Dave’s gaze darted from the hostages to the exit and the gunmen in the space of a second. He had to get these people out of here.
“Shit,” Moreen said, indicating she’d gotten the message, too.
The jerk with the mohawk thinks his boss won’t set them off now that they’ve gotten the Prophet Kid, the Black Valentine said telepathically. The other guy—the one who should’ve been a juggler—thinks he’ll blow the place just for kicks. He strikes me as the smarter of the two.
“Their boss,” said Moreen, “Pretty Boy Jeffries. He’s here?”
According to these two, he’s on the top floor, but he’s out of my range. I can’t sense him. The other gunman is bringing the Prophet Kid to him now. Once he checks that the kid doesn’t have any visions of their getaway plan failing, he’ll signal the others, and they’ll make their escape. They have a helicopter, by the way.
Moreen pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course they do.”
“We don’t have much time,” Dave said in a low voice. “Do they have any other men left besides the two down here and the one who took the Prophet Kid?”
The Black Valentine closed her eyes again, her eyebrows scrunching together. If they do, the ones down here don’t know about it.
“Okay,” Dave said, “Then our biggest problem is that walkie-talkie. We don’t want Four-Arms over there to warn Jeffries when we make our move.”
“Agreed,” Moreen said. “Valentine, I’m guessing you can do something about that?”
She raised her eyebrows theatrically. “Is a DSA agent suggesting I use mind-control on an unwilling victim?”
“I’m asking if you can stop him from using his walkie-talkie. How you interpret that is up to you.”
The Black Valentine smirked. “Oh, I can stop him. But I won’t be able to focus on anything else while I’m doing it.”
“Then I’ll handle the one with the mohawk,” Dave said.
Moreen glanced at him. “He’s pretty far away. You sure you can get him before he starts shooting?”
“I can get him.”
“Fine, I’ll watch your back.”
Dave looked at the Black Valentine. “Tell me when you’re ready.” Continue reading