, shocking pink this time. She hated the hair tickling her face and arms, but she had little choice. She wore prosthetics to make her hips and breasts much rounder, hoping they would prevent any cop, tormentor, or Protectorate spec ops from recognizing her. She also wore another important item: a backpack, filled with the things she would need that night.

  When she got off the train in Westgate and the familiar sweat-cannabis aroma hit her, she felt almost nostalgic. But she knew that feeling resulted only from her desperate state, and maybe the desperate actions she was about to take.

  Once she arrived on the outskirts of town, she headed into the underground and weaved her way through the labyrinth of makeshift offices. Soon, she found a familiar nook with a door of hanging beads, and shook the beads to announce herself before poking her head through them.

  Pablo made a face. “What the fuck? Get out.”

  She came inside anyway. “It’s me, Pablo. Jones’s friend.”

  He eyed her for a moment before his eyes finally showed a sign of recognition. Then he smirked, his eyes traveling down her body and back up again. “Bring me something special?”

  “Cash. If you have what I need.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s a pretty girl like you need?”

  “So glad you asked.”

  Soon, Quinn was examining a black-market mind reader and nodes that seemed to be in good working order.

  “How much?” she asked him.

  When he told her, she gave him a hard look. “My previous guy gets them for half that.”

  In reality, her previous guy was a Protectorate-approved dealer. She knew the markup for buying through someone like Pablo w
ould be significant, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.

  “Then your previous guy’s hooked into the source. I ain’t. You go peripheral like this, you pay more. And you get secrecy with me, ‘cause you’re a friend of Jones.”

  Quinn handed over the cash. “If this equipment doesn’t work perfectly for my client, we’ll come looking for you.”

  “I expect nothin’ less, girl.”

  She left and headed to her next stop, about a mile down the way. It was a former airplane hangar, hot with giant fans blowing, and filled with dune buggies. A woman with salt-and-pepper hair and arm tattoos eyed her.

  “Back again?” she said.

  “I need another buggy.”

  “How long you want it this time?”

  Quinn had paid for twenty-four hours last time she rented a dune buggy, the night she and Jones headed out to the desert. One never knew how long a job would take, or what could go wrong. Bringing it back after only an hour didn’t warrant a refund, either.

  “Twenty-four hours,” Quinn said, handing over the cash.

  She was out half her savings now. The woman pointed to a buggy on the far side of the hangar, saying it was sized better for a “lady.”

  “I’ll park it outside and come back for it later,” Quinn said. “I have to take care of something first.”

  Quinn hurried down the street. There was only so much time before the Protectorate realized her tracking device hadn’t registered any motion. They knew her well enough to know she couldn’t stay in her apartment long. She needed to do what needed doing before they began looking for her.

  When she got to her dad’s place, he was sitting in his chair with a bottle of Snakebite soda, watching highlights from the playoffs. He was drinking the good soda she’d been bringing him, and for some reason that made her happy.

  “To what do I owe the honor?” he said flatly, glancing over at her. When he saw her appearance, his eyebrows came together. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”