Shades of Gray - By Jackie Kessler & Caitlin Kittredge Page 0,29

it: “One false step, and I’ll have Wagner drop everything to haul your ass to Blackbird.”

“I appreciate your words, sir,” she said, her voice far too tight.

He shot her a look filled with venom, then released Jet’s hand. “Dawson,” he said, “take this burden off Jet’s hands, would you?”

The bodyguard approached them, indifferent to the reporters, and hefted Nocturne over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. They disappeared inside the police station.

A long moment passed, and things unspoken hung in the air. Jet sensed the crowd of citizens that had gathered around the precinct steps, drawn in like moths to the light of the news vids. In her gauntlets, her hands were sweating. She hated being the center of attention.

“You go on with your heroing,” Mayor Lee said. “I have an appointment with the commissioner.”

She stretched her smile to its limit. “I’m surprised he didn’t come to you.” A tiny zing, one she shouldn’t have let loose.

The mayor smiled in return, a nasty smile filled with promise. “He doesn’t know we have an appointment yet.” And then Lee straightened his lapel and walked up the remaining steps to the station.

As if on cue, the reporters swarmed her.

“Jet! How does it feel going after your own teammates?”

“Jet! Do you think you’ll be going rabid too?”

“Jet, what assurances can you give the people of New Chicago that you won’t put them in harm’s way?”

“Jet! Over here, smile!”

“Jet! Give us a fierce look!”

She tried to get a word in, tried to think, but they kept coming at her, firing questions at her and flashing their lights, demanding. Insisting.

Enraging.

all of them all of them vultures suck them dry

Light, no. She wanted to cover her ears, but the vids would see her weakness and the reporters would never let her forget it. She had to get away before the Shadow grew too strong. She—

“Jet!”

The man’s voice was loud, almost crystalline, easily carrying over the sounds of the reporters and paparazzi. And it came from above.

She looked up and saw a man swathed in black, his head covered in a ski mask fitted with goggles. His hover revved, and he extended a gloved hand.

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Sorry to break up the impromptu press conference, honey,” Taser shouted, “but you’re needed!”

Desperate, she smiled for the cameras. “My sincere apologies,” she said brightly. “But duty calls.” A spring of Shadow propelled her upward, and she grabbed Taser’s outstretched hand. He pulled her onto the back of his hover with ease.

“Jet!” a reporter cried. “Is this your new boyfriend?”

She nearly gagged.

“Might want to hold on to my waist,” Taser suggested. And then he gunned the engine and they took off.

Jet clutched onto him, hating him and thankful for him. As the wind whipped her cowl back and sent her cloak fluttering madly, the Shadow voices giggled and teased, whispering things that made her want to cry. Then they receded.

For now.

He said nothing as they rode, and neither did she, but there was an energy between them, dancing, suggestive. She gripped his waist and gritted her teeth, and in a charged silence Taser and Jet cut through the polluted skies.

When they landed on a rooftop somewhere in the Waterfront Grid, Jet nearly flew off the hoverbike.

“Usually, the damsel gives her savior a token of her affection,” Taser said.

She clenched her fists, felt the Shadow pulsing around her curled fingers. “I’m so very grateful that you saved me from the evil press corps,” she said curtly. “What do you want, Bruce?”

Under the mask, the outline of his mouth pulled into a grin. “You, of course. You’re looking particularly sexy tonight in your skinsuit.”

“Don’t,” she said quietly.

“That’s right, you have no sense of humor. I remember that from your file.”

“And I remember how you lied to me,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm, “how you used me and seduced me, how you betrayed me and nearly got me killed!” She was shouting now, the words erupting from her mouth. “You’re a bastard, Bruce Hunter!”

He watched her for a moment, then slowly brought his hand to his chin and lifted the mask. His face, pale against the black fabric and the dark mass of his hair, was still upsettingly handsome. Bruce Hunter smiled at her, but his blue eyes held regret.

“It wasn’t personal, Joan,” he said. “It was business.”

“Right. Because mercs will sign on with anyone, for any cause, as long as the money’s good.” Suddenly cold, she rubbed her arms. A small part of her had been hoping that