Runner's Companion.pdf - Free

Simon Wentworth (order #1132857) 9life on the run . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .176shoppers’ auras, looking for her suspect, or at least a dry place towait and watch. Immediately, she caught sight of a familiar aura—she’d recognize the vivid scars streaking that aura anywhere. Sheswitched back to mundane vision to see the tall Asian slumpedagainst a grimy building with a ratty ball-cap and a rain-coat thathad seen much better days… probably before he’d ever owned it.Laine rolled her eyes and sauntered over to the bounty hunter.“Sticks, how surprising,” she said, smiling as she sized himup. She’d seen him mostly naked once before and the sight of themassive scars decorating his chest remained with her. Althoughit was a toss-up as to which was more impressive, the scars, or theway he’d been able to shrug off the stun-bolt she’d thrown at him,even drunk. He’d earned her respect that day… plus the man had aseriously fine body, hidden under the pitiful trash-bin clothing.“Carrot-top,” Sticks grumbled. “Slumming it today?”“Looking for someone,” she replied, wondering if he’d eatenthat day. “You look like a drowned rat, Sticks. Why don’t you goin, get some soy-kaf, dry off ?” Something about the guy just madeher want to take him home and clean him up.“Who would you be looking for outside the ACHE?” heasked, suspicious.Probably the same guy you are, she thought, but just smiledand leaned back against the grimy wall. She certainly wasn’t goingto leave him to face Kettlemyer by himself—she’d run up againsta couple of these tempo junkies and they weren’t anything she’dwish on Sticks. Resigned to the rain, the grime, and the nasty flavorof the astral space around the ACHE, Laine settled in to wait.The background count from the damn public housing project wasenough to make her stomach twist… although that could havebeen the cop-shop coffee, too.She was scanning the crowd, checking out the auras, whenSticks pushed away from the wall and went striding through thecrowd on those mile-long legs. She jumped after him and saw himabout to cuff Kettlemyer.Suspect spotted, she transmitted on her secured ‘link. The teamcoordinator beeped an acknowledgement and she hoped the otherteam members would be getting into position soon.Suddenly, she saw Sticks go flying backwards, landing with aloud crack against the wet pavement. Kettlemyer took off running.Fast as lightning, Sticks was back up, balanced on the balls of hisfeet, his head swinging around to spot Kettlemyer. The bountyhunter took off, and Laine sprinted after the two men. Damn goodthing I was on the track team, she thought, as she caught up toSticks.—Lt. James in pursuit of suspect—the coordinator broadcast—Detective Gray in position to north. Probability 87.3 for suspect toenter alley—Laine and Sticks rounded the alley corner at the same timeand she saw the suspect’s tempo-ravaged face snarling at her, justa few meters away.—Team in position—“This is my FTA,” Sticks growled at her. Laine shook her head,realizing it was too much to hope he’d back off the pitiful bountyfor the dealer.“You’ll get full credit,” she assured him, “But keep your cuteass out of this now, Sticks.”Then, hoping he could take care of himself, she focused onthe snarling human in front of her, switching to her astral sightto assense him.Sweet Jesus, she thought, shocked at the writhing, thorncoveredvines that covered his aura, strangling his energies. She’dsuggested the tempo addicts might be possessed, and they’d prepareda ritual to capture the possessing spirit, in case, but she’dnever expected to see something so… malevolent. As her teamstepped beside her, she raised her hands, began chanting the ritualthey’d prepared. The mana downtown was sour, the bleed throughbackground count from the ACHE making it harder to draw. Shegritted her teeth, felt her necklace warm against her skin as sheused it to focus her energies. As the other DPI mage began chantingwith her, Laine prayed to God that they’d all survive.ORTEGA (GANGER)Redmond hadn’t been a town since long before Ortegawas born. It was a collection of neighborhoods, even blocks. Youbelonged to the place you lived. You were born to it, and whenyou died your blood seeped into the cracked sidewalks to sproutanother you. Life, death, and rebirth all here in your neighborhood,your block.This was Ortega’s block. He built it just as true as if he’d laidthe brick and mortar. He protected it, ran it the way the copsshould, bashing heads and looking out for people who otherwisecouldn’t. As he parked his pimped out Americar, he was relievedRunner’s Companion