“No. The Council is gone. This comes directly from me—I trust Enforcement has no difficulty with that.”
“Enforcement has no issue cooperating in the hunt for the criminal Andrea Vasquez. Future cooperation, however, will depend on the circumstances.”
“Very well, Commissioner.” Kaleb had so many moles inside Enforcement he could get anything he wanted at a moment’s notice, but he saw no reason not to be civil.
Hanging up, he glanced at Sahara. “Anthony is getting in touch with Nikita,” she said, zipping up a hooded sweatshirt over the jeans and T-shirt she’d pulled on. “He didn’t say, but I’m guessing he’ll also connect with the others in the region, changeling and human.” A questioning look. “Your invitation?”
Kaleb began to dress. “Pending.” The fact was, he’d be going in with or without it. Vasquez was too big a threat to leave to even the packs’ capable hands.
His phone rang on the heels of that thought. “You and the Arrows are cleared,” Judd told him. “Strategy meeting at DarkRiver’s Chinatown HQ, twenty minutes.”
Since the SnowDancer den was some distance from that location, Kaleb guessed Judd and the wolf alpha would be teleporting to the meeting. “I’ll be there.” Hanging up, he finished getting into clothing indistinguishable from the black combat uniforms worn by the Arrow Squad, the clothing made of bulletproof material that would also repel a certain level of laser fire.
Unbeknownst to Sahara, all her jeans, as well as the hooded sweatshirt she was currently wearing, had the same properties as the combat gear. He hadn’t been able to swap out her T-shirts and other tops as yet, but one of his companies was currently working on a superfine version of the rougher, heavier combat fabric. “Keep that sweatshirt on throughout,” he told her, and when she smiled at him, he realized she’d already figured out what he’d done.
Her intelligence had always been one of the most attractive things about her.
“Can you get me to a location like this?” she asked as he took a seat on the bed to put on his boots, sending him an image of a busy concourse, people moving every which way. “I think I might be able to help gather information.”
What she was proposing, he understood when she sent him another image, would be akin to standing in the middle of the data streams of the PsyNet, except on the physical plane. She’d pick up hundreds, thousands of random thoughts as people passed by.
“It’s getting close to crossing a moral line,” she said with a solemn expression, “but it could mean saving countless lives. And since I have no intention of ever taking control of the minds that brush past me, it’s a decision I can live with.”
“Are you sure?” Sahara’s conscience was a powerful force, one that could crush her from the inside out if she took the wrong path.
She nodded. “I must have this ability for a reason—and this conscience, too. I have to trust in myself and my intention to do no harm.” Blowing out a breath, she said, “It might end up being a fruitless exercise anyway.”
“It stands as much a chance of success as any other.” Vasquez was a man trained to be a shadow, and San Francisco was a city of millions. “You need protection. I’ll organize an Arrow escort.” Kaleb would trust her safety to no one he didn’t think capable of repelling Vasquez.
But Sahara, fingers working to weave her hair into a neat braid, shook her head. “An Arrow will stand out in such a changeling-heavy city—they may be trained in covert ops, but there’s no doubt they’re lethal, and it puts people instinctively on edge. I saw that in Geneva.”
He got to his feet. “You want a changeling guard.”
“It’s safer. People will assume I’m a human packmate,” she pointed out. “I don’t look, act, or sound like the stereotypical image of Psy.”
It was a clever and more than plausible argument. “You risk exposing your abilities to the changelings.” The more people who knew, the greater the chance of a leak.
Sahara wrapped an elastic tie around the end of her braid. “I won’t tell them what I’m doing. I’ll say I’m putting myself in prime position to have a useful flash of backsight.”
The part of him that lived in the void, possessive and obsessively protective, wanted to state a vocal negative to her plan . . . but paradoxically, that same part would fight to the death for her freedom. “Even a hint of trouble and you call me.”
“Done.” Rising on tiptoe, her hands on his shoulders, she claimed a kiss, her gaze tender. “I won’t underestimate Vasquez.”
Trusting her promise in a way he trusted no one else, he said, “According to Aden’s latest report, Vasquez is already on the ground. The central skytrain station is a better option for you than the airport.”
FIFTEEN minutes after the conversation with Kaleb, Sahara glanced at the amber-blond male who stood with her. Both of them leaned casually against one of the thick columns that ran along the center of the massive station, just another two bored travelers waiting for a long-distance connection. Adding to that impression were the duffel bags at their feet, the battered fabric thrown into harsh relief by the bright afternoon sun pouring through the massive skylights.
“You’re too good-looking for this,” she said to Vaughn. It was happy chance that he’d already been at DarkRiver HQ when she’d requested an escort. “That woman almost missed her skytrain, she was so busy eating you up with her big, brown eyes.” Sahara fluttered her lashes as the hapless brunette had done.
Vaughn shot her an unsmiling look, but she saw the amusement that prowled behind it. “Get to work, Ms. Kyriakus.”
“I need a little time to get my zen on, as Mercy would say.” She nudged his arm with her shoulder, comfortable with him in a way she was with very few men aside from Kaleb. “Was it Faith? The unnamed NightStar foreseer who saw Luxembourg and Paris?”
A small nod, Vaughn’s lazily feline posture attracting another admiring glance to which he seemed oblivious, though she knew those eyes of jaguar-gold missed nothing. As Kaleb would probably snap the neck of any other woman who tried to touch him without invitation, she knew Vaughn would respond with claws and teeth. Skin privileges, she thought, were not to be assumed lightly with men of this caliber.
“Better for NightStar to handle the press and imply the F was one under their command,” Vaughn added, “than to draw further specific attention to Faith.” Reaching out, he tugged the front of her ball cap a little further down.
He’d given her the cap when he met her and Kaleb in the deserted service corridor Kaleb had used as a teleport lock. According to him, the cap, branded with the logo of the champion local baseball team, would make her far less apt to attract attention, even if she spent hours in the station. Since she’d already seen a number of other people with the same cap, she couldn’t argue.
“How’s Leon?”
“Good. Really good.” Sahara spoke to her father every day and had already planned a visit in the coming days, no matter what. But first, she had to do what she could to help stop another wave of violence. “Okay”—a deep breath—“I’m ready.”
It was the first time she’d attempted anything of this magnitude, and from what she’d heard of telepaths who had allowed their shields to drop in similar situations, she had to brace herself for a crushing blast of noise as a thousand different minds crashed into her own. Ninety-nine percent of individuals, Psy, human, or changeling, had a “public” mind, an upper level of inconsequential thought that was rarely shielded; that would be bad enough, but Sahara intended to scan the next layer down.
Here I go, she said to the Tk who was her own.
I won’t let you drown.