Mind Thief Page 2

  “What’s bugging you?” she pressed.

  “All of it. We still don’t know shit about these fucken Jays or what their endgame is. All we know is they’re dangerous and they got tech no one else has. Like that night at the Lindens’—my proximity detector was workin’ just fine and I didn’t get any warning those goons were comin’. Which means they got some kind of blocker that even the jacker cops don’t have.”

  “I’m told we’re working on that,” she said, taking another swig of her diablo, finally feeling relaxation set in.

  “And what about them breakin’ into your old place?” Jones went on. “That means they got past that system you rigged.”

  “It wasn’t exactly a top-of-the-line system.”

  “So? How’d they get around it without you gettin’ notified? Assuming it was them…”

  Right. Assuming it was them and not Noah, the just-for-fun guy who’d turned into something much more, only to find out he was jacker police. Just when they’d thought the Borelli job nightmare was over, someone had snuck into her old apartment and left two things: a blackbird figurine and her stolen Blue Banner butterfly art, the latter sporting a bullet hole through its center. Had the Jays broken into her old place twice? Noah didn’t seem a likely culprit. Yet, the art—and the bullet hole in particular—seemed far too personal for the Black Jays.

  “Whoever it was probably knows security systems. Like we do.”

  Jones sat there for a moment, like he had more to say. “Why’d that cop let us go that night?”

  Quinn sighed. That question. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come up again, that Jones would just buy her story that everything would be okay. Noah had a weapon trained on them in the alley that night, then let them go. The police report had no mention of two mindjackers at the scene. Maybe Noah’s reasons were noble… maybe they weren’t. She only knew she didn’t want to worry Jones needlessly.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “He’s a fucken cop, Quinn. He could end everything for us, take away our livelihood and throw us into the clink for ten years. Rule number one—don’t get dimed.”

  “Jones, if there were going to be repercussions from that night, we’d have seen them by now.”

  His eyes narrowed. He knew she was hiding something. “You ain’t workin’ with the cops, are you?”

  “No!”

  Jones looked relieved. Collaborating with the police in any way was even worse than getting dimed. It meant not only immediate termination from the Protectorate, but that they would take further measures to punish the traitor. Quinn didn’t know the extent of those measures; as far as she knew, no one had made that mistake.

  “What if he’s waiting?” Jones went on. “Holdin’ his cards until he can take the whole pot? You know how them guys work. They’re sneaky.”

  “Stop worrying,” she insisted. “The case is closed. They can’t trace the weapons to us. They have nothing to put in that pot. Besides, I’ve moved to a new place under a fake identity. Lots of Tier Ones do that, especially after a dicey job or a brush with the cops. In other words, whoever broke in can’t find me and neither can the cops. And no one’s bothered me since then.”

  Jones still frowned.

  “Even if the cops try anything, which they won’t, I’ve got an ace in the hole. A really good one. So just trust me, okay?”

  Jones said nothing more. Soon, they shifted to less troublesome topics, finished their drinks, and left Sidewinder. Outside, he took a long, vigilant glance around the busy street, like their previous conversation still haunted him.

  “Before you go,” Quinn said, “I have something for you.”

  “What’s that?”

  She reached into her pocket, then eyed his. Once getting tacit permission, she removed the item from her pocket and lowered it into his. Jones furrowed his brow and stuck his hand in. Then, his eyebrows went up. He peeked down to make sure it was what he’d suspected.

  An energy weapon. Very difficult to obtain, illegal as hell.

  “Holy shit,” he said, chuckling. “Where the hell—” Then he figured it out. “You stole it that night at Linden’s. I wondered why the police report said they only found one, when I know them assholes each had one.”

  Quinn smiled. “Mystery solved.”

  Jones shook his head. “You a wily one, girl.”

  “Like I said, you have nothing to worry about.” She grinned, then waved and jumped into a waiting taxi.

  As she watched the city go by, Quinn reflected on their conversation and Jones’s concerns. Unlike him, Quinn wasn’t concerned about Noah. She had much bigger things to worry about.

  Like the Jays. The next training session with Remi. The fact that when it came to this new enemy, they had tons of questions and very few answers. Even more, when that black-clad Jay jacked her that night at the Lindens’, she couldn’t get anything on him. It was the best blocking she’d ever seen. Better than hers. She’d tried to keep him out, but felt herself losing the battle and beginning to drown, until Jones pulled her out.

  That scared her. Especially when the Protectorate had ramped up their simulations to a terrifying level, which told her only one thing: they’d finally encountered an enemy they couldn’t beat.

  And it was only a matter of time before Quinn would have to face them again.

  Chapter 3

  When the taxi turned onto Hillcrest Avenue in Mayfair, Quinn paid the driver and got out. She was struck by how quiet it was compared to Downtown, a quiet she’d never had in her entire life until now. She’d always wanted that kind of calm—an escape from El Diablo’s frenzy and furor—but now that she had it, she realized it would take some getting used to.

  Still refusing to let any taxi driver know where she lived, she walked several blocks past buildings of glass and stone, the sidewalks smooth and the small yards filled with decorative rock and sculpture. Soon, she arrived at the stone apartment building she’d had her eye on for ages. She still couldn’t believe she lived here. For so long, she’d admired the building and hoped it would become her home. But despite her never-ending ambition to leave the tribulations of the world she’d come from, part of her never quite believed it would happen.

  She punched in her code and entered the lobby, comfortable cool and lined with clean white tile. As she headed to her mailbox, out of the corner of her eye she saw something scurry across the tile. Quinn froze for a moment, her heart pounding. She wasn’t used to seeing wild creatures. Not anymore. But when she realized what it was, she smiled.

  An iguana. Big, probably twelve inches long, not including its tail. Green with yellow spots, and a spiny ridged back. The reptile ran up to her like it wanted something.

  “Lucifer!” came a stern male voice.

  Quinn looked up to find a man about her age. He was dressed like a Midtowner, in light-colored slacks and a plain t-shirt, a few inches taller than her at most.

  He gave a half-smile. “Don’t mind him. I don’t usually put him on his leash until we go outside. No one’s usually around at this hour on a weeknight.”

  To sidestep any questions about the strange hours she kept, Quinn kneeled down to get a closer look at the iguana. “That’s okay. I love animals.”

  And she did. She’d never had pets growing up; they were too expensive for most Downtownies. Dogs and cats had fallen out of favor once the climate got too inhospitable for them, and only Uptowners had them. But iguanas, at least some of them, could handle El Diablo’s harsh conditions. However, they were very expensive, more expensive than the average Midtowner could afford. She wanted to pet the creature, but knew from experience that he would probably bite her.

  She stood up again. “Lucifer, huh?”

  He shrugged. “He’s a little devil. The name fits.” He kneeled down and put on Lucifer’s leash. Lucifer immediately went back to Quinn again, as if sniffing her out.

  “He likes you.”

  Quinn grinned. “Then he can be my first friend. I’m new in the neighborho
od.”

  He studied her face. “I didn’t think I’d seen you before. I’m Devin.” He offered his hand.

  Quinn shook it, surprised at what was perhaps her first real conversation with any of the building residents. “Quinn. Good to meet you both.”

  Devin glanced outside. “I need to get Lucifer outside so he can burn off some energy. Isn’t that right, you little bastard?” He turned back to Quinn. “Good to meet you, Quinn.”

  He made eye contact with her for just a moment, his dark eyes locked with hers in a way that made her blink a couple of times. A guy hadn’t looked at her like that in a long time. Like he was studying her, assessing if she was his type.

  Quinn shrugged. Didn’t matter. It seemed her type was trouble, so it was better to avoid them all.

  Devin and Lucifer headed outside, and Quinn noticed that Devin walked with a limp, although briskly enough that it was clear he’d lived with it a long time. No matter how high-tech medicine got, it couldn’t solve all problems.

  Quinn went to get her mail. She rarely got physical mail anymore and only checked the slot about once a week. Sure enough, the box had a manila envelope, addressed to her and with standard postage, but without a return address. Curious, Quinn tucked it under her arm and headed to the elevator.

  Inside her apartment, she set down her mail and removed her two best friends—her brass knuckles and her energy weapon—from her jacket pockets, stowing them in their special hiding place, small locked compartments she’d mounted on the inside of her bed frame. She took off her denim jacket with the El Diablo lettering before stripping down to her undies, waiting for her AC to kick in. More money or not, she wasn’t going to waste her hard-earned cash running the AC all day just to put more money in Saguaro Energy’s pockets.

  Her place was only about six hundred square feet, but that was a mansion compared to the micro-apartment she’d lived in before. The floor tiles were good quality, the apartment was quiet, and, best of all, her window afforded her a view. Rather than the brick wall she used to stare at through the whirring of her fan, now she enjoyed a view of the street, the building across the way, and the sky beyond that.

  She poured herself a glass of chilled water and sat down to open her manila envelope, wondering what it could be. The computer-printed label on the front gave nothing away, but a weird part of her hoped it was something from Noah. Something good, like a peace offering. But she shook off that thought, knowing that he had no idea where she lived now, and even if he did he would never send her anything after what happened. She opened the envelope and pulled out its contents.

  There were only two items. One was a piece of heavy-gauge cream paper, eight by ten inches. She turned it over; it was a print of a butterfly, artistically rendered and matte black. She couldn’t decide if the print was beautiful or frightening. Was it from Noah, sending her a message?

  The other item was a note, folded neatly in half on cream card stock. She opened it to find a handwritten message:

  Quinn,

  I know how much you love butterflies. Here’s one just for you.

  Why the move? Was your previous Downtown home not secure enough? Or did you think I wouldn’t find you?

  No matter where you go, I will always find you.

  Quinn stared at the note, her blood turning cold and a shiver running through her. She read it again.

  The printing was angular and masculine, reminding her of Noah’s writing. But it couldn’t be.

  Could it?

  Suddenly feeling underdressed, she put on a t-shirt and dug into the one small box of treasures she saved and brought with her wherever she lived. The contents held no real value, except to her. She pulled out the note Noah had sent her, along with the Blue Banner art, now with a hole right through its center. She compared the two notes.

  The handwriting was identical. Even down to the strange little details, like the letter “E” comprised of four different limbs that never quite attached.

  What the fuck??

  Quinn shook her head, another round of chills running down her arms and out to her fingers.

  It couldn’t be. Noah had no way of knowing where she lived. Even jacker cops didn’t have the means to dig that deep and find her. If they did, they would have dimed and arrested a host of mindjackers by now.

  Besides, Noah wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t threaten her, stalk her, try to scare her.

  Would he?

  Quinn took out her energy weapon and set it by her bed. That night she had fitful dreams.

  The next morning, Quinn woke up and threw on clothes to run out and get some coffee. She needed a jolt of caffeine if she was going to get through a few hours of reading the endless reports Yolanda had sent her. Everything spec ops had found on the Black Jays so far, in excruciating detail.

  As she entered the lobby, she spotted a young woman unscrewing one of the air-conditioning vents. Merritt, one of the maintenance workers who kept the common areas clean and the building in working order.

  “Hey Quinn!” Merritt called out, standing up and eagerly walking over to her, like she hadn’t seen a soul in days. Her braided red hair tumbled over her desert-brown overalls.

  Quinn stopped reluctantly, wanting coffee more than she wanted conversation. “Hey Merritt. More dust in the vents?”

  “It never ends.” She gestured at the vacuum nearby. “You would think a fancy place like this would have a self-cleaning system, you know what I mean?” She winked.

  Quinn smiled. Just then, a pretty woman in a sundress walked past.

  “Hey Patricia!” Merritt called out.

  Patricia gave a tight smile and a small wave, never stopping before she disappeared out the door. It seemed Quinn wasn’t the only one getting the chilly shoulder in the building.

  Merritt, unfazed, turned back to Quinn. “By the way, who’s the hot guy?”

  “What hot guy?” Quinn wondered if Merritt had seen her talking to Devin last night. It had been late, but Merritt seemed to work strange hours.

  Merritt gave a knowing smile. “There was some cutie-pie here yesterday, looking for you.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Tallish. Dark hair, dark eyes. Midtown,” she added wryly.

  A bad feeling creeped over Quinn. She pulled out her phone, did a quick search on the El Diablo PD site, and downloaded an image. “Is this him?”

  Merritt’s face lit up. “Yes! That’s right, his name was Noah. Who is—”

  Quinn put her hands on Merritt’s shoulders. “Merritt, did you tell him I live here?”

  Her smiled disappeared. “He already knew you lived here—”

  “Did you tell him anything?”

  “No. I… I just said I didn’t know where you were.”

  Quinn let out a painful sigh, her mind swirling with too many thoughts.

  “I’m sorry,” Merritt went on. “He was polite. He said he was an old friend and to tell you he stopped by. Is he dangerous? Is he an abuser? I’ve heard a lot of abusers are cops because they can get away with it—”

  “He’s… not a good guy. If he ever comes by again, tell him I moved away. And let me know right away, okay?”

  Merritt nodded.

  Quinn went back upstairs, her coffee forgotten. She studied the note and art again. The more she did, she more she had to face the truth she hadn’t wanted to face.

  Jones might have been right. It was beginning to look like Noah had sent the threatening message, that he was more dangerous than she’d feared.

  And now he knew where she lived.

  Chapter 4

  “God damn it.”

  Jones’s face reddened as he heaved the t-shirt he’d been folding at his pillows. Quinn flinched, having momentarily feared he would throw the shirt at her. Jones shook his head, ignoring the rest of the clean laundry pile on his bed.

  He turned to her, his eyes dark with anger. “You were involved with that cop? Are you outta your mind?”

  “I didn’t know h
e was a cop—”

  “Not a cop, Quinn. Fucken jacker police.”

  “I didn’t know, not until that night we got up close and personal with the dumpster.”

  “And you hid it from me!” He glanced down at the laundry pile, almost as if looking for something else to throw.

  “Keep your voice down!” Quinn hissed. “You don’t want to upset Jeffrey.”

  Jones glared at her. “That’s why you wanted to talk here, ain’t it? ‘Cause you knew I’d have to keep a lid on it.”

  Quinn said nothing. It was partly true. But she also didn’t think he would react this badly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” He folded a pair of cargo pants and slapped them on the bed.

  “I was planning to. But I thought…” She trailed off, recalling how she’d thought Noah had been gaming her the whole time. “I ended things with him. It was just bad luck—or good luck, depending on how you look at it—that he was the one who broke away from his unit to apprehend us in the alley. When he didn’t arrest us, I assumed he was willing to let it go.”

  “Right,” Jones scoffed. “‘Cause jacker police are known for forgiving and forgetting.” He shook his head, slapping another pair of cargoes on top of the others before he moved on to the t-shirts. “I knew it. I knew it was too good to be true that we got away. I knew that shit would bite us in the ass. Didn’t I say that in the hospital?”

  “He wouldn’t have seen us if I’d done what you told me and left your ass at Linden’s. I would’ve missed him and been long gone, and he would’ve called you an ambulance right before arresting you and sending you to the clink.”

  Jones hesitated at that, then dropped his half-folded t-shirt and sat down on the bed. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. “I know, okay? I know you risked your ass tryin’ to save mine. I just… I got a family dependin’ on me. It’s gonna be a while till I got shit set up for them… you know, in case anything happens to me. I can’t risk gettin’ canned or going to prison right now—”