BONDS OF JUSTICE

“Why is she on the rehabilitation watchlist then?”


“Her telepathic shields are all but gone. If she isn’t rehabilitated now, there’s a chance she’ll break on her own.” They began to head down the corridor. “And the death throes of the fractured are always so disruptive to Silence.”

Sophia tried to resist their hands, the way they directed her like a rag doll, but her mind was mired in thick fog, her body refusing to follow her commands. They “walked” her down to the garage level, each holding up half her weight. And the only thing she could think was that Max would never know how much she loved the scent of him.


Max jogged through the doors of DarkRiver’s Chinatown HQ just as the skies opened up. “That’s some storm,” he said, shaking off the droplets that had managed to hit him.

“Forecast to clear sometime tonight,” Dorian said. “So, what’s up? Clay still shadowing that intern for you?”

“No, he had to switch with a guy named Emmett.” Who had texted Max a few minutes ago to say that Asquith had arrived at work.

“That’s right.” Dorian clicked his fingers. “Clay’s holding a training session for some of the soldiers today.”

Max nodded. “I hear you’re good with computers.” What he’d heard was that the blond sentinel was an expert hacker.

Bright blue eyes blazed with an intelligence many people missed, being taken in by looks reminiscent of some teenage surfer. “Yeah? Where did you hear that?”

Max tapped the side of his nose. “You have your sources. I have mine.”

“I don’t work for free.” Dorian folded his arms and stared meaningfully at the box Max had carried inside. There was a very feline look of anticipation on his face.

“Thanks for driving Sophie home last night.” Max handed over the doughnuts.

“I was working late anyway.” He opened the box, drew in a long breath. “What do you need on the computer front?”

“Anything you can dig up about a Psy named Quentin Gareth during a particular period almost twenty years ago.” Taking out a notepad, he jotted down the details of the six month gap.

Dorian took a bite out of a jelly doughnut. “Good call, coming to me,” he said after swallowing. “Psy often forget about the Internet. Lots of stuff cached all over the place.” Taking the torn off piece of notepaper, he slid it into a pocket. “I’ll do the search now—have a few minutes free before a meeting.”

“Call me on my cell if you have anything. I’m heading to Nikita’s.” But he’d only gotten to the door when he got a call from the head of the manhunt team. “Doctor’s been found.” Fury and pity intertwined. “We were right about the time and method of death. At least he didn’t torture her.”

It was, Max knew, a small mercy. “Was she found near the private airport where you think he boarded a jet?”

“Yeah. Parents are refusing to tell us where the jet might’ve gone. The filed flight plan says it’s heading to Greece, but that’s a load of bullshit. Air Control hasn’t got it on its systems, which means the Bonners were fucking ready with a plane designed to evade radar.”

Anger burned through Max’s veins. “I’ve put a watch on some offshore accounts I know are his.” Without a warrant and with the help of friends in the computronic crimes branch of Enforcement, but if it would help catch the Butcher before he killed again, Max wasn’t going to sweat the ethics much. “He hasn’t accessed them yet—his mother’s probably supplying him.”

“Bart’s working on a warrant for her financials.”

“Sightings?”

“Through the roof.” A harsh sound. “People jumping at shadows—you know how it is.”

“We’ll get him,” Max said, able to hear the other cop’s frustration. “We did it once; we’ll do it again.” Hanging up after a few more words, he ran out to the car, the rain pelting against his body. Shrugging off his wet suit jacket, he was driving through Chinatown when he realized he’d forgotten his security keycard—which allowed him full access to the Duncan building—at Sophia’s apartment. Figuring it’d be quicker to pick it up than have it reissued, he thrust a hand through rain-damp hair and turned homeward.

“Sophia?” he called out as he wandered into her bedroom. The keycard was on the dresser where he’d put his wallet the night before, but the bedroom proved otherwise empty. “Sophie? You in the shower?” However, when he knocked, the door swung inward.

Worried she’d decided to head out in spite of Bonner’s possible presence, he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call to hers. It rang in the living area.

Ice crystals formed in his blood.

Closing his cell, he began to scan the apartment with the eyes of a cop. The food preparation area was clean except for the unopened container of milk on the counter. He stilled. Sophie was hopelessly neat, but it was possible she’d forgotten to tidy it away while distracted by something.

Living area undisturbed. Organizer on the coffee table.