over the room and filled it with her modified image. She focused on the collective breathing of the group and let them inhale her new version of the memory. She concentrated on staying grounded while letting the image fly. Then everything went black.
Gideon caught her as she collapsed. He couldn't believe Kincaid guilted her into it. If he hadn't felt something in his own head, if he didn't hear the murmurs of two dozen people discussing her revised version of the battle below, he wouldn't have believed it. The girl had some real skills after all. Real, interesting skills.
Cradling Petra, he sank to the floor, wishing she'd wake up so they could vacate this disturbing situation and he could resign his mission. Overnight–hell five minutes ago–he'd lost his professional detachment, for reasons he didn't care to examine.
In an effort to regain his perspective, he watched the reps from various law enforcement agencies clean up the mess. News, amazing but true, reached him that Michaels survived the battle. Maybe he'd get a chance to ask her what really happened down there. He was sure that somewhere between what his eyes recorded and Petra's memory modifier stood the reality.
"She wake up yet?" Kincaid asked.
Gideon shook his head. "Your concern's a little late."
"I've watched her on more cases than you can imagine. She's tougher than she looks," Kincaid argued.
"You had no idea she could pull that off."
"I figured her best effort, effective or not, was better than nothing."
Kincaid's hands fisted in his pockets and dampened the effect of his casual shrug. The tell of concern bumped him up half a notch on Gideon's scale.
He looked down into Petra's pale face. "What'll you do if her best effort just killed her?" He hoped he was exaggerating. "Get some help up here."
Kincaid hailed a team of medics and Gideon handed her over. He watched them work on her and came to his own conclusions when basic reviving techniques failed to rouse her.
He followed closely as they carried Petra down and loaded her into an ambulance bound for Chicago General. A long, unnecessary ride in his opinion, but Kincaid wouldn't be swayed.
Gideon leaned on a car, continuing to observe in silence as the mill emptied out, noting that they also routed Michaels to Chicago General.
When the opportunity presented itself, Gideon fell into step with an evidence crew moving back inside. As they began picking up and tagging every shred of anything, he went on his own exploration. Listening to others going about their jobs, he gathered Judge Albertson owned the old mill. Rumor had it this was his staging area for the abuse and trafficking of women. Gideon took that as viable explanation for Jaden's presence. She'd probably been the one to tip-off the authorities in the first place.
After a full circuit of the main floor, weaving in and out of the people doing their jobs, he discovered a spiral staircase. Frustrated voices drifted down to him. The Judge's office was too tempting to ignore and Gideon wound his way up. With a flash of badge and his most intimidating vocabulary, he soon had the office–and the search–to himself.
The reporter's voice gushed from the flat panel screen inset into the custom, brushed steel cabinetry, confirming the rumors that had been trickling in to Dr. Kristoff during the past few hours. His research was officially declared suspect by an unnamed scientist.
Ha. Not unnamed for long.
With a few keystrokes of his palmtop, he sent a coded message to begin the search for this so-called scientist. Then he programmed his cell card to send a numeric page ordering all but his most trusted lieutenant into hiding.
A mere week ago, everything was moving according to plan. Today Judge Albertson, one of his key suppliers, was dead as a direct result of his perverse, pedophile habits.
Kristoff sighed. He well knew that only change was inevitable.
A siren wailed outside, announcing the arrival of the authorities, and he resigned
Gideon caught her as she collapsed. He couldn't believe Kincaid guilted her into it. If he hadn't felt something in his own head, if he didn't hear the murmurs of two dozen people discussing her revised version of the battle below, he wouldn't have believed it. The girl had some real skills after all. Real, interesting skills.
Cradling Petra, he sank to the floor, wishing she'd wake up so they could vacate this disturbing situation and he could resign his mission. Overnight–hell five minutes ago–he'd lost his professional detachment, for reasons he didn't care to examine.
In an effort to regain his perspective, he watched the reps from various law enforcement agencies clean up the mess. News, amazing but true, reached him that Michaels survived the battle. Maybe he'd get a chance to ask her what really happened down there. He was sure that somewhere between what his eyes recorded and Petra's memory modifier stood the reality.
"She wake up yet?" Kincaid asked.
Gideon shook his head. "Your concern's a little late."
"I've watched her on more cases than you can imagine. She's tougher than she looks," Kincaid argued.
"You had no idea she could pull that off."
"I figured her best effort, effective or not, was better than nothing."
Kincaid's hands fisted in his pockets and dampened the effect of his casual shrug. The tell of concern bumped him up half a notch on Gideon's scale.
He looked down into Petra's pale face. "What'll you do if her best effort just killed her?" He hoped he was exaggerating. "Get some help up here."
Kincaid hailed a team of medics and Gideon handed her over. He watched them work on her and came to his own conclusions when basic reviving techniques failed to rouse her.
He followed closely as they carried Petra down and loaded her into an ambulance bound for Chicago General. A long, unnecessary ride in his opinion, but Kincaid wouldn't be swayed.
Gideon leaned on a car, continuing to observe in silence as the mill emptied out, noting that they also routed Michaels to Chicago General.
When the opportunity presented itself, Gideon fell into step with an evidence crew moving back inside. As they began picking up and tagging every shred of anything, he went on his own exploration. Listening to others going about their jobs, he gathered Judge Albertson owned the old mill. Rumor had it this was his staging area for the abuse and trafficking of women. Gideon took that as viable explanation for Jaden's presence. She'd probably been the one to tip-off the authorities in the first place.
After a full circuit of the main floor, weaving in and out of the people doing their jobs, he discovered a spiral staircase. Frustrated voices drifted down to him. The Judge's office was too tempting to ignore and Gideon wound his way up. With a flash of badge and his most intimidating vocabulary, he soon had the office–and the search–to himself.
The reporter's voice gushed from the flat panel screen inset into the custom, brushed steel cabinetry, confirming the rumors that had been trickling in to Dr. Kristoff during the past few hours. His research was officially declared suspect by an unnamed scientist.
Ha. Not unnamed for long.
With a few keystrokes of his palmtop, he sent a coded message to begin the search for this so-called scientist. Then he programmed his cell card to send a numeric page ordering all but his most trusted lieutenant into hiding.
A mere week ago, everything was moving according to plan. Today Judge Albertson, one of his key suppliers, was dead as a direct result of his perverse, pedophile habits.
Kristoff sighed. He well knew that only change was inevitable.
A siren wailed outside, announcing the arrival of the authorities, and he resigned
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