Chapter 9
Bryce's fingers stopped an inch from her cheek. She saw him hesitate, saw the war between his suspicion and his disgust, his need to know and his need to not touch.
"Sir," Julian said again, closer now, his voice a calm anchor in the tension. "Allow me. You shouldn't exert yourself."
Bryce lowered his hand. He stepped back, but his eyes never left her.
Julian moved into her field of vision. He had kind eyes and a smile that didn't reach them. "Jessie," he said, making her name sound like a caress. "I'm Julian. I'm just going to ask you some questions. You're safe here. No one is going to hurt you. You can relax."
She felt it immediately, the pull, the suggestion wrapping around her thoughts like smoke. Hypnosis. Or something close to it.
She let her eyes go unfocused. She let her shoulders drop. She played the subject.
"That's right," Julian murmured. "Very good. Now, Jessie, I want you to think back. Did you see a woman running? Perhaps looking frightened?"
Jessie shook her head. Slow. Dreamy. "No... just the rain... just the cat..."
"Are you sure?" Julian's voice sharpened, just slightly. "Your pupils dilated when I mentioned a running woman. Your heart rate increased. Why is that?"
He was good. He was reading her biometrics. The trap was closing. She needed to move. She needed-
"Where is your knife, Jessie?"
The question came like a whip crack. She felt her body tense, the instinct to reach for the blade that wasn't there, and caught herself almost too late.
Almost.
She let her knees buckle. She let herself fall forward, her hands reaching out. Her fingers found the cat, still eating, and she closed around its scruff and threw.
The cat screamed. It flew through the air, a ball of wet fur and panic, straight at Bryce Hogan's chest.
Bryce's face changed. The mask of control shattered, revealing a flash of absolute terror underneath. He stumbled backward, his arms flailing, his mouth open in a choked sound. The cat hit his coat, claws finding purchase, mud and rain and fur smearing across the perfect wool.
"Get it off!" he shouted, his voice high and thin. "Get it off me!"
Chaos. The security team surged forward. Julian's concentration broke.
Jessie ran.
She grabbed her bag and she ran, her feet finding the gaps between the dumpsters, her body low, her ribs screaming. She heard Bryce shouting behind her, heard the wet sounds of him tearing off his coat.
She reached the street. She turned left, then right, then left again, losing herself in the grid of downtown Las Vegas. She didn't stop until she found a bus station, a bench, a place to collapse.
She sat with her head in her hands and her heart hammering against her cracked ribs and waited for the shaking to stop.
Three blocks away, in the alley, Julian Adler stood in the rain and watched the direction she'd gone.
He'd seen it. In the moment before she fell-he'd seen the calculation in her eyes.
He pulled out his phone and typed a message to Bryce, who was still in the alley, scrubbing his hands with alcohol wipes from a medkit.
Subject requires further investigation. The distraction was too precise. Also, her thermal signature is anomalous, significantly above baseline for a person at rest in these conditions. Recommend campus surveillance. She is not what she appears.
He sent it. He stood in the rain a moment longer, remembering the way she'd thrown that cat with absolute precision, hitting the one target that would create the maximum possible chaos.
Then he walked back to the SUVs, and the night swallowed him whole.
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