Primal Law

Jaxon thought a moment. “We’ll take their wallets so we can run their names later, do a background check. See who they worked for. Then we’ll put them in the car, one behind the wheel, the other in the passenger’s seat, and light a bonfire.”

Aric grinned, his mood improved by the prospect. “My pleasure.”

“Before you do, let me see if I can get a reading or two.” Crossing to the nearest man, the one who’d shot him, he squatted and wrapped his fingers around the wrist, making sure to get part of the coat sleeve.

Objects and clothing often carried better signals than people. The impressions he could pick up from a dead person faded quickly, and the living sometimes shielded their thoughts whether they realized it or not.

In the background, the woman, Kira, whispered, “What’s he doing?”

“Shh.”

As always, he braced himself for the buzz in his brain, like a thousand angry bees. His vision grayed out, the ground beneath him disappeared, and he was falling, falling. And then caught, snared in a web of someone else’s making. Sticky threads brushed at his cheek, snagged his hair and tugged at his clothes, but he no longer tried to brush them away in panic as he’d done when he was thirteen and his Psy ability had first manifested.

The strings weren’t really there in the physical sense. Rather, he’d come to think of them as the tattered moorings of memories to their owners, ripped free and waiting for someone with his ability to grab hold and use them as a guide to the images he sought.

They were anything but consistent, and he likened latching on to one to catching a soap bubble without causing it to pop. The process was tedious, exhausting, and the quicker he grabbed a thread and made the reading, the better.

The first two slipped away, but he took firm hold of the third, following it to the end. Some memories were mere snapshots, but this one was a snippet of film, and Jaxon found himself looking through the eyes of the initial speaker—the dead man in his grasp. The man’s residual anger, his trepidation, enveloped Jaxon.

“I’m telling you, this is not my problem. I don’t give two shits what Chappell says, I’m not getting paid enough to deal with his freaky God complex!”

The middle-aged, average-looking man in the white lab coat twisted his lips into a condescending smile. “You’re being paid plenty, and you’ll do your job. Unless you’d rather volunteer to be his next subject.” He reached for the phone on the counter. “I can call him right now and make him aware of your issues —”

“Try it, you nasty little fuckwad, and I’ll break your neck. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, just that I’m not getting paid enough to take these kinds of risks. I’ll talk with him myself, and you mind your own damned business. Got it?”

Without waiting for an answer, he spun and slammed out of the lab.

“Slimy creep, he’s gonna call anyway. Shit, what am I gonna do about . . .”

“Jax!”

“. . . and sooner or later the cops will notice . . .”

“Jax! Jesus, wake up!”

The thread snapped and he came back to himself gradually. Sounds of the city at night filtered in, along with the oppressive heat. And the fact that he was no longer kneeling, but slumped backward against a big body. Zander’s voice was quiet and anxious next to his ear.

“Scares the hell out of me every time you do that.”

“Sorry,” he slurred.

“You okay?”

“Think so.”

“Get anything?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure what.”

He’d have to think about it. Later. God, he was so tired. Always was after he went that deep into a memory. It was much different from the simple flash he’d gotten from the woman a few minutes ago. He wanted nothing more than to sleep until noon tomorrow. Like that would be an option once Nick got wind of their guest.

“Can you get up?”

No. His leg was screaming. “Yes.”

“All right. Hang on to me.”

Zander stood, hauling him to his feet, steadying him as he blinked away the rest of the fuzziness. Got his bearings. As their surroundings came into focus again, he saw his friends and their new acquaintance staring at him, obviously worried.

Zander patted his cheek. “Hey, you need a turbo boost from the Z-Man?”

Shaking his head, he gave his best friend a lopsided grin. “Naw, I’m good. I’ll sleep it off on the way back to the compound.”

“How’s your leg?”

“Bitching, but I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure.” He looked doubtful.

“I am.”

The act of using his healing ability hit Zan every bit as hard as when Jaxon tapped into his RetroCog mojo. No way would Jaxon let his friend expend his energy over something that would easily pass with some rest.

Ryon pulled up in the SUV just as Aric and Zander got the two dead men situated in the girl’s car and shut them inside. Jaxon walked over to their newest addition, a little unsteady on his feet, and took her arm, began to steer her toward their vehicle. Zander followed, but Aric hung back a safe distance from her car, facing it. Preparing to do his thing.

“Don’t watch,” Jaxon said as she resisted, twisting to look over her shoulder.

“What’s he planning to use to start the fire?” she asked, frowning. “There’s nothing in his hands. And what the heck happened to you back there?”

“I’ll explain—”

“Later.” She snorted. “Right. Got it.”

“You ask more questions than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe because so many people you meet end up like them?” she tossed out, waving a hand to indicate her unfortunate attackers. “Just an educated guess.”

She had a point. He sighed, thinking this was going to be a long night. And not nearly as much fun as he’d originally planned.

Any retort he might’ve made was waylaid by a loud whoosh and a blast of heat. Automatically he turned, glancing over his shoulder at the orange and yellow flames that engulfed the car and its occupants. The conflagration shot into the air and spread out to lick at the pavement, erasing all signs of the blood Jaxon had spilled.

Aric was standing with his feet spread and arms outstretched, palms out. The inferno intensified in response to his unspoken command. After another few moments, he lowered his arms to his sides and strode toward the rest of the group.

“Oh, my God! Did he just . . . No, he didn’t. That man did not just start a fire with his bare hands!” Kira was staring at Aric, a mixture of disbelief and astonishment etched on her pretty face.

“Well, that’ll attract attention,” Aric muttered as he reached them. “Let’s hit the road.”

“Come on.” Jaxon pulled his reluctant new charge along, forcing her to abandon goggling at the fire and get moving.

Ryon remained behind the wheel and Zander got in front with him. Aric climbed in back without a word, taking up position to watch their tail, Jaxon knew, and eliminate any pursuers if necessary. A fact he didn’t mention to Kira as they took the middle seats, Jaxon behind the driver.

Ryon floored it, getting them away from the scene as fast as he dared without gaining unwanted attention from the Las Vegas PD. By the time faint sirens could be heard in the distance, they were well on their way.

Beside him, Kira cleared her throat. “Where are we going?”

If not for the subtle tremble in her voice, he might’ve snapped at her. But for some weird reason, it made him want to soothe her worries. Protect her from harm as he’d done earlier. Fuck. “To our plane. We have a private jet and landing strip in a hangar not far outside the city.”