CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Crystal kept her eyes off the rearview mirror as Ripley resumed his naked human form in the backseat of the Rover. He took his discarded shirt and wiped the blood and sweat from his face. “Ugh. Water, please.”
Max handed him a bottle, which he quickly opened and downed half of in a huge swallow. Rolling down the window, he stuck his head out to spit and rinsed again. “Man, that was nasty.” He settled back in his seat with a shudder and reached for his pants. “He tasted like dirt and chemicals.”
“You did real good, Ripley,” Crystal said. “You too, Chase.”
“Piece of cake,” Chase replied through the headset from his seat in the car in front of them. At the stop sign, Doc turned left while Crystal went right.
“What about me?” Max asked in a low tone.
A chuckle escaped her before she could stop it. He might look like a strong, undefeatable he-man, but inside he was still that little boy desperate for approval.
“You were calm, controlled, and exceedingly polite.” She shrugged. “Meh, good enough.”
The squeal of the tires as she took the corner on two wheels drowned out his strangled laughter. When his warm palm settled on her thigh, it was her turn to stifle a choked cry as she tried to keep the Rover from veering into the curb.
“We would still be there sitting on our thumbs if you hadn’t had that vision,” he said. “And the way you read Jeff Eggers, truly amazing.”
“Thank you,” she managed to reply. Her heart beat faster with every caress of his thumb on her thigh.
“What exactly did you see in your vision?”
“I, um.” She swallowed and focused on pulling her attention away from the massaging fingers on her inner thigh. “Three men were on the roof of Madden Bank. It was that building that also houses the physical therapy clinic and that sandwich shop that serves those shrimp po’boys. One of those men would text Jeff Eggers, then Jeff would start another round of ruckus to entice the crowd and keep the police distracted. The men scaled down the side and broke into a window of the physical therapy office. Then they crawled through the air vent that feeds into the bank. That vent dumped them into the office of the credit manager. That was where I saw the clock that read twelve-thirty.”
“How did you know about the second bank?”
“I saw them, too. Another team of three. They’re entering from underground.”
“You’ve never been able to see so much before.” Max’s fingers tightened on her leg. “Why now?”
“I’m not sure.” As soon as she said those words, her hand tingled and she remembered what had happened earlier in the day. “Oh, right. I think it might have to do with Doc’s theory about adrenaline from pain expanding our powers.”
“When were you hurt?” Ripley asked while strapping on his pants.
“Uh, um,” she stuttered. Crap, he would have to ask that. “Sorry, can’t hear you. We’re almost there.”
“Crystal,” Max pushed. “When were you hurt enough to change your powers?”
“It was nothing.”
“Doc. Did you treat Crystal for any injury recently?” he asked, directing his voice toward his earpiece.
“Doc, don’t—”
“Earlier tonight I healed two broken fingers,” came the reply.
Max turned toward her, his expression stricken. “I broke your fingers when we sparred? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Holy shit,” Ripley exclaimed. “You broke her fingers?”
“We’re here,” she sang, pulling the car to a skidding halt two blocks from the bank.
Before he could stop her, she jumped out onto the blacktop. They had enough going on at the moment than rehash what happened between them in the workout room. Especially when everyone was wired to listen in on every word.
Max rounded the front of the Rover, obviously not ready to let it go as easily. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know my fingers were broken. Look, now is not the time to discuss this.” She held up her once-injured hand and wiggled her fingers. “See, I’m fine. Now, what’s the plan?”
He grunted once. Through the lenses of his sunglasses, his eyes promised the conversation was far from over.
“Network, separate team transmission. Good luck, you two,” he said to Chase and Doc.
“No worries, boss. I see men in blue pulling up behind us now. Team Chase out.”
Parked up ahead of them, a lone, nondescript gray van with missing plates snagged her attention. “Is that the getaway van?”
“Obvious much?” Ripley scoffed.
Max cocked his head to the side. “Just in case it is.” All four tires hissed as they deflated at once.
Crystal looked around the empty street and wondered where the police were. Surely Lancaster had sent a unit or two after them. She blew warm air into her palms and rubbed them up and down her arms. The oppressive silence combined with the deep shadows and heavy fall mist creeped her out more than watching a horror flick.
“Where’s the police?” she asked.
“I’m sure they’ll be here shortly.” Max shrugged, a smile hovering on his lips. “They might be delayed by the tree that fell across the road behind us unexpectedly.”
“Maestro,” she gasped while Ripley leaned his head back and laughed. “Why did you do that?”
“I’m getting first crack at what’s going on inside.”
“You don’t know what that is. All we have to go on are the glimpses of my vision. This isn’t like our other assignments. We can’t go in without backup. We can’t go in, period. This is police business.”
“You’re my backup, and you said there were three men in there. Are they armed?”
“Yes.”
“Then I know there are three armed men inside.” He spun around and strode to the back of the Rover. “If something is going down with Madden, I want to know about it first.”
“This isn’t a game, or a way to get back at your father. It could just be a coincidence that it’s one of his banks.”
“It’s not a coincidence. The house was a diversion. Who’s to say that one of these break-ins isn’t also a diversion? There is a reason that these two specific banks are targeted, and I’m going to find out why.”
Trepidation filled her as a firm resolve hardened his features. This was no longer Maestro, a man who helped the innocent and righted the wrongs of the world, but Max, a betrayed son thirsty for vengeance against his father. Could she trust him to remain focused on apprehending the criminals, or would his yearning to take down Madden put them all in danger?
“I take back what I said about you being calm and in control. This is just like on the mountain. I’m not going to let you face off against three thugs with guns because you have a hunch your father’s involved. That’s suicide.”
He froze with his hand on the tailgate. His head pivoted to face her, his expression chilling her to the bone. “Are you questioning my ability to remain objective?” His low tone warned her to think before she answered.
“Well, I—” She swallowed hard then lifted her chin. “Yes. I am.”
The muscles of his jaw flexed as he turned to loom over her. Through gritted teeth he snarled, “I am perfectly capable of remaining objective. I am in complete control. I will keep my promise. The only people you need to worry about are those three dumb shits in that bank who are about to get their asses handed to them. I am just fine.”
“Color me relieved.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. “You are not some berserker storming Mount Moracca for a golden spear, or some stupid shit like that.”
His nostrils flared at her deliberate error. For all his strengths, Max’s love for pop culture and movies amused her. “It’s Norrath.”
“Excuse me.” Ripley extended his arm out between them. “Forgive me for interrupting this little lovers’ spat, but there is a bank robbery in progress, and I’m freezing my ass off. Can we get on with a plan, please?”
Max pointed at her, which she understood to mean there was one more item to add to the list of things to be discussed later.
He turned back to the trunk of the Rover and lifted the floorboard that concealed a stash that included a laptop, a few tablets, an assortment of pistols and rifles, various sizes of blades, rope, and climbing gear.
Max picked up a tablet and booted it up, setting it on a holder to leave his hands free to strap various weapons to his belt. “Network, what security does this branch have?”
Addison sent a series of blueprints and schematics to the monitor. “It’s fairly straightforward. Based on the building plans and security contracts on file with the city, the front door, windows, and teller area are secured with gates after closing. All forms of currency are locked in the main vault at the end of the day. There is one hallway to the vault and safety deposit box area, which are guarded by a laser field. If triggered, the alarm sounds and a signal is sent to the police and a private security firm, who are expected to respond to all alarms. Rolling metal doors will drop down at the end of each hallway, like on a ship, trapping whoever is there inside.”
“Sounds pretty secure.” Ripley frowned and scratched his bare chest. “How would you get around that?”
“Well,” she said with a sigh. “First, I would brace the drop-down doors, so that they couldn’t fall all of the way. Next, I would download a program into the security system that simulates the constant signal, even when the beams are broken.”
“That’s you. What about for those of us who can’t talk to computers?”
“There’s a program on the market that can patch or separate networks, so instead of a signal traveling from the beams to the alarm, you replace the beams with a computer and connect that to the alarm.”
Ripley grunted. “Nifty program.”
“Thanks.” Max nodded. “I thought so when I created it.”
Ripley gaped at him. “You designed a program to rob banks?”
“Of course not. I designed a program to patch networks and infrastructures to other systems in case of power outages or natural disasters. Robbing banks was not the intention.”
“It must have been a possibility that crossed your mind.”
“Not my problem. I was paid to design a program, not regulate it. Show me what’s going on inside.” Crystal coughed and shoved at his shoulder. “Please.”
“The video feed has been tampered with. However, I have the footage from before the three men entered the building. I have to be honest, I’m quite impressed how they squeezed their bodies through that opening.”
Addison uploaded the footage from the camera outside the credit manager’s office. Three figures in blue shimmied out of an air vent in the ceiling. One immediately sat at the desk and opened a laptop. He typed furiously for fifteen seconds then suddenly he and his friends disappeared, leaving an image of a completely undisturbed office. If she squinted hard enough, Crystal was able to see a faint outline of their bodies as they moved around the room.
“A little blue-screen action. Interesting,” Max murmured. “Thanks, Network. Monitor their movements and let them think that everything is on schedule.” He placed the tablet in the trunk and secured another .45 into the holster under his jacket.
“Will do,” she replied and signed off.
“Plan?” Ripley raised a brow.
“Keep it simple. We’ll enter nice and quiet through the front door and say hello.”
Crystal wasn’t sold. “And if they greet us with weapons drawn?”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered.” He cocked his head. “What did you think was going to happen when we got here?”
“That the police would go in and do their thing, and we would investigate once the criminals were apprehended.” Duh.
He snorted. “Well, that was naïve. When there is anything having to do with Matthew Madden, I’m there first, and we don’t leave until I’m satisfied that every molecule of information is squeezed from the source. If you don’t like it, you can stay out here. Is that understood?”
“For now,” she snarled through tight lips before pointing at him to indicate another item had been added to the discussion they would have later.
“Should I go in as a German shepherd?” Ripley asked.
Max flashed a wicked grin and chuckled. “Stay as you are. Wait until the last minute and choose something appropriately piss-pants producing.”
“I love it.”
Crystal stepped between them. “Boys. Stay focused. They are armed and not in the mood to be played with.”
“We are focused. Let’s go.” Max locked up the Rover and led the way to the front entrance.
“Do you think a tiger would do it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Boys.”
The doors swung open under Max’s power and the metal gate lifted, softer than a whisper. Of course, her heart was pounding so loudly, she couldn’t hear anything anyway. It was as if she had just run a marathon, the way it thumped so hard and by the amount of sweat rolling down her back. What she wouldn’t give to have a vision right at that moment. Or at least be relaxed enough that if a vision did hit, it wouldn’t knock her on her ass. A tiny peek of the outcome would be so incredibly helpful.
Nothing looked amiss inside the dark lobby. Security lights were set on low and allowed just enough illumination to make out the service desk and teller areas.
Crystal tensed, ready for something, anything to jump out from behind the counter and go boo. It was a silly notion, but so was going after armed bank robbers.
Farther into the depths of the bank, the creak of a monkey wrench working on a bolt drifted to her ears.
She bit her lip to stop the nervous laughter that bubbled up inside her. It felt as if she was in her body, yet floating above the scene at the same time, observing the action with a detached eye.
The office that the would-be robbers used to enter the bank was located around the corner from the hallway that led to the vault. Two men, one short, one tall, stood at the end. Both were dressed in blue, including not only their clothes but their boots and the equipment that hung off their belts. Cave lamps strapped to their foreheads guided their movements. At their feet lay several candy bar–sized blocks, duct taped and connected with strips of wire. Above them stood a metal frame that resembled an erector set for a giant. The men worked quietly, efficiently, and were completely oblivious they were being watched.
“System is bypassed,” a voice called from inside the office.
“Get ready. We’re going to take a run at the vault now,” the smaller of the two answered with an Asian accent.
The taller one picked up the bundles and crossed the glowing red lattice of lasers, triggering the rolling security door. It slammed into the arch, buckling the frame with an earsplitting metallic crunch. Even though Crystal knew the crash was coming, she still jumped with a startled squeal.
Ah, fuck. There went all of her street cred. Max was never going to let her live this down.
Four sets of eyes turned in her direction. “Sorry. That was louder than I expected.”
The smaller man, whom she recognized as Big Tim, stared at them from under the light on his forehead. “Who the fuck are you?”
Max opened his arms. “Just curious bystanders. We saw a light on and wondered who was home.”
“Cut the shit,” Big Tim snapped. “Who are you?”
“Who we are is not important,” Max replied. “Now, we can do this simply, and you pack up your things, and we question you nicely, or I let my friend here rip out your throat, and we throw your shit in the bags and question you not so nicely.”
Big Tim smiled, his teeth flashing white in the semi-darkness. “Funny. You funny. How about I choose option three.” He pointed to the blocks. “I push this button and blow us all to kingdom come.”
“Right,” Max snorted. “Because suicide would accomplish so much. Well, you can try that option, but I just took apart your detonators.” The brightly colored plastic wires hit the floor with a soft pitter-patter. “Option two it is, then. If you will, my friend.” He gestured at Ripley with an open palm.
“My pleasure.” The brawny golden man rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm then hunched over.
Bones popped and cracked as Ripley’s skin stretched. Orange and black fur erupted along his spine before an eight-hundred-pound Bengal tiger stood in his place. The head lamps caught the gleam of his sharp teeth as he let loose with a mighty roar, then leapt at the second bank robber.
Big Tim squeaked and fell back against the wall in terror, which Max took advantage of as he advanced on his own prey.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of Crystal’s neck stood on end. Instinct and months of training made her muscles tense as she spun around. She leveled a kick, aiming straight and true, and caught the third man who was sneaking up behind her right in his groin. He fell into a heap with a nauseated groan.
Adrenaline raced through her bloodstream, sharpening her vision. Every sound echoed in her ears. The scent of manly sweat burned the inside of her nose and the spice of exhilaration coated the back of her tongue. Her boot fit nicely into the hollow of the man’s neck as she pinned him to the ground. “Didn’t you learn any manners? A simple hello would have been fine.”
He wrapped his hand around her ankle and tugged, rolling out from under her as she landed on her knee.
“Ow!” she cried then sucked in a deep breath. She didn’t want to distract Max from his fight with Big Tim, who had quickly realized that his plans were being shot to hell and woke from his shock with an upper cut to Max’s midsection.
Crystal pushed the pain in her knee aside and jumped back to her feet, barely escaping the size twelve aimed at her head. She crouched low, waiting for his next move. Since he was a foot taller and a good thirty pounds heavier, she knew better than to exert all of her energy by immediately going on the offensive.
The man feinted left, then right, then threw a right hook followed by a roundhouse she blocked with her forearms. Each blow made her wince in pain. This was not training. This was not Chase pulling his punches and teaching her technique. This was a man determined to take her out any way he could.
Fear rose inside her, tightening her throat and accelerating her breathing. Instinct screamed at her to run, to find safety and hide under a thick blanket until danger passed.
Who did she think she was? She wasn’t a superhuman fighting machine. She was Crystal Evans. Peace-loving, pudgy, cookie-baking psychic. She was going to go down and go down in a disastrous blaze of epic proportions.
Screams of agony echoed in the hall as Ripley’s tiger tore the arm off the man holding the explosives. He tossed the bloody limb to the side as if it were a chew toy.
Near the vault, Max faced off against Big Tim. The diminutive man whipped his hands around, displaying a wealth of martial arts moves while Max watched, waiting for an opening. Suddenly, Tim stood straight and pulled a gun from his vest. The first shot he fired went wide as Max used his powers to rip the gun from Tim’s hand with a gesture.
Max charged, his leather coat flapping behind him like bat wings. He wasted no time and lifted Big Tim by his shirtfront, hanging him from his tiny backpack on the large pull handle of the vault.
Fight! A voice inside her shouted. These are your teammates. Your friends. You cannot let them down. Prove yourself.
A battle cry tore from her throat as she went on the offensive. Her fists and legs flew in punches and kicks, driving back her opponent. Her black Doc Marten boot landed solidly on his chest, knocking him into the wall.
He shook his head, then reached for the gun in his waistband. He immediately pulled the trigger twice in rapid succession.
“No!” Max shouted and leapt in front of her in the direct line of fire.
All the air in her lungs exploded in a burning gasp as Max barreled into her, knocking her flat on her back with him on top. Max’s head hit the tile near her shoulder with a crack that made her stomach lurch as Ripley’s roar rent the air and a blur of orange fur sailed over them.
“No, no,” she cried and pushed against Max’s heavy weight with tired arms. She shoved with a deep grunt and rolled him off of her. Panic swelled when his eyes remained closed. “Max—Maestro!” She pushed the lapels of his jacket aside, searching for bullet wounds.
Please no, please no, please no. Where’s he hit? Where’s he hit!
“Wake up. Please.” A tear slid down her cheek and landed on his lips.
He came awake with a gasp. His eyes flew open to stare at the ceiling in a daze. “Hey.”
She laid a shaky hand along his cheek. “Where are you shot?”
His closed palm came up between them and he unfurled his fingers, revealing two bullets nestled in the center.
“Oh thank God,” she sobbed and collapsed on top of him.
“I knew you cared about me.”
She jerked up and slapped him in the face. “Don’t scare me like that again. You… I—ooh!” She curled her fingers into his shirt and gave him a shake.
Torn between wanting to throw herself on him and kiss him senseless, or slapping him a few more times and weep with the fear that she almost lost him, she instead scrambled to her feet in a huff.
What she hadn’t anticipated was the horror scene being played out behind her. She jumped and let out a blood-curdling scream that brought Max to her side in an instant.
Ripley as a tiger stood beside the body of the man who had tried to kill her. The man’s empty eyes stared back as blood gushed from his torn throat and mixed with his blue face paint to form a sick purple puddle spreading on the tile floor.
When she met the tiger’s blue eyes, he shifted back into human form as his gaze remained locked with hers. His sweaty chest heaved with exertion.
“He tried to kill you,” Ripley said simply.
She snapped her mouth shut and nodded. If the roles were reversed, she’d do the same.
She hoped.
Man. This was bad. The last time she had been surrounded by so much blood was when her mother was killed. The sight and smell was something she had never wanted to experience again.
Memories of nightmares past churned in her belly and burned like acid up her throat. She would have lost her cookies all over the tile floor if it hadn’t been for the voice that shouted from the darkness, “Freeze!”
They all started and turned toward the shout. Sheriff Lancaster and several local and county police officers stood next to him, their weapons drawn.
“Excellent timing, Sheriff.” Max waved a hand at the chaos surrounding them. His skin went from pale to sickly green as he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a handkerchief. “We were just about to start with the questioning.”
“Uh-huh. Hands up, Garan.”
“Yeah. Ah.” His cheeks bellowed as he dry heaved. “I’m gonna need a moment here. Blood. Me. No.”
“Maestro,” Crystal gasped as he raced to a dark corner and promptly lost his stomach contents all over the marble floor. She moved to follow but was stopped by a deputy standing in her path.
Confusion swirled in the sheriff’s gaze as he tried to process the scene before him. Crystal could only imagine what it looked like to an outsider. One man was dangling in the air, another writhed on the floor in agony missing an arm, and a third lay dead, torn apart in a puddle of blood. Lancaster did a double take when he spotted the naked, muscular man, quite alive, covered in sweat and blood.
“Who are you?”
“Therian.” Ripley smiled. “Nice to finally say hello to you, Sheriff.”
Lancaster blinked once, then twice. “Therian? As in the dog?”
“On occasion.”
“Yeah? Prove it.”
Ripley sighed and fell to his hands and knees as his bones cracked and popped. The German shepherd barked twice in greeting.
The deputies let out squeaks and shouts of surprise that in no way sounded as if they came from the mouths of grown men, while the sheriff just stared and blinked.
A moment passed and Ripley shifted back into his human form.
“Whoa.” He swayed on his feet. “All of this shifting is starting to catch up with me.”
Gradually, Lancaster’s lashes fluttered and he shook his head. “Okay. Um. Yeah. You’re the dog. Right. Holy shit,” he muttered, then turned back to his men. “All right, all right, shut up, all of you. I’m trying to process.”
When he turned back to face them, he appeared to be his usual in-control self, but the hand he wiped down his face trembled. Did he even realize that was the hand he was holding his pistol in? “Okay. You’re the dog. And you killed this man? Why?”
“He shot at Prism.”
And in an instant, the sheriff’s attention snapped to her, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you hit?”
“No,” she answered. “Maestro was able to stop the bullets.”
“He stopped the bullets?”
“I slowed their trajectory and caught them.” Max held out his hand and showed him the dented lumps of metal.
“You caught them. Of course. I should have known.” This time he rubbed both of his broad hands over his face and took a deep breath through his nose. Then another. And another. “All right. Someone get that man down and cuffed. Get a medic so that one doesn’t bleed to death. That one can wait, he ain’t going anywhere. You, put some clothes on. And you.” He pointed at Max. “Explain. Maestro?”
Max wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and offered a shaky grin. “Where do I begin?”